My breath catches as I open the door and see Andreas in the flickering light of the stairwell. He’s taller than I remember, broader in the shoulders, and his smile has that carefree vacation vibe we shared three months ago in Croatia. Beside me stands Tom, my boyfriend, and his hand rests warm on my back—a gesture of reassurance or a reminder of our agreement. I feel my heart hammering against my ribs, and between my legs I’m already getting wet at the thought of what’s supposed to happen tonight.
“Come in,” I say, stepping aside. Andreas enters, his gaze gliding through the hallway, lingering on the photos on the wall—Tom and me last winter, snowy mountains, loving faces. I catch his eye, and for a moment there’s something in his gaze, a sparkle I recognize. It was on the island, in the bar, when we first stood face to face. Tom was in the bathroom, and Andreas and I talked about nothing and everything, and I felt that attraction tingling under my skin. Now, months later, that tingle is supposed to become something much bigger.
The Reunion
We go into the living room. Tom pours wine, red wine, a robust drop from Tuscany. Andreas sits on the sofa, I settle beside him, while Tom chooses the armchair. The conversation drifts—how was the trip back, how’s work, did you get the new job? But beneath the words, something unspoken hums. Tom’s hand trembles slightly as he lifts his glass, and I know he’s just as tense as I am. My pussy is already throbbing, a wet promise under the fabric of my dress, and I can’t stop thinking about Andreas’s hands, how they’ll touch me.
Then, when the glasses are half empty, Tom sets his glass aside and clears his throat. “I’ll go to the kitchen, grab a few more things,” he says, his voice husky. He stands up, throws me a look—a long, searching look that asks: Are you sure? I nod barely perceptibly, but my whole body screams Yes. I want him to watch, want another man to take me while Tom jerks off.
As he leaves the room, a different heaviness settles in the air. Andreas moves closer, his thigh brushing mine. “Your boyfriend seems nervous,” he says softly, his breath warm against my cheek. I smell his scent, musk and salt, and my nipples harden under my bra.
“He’s excited,” I say, my voice sounding strange in my ears. “We’ve talked about it for a long time. Since Croatia.” I swallow, feeling my pussy get even wetter. “He wants to watch. Wants to see you fuck me.”
“And you?” Andreas asks, his hand finding my thigh, fingers tracing circles through the thin fabric of my dress. “Are you ready?” His fingers wander higher, almost brushing my wet cunt, and I tremble.
I close my eyes, letting the touch flow through me. Yes, I’m ready. Ready for what we’ve discussed, what Tom and I have whispered about for nights while he took me and I imagined what it would be like with someone else there. A stranger. A man who desires me without the years of familiarity. Andreas is that fantasy, now flesh and blood. And his cock, which I imagine under his pants, will soon be inside me.
“Yes,” I whisper, and his lips find my neck, just below my ear. I lean back, offering myself. His mouth wanders lower, sucks at the sensitive spot above my collarbone, while my fingers bury themselves in his hair. It’s soft, dark, and smells of salt and cedar. I feel his hot breath on my skin, and a moan escapes me.
The Game Begins
Tom comes back, carrying a tray with olives, bread, and cheese. He sets it on the table, and I see his fingers glide along the edge of the tray before he sinks back into the armchair. His gaze is fixed on us, on Andreas’s hand now wandering under my dress, on my thighs opening. I see the mix of excitement and pure lust in his eyes—and something like envy, but not bitter, sweet, expectant. His hand moves to his crotch, presses against the bulge in his pants.
Andreas kisses me, finally, and his mouth tastes of red wine and salty olives. His tongue finds mine, plays, demands. I almost forget that Tom is watching, but then I hear his breath, faster now, and the awareness of being watched makes me even wetter. I sit up, reach for Andreas’s belt, undo the buckle with trembling fingers. My hands shake with desire.
“Slowly,” he murmurs against my lips, his laugh deep and rough. “We have time.” But I feel his hardness under the fabric, and I want it now.
But I don’t want time. I want to feel him, want Tom to see me take him. I kneel in front of him on the carpet while he sits on the edge of the sofa, and unzip his fly. His cock springs out, hard, swollen, the glans glistening wet. It’s big, at least 8 inches, thick and throbbing. A thick drop of precum runs down the glans, and I lick my lips. I lean forward, take him in my mouth, and his moan is the first confirmation that I’m on the right track. His taste explodes on my tongue—salty, masculine, horny. My head moves up and down, I suck, let my tongue circle the glans, and from the corner of my eye I see Tom, leaning forward, one hand on his crotch. He’s already pulled out his cock, a thick, red shaft, and he strokes it slowly, in time with my movements.
Andreas’s fingers grip my hair, pull gently, guide my pace. “Look at him,” he says softly, and I obey, lifting my gaze while my mouth keeps working. Tom’s face is flushed, his lips slightly parted, and I see the bulge under his pants. He nods at me, a silent permission to continue. His hand moves faster, and I see a drop of precum ooze from his glans. I suck harder on Andreas’s cock, take him deeper into my throat until I gag. But I don’t stop. I want him to come, want to feel his hot cum in my mouth.
Andreas pulls me up, kisses me again, wilder this time, and his hands tear at my dress. It rustles, gives way, and falls to the floor. I stand in my panties, bra, and he looks at me, lets his fingers glide over my breasts, over the curves of my body. His thumb traces my nipple through the thin fabric, and I arch my back, pressing myself against his hand. Tom watches, his hand moving on his cock, his eyes wide and dark. I know he’s close, but he’s holding back, wanting to see more.
Andreas unclasps my bra, and my breasts fall free, heavy and full. He takes one in his mouth, sucks, bites gently, and I gasp. His hand slips into my panties, finds my wet slit, and I’m so slick his fingers slide in easily. He pushes two fingers inside me, and I moan, grinding against his hand. “So wet,” he murmurs against my skin. “So ready for me.”
I pull off my panties, kick them aside, and climb onto his lap. His cock presses against my thigh, hot and insistent. I position myself over him, feel the tip nudging my entrance, and I lower myself slowly, taking him inch by inch. The stretch is exquisite, a burn that melts into pleasure as he fills me completely. I gasp, my hands on his shoulders, and Tom’s breath hitches from across the room. I start to move, riding him, my hips rolling, and Andreas’s hands grip my ass, guiding me.
“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he groans, his head falling back. I look at Tom, his hand a blur on his cock, his eyes locked on where Andreas’s cock disappears inside me. I moan, louder, wanting him to hear every sound, every wet slide. Andreas thrusts up into me, deeper, harder, and I cry out, my cunt clenching around him. Tom’s body tenses, and I see him come, spurts of cum hitting his hand and stomach, his mouth open in a silent cry.
The sight pushes me over the edge. I come, my orgasm crashing through me, waves of pleasure pulling Andreas with me. He groans, thrusts once, twice more, and then I feel his hot cum flooding inside me, pumping deep. I collapse against him, trembling, our bodies slick with sweat. Tom sits back, breathing hard, a dazed smile on his face. Andreas’s arms wrap around me, and I feel his heartbeat against my chest. For a long moment, there’s only the sound of our breathing, the warmth of bodies, the scent of sex and wine.
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