I look down at Jenny, her innocent face now full of sex appeal. My dick jumps at the thought. I stand up, grabbing her tiny frame and throwing it over my shoulder, her squealing at first and then giggling like a child as I reach down to offer my hand to Abby. She takes it gracefully and I motion with my head towards the stairs “You first, I want to watch that ass of yours”. She grins, and slowly slides her hands to her hips, wiggles her short denim shorts off, and comes close and whispers in my ear “if you’re going to admire, I better give you something to look at then”. She reaches up for a kiss and I pull her tightly against me, my free left hand sliding down her back, gripping one of her ass cheeks hard, before slapping it, smiling as she yelps mid kiss. She turns and seductively walks towards the stairs, hips swaying, curves tormenting, as I follow her, grabbing the bottle of vodka on my way, dick swinging as we make our way up the stairs.
Author: paidtobuyfruit
Menage a trois – Part 1 [M/F/F]
Friday afternoon, thank fuck for that. As I jumped in my rusty pick-up I salivated over the thought of a frost glazed glass coming to my lips with that sweet golden nectar that will take all the pain away. It had been a hectic past fortnight for me, changing jobs, breaking up with my girlfriend, and all the while trying my best not to download tinder to distract myself from the ever-present loneliness of now living alone again. A few minutes down the road I arrive at one of the two pubs in the little town where my farm is situated, the locals refer to this as the “bottom pub” simply because it sits at the bottom of the street. As I pull up to the carpark I smile as i notice the cars there, I can always rely on a few of the old codgers being here early on a Friday to chew the ears off any young person who would listen. It’s a charming old building, with timber eaves and fittings, and a bar made of a big slab of polished timber from the thousands of drinks and arms rested on it over the years. I take the 4 steps up to the veranda two at a time, knocking my boots together to get any last remaining mud off them from the recent rain we’ve had. The three customers at the bar turn and look, ever curious as to the sound of boots and who might follow. I recognise two of them, acknowledging them in the way guys seem to communicate in this part of the world, by their first name and nothing else.