Girl on the Net

This glorious story – My boyfriend wants your cock and so do I – is written and read by Ariadne Awakes. Find her other work here on Literotica, and check out her Patreon for more amazing audio smut.

You decide to bring my fantasy to life one night when you invite your friend around to fuck me. It turns out you’ve got fantasies of you own. How did you know they were mine too?

“If you’re a very good girl for me and let him fuck you hard, I might just suck his big dick for you, how about that?”

And just like that, all the doubt and panic melts away and I’m on him.

Content note: this story plays with the idea of uncertainty about who will be present during a particular fuck, but everything that takes place is extremely consensual.

Your tongue is lapping contentedly at my clit. I can hear it with precise detail thanks to the blindfold, honing the senses. I wriggle a little just to feel the tightness of the rope against my wrists.

“Keep still, bad girl, or you won’t get your present.”

I smile.

“No smiling.”

Nothing cracks me up like your mock stern voice and I laugh.

“Right, now you’ve done it.”

I feel you pull your mouth away and groan.

“Please…” I whimper. I was just on the cusp.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

Jesus. The killer phrase that gets me dripping wet every time. I can barely manage a coherent ‘yes’, but you’re satisfied and you put your hands back on my hips and you get back to work and I’m about to cum, nice and loud just like you want me to.

Then suddenly, I feel another hand cupping my breast and I let out the most ridiculous whelp and you laugh.

“What the fuck?” I ask.

I know there’s no way you’ve grown three hands. I also know there can’t possibly be any other explanation. Then I hear his voice:

“This was definitely a good idea mate.”

And you laugh your dirtiest laugh and I’m so utterly shocked, turned on, furious, I could kick you and suck you dry all at once. Because you know exactly what you’re doing.

Him.

The one I finally admitted to when we were talking about hypothetical threesomes. Your friend who you always allow to flirt with me. The one you told me you wanked off one summer at a festival in your shared tent one morning when you were both still drunk and horny and you saw he was rock hard and got curious. That essential detail about it being so big it just felt rude not to service it. The one you always say you’d go gay for when we have those jokey conversations about such things, both knowing we secretly mean them.

The one who I had that moment with that I never told you about.

When a gang of us went camping together and you and me wanted some alfresco fucking time away from everyone. He turned the corner in the woodland to see you giving my cunt a good seeing to with your expert tongue. He blushed furiously, which is one of the things I love about both of you, for all your cocky bravado, that awkward English posh boy charm. Then he gestured that he was just going to back away without disturbing us. And I swear all I did in response was nod my head politely as if to say; “no problem, nothing to see here.” But something in me must have reached out across the incessant politeness and called straight to his groin because he suddenly stopped, turned back around and just stood there, watching with casual fascination. And I let him.

When I saw his hands wandering down to his bulge, I couldn’t help myself. I told you, much louder than I needed to, to fuck me. And you did, nice and hard and I wasn’t even faking it to cover the noise of him beating his fat cock, it was all completely involuntary, because you’re a spectacular fuck. But I can’t deny, watching him shoot his load up a tree, his face contorted in pleasure, while I shouted; “yes, yes, give it to me,” was the icing on the cake to what was already a very successful fantasy made real. An outdoor nature fuck in broad daylight where anyone could walk past and catch us. It just happened to be him. And every time you two are in the same vicinity, I can’t get that tent wank out of my head and it makes me so wet. Add to that the memory of that nature fuck, walking past that tree with you after he left and noticing his cum dripping down the bark and never saying a word, well, it’s my top wanking fantasy.

What makes me even wetter now is the thought that this means you were paying attention during those jokey conversations. That all those moments over the past few months where you and him would share a meaningful glance then look at me. Where you would laugh at one of his jokes and slap his thigh and let your hand linger and squeeze, making sure I noticed, all those little moments where he’d flirt with you and you’d blush like a girl, you were doing it for me. In my head, I add the extra turn on that you were doing it for you as well. Because I have yet to tell you just how much I fantasise about watching you two fuck each other senseless.

But somehow, you just know. Because here he is and it definitely means one thing, but what else it could mean? Well that just pushes me over the edge. To the extent that I suddenly panic and demand you untie me, take the blindfold off. Suddenly shy, vulnerable, afraid of what I may have invited, or misinterpreted.

Once it’s off, the reality sets in. It really is him, here, and both of you are topless, breathing deep, with that animalistic lust in your eyes and my god, the reality is just as good as my fantasy so far and I know I’m going to let you both do whatever you want to me, to each other. But I’m also pissed that you’ve sabotaged me, so I’m going to be a brat about it for as long as I can stand.

“What’s going on?” I demand, as if I’m shocked you would even think it was OK to do this thing you know I hunger for.

You just grin and shake your head, clocking my game straight away.

“Shut the fuck up you little slut, this is exactly what you wanted and you know it.”

He laughs, but then looks to you as if for assurance that it’s all OK. It’s the way you look back and give him that little nod and a grin, as if what I want is utterly irrelevant, because this is something you’re giving to him as well as me. I never wanted the answer so much to two constant questions: what else went on inside that tent? What happened afterwards? I’ve quizzed you so many times and you’ve always said: “Nothing, it was no big deal.” Except one time when I mentioned that the way you flirt with each other is decidedly loaded for two heterosexual men. And you replied with, “Yeah, he flirts with me like I’m a girl sometimes, I kind of like it.”

I fucked you particularly hard that night I remember, imagining him pounding your ass hard and calling you his good girl.

“Kiss him,” you demand softly and for some reason, though he moves in, though there’s no sudden change in the charged atmosphere, I just can’t do it. I feel guilty, as if I’m about to cheat on you, even though you’ve invited him. I smother my panic by imagining the conversation you might have had with him when you planned this. You telling him how firm my tits are, how sweet my cunt tastes, how good I am at sucking dick. And the graphic detail you go into gets him hard and you just can’t help but squeeze his dick to seal the deal because what you’re really saying is, “I want this dick again, and if I have to let you fuck my girlfriend to get it, I’m fine with that.”

This pushes me over the edge and I let him kiss me.

I’m momentarily thrown by the feel of a tongue that isn’t yours and an urgency that’s a different pace suddenly coming for me. And I hate myself for pulling away. I’m wavering for some stupid reason, so I look to you with my sweetest puppy dog eyes and silently beg you to take over, like a good little sub.

That grin.

You knew I would do this. You sigh and ignore me as you explain to him how I’m just having a crisis of conscience, but I’m definitely up for it. You proceed to tell him about all the smutty fantasies I’ve had about him, mostly made up by you and every time I try to interject you pinch my nipple until I wince and I could pound you so hard now, but I can do that any time. Right now, it’s all about inviting him into the game, and you are the games master.

I look down and see how hard your smut has made him and I turn and see you looking too, like the sheer girth of it hurts your eyes. I suddenly need to know if this really is OK and go to speak but you’ve already clocked the problem, so you just cut the bullshit and whisper in my ear.

“If you’re a very good girl for me and let him fuck you hard, I might just suck his big dick for you, how about that?”

And just like that, all the doubt and panic melts away and I’m on him.

And we fuck and his dick feels sublime. The only thing that tops it is when you give me yours in my mouth at the same time. My dream. To be spitroasted between the two of you. Looking up to see your gorgeous face contorted in bliss and lust, knowing your view is him, sweaty and sexy as fuck, pumping me with his rock hard dick. Holy fuck.

I get braver after our first few fucks and say I want both your dicks at once.

He says “which hole do you want me in?” – all cocky and satisfied – but I can tell there’s still something inside of him that’s pinching himself and it’s so fucking sexy.

I say I want both of you in my cunt. That the idea of your dicks touching as you fuck me blows my mind. The look between you that renders my presence completely unnecessary for a second makes me feel fucking fabulous.

Just when I think it can’t get any sexier, you both give me what I want. You ask if I can take it, genuinely worried and when we finally get in the right position so you can both enter my dripping cunt, I get worried too, but I tell myself this chance my never come again and I breathe and I say “give it to me” and you both do, like it’s a competition and I’m the prize and the game at the same time. And I love every sweaty grunting second of it.

But it’s what happens after we order pizza and vegetate in each other’s arms for a bit that makes it. You with your head snuggled into one side of his massive chest, me in the other, looking into each other’s eyes and sharing a moment that he doesn’t witness. I mouth “thanks” and you mouth back “you’re welcome” and you wink. It’s the moment where your hand wanders down to his cock and starts tugging it and you look up at him bashfully, biting your lower lip and ask tentatively.

“Can I suck it? I’ve always wanted to suck it.”

This is what I want most, because it’s what you want most. It’s what you’ve wanted since that tent wank. What I’ve wanted since I saw his spunk up that tree. And we’re both going to give it to each other.

And I think to myself, if he says no, I will literally howl in despair. But of course, he just smiles as if this was inevitable and says “if you think you can top her skills, be my guest.”

We all laugh, both our heads bobbing up and down as his chest heaves. Then you look at me with a hint of trepidation. I say:

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell you exactly what to do.”

In that moment you look so shy and horny all at once I could kiss you but I don’t want to detain you a minute longer. You trail soft kisses down his chest and take him in your mouth and you don’t need a damn thing from me because you’re a pro. I’d be jealous of his pleasure if I wasn’t so utterly turned on to see you feasting on his dick. It tastes almost as good as yours. It’s only slightly bigger. I remember what you’re tasting and feeling with every suck from earlier and relive it with you as you moan, discovering the joy of cock in your mouth for the first time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than you sucking his dick.

That’s a lie actually, what happened next was quite simply breathtaking. The expression on your face when he gently pushed into your willing arse, while you straddled me. My god, the exquisite pleasure-pain. The groan you made. I relished whispering in your ear as you remembered I needed your dick in me:

“Feels great doesn’t it? That’s how good your dick feels in me, every time.”

What made my cunt throb even more, if that was even possible, was when he asked you afterwards if you were bi and you said no, then after looking at me shyly, “gay?”, you replied no again and he said “so you just like cocks?” and you said, casting a glance at me, as if you’d just remembered I was there, then back to him:

“I like your cock.”

You sexy little bastard.

We both agreed after we’d finally let him leave, sending him off with a “you have a suck then I’ll have a suck” goodbye blow job, that neither of us had ever come that hard.

We never had a conversation about it happening again because I just assumed we’d both scratched that itch and we were done. But now he just turns up unannounced, every few weeks or so and without a word, undoes his flies, lets his jeans drop and looks at us both as if to say: “First one on my cock wins.”

I always let you win.

Just when I thought I couldn’t feel any more smug about the whole thing, he turned up one day, weeks after our latest shag-fest, to find me lounging over the sofa in my tracky bottoms and you slaving over a hot stove and simply said “I hear you’ve been a bad girl.”

Tracky bottoms aside, or maybe because of them, the sexiest moment so far was when he then proceeded, without another word, to just fuck me hard over the kitchen table while you, with your back to us, grinned, hummed along to the radio and chopped onions.

He shoots his load into me as I gasp for breath. I look over and catch you smiling at me. I fucking love you.

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