M/F/M Menage Contemporary
Through an odd twist of fate, Gwen Bailey meets up with Brede Harker and Rory O’Brien, a sugar daddy and his sugar daddy apprentice. This meeting leads to a night of exploration and passion that none of them will ever forget. Are they destined for matching His, Hers & His towels?
“We only do what a woman desires…”
“…and if she desires to watch you two, that works? Anything goes?”
“Everything,” Brede confirmed, his voice going low and husky.
The entire narrow panel of the thong lying over her pussy became soaked. Her lips parted, and her tongue scraped along the edges of her upper teeth. Her breathing was short and sharp, her heart thumped in her throat. Basically, she was through eating. She doubted that she could swallow another morsel of this wonderful food. But…drinking champagne was another matter. That she could still do. “Aren’t you a little young to be a sugar daddy?” she murmured to Rory.
“I’m an apprentice. A sugar daddy in training.”
“You might be younger than I am. How old are you?”
“Legal age. I’m legal, Gwen.”
She gave him a look of sham consternation. “You look young, but certainly not like a teenager.”
“I’m twenty-five. How old are you?”
“Rory.” Brede gave him a warning.
“It’s okay. I’m twenty-seven.
“Well, Gwen, maybe you’ll teach me a thing or two.”
“I doubt it.” She turned her gaze on the other man. “Brede?”
“Nice?” Brede asked.
“Experience and eagerness,” she replied, nodding in Brede’s direction at the word experience, and in Rory’s at the word eagerness.
“How do you know it isn’t the other way around?” Brede teased.
“You said Rory was your apprentice.”
“Maybe he’s made love to many more women than I have.” Brede sounded a tad bit affronted as if she called him old.
Gwen realized that she may have hit a tender spot with age. She laid her hand on Brede’s arm and said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He covered her hand with his. “You’ll find out soon enough who has stamina and who doesn’t.”
That silenced her.
Then Brede leaned toward her. He parted his lips but didn’t close his eyes. Until the very last second before his lips touched hers. Warm, mobile, soft. He sipped but didn’t use his tongue.
Rory had captured the hand lying in her lap under the tablecloth and brushed his thumb in circles around her palm. Her eyes flew open. She gasped.
Brede’s eyes opened much more slowly.
“And so it starts, yes?” he acknowledged quietly.
“Yes,” she whispered. “What am I supposed to do?”
“You don’t have to do anything, Gwen dear. We do it all.”
Her mouth hung open. Her eyes widened.
“Are you ready to go?”
Rory’s fingers seduced her hand, trailing up and down each of her fingers one by one, touching every inch, rubbing the soft, plump spot below her thumb, tickling her palm. She felt the heat from each man on either side of her. “Will I live?” she asked inanely.
They both chuckled.
“We’ll make sure of it.”
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