My Holiday Treat, an MMF Threesome.
My first time with two guys includes double penetration.
It was the third time in two hours that he had fucked me. I had never experienced anything like it. It was part wonderful, part ridiculous, part degrading and part very risky. That is, fucking the twenty-one-year-old kid in my marital bed in my home. The kid who cut our grass, the kid on vacation from uni, the kid who came to our house each week and yes, the kid I got far too close to and ended up so close he was in me.
But by God it was amazing.
Not that it started that way because the first time we kissed standing in my kitchen and he touched my D cup boobs it all went wrong. As he rolled my top up and looked at my unfettered by a bra pair of, though I say it myself, natural beauties and I slid my hand into his shorts and grasped his stunningly hard cock, he exploded. His spunk went everywhere, on my hand, up my arm, onto his boxers and into his jeans. There was so much. I had completely forgotten just how much a young guy produces but then being in my forties I had not been with one for over twenty years! I told him to undress and said. "I'll wash them for you."
Naturally he was embarrassed and rather shy as well but in just his tee shirt and with his dick in that slightly ridiculous-looking horizontal position both were understandable. I comforted him and gave him a kiss before putting his clothes in the washing machine, turning it on and saying with a smile. "Well, that should take thirty minutes or so, any idea what we can do to occupy the time?"
He did have an idea and what a good one it was as we had sex twice? As it happens that was during the wash cycle and after it was twice more.
A few weeks and I have lost count how many fucks later, we were in bed. Not the marital one, just in case he came on the sheets or made me squirt, but in a guest room where I wouldn't need to wash the sheets immediately if either happened. We'd done it twice and were enjoying some nice oral sex that I had introduced him to, when I heard footsteps on the stairs. There was hardly time to do anything, let alone get dressed before the bedroom door flew open and there was my husband.
*
It was the holiday that most, if not all divorced women dread. The first one alone. There are many aspects of being a divorcee in your mid to late-forties that are difficult to handle. Family functions, relatives wanting to help by giving advice, people asking embarrassing questions, children seeing 'the bastard ex,' loneliness and missing sex to name just a few. But none match up to that first holiday by yourself. It's characterised by the stares as you go into breakfast and worse, dinner alone, the searching for one sun bed around the pool and lying there bikini clad being ogled by the married men and the day finishing at nine or so after dinner and you being in your room without even your vibrator having been afraid to pack it in case the airport security found it! Also, the other women making sure they stay close to their partners when you're around and of course some of those very partners making eyes at you once they're alone and away from her watchful eyes.
Having said all that, though, we still put ourselves through the traumas of the alone vacation. Why do we do it? Is it worth it? What are we really looking for? I had no answers to all those questions so, just on two years after my then ex had caught me fucking our grass-cutter, I was at this nice five-star hotel on the Algarve, alone.
I had booked for ten days which, in retrospect was probably too long as it was largely a golfer's hotel and as I don't play and have no interest in the game that rather spoiled the atmosphere. That said the facilities were good, the restaurant was lovely and the pools were fabulous.
I hadn't been happy in the marriage for some time. I had found him cheating a couple of times which, in itself was discouraging but was made worse because the frequency of our sex had declined to an unsatisfactory level of probably every other week. Maybe a little ambitiously I put my silly fling with the young man down to that.
I knew that it had nothing to do with my appearance as I was still the busty blonde with glasses that I had been for the past few years. With my dress size being eleven to twelve not having changed for ages and my natural boobs staying at their D cup size where they had been since after my daughter was born some 22 years ago, I knew that I hadn't altered very much. Ok, maybe I had changed with my personality but probably the main reason why our marriage, like many others failed was that we had just grown apart.
Whatever the real reason and whoever was really to blame we separated and after a trial we got divorced that thankfully was and still is reasonably amicable.
I had quite unrealistic thoughts about what it would be like being a divorcee. It was nowhere near the fun I had thought it might be and overall, I was none too pleased with most aspects of my new life including sex. I didn't really enjoy dating where it seemed to me the pair of you faffed around until you felt you knew each other well enough to have sex and then realised you were not that keen on each other after all, so you split. Alternatively, you had a few one-night-stands which were even less satisfying. So, what's a girl left with? Right, her good old friend, her vibrator.
I had been on a holiday with a bunch of girls shortly after the separation and had a couple of long weekends with a pair of friends but had not had a proper beach holiday for any length of time until my Portuguese ten-day venture. Even now, looking back I am not quite sure what prompted me to book it. Perhaps I was testing myself, giving myself a challenge maybe as I knew only too well that it would be tough. And it was. From struggling through the airport, checking in, the near three-hour flight and the first couple of days in the hotel all seemed complicated and embarrassing.
On about the third or more likely fourth of the ten-day holiday I had just about got to grips with things. I had bribed the pool guy to save me a bed tucked away in a corner of the big pool area, I had worked out where to sit for the buffet breakfast and for the served dinner. But I still wasn't relaxed and I certainly didn't feel very comfortable.
A couple of times around the pool and in the restaurant, I had seen two guys together without partners and as maybe most would, I had assumed they were partners and gay. On that fourth night I was seated at a table next to them and they nodded and smiled as we were all finishing and we chatted. They, asked if I was enjoying myself and was it my first visit to the Don Filipa? I told them it was and we got into a where do you come from conversation before they told me they were on a golf holiday but had booked too late to stay with the rest of the group as their smaller hotel was full. They introduced themselves as Mike and Tom and I said.
"Hi, I'm Christina or Chrissy if you prefer."
"So, we're stuck here," Tom the one who looked a little older at I guessed early-fifties said smiling at me as we were presented with our dinner checks as he went on after putting glasses on to check the bill. "You going to the bar Christina?"
"Well no I wasn't."
"Maybe we can persuade you to join us then?"
I agreed and we went to the almost empty bar and the other guy, Mike ordered a bottle of red wine after asking what I would like. We chatted away quite easily and I was enjoying myself and the wine seemed to vanish so quickly. Just after ten they said they had an early start and were going to bed. I walked out with them and we found we were all on the same floor. It felt rather strange and was another example of the holiday alone syndrome to be walking along a hotel corridor with two guys as we went to our rooms. We came to my room first and stood for a moment or two as Tom said, "maybe we'll see you around the pool tomorrow we should be back around three?"
"Well, I'll be there and hope you can get a sun bed, it gets very crowded."
"Anyway, if not perhaps you'll join us for dinner?" one of them said.
"Yes sure, what time?"
"If we miss at the pool let's say eight in the bar, ok?" Mike said leaning forward as we said goodnight and pecking me on the cheek which I thought was a little forward.
Alone in my room, I undressed and sat at the dressing table to remove my make up. As I was doing that, I couldn't help noticing my breasts swaying and wobbling and that my nipples were hardening. 'Why's that? I thought, 'what the fuck's happening?' I asked myself as if with a mind of its own my hand cupped one of my breasts and squeezed it. Staring at myself in the mirror I watched my thumb and forefinger pinch my nipple. I realised, of course, that I was getting aroused and that led to me thinking that I would masturbate. As that thought came into my mind so did images of the two guys. It had been some time since I had been in any male company that could be considered as a pick-up situation and that thought was stimulating my sexual equilibrium.
I considered lying on the bed but seeing the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door I decided I would like to watch myself so I stood before that. "Mmmmm not bad for my age and having had two kids,' I thought looking at my body. Ok, there was a little excess on the hips but no more than a couple or three inches and there was a bit of a mumtum where I hadn't been as strict with myself as I should have been after my second child. But the rest was ok. My legs were shapely, slender and quite long, the butt hadn't fallen at all and the D cup tits were as pert as mounds of that size can be on a woman of my age.
As usual when I need to get myself off, which had become more frequent in the past few months, I started with those. Stroking, cupping and squeezing them I built up my arousal which as always seemed to be trying to burst through my nipples. They were aching so much that I had to pinch them in an effort to relieve some of the pressure and that felt lovely. Still fondling one boob I let my other hand slither downwards until it was firstly stroking and then cupping my bald pubic mound. My fingers slid down a little more to find my clit and my extensive wetness and I stroked around and inside my lips. Lately when masturbating I didn't have a partner in mind as I mostly had in the past. Instead, I simply imagined a mouth sucking my breasts and gently biting my nipples as I held and stroked a lovely hard cock. Seeing my face in the mirror and watching my hands invigorating my body, I sank to the floor and lay looking at myself. I opened my legs wide and stared at what in that state I called my cunt. My dripping wet cunt I thought as I saw two of my fingers slide into it just as if they were guy's cock. In fact, they were a surrogate cock. A pretend cock I was thinking, smiling as I thought, or maybe even said out loud, that's fucking my cunt.
