I chose her. Maybe via her profile online, or at that coffee shop on the corner where I was lingering too long one day. Was she blond? Or perhaps brunette? I, of course, found her very attractive. As did you, when I introduced the two of you. I could see the immediate physical reaction in your eyes, which pleased me. You knew why you were meeting her. I had chosen her because I anticipated that she would excite you, that she would fill the role I had written, had desired, for the two of us. And her.
We would take her home, you and I, after our short meet and everyone's consent to proceed openly stated. I would take that chilled bottle of wine out of the fridge and pour us each a glass and settle myself in the chair across from the bed. Maybe I flipped the music on. Or maybe I didn't, wanting to hear everything, hear all of the sounds as clearly as I could see.
I would watch you. Watch you undress her. Slide your hand up under her skirt and turn her around before unzipping it loose, letting me see you fondle her ass. Watch you push her down, one hand on her back, on the bed and sliding that skirt along with her panties over her hips and down her legs. I saw you run your fingers back along the inside of her thighs, lightly, all the way up. You looked at me and you could tell that I was already aroused, could see that my hand had already pushed my own skirt up to the top of my thigh, which I had slung over the arm of the chair. You could see that my hand was already wandering in between my own thighs, almost tickling my sex.
What did you do with her? And she with you? So many things, the ones we had discussed. I watched the two of you becoming slicker as the minutes went by, with excitement and sweat, rubbing each other hot. This was the one time I was quiet - I drew those groans and whines and cries into me, watching your pleasure. I absorbed them and let them become mine. I dripped with that pleasure onto my hands, feeling my juice as I ran my fingers in and out of my pussy. And each time you glanced at me it felt as if our eyes could never bore deeper into each other than they were now.
I thanked her. You escorted her out. When you came back in to the room, the sweat was still drying on you. And the wetness was still building in me; I had stretched myself on the bed, laying myself where you and she had just been. I had watched you with her, and it excited me so very much. Seeing you physically pleasured had pleasured me, but now you would help me have mine. You laid yourself nearly on top of me and drew your hand across the insides of my thighs now, drawing ever nearer to my swollen cunt. That first finger you slid into me made me shiver, and you slid it in and out ever so slowly. Then you added a second, still going slow. And then you turned them, twisted them upward and started sliding over my g-spot and flicking my clit with your thumb. Your massaging became more insistent; you were still thirsting for me to blow my own, to drench us both. Ever so hungry, you kept at it until you drew my orgasm from me, pulling it from me as I knew you would. I always knew you would.
