Recently I had a dream where I had a threesome with an orchestra conductor (a woman) and another man. It’ll eventually turn into one of the holiday stories, but I don’t know which one yet. Still, it’s 1830 words of sex, and it couldn’t hurt to share some of them here.
I rolled onto my back. “Get up here, Jennifer.”
Another loud, long sigh, but she sat up and knee-walked her way across the king-sized bed — we needed space for three, since there were that many of us more often than not — while still holding her violin and bow in her left hand. She looked down at me. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll be all right.”
“I know. But I want to.”
Jennifer offered me an indulgent smile before straddling my face and lowering herself to my mouth. She was facing away from the headboard, and her thick, full backside blocked my view of everything, but I didn’t care; I felt her soft, dark pubic hair brush my lips, and then I filled myself with her scent and her taste. My arms came up and went around her thighs, pulling her in closer; it was hard to breathe, being smothered like this, but at the same time it brought me to almost brutal hardness, and I felt my cock pressing insistently at the front of my shorts.
Not that I paid much attention to it. I was too busy tasting my love, my lover, my tongue fucking her and then flicking over her clit. She shuddered and, just barely, the sounds muffled by her thighs around my ears, I heard her start to play again.
That was one of the absolute hottest things about Jennifer: when she rode my face and played her violin. Somehow, despite what I was doing to her, she managed to play just as beautifully as when she was fully-focused on what she was doing, and as she rocked back and forth on top of me I dug my fingers into her hips and delighted in every second of our being together.
And then I felt my shorts being pulled down, followed by a tentative touch to my cock. Douglas was still getting used to the idea of being with a man — I was his first — but he seemed to enjoy stroking me, feeling me throb in his hand. He didn’t enjoy going down on me, but that was all right; he did like when I fucked him. And he liked the feel of my cock whenever I touched him with it — his hands, his ass, or even when I knelt between his legs and stroked his with mine. I think it helped that he was bigger than I was — longer, anyway, though not thicker. It made him less self-conscious.
As good as it felt to have his hand working my cock, I was too busy being buried in Jennifer to really give it much thought. The tempo of her playing was increasing, and while I couldn’t hear her breathy little moans I knew they were getting faster and louder too. She was riding my face harder, making it more difficult for me to do anything but hang on and take it, and I loved it. And as Jennifer’s orgasm grew nearer, Douglas stroked harder and faster, his hand hot and tight.
She came suddenly, the music stuttering away as she cried out. I tasted a fresh bloom of wetness between her thighs, but I couldn’t breathe — I was completely covered now, at her mercy, and I held my breath, my head pounding as she ground down on my face. It lasted almost too long, almost so long that I needed to push her away, but just before that happened she slumped down, her body weight on top of me, releasing my head. I gasped for air, every breath full of the scent of her, as she rested her head on my thigh, her body covering mine.
The main part of the dream was the conductor playing a violin while she rode my face, so of course I included that part.