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Allison (Part 1): Daniel

Allison brings home a 'couples therapy' tool.
I couldn’t stop looking at the clock. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours, and still, nothing. When was she getting home? She’d said eleven at the latest, but it was three in the morning, and I was starting to worry.

Beyond that, the part of my brain that wasn’t neurotically concerned that something terrible had happened was less than pleased. I’m not a possessive or controlling person, as a rule, but I am prone to irritation, and, in all honestly, I was starting to get seriously annoyed.

If she’d told me that she’d be out all night, then that would have been fine. Really, if she’d done anything other than specifically ask me to wait up for her, I wouldn’t have had a problem. But there I was, at her apartment, waiting up like she’d asked me to—hours after she said she’d be home—trying to watch ridiculous, pre-dawn infomercials to stay awake. When, finally, I heard her voice—the words slurred and indecipherable, but the tenor unmistakable—I virtually ran to open the front door.

I’ll admit that I was over-eager. Our sex life had waned, recently, and it seemed that the only time she had the energy or desire to do much of anything at all was on the down-slope of a night of heavy drinking with her friends.

It had occurred to me that there was, perhaps, a reason that her nights out caused her libido to spike. I’d used that premise to put together a huge collection of scenarios ranging from the simply salacious to the profoundly filthy which had been helpful in keeping my own libido in check. I’d even a written a number of them down, driving myself crazy detailing all the filthy, dirty escapades I liked to imagine she was indulging in. In a few moments of weakness, I’d even shown a close, female friend of mine—Jenny, who had always been partial to erotica—what I’d written.

That passive little infidelity had, in and of itself, led to more fantasizing. Taking my time, I’d imagine Jenny, illuminated in her dark bedroom by her computer screen, her fingers slipping in and out of her tight little pussy and pulverizing her needy, throbbing clit as she read my stories.

It was a delicious fantasy. The lithe redhead would pant frantically, gasping out obscenities as she worked her nimble, experienced fingers over her bare, creamy slit. In my fantasies, several stray strands of curly red hair were plastered to her forehead. There would be beads of sweat on her brow that would shiver and tremble along with her body as it shook with lust. Finally, she’d cry out, fingers buried deep in her gripping, slippery cunt, and an image of my slim-and-athletic-yet-sinfully-curvaceous lover being ravaged by various men and women in her minds’ eye.

The thought of my lovely nineteen year old British friend desperately, breathlessly violating her tight, teenage holes—night after night—with Allison in mind, was something I'd gotten myself off while imagining more times than I could count. It was also one of those rare fantasies I could be absolutely certain was actually happening.

Jenny had, for as long as I'd known her, been completely comfortable and open about the female-favoring variant of bisexuality she subscribed to. Similarly, she had never been anything but forthcoming about the variety of things she enjoyed the thought of doing to my stunning girlfriend. Her personal favorite, if memory serves, involved the better part of a litre of baby oil, a large padded plastic ground cover, some fuzzy handcuffs, a catholic schoolgirl outfit, and a ball-gag.

Like Jenny's fantasies though, the litany of scenarios I dreamt up and inserted Allison into, both in my mind and on paper, had always seemed like nothing more than wishful thinking. While imagining her grinding into the laps of anonymous strangers in clubs, or being fingered to orgasm on a crowded dance floor by one of her girlfriends was immensely rewarding, I was completely aware that my girlfriend was, and always had been, staunchly sexually conservative. Or, perhaps, I just wasn’t proactive enough when it came to pushing for what I wanted. Either way, to call our sex ‘vanilla’ would not only have been accurate, but also an exhaustive summary. I found it incredibly hard to picture her being radically different, simply because I wasn't around.

“Allison, hi,” I said, opening the door with a smile. I froze.

Allison barely seemed to notice me. The guy she was with, though, looked straight at me, bleary-eyed from drinking, but coherent enough, it seemed, to be a little worried. Allison’s hands gripped either side of the doorframe, her knuckles white, her hands shaking a little, and her arms covered in tiny goosebumps. Her keys were clutched tightly in one hand, jammed forcefully into the wood of the door-frame...encouraging my mind to imagine what must have transpired to make her so completely forget about opening the door.

I inhaled sharply, feeling myself hardening rapidly. My breathing steadily increased in pace as I surveyed my girlfriend - her long brunette hair, disheveled and in disarray, falling over her face and making the glazed-over glare emanating from her partially-obscured, ice-blue eyes seem profoundly wanton and animalistic.

My eyes raked over her body. She was bent at the waist, letting her sexy, black, backless club-top gape open in the front, barely covering her delicious, shapely, perfectly sized, and perfectly braless breasts. The tiny faded denim miniskirt she wore was hiked up almost to her waist, revealing the luscious curves of the lower half of her hourglass figure, bunching around the wide, off-white belt that now encircled her midriff.

From the bottom of her toned, athletic thighs—just above the knee—a pair of black leather boots, festooned with straps and buckles, covered her knees and calves. Her leather-encased toes turned inward and her heels outward. The way her feet were arranged somehow made her spread legs and bunched up skirt seem even more obscene; a thread of awkward innocence accenting a tapestry of debauched wantonness.

Apart from her disheveled appearance, and that feral, animalistic lust burning behind her eyes, my attention gravitated towards the location of her companions' hands. He hadn’t moved since I opened the door, and while my view was partially obscured, it was obvious that his hands were positioned so as to take full advantage of Allison's prone, bent-at-the-waist position. In my minds eye, I pictured his thick, masculine fingers sunk into her, and his hands slick with the same wetness as her hot, needy cunt.

My heart raced and I shivered reflexively, closing my eyes for a moment...the image overwhelming me. Looking him up and down, I categorised his appearance as that of a surf-jock. More objectively, he was tall and muscular, and wore a form-fitting black t-shirt and grey dress slacks.

“Why’re you here?” She slurred, a hint of irritability in her tone, dragging me out of my appraisal of the situation.

“You told me to wait for you,” I replied defensively...partially out of confusion, and partially out of a strange sense of guilt over how turned on I was.

“Oh.” She said. Disoriented and clearly not pleased with the interruption to her plans, she dismissively informed me: “Well, you can go now.”

“Maybe I should go.” Her companion interjected. He smiled sheepishly.

“No, it’s fine,” I found myself saying, as if on autopilot. I couldn’t help myself. For a brief second, I could have sworn I saw Allison roll her eyes, but I dismissed it. Ultimately, the opportunity wasn’t one I ever could have turned down. My sexual fantasies were often pretty voyeuristic, and almost always involved cheating, role reversal, blackmail, submission or feminization. Seeing my girlfriend, drunk and dismissive of me, burning with lust for a hard-bodied jock, had my stomach churning with excitement and anticipation. I swallowed, realising that my mouth was suddenly bone-dry. “Why don’t you take her inside and I’ll get you a drink?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Okay...if you’re sure...” He let her skirt fall back to its natural position as he repositioned his hands to her shoulders, carefully steering her into the apartment. As she passed me, her shoulder smacked solidly into mine, and she staggered a little. For a second, I wondered if it'd been a deliberate knock...some kind of payback for interrupting her. I quickly dismissed it...after all, I didn’t know if I’d ever seen her so drunk.

Shaking a little with nerves and anticipation, I followed them inside. Averting my eyes, giving them a moment to settle in in privacy, I walked through to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of mid-range vodka from the freezer. Smiling to myself, I deliberately poured a little too much into the bottom of three brandy glasses, followed by orange juice and a liberal amount of ice.

“We’re a bit short on options,” I muttered, walking back to the lounge-room. “I hope you can live with a screw-driver.” I couldn’t help but grin at the scene I’d walked in on. My gorgeous girlfriend was pawing at the guy like a hooker offered double rates for enthusiasm. She was trying to pull down the fly of his pants while she whispered into his ear and kissed and licked at his neck. Meanwhile, her free hand hyperactively grabbed at, cupped, squeezed, and fondled the firm, well-defined muscles of his shoulders, arms and chest. I could hear quiet murmurs of lustful approval dripping like verbal honey from between her lips. I had to admit, he did have an astonishing body.

“Thank you,” He nodded politely, taking the drink as he reluctantly continued to fend off Allison’s assault on his crotch. “So what’s the deal?” He asked, a note of caution in his voice.

“Don’t talk to him,” Allison slurred. “Get it out for me...”

“Absolutely anything that you’re both okay with,” I replied honestly, ignoring her. He seemed to relax.

“So this is a regular thing for you guys?” he inferred, a small gasp spilling out from between his lips as she nipped his neck with her teeth, pressing herself to him.

“No, not really.” I shrugged. “We’ve never even talked about it. It’s the kind of thing I always sort of hoped would happen, but never really actively considered.”

“Are you...?” His eyes narrowed. I caught Allison glancing at me, a strange, twisted little smile momentarily washing across her face.

“Not gay, not bi...not even curious,” I said, making an assumption about where his question was going, which, from the relief evident in his eyes, was an accurate one.

“Thank god,” he smiled, before catching himself: “I don’t have a problem with that kind of thing, though. Each to their's just not for me.” He insisted. I smirked.

“You’re about to fuck my girlfriend,” I stated bluntly. “I think we can bypass the politically correct disclaimers. I mean, if you were homophobic, I’m guessing you wouldn’t be okay with me watching?” Without even meaning to, the pitch of my tone shot upwards towards the end of the question, betraying a small amount of concern on my part.

“If you’re not going to get jealous and kick my naked ass out on the street half-way through, it sounds like a plan,” he shot me a cocky grin, setting his vodka down on the side-table beside the couch, his eyes locked on mine as he spread his arms out behind him, finally giving Allison free access to the bulge beneath the fly of his trousers.

Hungrily, she tore down his fly, forcing an impatient hand into his fitted cotton briefs, and wrapping her fingers around his thick, throbbing, shaft. As she forced the briefs back, exposing the full length of it to the open air, she turned her head, properly acknowledging me for the first time. Her hungry, drunken eyes were wide, and her mouth had formed a tight little ‘o’ of impressed shock.

“Fuck,” she mouthed, shaking her head. I just smiled, watching her squeeze its impressive girth, barely able to touch her thumb and middle finger around it. She raised her eyes to his as she began to teasingly stroke up and down, a deviant grin creeping across her face. “Gee, mister,” She murmured, her voice like syrup. “This big, fat, juicy, cock...” she giggled, almost panting. “It’s as hard as a fucking diamond. You must really like dirty, cheating little sluts,” He chuckled breathily, their eyes locked together.

“Love ‘em.” He nodded. Without meaning to, I realised I was nodding, too, blood pumping through my veins faster and faster, my face flushed and my entire body rapidly overheating. My breath was quick and rasping. It occurred to me that I was still holding the other two tumblers of vodka and orange juice, so I set them down on the same side table the our new friend had used, reveling in the near-unbearable feelings of inner tension which threatened to overcome me as I drew close enough to them to hear the faint, slick sound of her long, delicate fingers pumping his hard cock slowly up and down.

“Suck it, slut,” Allison hissed. I paused, looking down at her. My immediate reaction was to assume that her drunk, lust-addled brain had short-circuited her inner monologue, leaving her to state her intentions out loud. To my surprise, though, her eyes were fixed on me, her expression lucid and purposeful.

“W-what?” I stuttered in surprise.

“You heard me, whore,” She murmured, her voice playful now. “You big, strapping alpha-males, needing to reassure yourselves about how straight you are. I want to see you on your knees...with those thick blow-job lips wrapped around this big, beautiful dick.”

“I don’t think so,” Her partner laughed dismissively. A second later, he breathed in sharply, his eyes rolling upwards, half in pain, half in pleasure. She was tightening her grip; sealing off the flow of blood and making the four or five inches of turgid flesh above the top of her vice-like grip bulge obscenely under the compression, the veins standing out in shades of blue and green, contrasting against the—now—deep red of the head and upper shaft.

“I’m not drunk, y’know...” she chirped her admission, squeezing her hand upwards without lessening her grip, the other guy’s mouth falling open, his eyes squeezing shut, and his eyebrows creasing into an agonized, blissful ‘v’ shape.

Having a penis, you do eventually develop a pretty good instinctive feel for what something you see happening to someone else’s penis would feel like. I could tell from observing, that every nerve ending in the swollen, bulbous head of his cock must have been bursting with sensation; both intense pleasure and delicious discomfort.

“I was going to keep pretending, but hearing you two negotiating like that; playing nice,” She pouted innocently at me: “I thought you’d at least be a little jealous. I thought maybe I’d get to see a fight or something.” In spite of her order, and subsequent admission, I noted with relief that she didn’t seem to have any intention of relinquishing her hold on his throbbing organ.

Allison inhaled and held her breath, unceremoniously engulfing the engorged, angry, crimson tip of his cock with her mouth, moaning deeply, from the back of her throat. She laughed quietly around his organ without making any kind of a move to empty her mouth, before pulling up with a loud, depraved slurp, the top of his shaft slick and shiny with saliva...and a long, wet strand bridging the gap between his dick and her mouth. I was shocked and impressed, having had no idea whatsoever that she was capable of taking that much length without so much as gagging.

“Why?” I choked out pointlessly, mostly just because I felt like I was expected to say something. Really, though, all I wanted to do at that moment was watch her use this ripped stud like an oversized sex-toy; licking, kissing, and biting every inch of his overworked upper body before impaling herself on his thick, clean-shaven cock. I wanted to see her groaning in ecstasy as she rode him to orgasm, writhing on top of him and moaning uncontrollably as he shot his thick load deep inside her. I could visualize his cum dripping out of her tight, well-fucked cunt. In a moment of twisted inspiration, I could even see myself lying on the ground with her squatting over me, my hands kneading her toned, athletic thighs as I licked and sucked it out of her.

I shook my head vigorously, forcing myself to come back to reality.

“You think a girl just goes out and gets drunk, and then brings home a hot little fuck-slave, forgetting she has her boyfriend there waiting for her?” She shook her head, laughing. “You’re not that dumb, are you?” I saw the emails you’ve been sending to your little friend, Daniel.” I cringed.

“Oh.” She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah. ‘Oh’. You’re lucky I actually love you. Even if I can’t for the life of me work out why,” She paused for a second before continuing: “So first I got angry. I got really fucking angry. I dare you? And with Jenny? She’s nineteen, you fucking pervert. You’ll be thirty next year.”

You’re only twenty-two,” I reminded her. She looked at me with a combination of a lascivious smirk and a disgusted scowl.

“Yeah, and if I was getting my sleaze on with slutty bisexual teen hotties, we’d be having a whole different conversation.”

“I’d like to see that conversation,” Allison’s boy-toy rasped. She grinned at him.

“Oh yeah? Play your cards right, stud,”

“Anyway,” I rolled my eyes, motioning for her to continue.

“Anyway,” She condescendingly imitated, “I started planning to take revenge on you...but everything I could think of, short of leaving you, seemed like it would have been something you wanted. It was about then that I got curious. I wondered if you really wouldn’t care if I fucked another guy...or a few guys...or a girl...or myself, while people watched...or any one of your other sick little fantasies. I wondered what kind of a fucked up asshole wouldn’t care. Somewhere along the line, I ended up admitting the truth to myself. I wanted it too.” She smiled malevolently. “And not just because, even at your best, you’re pretty average.”

The other guy reluctantly moved to stand up, clearly feeling uncomfortable, but, maintaining her vice grip on his cock, Allison stopped him. “And you, you fucking disappointment...I had such high hopes for you. Those arms...that chest...the big-talk, and arrogant ‘player’ were supposed to take me every which way you wanted. But instead you share a fucking cocktail with my boyfriend?” She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “Whatever. If neither of you can be real men, I guess I’ll just have to do it for you.” She stated, reaching her free hand down to cup his balls, before sliding it further, her entire hand disappearing into his briefs.

“What the-” He started

“Quiet. You know what I’m doing.” She growled. “I know what girls like you are into,” She breathed, a tremor of lust shaking through her voice.

“Seriously Allison,” He pleaded. She rolled her eyes, her hand clenching, making him gasp.

“Shut...up. Now here’s the deal. You’re nice to look at. Nice and firm. You’re a pretty little thing,” she murmured, his breath fast and shallow, now. “And you’ve got a nice, hard body.” His eyes shot open, and he snapped his attention to her, their gaze meeting. An evil grin twisted her lips at the edges. He grabbed for her wrist, and shook his head insistently. Allison just slowly nodded, smiling evilly. “If you go with whatever I suggest, I promise you’ll enjoy this...” She murmured. “If you don’t,”

“Ahhh,” He groaned...a long, drawn out sound of submission, as, I inferred, one of her fingers succeeded in pushing all the way into his asshole. I realised I was holding my breath, my insides practically liquefying with the heat of the lust and tension building in me.

“If you don’t...well, do you want my dainty little finger, or do you want my entire. Fucking. Hand?”

“Finger,” He replied, his voice trembling.

“Louder, like a good little slut,” She giggled.

Finger!” he wheezed.

“Good boy. Now. You.” She glared at me, her eyes burning into mine. “You need to learn a couple of lessons. One...if you have fantasies, you share them with me. If you’re going to gossip with your little girlfriends about our private business, it’s going to be because I told you it was okay.”

“Agreed.” I nodded weakly.

“And two,” she continued, ignoring me: “a relationship is about give and take, or in this case, quid pro quo. Consider tonight a test. I’ve read all about your filthy, depraved little wants and what-ifs. Pass my test, and I promise you, I will do every single slutty, dirty, deviant thing you wrote about.” I swallowed hard.

“And if I fail?” She laughed.

“Oh, sweetie. Don’t. Because, y’know, I got so, so wet reading your stories. I like the way your filthy, fucked up little brain works. If you fail, you better believe I’ll be out there by myself, enjoying all the dirty ideas you’ve given me, while you’re stuck at home with a box of tissues and a hand-cramp. And if you fail, you’re driving home tonight with blue balls while I take this beautiful cock,” She paused, giving her new plaything’s aching shaft a quick, sloppy suck, ending with a loud, sticky, resounding ‘pop’: “Mmm. While I take this cock in every single one of my tight little holes. And yes,” She clarified, her voice breathy and full of desire: “that does include my Clear?”

“Crystal.” I croaked.

“That’s a good little slut,” She murmured, returning her attention to her playmate’s lap. I was becoming aware that my legs were aching. I was still standing over the couch, looking down with trepidation at my beautiful girlfriend’s angelic face. her lips shone with a messy coat of saliva, and her hand was wrapped around, apparently, my challenge for the night: a sizeable, shapely—enviably aesthetically pleasing—example of a throbbing, uncircumcised, male organ.

“What are you waiting for, Daniel?” She asked expectantly. My eyes met his for a second. His mouth was slightly open and he had a pained look on his face as she continued to work her finger in and out of his tight asshole. He nodded to me, barely perceptibly. I got on my knees in front of the couch, moving closer. I could practically read his mind. Tonight, he was thinking, anything goes. Just for tonight, I’ll do whatever it takes to get this little slut’s tight, sweet cunt wrapped around my cock.

Even though I couldn’t actually see it, knowing what she was doing was driving me crazy. I could see her hand rhythmically flexing and releasing, buried in his cotton briefs. My eyes drifted to his firm cock, throbbing and slick with saliva that had trickled, in reflective rivulets, down over Allison’s knuckles. It slicked his balls and coated her busy palm, which, as a result, made sticky, sloppy, slapping sounds as her finger pumped in and out of him.

I could tell that the slippery trail stretched further still—out of sight—and my teeth ground together as I pictured it. I could visualize his perineum, lubricated with my girlfriend’s spit, and her sly, slender finger penetrating him, taking him, making him hers. Faintly, I was sure I could hear a barely perceptible squishing sound, which had to be her saliva coated finger pushing in and out of him.

Even more faintly, I was almost certain, I could just about make out the sound of Sigmund Freud turning in his grave, as my sexy, utterly feminine girlfriend penetrated, dominated, and took ownership of the muscle-bound jock.

I licked my lips in anxious anticipation. Noticing, Allison’s eyes widened in an excited accusation:

“Did you just lick your lips?” She gasped breathily. “You dirty little faggot,” She murmured in a kind of shocked, sex-crazed wonder. Four male eyes shot up to look at her. “Oh, what?” She sneered: “Like you two have never called a girl you were fucking a slut, or a whore, or a dirty little bitch,” She laughed.

“It’s...different...” I mumbled unconvincingly. Allison rolled her eyes. Without warning, she pulled her hand from our companion’s briefs—the rapid evacuation of her finger forcing his muscles to clench, from what I could tell from his facial expression, painfully—and let go of his shaft, jumping up and grabbing me forcefully by the nape of the neck.

How? All just stuff that’s hot because it’s reductive and objectifying and nasty. Unless you’re actually gay, you shouldn’t have a problem with me calling you a faggot. I mean, you’re not actually gay, are you? Am I making you feel victimised, marginalised, or unfairly stereotyped?” She asked, her final questions asked in a condescension-soaked deadpan.

“N-no,” I insisted. She laughed vindictively.

“Then it’s not offensive. It’s fantasy. Now open your dirty, cock-sucking mouth, faggot,” She mocked. “Nice and wide, like a hungry little slut.” I reluctantly did so. Maintaining her grip on the back of my neck, she pushed two fingers from her other hand towards my mouth, pausing just a bare inch away. “Now beg,” She whispered sharply.

“What?” I whispered in reply, my voice shaking. I noticed, in my peripheral vision, our third participant watching on in mute fascination, and slowly stroking his rigid shaft.

“I said beg. Beg to taste your new boyfriend’s sweet little ass.“ I hesitated, my voice catching in my throat.

“Please,” I managed to choke out.

“Please what?” She asked sweetly.

“Please,” she began to trace her fingers around my lips, almost cooing, her eyes full of raw, burning lust. “Please, let me taste his asshole. I want to taste his asshole.” I heard him breathe inward sharply, and could see his hand tighten around his hard cock, sharply stroking it up and down several times. A quiet groan of lust echoed out and around the room.

“Ooh!” A huge grin spread across her face. “You dirty little slut!” She gasped. Without waiting, she pushed her fingers past my lips, brushing my tonsils, and making me gag. “We’ll have to work on your gag reflex,” She informed me, her tone mockingly serious; patronizing, but almost sympathetic. “It’s an important life-skill for a cock-sucking slut,”

“Christ,” her playmate murmured, enthralled. Oblivious, Allison gasped, as if a sudden, brilliant idea had occurred to her.

“I remember, in one of your stories, I was a secret escort! I bet you’d like that, too, wouldn’t you? Look at you, sucking away on my fingers. Tasting that ass. I bet you’d like it, wouldn’t you?” I played along, humming in the affirmative. “You want me to pimp you out for blowjobs? Rim-jobs? Maybe we’ll just go all the way with it, and get that tight little virgin ass of yours split wide open. We could rent you out for parties, and offer group discounts,” She trailed off, laughing. “Fuck, I bet you’d whimper and moan like a cum-crazed nympho, getting tag-teamed by a bunch of horny perverts,”

“Uhhmm,” I moaned around her fingers, shocked to feel my already hard cock throbbing painfully at the thought of my typically conservative girlfriend whoring me out as a rent-boy. It wasn’t so much the thought of doing it, though, as much as the thought of being so subject to her control; the thought of surrendering so completely that I’d be willing, even eager, to do something so utterly out of character.

Abruptly, she pulled her fingers out of my mouth, and my cheeks reddened with embarrassment as I realised I’d moved towards them as she pulled them away. “Oh god,” She breathed, her eyes clouding with lust. For a few moments, she just stared at me, her lips trembling and her breath catching. “You can’t get enough, can you? You’re such a dirty little cunt,” she hissed hotly through clenched teeth, looking right into my eyes “Such a fucking nasty little girl,”

“Yesss,” the word escaped my lips almost of its own accord. I could feel her hand on the back of my neck shaking, tightening, and loosening its’ grip. Glancing down, I realised she was masturbating feverishly. Her other hand slipped under her belt, down the front of her skirt, moving rhythmically in short, sharp circles, punctuated by the occasional jerk and moan as her fingers squeezed her clit down against muscle and bone particularly forcefully.

“Mmm-ah! Fuck!” She bleated out in ecstasy: “I’m going to put you to work, slut,” She grunted, a perverted grin plastered on her face. “And you know what? I think it’s time for your first ‘trick’,” She told me, her voice shaky and uneven as she continued to rub and finger herself. “Suck it, slut...suck his fucking cock and make it cum.” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed, and her hand releasing its grip on the back of my neck. “And make it good. Make me believe it.”

I breathed out and in again, preparing myself...the taste of his ass still on my lips and in my mouth. Objectively, it wasn’t particularly pleasant...but knowing how the taste had gotten there...remembering the dirty, mocking words that had accompanied it...remembering how I’d begged for it...was almost enough to make me cum without so much as touching myself.

As I moved towards him, I was surprised to see his eyes hooded over with lust. His hand slid up and down his throbbing shaft, slow and teasing.

“I’ve never gotten turned on by another guy before,” he said, his voice shaking: “But that was—you were—really fucking hot.”

“Are we going to do this?” I asked him, surprised to find myself looking forward to it, my pulse racing and my mouth watering.

“I don’t know,” He grinned, an arrogant, teasing look in his eyes. “You tell me, faggot,” there was a challenge in his eyes. Something hopeful, but simultaneously doubtful. Like me, he was probably having trouble with the unprecedented question of whether our previously certain sexualities had, perhaps, a little more fluidity to them than we’d realised.

For Allison, the word ‘faggot’ was role-play; a delicious, degrading head-fuck. For me, in that moment, it felt more like a deflection. A defense against difficult questions. I want this. Why do I want this? It’s so much simpler to just play it off as a joke. At least for now. I raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Careful there. You’re going to be choking down my cock, soon enough,” I warned. His pupils dilated radically as soon as the words were out of my mouth. What was that? Fear? Excitement?

“Oh fuck!” Allison gasped. We both looked over at her. She was on her knees, rocking back on her haunches with her legs spread open obscenely...her hand still working frantically under her belt and skirt...pawing away breathlessly at her—almost undoubtedly—sopping wet cunt. “Do it,” She growled, practically rabid with lust, her voice gravelly and harsh. My eyes moved back to his. He smiled nervously.

“My name’s Greg, by the way,” he said. “I feel like, if you’re going to have my dick in your mouth and,” his voice caught in his throat and he coughed, looking away, almost shyly: “I’ll be taking yours in mine, we should at least know each other’s names.” We shared an awkward laugh.

“Daniel.” I reciprocated.

“God,” Allison groaned, her patience wearing thin. “Trade sweet nothings, letter-jackets and class-pins on your own time, ladies,” She sneered sarcastically. I rolled my eyes in Greg’s direction, eliciting a nervous, conspiratorial laugh. Now or never.

In a single, fluid motion, I slid my hands onto Greg’s knees and pressed forward, taking the head of his rigid cock in my mouth. I pushed down on it as far as I could, until I gagged a little. I wasn’t ready for the sensation, and my eyes stung and began to water. My sinuses responded angrily to the provocative assault on my tonsils, and my stomach churned. For some reason, I wanted to make it good. I wanted to impress them.

“Oh fuck yes,” Allison growled. “Suck his fat fucking dick, you slutty little bitch,” I complied eagerly, jacking his shaft as I took the head in my mouth, pulling his foreskin right back and slowly running my tongue around the length of the gap between the bottom of the head and the top of the shaft.

“Ohh!” Greg gasped “Fuck me!” Smirking, I pulled away.

“Maybe later. A bit busy right now,” I quipped, self-satisfied, fixing him with a tauntingly raised eyebrow and superior smirk. I pushed back down again, gagging, but this time holding the head of his cock in the back of my throat, I felt more tears welling up in my eyes, and my throat convulsed again and again as I ignored the intense, reflexive desire to pull back. I managed to hold still for about fifteen seconds before I couldn’t take it anymore, an enormous amount of saliva spilling from my mouth and coating his shaft.

“That was really good,” He hissed out. I was surprised to feel my face reddening at the compliment.

“Thanks,” I coughed. I continued to suck and stroke him, and began to alternate between sucking the head and licking up and down the sides. Almost without thinking, I moved a hand to cup his balls, copying Allison’s previous maneuver, and sliding my hand further under. The skin of his perineum was taught, and, almost of its own accord, seemed to slide my finger along to the cusp of his asshole. The tight pucker was still wet and slippery and hot from Allison’s ministrations.

His breathing was shallow as I gently circled my finger around his hole; his mouth hung slightly open and his eyes narrowed to thin, desperate slits. The feeling of power and control I felt as I slid a single finger slowly into that grippy, elastic cleft, was intoxicating.

I found myself staring up at him, watching his expression change, his mouth open wider, and his eyes clench tightly shut. I watched as his balled fists clutched at the fabric of the couch. As the sensations intensified, he croaked out a series of muted little gasps of pleasure. I could feel his legs begin to shake as I slipped my mouth over the head, using my free hand to jack him off as I sucked his steel-hard shaft and fingered his asshole.

“God,” I heard Allison gasp, her voice hollow and desperate, accompanied by rhythmic, wet slaps as Allison forced three fingers into her soaked pussy, her palm mashing against her clit. “You dirty whore,” She panted out: “look at you sucking that dick, and fingering that ass. It can’t be your first time. You’re doing such a fucking great job, you filthy little faggot slut,” She gasped, her eyes squeezing involuntarily shut. “Oh slut boyfriend is sucking off a hot stud right in front of me!”

“His mouth feels fucking great,” Greg told her. “You should be...fuck...proud,”

“I am,” She whimpered. “I’m so proud of my cock-sucking whore,” She forced her eyes open, desperate to see what was happening. “Fuck, you two. I’m so...fucking...close for you!” We were both listening to her, and watching her as I continued to worship Greg’s thick shaft, and finger-fuck his tight little ass.

Suddenly, Allison’s body seemed to seize up, and she threw her head back, letting loose a tortured cry of intense release. Breathing hard, she slumped forward. Watching her, Greg's cock throbbed desperately. I doubted he'd hold on any longer. As if confirming this, I felt his asshole clench again and again around my probing finger, his muscles reacting unpredictably to the onset of what I expected to be an enormous orgasm. His hips jerked upwards, trying to push his cock further down my throat. In my peripheral vision, I could see Allison slowly getting to her feet.

"Pull out," Allison demanded, her voice urgent, but hoarse from exertion. “I want to see you cum all over that pretty little face of his.” I felt my cock throb, hearing her words, and let go of Greg so that he could get to his feet. I left my other hand buried in his underwear; a single finger nestled in his tight asshole as he did so. He stood shaky, desperately tugging at himself, his eyes burning into mine.

“Was that good, Greg?” I teased. He nodded vehemently, his eyes glazed with lust. “I bet it was.” I said, still slipping my finger in and out of his ass. “Pretty fuckin’ gay, dude,” I jokingly admonished, shaking my head, my eyes teasing him as I looked up, crouched on my haunches, waiting for him to cum.

“Look who’s talking,” he growled out. “What’d you like better, slut? Was it having your mouth full of cock, or my asshole clenching around your finger?”

“Well you do have a nice, tight ass. Plus, it’s all smooth and hairless, so it’s easier to imagine it’s a girls’.” It was a lie, of course. For some reason, the wrongness of it, and the strangeness, not to mention our playful antipathy, had my cock throbbing like crazy.

I had to admit, though, that I wasn’t turned off by the lean, hairless musculature of his absolutely, unquestionably masculine body. Not at all, strangely enough. I allowed myself a quiet little smirk, promising myself that I’d revisit these thoughts and feelings again, later, when there wasn’t a sadistic, lust-drunk nymph dressed in painfully alluring club-clothes to satisfy, just begging to get bent in every way a person can bend and fucked in every one of her tight, young, holes.

I pressed another finger to the pucker of Greg’s asshole, rightly assuming that it would be enough to push him that last leg of the journey. Grabbing at the top of my head to steady himself, he let out a sharp cry, his legs shaking and his asshole clenching impossibly tightly around my finger, and he exploded in orgasm, thick, hot cum splashing my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, enjoying the feel of it on my skin, but mostly just enjoying the knowledge that I was the one who had made it happen. Somehow, there was something intensely satisfying—and hugely arousing—about that knowledge.

Greg fell back on the couch, exhausted, but unable to stop staring at me. He had a quiet, confused smile on his face. The smile morphed into a look of confusion and then a look of predatory, intensely aroused fixation as I began to, smiling mischievously, scoop the rapidly cooling fluid off my cheeks, lips, a little off one eyelash, and some off of my nose. With curious fascination, I began to lick it off my fingers. I immediately realised that I hated the texture, and that the taste was almost enough to make me retch. But the look of involuntary, horrified arousal on Greg’s face made the pretense worth it.

“I wish I was video-taping this,” Allison whispered reverently, as if she was observing some kind of strange religious ceremony.

“Let’s not go there,” Greg muttered, still in a state of post-coital shock.

“Oh, you’ll go there if I tell you to go there.” She countered with a lascivious grin. “But right now, I’ve got more important things on my agenda.” Quickly wriggling out of her skirt, and expertly freeing the ties that held her backless top in place, Allison let the garments fall to the ground, kicking them away, and suddenly standing before us in nothing more than the wide white belt, and her just-above-the-knee-high leather boots.

The effect was beyond pornographic: while the belt accented the curves of her hourglass figure and, from behind, rested on the downward slope of her impossibly full, round, and firm ass, the boots drew attention to her irresistibly firm and exquisitely sculpted thighs.

The boots, to me, called to mind images of Allison, with Greg’s muscular body pressed down on top of her. I imagined her flexible thighs spread wide to allow her to wrap her legs around him, leaving her wet, needy cunt spread and exposed for his aching, yearning cock. I saw those boots digging into his back, forcing him to fuck her deeper and harder.

I breathed in sharply as I imagined her fucking herself on his cock, using the heels of her boots for purchase, grinding her tight little cunt up and down his thick cock, and her sculpted, curvaceous body sliding, grinding, spasming, and shaking against him. Her clit would be crushed up against his perfectly hairless, perfectly formed pelvic bone, and her cries of pleasure would be shameless and depraved. I shook with anticipation, knowing what was coming.

“Fuck,” I groaned as Allison, a wry smirk on her face, turned around for us, bending over with her legs perfectly straight, her pristine, virgin asshole and wet, pink slit—moist and slippery from her last orgasm, as well as the anticipation of her next—peeking out tantalizingly.

I was beyond shocked...even more now than before. Typically, Allison was a ‘lights out’ kind of girl. It was something that had always irritated me—which she knew—but never really seemed to care to work on. But here she was...naked except for deliciously accentuating accessories. She was a walking temptation, flaunting her delectable holes, fully aware that, not long from now, her two apparent playthings would snap, in exactly the way she wanted them to, and fill those utterly willing orifices full of hard cock, and thick, hot, cum. Involuntarily, a deep, animalistic growl welled up in the back of my throat.

"What do you want to do?" Greg asked. I noticed that his breathing had become labored, and his voice strained. His face was a grimace...a primal mask of tortured lust. While he clearly wasn’t hard again, yet...he was looking at her like a lion looks at a gazelle.

“What do you want to do?” I taunted. “Do you want to fuck my girlfriend, Greg?” Greg growled, his breath catching. “That’s why you let me suck you off, right? Why you let another guy fuck your ass with his fingers? To make sure you didn’t miss out on your chance with her? She wanted you to be arrogant, man. She wanted you to be the kind of guy who used women and then threw them away without thinking. She wanted you to use her any way you wanted. You think you’re up to it?“ He nodded emphatically. Greg’s breaths were coming in short, rasping bursts, now. His eyes flickered back to me momentarily.

“Don’t make yourself cum, okay?” He muttered.

“Why not?” I smirked knowingly.

“Don’t be a smartass. I don’t like guys—not like that—but, just let me do it, okay?” He seemed conflicted. He was clearly desperate for Allison, but he seemed to need me to answer him in the affirmative first.

“Okay. I’ll wait.” I agreed. Retrieving one of the tumblers of—now warm and stratified—vodka and orange juice from the side table, I sat down in the wide, slightly tattered armchair nestled against the wall adjacent to the wall occupied by the couch. I was ready for the show.

TBC in Allison (Part 2): Greg

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