It is easy to disappear when there are two penises entering you. This is what I like most about the double entry. As long as the smaller one is in the back and the larger one is in front there is barely any physical discomfort. It is easy to become a conduit, bringing the two men together, feeling them touch through the delicate membrane of my skin. There is no pressure for me to perform. The men perform for each other. I am free to watch them find each other's mouths over the tiny obstruction of my shoulder. When their tongues lap hungrily at each other I am there to watch. I join the kiss only so that my tongue can see like a snail's probing feeler, sticky eye. I see them exploring the wet cavities of each other's mouths. I feel their cocks butt up against each other. I feel them change their rhythms so that their thrusting is synchronised.
They suck my breast, two tongues each eager to prove that they are more desirous of my flesh. It is a competitive consumption of my body, their wrestling for position is half tooth and nail.
Richard is triumphant in the battle because he is privileged enough to have my anus. The grip is tighter. The position is dripping with fascination for the other lover who must content himself with a more conventional entry. I feel the new lover reach around with his extraordinarily long arm just to check that Richard really has found an entry into my bowels. I feel him stroke the sensitive muscle with his fingertips, slipping on lubricant, forming a perfect O around my partner's penis. The extra pressure is too much for him. We feel the pulsing start, the two of us, this new lover and myself. We feel the uncontrollable spasms of his hips as he relinquishes any thought of gentleness and pumps hard, forcing himself into me in a jerking rhythm.
I see the man beneath me thrust his head backwards exposing his throat. He is about to come too. I try to lift myself off him, he is too big for me. I attempt a subtle retreat, but Richard is still collapsed on my back, his hips twitching in an echo of his orgasm. The boy bucks forward and it hurts, but it is also pleasurable which is a surprise. He thrusts high and hard against the shrinking swell of Richard's penis. I am flushed with the effort of taking him in.
I feel the pumping of it stretching me and I press my thumb against my clitoris, scratch it back and forth. I want to come. When there is a new lover in my bed I never come. I save it up for later when Richard and I are alone and have more time to recount the events of the previous encounter finding pleasure in reflected glory. But this is my prize, the boy who makes me spill milk, drop cups, fumble cakes into customers laps. This is that boy and he is hurting me in his uncontrollable pleasure and I climb with him. Richard is still inside me and the contracting must hurt him because he winces, eases himself away.
When we are done he holds the base of our lover's penis, keeping the condom on while he withdraws. He peels it off the man and feels the length of it all slippery with sperm. He slips his lips over it and tastes. This is against the rules of course, but I watch him do it, feel the prickle of arousal begin anew. We could go again, the three of us. The possibility of this is in the air. We lick the taste of each other off our skin, gently. There is time. It is barely dark. There is time for tea, or wine or perhaps some conversation, although when I see their mouths meet, teeth clinking awkwardly off each other, sharing the taste of our lover's sperm, I feel my stomach lurch and I am not so sure there will be time enough for chatter.