How I Kissed Concern

It was natural, the way they fit, fingers slipping between fingers, laced and held, between my hip and hers. I wondered at the space between us, how the curved indent of my waist must mirror the curved indent of her waist, and above, the swell of her breast echoed by the swell of mine. And back and forth, and back and forth.

There were differences, of course. Pretty eyes, full lips. Short hair, long hair. Natural, shaved. Painted, pink. We had our differences. And also our similarities; a lack of flatness where our stomachs were, a paleness of skin, a silken touch, a youthfulness that time had yet to line.

I liked our view. I liked to look down at our bodies, breasts rising and falling, the convex of our stomachs, the valleys between our legs, the toes that moved with uncontainable excitement, showing pleasure in our extremities. I liked to see the shivers run across her body, and feel them in mine. I liked her body and it’s frank honesty and it’s refusal to be anything other than what it was. And I liked how she wore it, owned it, let it be her, and yet was not defined by it. I liked to see the pink of her hard nipple and know, without touching, that I knew how it tasted, how it felt.

But as our hands met, in the middle – both reached for, both reaching – there was something else. Companionship, comradeship. What no one says about a trio of lovers is that if you can look at one body and recognise how it is like yours, you’re in it together. There’s beauty in being a woman, lain beside a woman, not afraid because you aren’t alone.

And there is beauty in being two women, half the age of the man who stands over you, feeling vicariously through him, his luck. It is terribly self-important of course to look at your lover and consider him lucky, but I reveled in it.

“Look at you two…” He stroked his cock as he looked us over, and I squeezed her hand. Everyone wants to feel special. Everyone wants to be a fantasy. No luxury could be greater than lying on clean sheets, heady with the realisation of your momentary, lustful importance, your presence so appreciated and desired.

“Spank us…” She half whispered. My body came alive. Where I had been lying in slothful decadence I felt every fibre of my being reach to move and position itself, ready for his stinging touch.

His eyes lit up, and he nodded, eyes heavy with lust. “All fours; facing each other.”

I looked into her face as she received the first blow. From her pink lips came the pleasured moan I had grown to recognise over the past two hours. He spanked her, and I heard every stroke in my flesh. The anticipation made me ripe and as he moved around to deal with me, I kissed her lips, plucked them with my teeth. His hand rested upon my ass and I felt every tiny, invisible hair on my body bristle. And he hit me. And again and again and again, and I felt my whimpers so uncontrollable, and looked into her eyes. There was lust there, and a hint of concern that made me kiss her again.

And every beating only hungered me more.