I moan when I’m turned on.

I’m not boasting.  I just don’t scream, shout, talk up a storm, or put on much of a show when I’m doing it.  Sometimes I wonder if I should be writing about sex at all.  Fuck it, though.  If extroverts can put their business out there, then my introverted ass can, too.

The idea for the “quiet” threesome started between me and my lover.  We kissed and cuddled in bed, as usual.  “M” (my lover) asked, “If someone else was watching us right now, what would they be thinking?”

“Worst dirty movie ever,” I snapped back.

We both dissolved into a fit of giggles over that one.  But the idea took hold, like kudzu in a backyard garden.

“Are you saying you want someone to watch us?” I volunteered bashfully.

“Maybe more than watch … if you’re okay with that,” “M” replied expectantly.

Then silence.  Then more silence.

“Well, who would be our third?” I challenged.

Silence.

“J” we both said in unison.

“J” was our nerdy bestie, our third wheel of choice on the tricycle of our almost-acknowledged ménage.  None of us are models—not even close.  We’re distinctly average at best.  But we’re some sexy motherfuckers, if I do say so myself.  We … like … sex … a lot.  And “J” is the sexiest of us, always ready with a really quality, yet sly, dirty observation that will have us in stitches.  Sexy for us is attitude, and we’ve got buckets full, though you wouldn’t know that unless you got to know us.

“M” and I went about our normal life together and put the idea on the back burner.  But it would bubble up occasionally, breaking through our veneer of practiced nonchalance.  When “J” was over at our place, we laughed and horsed around as normal, never hinting at what we ultimately wanted.  “J” is nothing if not perceptive, however.

“What’s up?” “J” asked one evening.

“Well,” I stumbled, “we, I mean I, … we were wondering, ahem, maybe if … would you, that is to say, would you care to, would you be amenable to possibly, maybe, … joining … us … ?”

“In a game of Scrabble?  In holy matrimony?” “J” teased immediately.

“You little fucker!” I shot back.  “You’re gonna get punished for that.”  “M” and I both gave each other the look.  “Tickle torture,” “M” said.

“J” mock-hid behind a couch cushion, daring us with that wicked smile.

We had played this game before, and we already knew the limits.  “Orange” was the agreed upon safe word.  We all knew the game was just an excuse for the “transgressor” to get touched.

“M’s” hand shot to “J’s” clavicle, hitting that sweet spot that turned “J” into a happy, cackling hyena.  I got “J’s” left shoe and sock off and wiggled my fingers between those delicious toes.  This went on for what seemed a long time, but was only about five minutes.  “Orange!” “J” finally conceded.

We giggled and panted, entwined in one fashion or another with each other.  “M’s” face rested against “J’s” chest; my cheek pressed against “J’s” knee.

“What are we gonna do?” “J” nearly cried and everyone immediately understood.  Our mutual desire filled the room, almost suffocating us with it’s heaviness.

“Well, what are the rules?” I chimed in.

“J” said, “No talking, for one.  I’m not gonna give you or ‘M’ a chance to ruin this.”

“Shut up,” I replied halfheartedly.  But I knew “J” was right.  Given half a chance, I would have found some excuse to worm my way out of what I’d been dreaming about all these weeks.

“What’s the punishment for talking?” “M” asked.

“J” and I gave each other the look and said in unison, “Tickle torture.”

“Shoulda known that,” “M” replied.

Then silence.

And more silence.

Only our slowly building, but perceptible, breathing could be heard.

So I broke the ice.  I reached up and unzipped “J’s” jeans, slowly peeling them off those beautiful legs.  I kissed my way slowly up “J’s” thigh, rubbing and squeezing every place I kissed.  And then I was there, nuzzling “J’s” crotch and breathing in that lovely, walnut-like smell.

“J’s” finger’s danced over my scalp, gently guiding me to the spots that felt the best.  I danced my tongue this way and that way.  “J” squirmed and moaned with near release.

“M” unbuttoned my shirt, fondled my nipples, then finally stripped it off.  “M” unfastened my belt and tugged my pants semi-roughly down and off my legs.  “M” kissed and nibbled my thighs, squeezed my ass, and traced electric circles down my calves.

Then “M” started to fuck me slowly from behind.  “M” stroked one way, then another, then down, then up, repeating the pattern until my moans betrayed my most sensitive spots.  “M” fucked me the way I wanted to be fucked and I greedily pushed my ass back to drink in the pleasure.

“Shit,” I cried out.  I immediately clapped my hands over my mouth and all action ceased.

“M” and “J” looked at each other, hugged, drew out a long, delicious kiss, and whispered my “punishment” in each other’s ears.

They placed me on my back.  Each took a leg, straightened it out to their mouths, and slowly sucked my toes.  I squirmed and bucked, but I didn’t want them to stop.  Down my calves they went.  They nibbled, kissed, tasted, and delicately scratched me.  I writhed and moaned and flexed my back up off the floor.  Their fingers pressed into my thighs and they alternately spanked my ass.  “J’s’’ palm struck my right butt cheek; “M’s” smacked my left.

All pretense of tickle-torturing me was over.

“J’s” delicate fingers pressed into me and I was liquid fire.  I returned the favor, fingered “J” back, and pleasure shot through “J’s” body, culminating in an absolute howl.  “M’s” pants were now off and I licked and sucked “M’s” crotch with absolute greed.

We moaned and squirmed.  We spanked and tickled each other.  We fucked again and again.  We came too many times to count.

And when we had nothing left, we cuddled right there on the floor, lost and found in each other.

And we wondered when we could do this again.

Addendum: During our threesome, I caught sight of myself in a mirror.  If anything ever captured the look of desire, it would have been my rapturous face loving the two people I love best.  I hope that image stays with me for a lifetime.  I am one sexy motherfucker, if I do say so myself.