At its peak, I imagined that my fantasy night would feature me and eight or ten women. I had candidates. Most of them, I’d been with before, but there were a few who would be new to me. There was Rose, Isabel, the Rockette, Tamora, and Sadie, among women about whom you could have read here. There were others: Blondie, my second SnapChat correspondent (after Emily) and Cricket, a very submissive woman I met through Tinder. There was Chloe, another Tinder woman who sends me scorching photos, but whom I haven’t yet met. There were a few who haven’t yet earned names with me – women whom I hadn’t met, but who were intrigued, who wanted to meet me first, and thought they might join. (There were at least three of these.)
As the moment approached, it became clear that most were falling away – or hadn’t been all that serious in the first place. Rose – who had been the instigator and intended host of the event – broke her rib and canceled her trip to my city. Tamora found herself unable to contemplate participating in the “sea of women” she had once enthused about. Sadie came under the ownership of a Dom. Cricket had a health situation. Blondie wanted to meet me, but alone. Chloe wasn’t willing to make the trip and was intimidated and scared.
When the dust settled, it was Isabel and the Rockette who were waiting for me at the bar on the appointed evening, each looking smoking hot in a black dress and black heels. In retrospect, I don’t know why I didn’t think of a threesome with the two of them sooner. They’re similar in many ways, different in a few. Visually, though, they’re a perfect pair: the Rockette is a stunning blonde, Isabel, a stunning brunette. Each is tall, slender, with ample, round C- or small D-cup (I’m guessing – they’ll tell me if I’m right) breasts. The Rockette is dappled with freckles. Isabel is strikingly pale.
As I approached the bar, I saw Isabel at one end, the Rockette at the other. Between them sat a 60-something couple from Florida. I approached Isabel from behind and whispered, “Don’t you think you should introduce yourself to the Rockette?” She blushed and walked herself over to the Rockette. I was thanking my fucking lucky stars that on this evening – this evening on which I might have been crestfallen at the utter dissolution of my fantasy – my downside, my fallback, was an evening of licking and sucking with these two beautiful women.
Isabel and the Rockette took themselves away from the bar, to a more private table. I settled up the tab with the bartender, and brought another round for me and Isabel. (Isabel, you may recall, drinks Jameson. The Rockette was drinking a rioja. I was drinking my third Johnnie Walker Black of the evening.) Isabel and the Rockette seemed to be getting along famously, these two lovely, lovely women with me in common. It seems the thing they had most in common was utter relief that it was just the two of them with me and not, as I had told them might happen, five or six others.
Some preliminaries were out of the way: the Rockette had a cold – full disclosure made. Each was uncertain about whether she would participate in sex with the other. I slipped and let out the Rockette’s real first name. She was mortified. I continued to use it all night long. It was a problem. Somewhere along the line, we agreed to use “Jane,” it being simpler to say, and lending itself more to commands, than “Rockette” or something she proposed (but I can’t remember) that had four or five syllables. But I kept slipping. We told our “how we met” stories – Isabel, about how I left her waiting in the cold outside a snooty pub; the Rockette (Jane, for the evening) about how I told her to be silent but then asked her lots of questions. And Isabel was mortified at the attention of the Florida couple at the bar. What were they saying about us? What did they think? She was terrified about the possibility of encountering them in the elevator.
My exhibitionism is in stark contrast to both women’s shyness, but to Isabel’s, in particular. It’s kinda hot.
Anyway – the Rockette was instructed to go to the room, to place her hands against the wall, and to wait, her ass to us as we walked in. Isabel would join her and do the same. But Isabel – nervous, and guzzling Jameson to steel herself – asked me to accompany her, which I did. When we walked in, we found the Rockette looking out the window, hands nowhere near the wall. She disregards instructions, and chafes at punishment. Which totally negates my form of “dominance.” Maybe she wants to be “taken in hand”? To be subdued? I’m not sure. It’s not my thing. I simply want her to do as I say. But often she doesn’t. No worries: she’s sexy, and fun in bed. We have some tension over the issue but, in the end, I like the taste of her pussy, the feeling of her mouth, and the way she looks, not to mention the quality of our interactions. So we keep at it.
I experimented with different configurations of them. Kissing one while I had the other, on her knees, tease my cock through my pants. Then, the other way ‘round. Kissing both. Having both tease my cock. I had them undress one another and, notwithstanding earlier protestations of Kinsey 0-ness, they were kissing and touching one another’s pretty breasts as I lay, watching, on the bed. Was it for me? I don’t think so. I think they were genuinely into one another. I summoned them to me. I had the Rockette blindfold Isabel, to soothe Isabel’s nerves. Then, I had her remove my clothes. Which she did, with a flourish, tossing each item of clothing dramatically across the room. We were all naked, Isabel, blindfolded. I dove into the Rockette’s cunt, lapping it up, which I teased Isabel’s thighs. The two women resumed kissing, and touching one another.
The Rockette is never quick to come, but this evening, she was tough. It was nearly three hours after we started, a not insignificant portion of which featured me, or Isabel, or both of us, lapping at her clit, fingering her, or both, that she finally came. HARD. I’m confident that she would have woken the neighbors*, had the neighbors been sleeping.
Isabel, who usually finds orgasms a bit more easily, had cautioned me, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to come.” Her nerves were definitely in the house. And she didn’t. She too was the recipient of copious attention though, in retrospect, I think the Rockette got a bit more. It’s, alas, not ever possible to be perfectly fair and she did get a bit more time with my cock in her mouth, so I suppose it all evens out.
My own orgasm was anticlimactic. You may recall that I have nearly infinite stamina and pretty perfect control. Well, before I had the chance to come of my own volition, the evening was brought to an end by illness. Isabel wasn’t feeling so good and it seemed we had to get her home, and stat. The Rockette dutifully sucked my cock, hard, for about a minute, and I stroked myself to finish on her face, in her hair, and on her breasts, as Isabel got dressed.
The good news is, it’s not all about the orgasm – at all – for me. I had a fucking phenomenal time, and can’t wait to do it again.
Maybe with eight women, next time.
* The “neighbors,” incidentally, I’m almost certain were an escort and her clients. When I arrived on the hall to check in, a burly man with a walkie-talkie – not associated with the hotel – stood outside the room and asked me, “You here for Room 420?” He was bringing his walkie-talkie to his mouth, as if to announce my arrival, when I said, “No – 418.” “Oh,” he said, and moved out of my way.