Tempestuous Trio

Lowell held his breath so the trembling leaves wouldn’t give him away. Orchid had fled—leaving him embarrassed in the middle of the road—but he also knew how hurt she was. There was only one place she would go when she was in such pain. With the sun sinking below the horizon, there were enough shadows to make him more cautious on the slope than usual.

They hadn’t heard him approach.

He’d watched as his wife threw herself at a man Lowell himself would have liked to embrace. He was more than happy to see his old friend, relieved and excited.

Very excited. As Orchid captured Clint’s mouth, Lowell’s cock jerked. His balls pulsed while he watched her race her hands over their friend’s body. Suddenly, his dungarees seemed too confining, and, as Orchid released Clint’s buttons, so, too, did Lowell release his own.

Clint bore Orchid to the ground and wrestled with her bodice until her breasts sprang free. She had beautiful breasts, small enough to fit in a man’s palm—or his mouth, which her lover did almost immediately. Lowell gritted his teeth against a groan, as he watched his friend’s lips close around his wife’s nipple, cheeks moving with the force of his suction.

Raw lust pounded through Lowell’s cock as his wife writhed. He couldn’t see what was happening under her skirt and too much material was in the way to get a decent idea, but he imagined Clint’s big cock running over Orchid’s folds, sliding in the honey pouring from her body. He knew how hot she was, how tight and eager and sensitive—and he’d neglected her needs because of his own pride. He’d wanted his wife to want him, without the burden of being compared to a man she hadn’t even had.

But watching the couple before him brought an inflexible truth to Lowell’s heart. Orchid needed Clint—and maybe Lowell needed him around, too. Watching them was beyond exciting, and he’d gripped his cock before he knew it, stroking as the pair writhed, mentally picturing all the intimate things he couldn’t see. In that moment, Lowell knew the three of them were supposed to be together—he just had no idea how to make the other two realize it.

So he waited. Crouched behind a bush, palming his own dick while his best friend took his wife, Lowell bit his lip and let the couple see what could build between them. He gasped when they did, so attuned to their bodies even at that distance that his skin rippled and flinched every time one of their hands petted a new place. His fingers tightened every time Clint licked Orchid’s nipple.

Lowell wanted to do that. He wanted to hold his wife’s arms high above her head and feast on her breasts while the other man rammed his thick cock into her pussy. He wanted to be there with them, with a front-row seat, watching as Clint pushed in so deep that Orchid lost her ability to make any sound at all, until his dick filled her completely, with rivers of cum flowing from her pussy to coat her thighs.

Then Lowell would move between her spread legs and sink into the hot mess Clint had left behind, and he’d make his wife scream with pleasure just as she was getting her breath back.

Through his fantasies, Lowell saw the moment that Clint finally entered Orchid’s body. She stilled for a moment—a rolling undulation halted at its peak. Her head jerked, tipping back until her crown was pressing into the dirt, and Clint lunged forward. Orchid shook.

So did Lowell. Gripping his shaft, he rotated his thumb over the tingling head, feeling the callouses on his hand in a whole new way. He remembered how soft Orchid’s pussy was, remembered how it clenched down on a man and wrung him out, how her juices flowed so readily between them, slicking his dick so that every drive deeper into her body was effortless and smooth. Nothing but pleasure.

Clint surged and Orchid rose. Lowell stroked faster and faster. He tried to keep their time, but his anticipation was too great, his excitement too overwhelming. Pulling and tugging his own flesh, his balls hammering, gritting his teeth and swallowing his own grunt of pleasure, Lowell released into the screening bushes.

His wife and her lover were too wrapped up in their own climaxes to heed him. Struggling to find breath, fighting for the coordination to fasten his clothes, Lowell left the riverbank on shaky legs, determined to be well away from that spot when the pair came back to themselves.