A lovely little 22yo lady in a little brick house on the Oklahoma-Texas line, happily afianced, enjoying the finer things in life her sex appeal can buy her.
The unhappily married 28yo brother of Fluff's fiance, dishing out finally what has been thrown at him
Fluff's Current Mood:
All you Christian devout-Catholic types out there, be prepared to damn me to Hell. Hell, I will probably even meet you there! Condemning people just because their sexual orientation? What happened to "Love thy neighbor"? You Christians allowing an unconstitutional constitution-amendment to pass?!?!?!
But, in all honesty, that is not what this post is about. This post is about Fluff getting fluffed. After the proposal, I had a mini-bachelorette party (let us face it, I will not ever have a true night-long bachelorette party - my fiance is too conservative and anti-social to ever have a bachelor party, thus out of fairness, I will not ever force him to it nor will I ever enjoy the night before our wedding with my girls watching men strip [not to mention I don't get off looking at men strip; unless they are flexing and all oiled up and I can grab their muscle...]). My mini-bachelorette party was also my mini-engagement party. But then again, it really was not a party; it was just me and my best friend--and his roommate.
It was a warm night, late last August. I had been proposed to the day before and had some time to kill while my boyfriend worked. I had planned on staying over at my friend's place for a few weeks; I loved him like a brother and my boyfriend trusted me around him. It was a single night set aside for catching up on life; we had both become entangled in work and our worrisome lovelives, both of which took up a fair chunk of our time. We set this night aside for a movie we had both been looking forward to seeing and my home cooking. His roommate, temporary through troubles with his wife, had an evening full of beer drinking planned with some of his buddies down at the bar; I and my friend appeared to have the perfect evening to ourselves.
As was customary for us, being the obsessives of the movie series we were to see, we dressed up, or in my case, dressed down. It was a movie in which my favorite character was the sexy courtesan heroine; his was the character more associated with a lazy bum (someone as classy as him? it is a shock!). GreyGoose in hand, we hit play, snuggled close on the couch. Ten minutes into the movie, his roommate huffs through the door; there would be no drinks at the bar tonight, it is always wise not to ask why.
Movie night ruined? No, we had planned and sacrificed too much time already. His roommate grabbed a beer (the brand I cannot remember) and gingerly sat next to me on the couch; he had always preferred to be away on these nights, claiming the insanity level rose tenfold. My chiffon top showed easily my barely fitting, but gorgeous and low silk nighty corset-style top, which made him uncomfortable, but not aroused-uncomfortable. No, that came from the fact I was only clad in a matching thong, matching chiffon skirt, a pair of stockings and heels with ankle-strap ties that snaked up to my knees.
Shockingly, none of this bothered me. I, the normally shy-innocent type, was rather wet at the idea of being so exposed to my close friend's cute, but married, friend and roommate. Was it the vodka? At the time, I did not care.
As it turns out, my close friend and I had a silly thing going on that night; being the courtesan, I was required to do as he said or risk punishment. This changed not in the least with his roommate stiffly lounging about. So much so I was barked at by my friend for not serving a fresh beer to his roommate.
After a few beers on his part and a few shots of chilled Goose on mine, we were quite relaxed and all hands and eyes were on me each time someone needed a drink. Then, almost suddenly, one hand followed me to my seat, claiming the chiffon top as spoils. A little after that, the skirt went. Then the corset-like nighty top. It was rather warm in the room, leaving no excuse for my quite nice erect nipples. Yes, I was drunk and quite turned on.
Quick aside: just because a person is drunk does not mean s/he will not remember things; memory only blurs in patches.
The temptation was too great for my poor friend's roommate--he had to have a taste. However, since he is not a "tit-man", his attention moments before were on my stocking covered legs and my bare thighs. I never knew how erotic it could be to have a forbidden man running his fingers lightly up and down my thigh.
My friend, in his infinite wisdom, had moved to a chair across from the couch to watch with a secretive smile.
The roommate, with the assistance of the alcohol, became brave enough to allow his fingers to roam farther onto my inner thigh, lightly tracing the nylons' upper decorative lacing while he leaned back and watched with glazed eyes my whimpering, my need growing. Yes, he was a devil to the very core. My release came minutes later when he, in a hypnotized state, yearned to hear more intense whimpering spill from my throat. What he got instead was something sweeter to the male ear.
Yes, you Christain-to-the-core readers, I was finger-fucked by a married man. But it gets more damnable, if you care to continue reading. My friend, upon seeing me splayed out on the couch, wearing simply stockings and heels (the chiffon skirt and the thong disappeared sometime in there), called his roommate to the kitchen for a quick meeting. I thought, in my mush-minded state, that the roommate was getting a long talking-to on account of being married and fooling around. Apparently not. Upon their return, I was taken up by my friend and sat somewhat properly between the two, propped up on pillows. They both had hands everywhere with my consent.
Quick aside: the only drunk who does not comprehend what s/he is doing is a passed out drunk
I was in ecstacy, having them take turns kissing me and then double-team attacking my very tender breasts. Fellow women, I urge you, if you ever find yourself alone with two very sensual men, allow yourself this pleasure; you will not regret it. Of course, along with the hands and mouths, orgasms are inevitable. I very nearly blacked out, I know that for sure, but I enjoyed every moment of it.
Recovery time came next. The friend sat me on his lap and allowed me respite from the roommate's firey fingers. As soon as I was comprehending more than a few words, I was ordered to my knees for "our guest", the roommate. I looked questioningly to my charge as I slid to my knees in front of him. The happy content look on his face was enough to get me squirming again.
Let me admit I am a cockwhore; I enjoy sucking down a nice piece of rigid manmeat. And the roommate's is not the only one I had my mouth on that night. My friend, while watching, was getting more and more visibly turned on. So much so, that his roommate suggested I help him out too. I could not refuse, especially with the vodka coursing my veins.
It was exquisite. It was deliciously exciting and fun. So exquisit and exciting that here and now is when the memory blurs. I know what happened, but the order of events does not come to mind.
And, those of you who would condemn me, if you happen to still be reading, you will, with most probability, faint or jump from the computer screen with this next revelation. One of my fantasies of a threesome with two men, one pounding into me as I swallowed another. A few other fantasies were taken care of as well, leaving me one happy, yet still worked up Fluff.
And they say doing something will get it out of the system, drain the body and mind of those urges. I have to say it will be a long time and a lot of "doing something" to get those thoughts and fantasies out of my system.
And after all was said and done with, I had roommate's juices in my stomach and mine all over his face, fingers, and cock (of which I lapped up). He wound up heading out the door (where to I have no clue) but he left content and reluctant. My friend, however, was refusing to let me out the door. I was in no condition to drive, not including my GreyGoose intake (though small as it was). I managed to make it to the bed and crawl up (being a small Fluff, I have to climb to get onto his massive king-size four poster). The friend climbed up and snuggled close and whispered in my ear about how he had not yet fucked me missionary. Right now, if any of you do-gooder Christians are still reading, you can pass on some saving grace, this Fluff is still rather normal and nice and good--if you don't count the fact I was fucking my friend and his roommate the night after becoming engaged to my three-year boyfriend.
And that, my Puffs, is the night Fluff got fluffed. Another night like that has not happened since, but I still hold out hope!
Posted at 11/10/2005 11:00:24 pm by Fluff