PART 1
New Year’s Eve parties are always messy, and Andrew’s parties were messy no matter the reason. So Andrew’s annual NYE get together was a notoriously debauched affair. Since graduating from college he’d found himself a lucrative job in Canary Wharf – London’s Manhattan-wannabe Financial District – and took great pride in stocking his bar with high-end liquors, and the rest of his penthouse apartment with any substance you might possibly want.
Despite their differing paths in life, Andrew and his friends from school kept this date sacred. On this particular night, Andrew was wired on a combination of vodka red bull and ludicrously expensive cocaine provided by his investment banker friends. So by 3AM, the less chemically-enhanced had slunk off to the bedroom Andrew had insisted – loudly and frequently – he wouldn’t be needing.
Paul, Andrew’s best friend since they were 14, had politely declined the various bumps and lines he’d been offered all night and eventually found himself sitting on the sofa, slipping into a whisky coma while a venture capitalist called Oscar talked about the new app he was developing which was going to “disrupt the very industry of disruption itself”. Paul could think of a few things he’d like to disrupt, starting with Oscar’s unfeasibly square jaw. He made his excuses and headed for the bedroom.
Paul opened the door slowly, conscious of the two people already sleeping (or just hiding from Oscar), and considered his options. The floor looked uncomfortable; the double mattress looked inviting. The gentle sounds of light, drunken snoring echoed round the room in unison.
Along the far side lay Ali, face down, head on a pillow. Ali was another friend from school, and one of Paul’s best friends. So far so safe. On the near side of the bed, on her side with her back facing Ali, lay Gemma. Ah, Gemma. Gemma with her hourglass proportions, tiny waist and athletic legs. Andrew’s ex. Of course. The girls were still wearing their party dresses, and they were out cold.
There was easily enough space for Paul on the bed, but he’d have to get very cosy with the girls. They were all friends of course – more than, on occasion – and he couldn’t imagine anyone having a problem with it. He carefully lowered himself onto the foot of the bed, swung his legs up and put them between the two girls, his hands parallel to their hips.
Paul recalled his various dalliances with Ali and – more shamefully – Gemma. Back when she was still with Andrew. He wasn’t proud. As he drifted off to sleep, Paul found himself conjuring memories of their drunken trysts. The stolen glances over dinner; the secretive sleepovers while Andrew was away. He remembered how her skin felt to his touch – the electricity of those forbidden nights, from a sly stroke over her dress at a party to the night they’d stayed up making each other come over and over.
Without realising it, Paul allowed his hands to idly drift, casually drawing gentle lines up both Ali and Gemma’s legs. Barely touching them, the most gentle of strokes, up and down the bottom of their thighs.
Paul was jolted awake by a hand grabbing his left wrist. He could feel goosebump-covered skin under his fingers, and immediately realised what he’d done. He tried to pull his hand away, but it was held in place. He felt it being tugged.
Gemma was pulling his hand. Up. Under her dress. Between her legs.
_________________________________________________
Gemma had been half-asleep when she felt it. A tingling sensation on the back of her leg; tiny, pleasing pinpricks. She was briefly alarmed, but in her semi-conscious, semi-sober state, allowed herself to enjoy the feeling – just as it abruptly stopped. A few moments later, she felt the pinpricks again. Fingers. Just enough pressure to make themselves noticed – gliding over her appreciative skin. She recognised this touch. Paul. Again, it stopped
Was he doing it on purpose? She couldn’t tell to begin with. The third time, the pinpricks reached the top of her thigh, sending tiny shivers up her body. Gemma felt every nerve between the back of her knees and her inner thigh, as the feeling travelled up and between her legs. She slowly opened them further but the teasing continued – almost to the top of her thigh, back down, then nothing. They’d agreed to stop this months – years? – ago. But the fact was that Paul knew how to get Gemma off like no-one else. Especially not Andrew.
In spite of herself, she could feel she was getting wet.
___________________________________________
Paul complied with Gemma’s unspoken instruction, allowing his hand to reach the point where her legs met. He felt her wetness through her underwear, and stroked her gently. She let out a sigh, opening herself further so he could touch her through the fabric, feeling the outline of her labia as he gently started to stroke her clit. She briefly removed his hand, rolled onto her other side, and put his fingers back onto her —the angle now allowing for him to touch her properly.
That’s when Ali grabbed his right hand.
________________________________________________
Ali drifted into consciousness feeling confused. She knew something had woken her up, but she didn’t know what. She also felt something else. Horny. Her legs were tingling, and in her state of semi-consciousness she felt the sensation spreading round from below her ass, across her skin, under her dress. An urge to be touched. She looked over her shoulder and saw Paul on his back, his hand resting next to her. “What are friends for,” she thought, as she guided his hand between her legs.
Continued: [https://www.reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/111gpqw/the_accidental_threesome_part_2_mfm/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/111gpqw/the_accidental_threesome_part_2_mfm/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/111ffsi/the_accidental_threesome_fmf