(28f) The Birthday Treat – aka – The Hookup and his Housemate [MFM]

As far as I’m concerned, threesomes are the definitive version of sex. By this I mean MFM threesomes specifically, and not only because they place me squarely at the centre of attention.

It’s *mostly* that, but not entirely!

Which is not to say regular one-on-one sex isn’t wonderful. Clearly it’s one of the best ways of spending your time. But even the very best of a sexual pairings has moments in which the momentum relents – Pausing the action to change positions being the most common. Also, and I realise this may sound like something of a controversial statement, sometimes it can be prone to getting a little ‘samey’. Yes, there are multitude of positions, paces, intensities, etc. But ultimately it boils down to putting a thing in a hole. Yes, there can be some variety in the hole, but even then it’s one at a time.

Threesomes however increase those options exponentially. Suddenly there’s not only twice as many things that can be happening at any one time, but also near unlimited options for different combinations. In the same way that when you shuffle a deck of cards you’re likely to be creating a combination that has never before been seen in human history, no threesome (even if it’s the same individuals involved) tends to proceed in the same way twice. There’s always something going on, and there’s always a smorgasbord of options for what can be done *next*.

In short, threesomes are the very best aspects of sex but without any of the boring bits.

I’ve been lucky enough to have enjoyed what is probably more than my fair share of threesomes. They were all the rage when I attended university and not at all difficult to come by (pun intended). At some stage I’m sure I’ll end up sharing many of those encounters but, for now, I’m going to tell of one several years after finishing uni.

The threeseome I had in celebration of my 25th birthday. The threesome which was entirely unplanned, and entirely unintended.

Turning twenty-five I felt was going to have a profound effect on me. I’d been existing on this little blue speck in an infinitely wide universe for a quarter of a century and, more worryingly, had reached an age in which, statistically, I would now round up to fifty,

This philosophical quandary had resulted in me politely but firmly telling my friends and family that I wished to mark the occasion which each of them to commemorate the first twenty five years of my life, and to celebrate reaching an age in which it’s no longer appropriate to enforce friends and family to do things for you. However, given the very different tones and influences that each grouping had upon my life I decided that each should be made in isolation. in short; fuck it, I was going to have three celebrations. One wonderfully subdued and nostalgic affair with family. One meal out for friends and well-wishers. And culminating in a raucous and hedonistic ‘night to end all nights’ with my closest and very least sensible friends.

I’ll not bore you with retellings of the first two, regardless how much pleasure it brings me to detail one of my finest ever victories at Cluedo, utterly thrashing my smug Uncle, who very nearly flipped the board in unfettered rage.

Instead I’ll tell of that final night which took place on the date of my 25th birthday. An evening, the purpose of which my friends told me in no uncertain terms, was to ‘get Alice fucked’.

Looking resplendent in a HIAATAMT dress – worn as a potential ‘last outing’ in case I was suddenly too old for such a revealing dress (spoilers: I probably am, but I’m still wearing them to this day, four years later) – I and four friends who had been pre-drinking since roughly mid-day, hit the town.

Much drinking and poorly construed dancing ensued. As were many almost deafeningly loud bellows from Charlie (who insufferably is a few months younger than me) of “Will anybody please fuck my friend? She’s old and totally past it, but will someone take pity on her?”

Subtle wasn’t a word which featured in Charlie’s vocabulary.

Needless to say these displays brought with them plenty of attention, which was extremely flattering. It also meant I didn’t find myself having to buy a drink all night. Which, in turn, meant I became utterly hammered exceptionally quickly.

And regular readers will know that a hammered Alice is an amorous Alice.

Thankfully my friends were on hand and sufficiently prescient to prevent me from throwing myself at any Tom, Dick or Harry that flashed my a smile and bought me a drink. They know me well enough to know I have some standards, when sober enough to judge for myself.

However when Martin came along they practically threw me at him. At least they would have done if they hadn’t all been quietly trying to figure out if they could perhaps make a sneaky move first. Mercifully, none were quicker than I.

Martin was, and indeed still is, one of the singularly most handsome men I’ve ever encountered in real life. I pride myself on generally not allow myself to be too heavily swayed by something as shallow as looks, but the fatal combination of his height, broad shoulders, sharp jawline and rugged hands was enough to annihilate any pricks of my conscience.

I’ll skip ahead and over any of what might be loosely classified as ‘the seduction’ segment of the evening, as it considered mostly me making toe-curlingly embarrassing crude comments in his direction. Somehow, however, despite blatant unsubtle obscenity , we ended up heading back to his place.

I feel it speaks volumes that after a fifteen or so minute Uber ride during which time I can only imagine it would appear as though I was trying to swallow the man whole while he fought to maintain *my* dignity by preventing me from fully stripping off in the back of the car, the driver turned to him upon arrival and wished him ‘Good luck’.

No sooner was the front door to his flat closed, than in a single swift movement the HIAATAMT dress was on the floor. This was a HIAATAMT dress that requires no bra, so I was stood in his hallway naked save for a pair of ‘designed to be seen’ black underwear, and my heels which I’d inexplicably been able to keep on.

Martin seemed thrilled, but genuinely shocked. Suddenly I was terrified I’d misjudged the situation and he had only invited me back to play through the majestic Cluedo game and experience the drubbing my Uncle had received for himself.

But no. His alarm was due to the fact that he did not live alone. Something he’d either failed to inform me of, or perhaps I’d missed as I was busy trying to consume him.

It was a fact that was confirmed mere moments later when, with the kind of comic timing that would have been a little too on the nose for even the broadest of sitcom, his flatmate appeared around the corner.

I should have been mortified but, in all honesty, I was either too drunk or too amorous (very probably both) to care. Making no attempt to hide my modesty at all, I looked him straight in the eye and said hi.

‘Hi’ he said, very much not meeting my eye contact. ‘I’m Connor.’

Remember how I commented that Martin was one of the singularly most handsome men I’d ever encountered? Well Connor was another. Not as tall or broad as Martin, but with cheekbones that could cut cheese, a twinkle in his eyes that could render the barren fertile once more and – unless I was very much mistaken – an Irish accent. One of my several kryptonites.

What happened in the immediate aftermath of this moment differs depending on who you ask. According to Connor I more or less turned to Martin and straight up asked if he would mind if I fucked them both. Meanwhile I’m convinced that although I may have thought this to myself, it wasn’t something I vocalised and instead Connor started with some lewd insinuations which, much to his shock, I took him up on.

Precisely how we got there though is largely irrelevant. What matters is; we all fucked.

For some reason we started in the living room. Perhaps when the word threesome began being thrown around someone felt a further drink was in order to both literally and metaphorically break the ice. Either way the drink was never drunk. Nor was my dress put back on.

Sat between the pair on the sofa I continue my earlier relentless assault on Martin’s tongue, while I one handedly attempted to get his cock out. I was forced to achieve this one handed as Martin’s hands were busy feeling me up, and Connor was guiding my other hand to his own erogenous zone.

I don’t know if anyone else has ever tried to undo a button fly with your non-dominant hand behind you, whilst not looking. But let me tell you it’s near impossible and massively frustrating. I pulled back from Martin pulled my hands away from each and declared, quite categorically, to stop.

Both men to their credit stopped immediately, wondering if perhaps they’d gone too far or I’d had second thoughts. The look of relief on their faces was palpable when I simply told them that this would be far easier if everyone was naked, because buttons were an apparently impenetrable barrier.

They stripped, and I settled on my knees in front of them excitedly taking a cock in each hand. For those interested; Martin had the better body, Connor had the bigger cock, albeit with only a little under an inch in difference between the pair.

Eager stroking, kissing and groping ensued. As I kissed Connor for the first time I found he had an unusual technique; almost rippling his tongue on top of mine. Unusual but far from unpleasant.

Soon enough I could contain myself no longer, and moved onto taking the cocks in my mouth; being sure to spend time on Martin first. It seemed only polite. I continued eagerly stroking Connor while I coated Martin’s cock in saliva, tickling the underside of the head with the tip of my tongue.

Perhaps so as not to seem too passive in proceedings, Connor soon disengaged from my hand and instead lifted me up into the sofa while I was still mouth around Martin. He then slid head first between my kneeling legs and, with his arms wrapped around my waist, pulled himself up so as to be able to slide his rippling tongue over my clit. Quite how he came to conclusion this was the best position for any of this to occur in I’ve no idea, but his tongue immediately felt electric and sent a notable shiver of pleasure cascading along my body.

Quite how long we remained in this position; with Connor holding himself up, clamped between my legs, and me happily bobbing my mouth up and down on Martin, I’ve no idea. I’d have been happy staying that for hours but, perhaps predictably, soon enough Connor found the position was causing something of a strain and requested a change.

I unclenched my thighs from around his head and span myself around 180 degrees face him. As means of a thank you for his excellent tongue work, I hungrily took the majority of his cock into my mouth whole, lashing at the shaft and head with my tongue like an angered snake.
From behind I felt Martin’s thick fingers introduce themselves to my pussy, swiftly moving from grabbing my arse cheeks to sliding inside.

I was rather more vigorous in my attention on Connor’s cock, though given Martin’s intense and pacy fingering he clearly didn’t seem to mind. I tried reaching back to at least be stroking him while this was going on, but without pulling back from Connor I wasn’t able to find his cock. This was, it turned out, because he was readying to make a move of his own.

Timed as I was making a particularly deep excursion into Connor (or more accurately as he was making a particularly deep excursion into me), Martin pulled out his magnificent fingers and, in the very same breath, replaced them with his equally magnificent cock.

The effect it had on my was instantaneous and profound. It had been very nearly a year since my last threesome, and at this moment all of the joys of the art form came rushing back to me at once. It wasn’t enough to immediately bring me to orgasm, but a visceral rush of pleasure once again cascaded through me, immediately firing my libido into overdrive.

I’d dearly love to recount in glorious detail precisely what ensued but, to be painfully honest, my recollection of precisely what happened where and in what order was lost to the hedonistic pleasure filled haze.

They each took turns fucking me from behind, spit roast style, while I sucked the other in rhythm with the pounding. I rode Connor reverse cowgirl style, while continuing to blow Martin. I’m reasonably sure it was also during this he inexplicably attempted a rudimentary titwank, but the angles simply didn’t work.

I climaxed three times in total that night. Once to Connor’s tongue, and once to each of their cocks (Martin nearly achieved it twice himself, but a last moment switch meant Connor stole the glory). Both guys came twice. Martin after the initial fuck declared he was close, so I switched ends and took him in my mouth, swallowing so we didn’t have early mess to dodge around. The same procedure was repeated for Connor after his first fucking session. The second load from each was a facial, albeit with a near ten minute gap between deposits making for a less than ideal photo finish.

We had fun together on two further occasions before Connor ruined it by actually dating me, during which time he decided it was probably inappropriate to ask his flatmate to join in, not least because he too had started seeing someone.

One drunken night it happened again anyway. We decided to stop dating.

There’s a crowd.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/l6966b/28f_the_birthday_treat_aka_the_hookup_and_his