Toenails
© 2002 by Clover

Becca and Dave had known each other for some time, meeting a few years ago at a racquetball tournament in which they both ended up without partners.  They were teamed, randomly, and lost in the first round.  But after, they went out for lunch, found they had a lot in common, and had been close ever since.  Each was divorced and each liked it that way, so they spent a lot of time together, intimate, and not so intimate, filling in the gaps for each other.

So, it was not odd that they were together on a Saturday night, Nor was it odd that they were naked, stretched out on her bed, talking, listening to music, drinking wine.  And, actually it was not at all odd that they were stretched opposite, head to toe, Becca reclined against her lap pillow while Dave, with great intensity and attention for detail, painted Becca's toenails.  He had chosen a very deep, rich plum color.

What was odd, however, was that they were not alone.  Reclining on the couch across the room, was George, Dave's college roommate who had come to visit for the weekend.

Becca had never met George, although she had heard many stories of him.  He was nearly as tall as Dave, but was a bit stockier.  He was balding, but kept his graying hair cut very short, just as he did his goatee.  His eyes were dark, very dark, to the point of appearing black to Becca when she finally looked him in the eye.  She had known, when he knocked on her door earlier that evening, that he was completely aware of the plans for the evening.  And knowing that made her a little more than shy.

Dave had suggested sometime during the intermission at a play the week before that they ask George to "join them in bed" when he came to visit.  Becca at first laughed, thinking it was of course another of his jokes.  But he was unrelenting, and she was intrigued.

He again asked her during their twice-weekly racquetball game, and Becca had agreed that perhaps he could come over to her house and have dinner with the two of them, and they could see what happened beyond that.

And here they all sat, naked, in her bedroom, a bit loose from the wine, a bit relaxed from the dinner, and the vibe of what was yet to be hanging in the air.

Becca grabbed for the pillow behind her and tossed it hard at George.  Dave cursed Becca for moving her foot just as he got to the piggy that went wee-wee-wee all the way home.

George caught the pillow, undaunted. "They are great, Becca.  Don'tcha think so Dave?"

Dave looked up to Becca, catching her eyes between her thighs, her legs bent and her feet flat on the bed after receiving the finishing touches of plum.  He smiled that wicked, boy-in-a-candy-store smile with which she was so familiar, and he set the bottle of polish on the nightstand. "Yes, yes they are, George," Dave chided as he began to crawl up Becca's body, slowly, dragging his lips first along her right knee, then over to her left hip.

Becca tipped her head back and laughed, surprisingly comfortable with the intimacy of the moment.

"So good in fact," Dave said as stopped moving, "that I want a taste of them." With that, he lowered his face between her legs and bit playfully into her left inner thigh.

"OUCH," Becca shouted.  But that protest aside, she did little else but spread her thighs a bit further apart.

"And another." Dave turned, dragging the rough of his late-day stubble along her soft flesh, and nibbled a bit more firmly into her right inner thigh.

Becca laughed and said it tickled.  As she did, though, she reached and slipped her hand behind Dave's head, her fingers twining in his somewhat long blond hair, pressing his mouth to her leg more firmly.

Dave, however, had other ideas.  Against Becca's encouragement, he moved his mouth from her thigh and began again crawling up her body.  His mouth lingered at all his favorite spots, at her belly button and her hipbones, between her breasts and just beneath her right ear.

Dave moved to kiss Becca, deeply, passionately, just as he reached to pinch both her nipples.  He pulled at them, twisted them, before breaking the kiss, releasing his grasp, and moving still further up her body.

Becca squirmed, knowing George was still watching.

Dave moved until he was straddling her shoulders, her head now flat on the bed.  His cock, hard and dripping, dangled perilously close to her mouth. "If you think her thighs are good, George, you outta feel her mouth." With that, he pressed the wet tip to her lips.

"Damn," was the last thing Becca heard from George before Dave began slow rhythmic strokes in and out.  She held still, keeping her eyes on his, letting him fuck her mouth at his pace, as he desired.  She tasted him, that familiar taste that made her wet.  Dave was a fantastic lover, and an even better friend.

That is, until George quietly moved to the foot of the bed, and without warning, lapped one long lick from the pucker of Becca's ass to her clit.

She jumped and gasped hard around Dave's cock.  Dave jumped and moaned hard at the feel of Becca's lips so tight around his shaft.  And George laughed, his mouth open and hungry, ready to devour Becca's pussy.

It seems they were all hungry.  Dave fed off Becca's increased enthusiasm, her heightened passion as she felt George fuck her with his tongue.  George pulled Becca's lips apart even further, taking his tongue as deep as it would go, fueled by the sight of Dave's cock disappearing again and again into Becca's mouth.

Their movements fell easily into a united rhythm, as if they'd experienced this all before.  Dave whispered to Becca of his erotic visions, of what her pussy might look like spread and wet beneath George's mouth.  He grunted to her how incredible her mouth felt, how tight his balls were getting, how arousing it was for him to hear George tasting her behind him.

And Dave came, hard, just after pulling from Becca's mouth.  He left warm, wet trailings along her lips, down her neck, on the top of her breasts and shoulders.

Hearing Dave's gasps for air, George wrapped his lips around Becca's tiny clit, pulling at it, stroking it with his tongue, making love and lust to it until he sensed her hips tighten and lift from the bed.  She began to grind herself against his mouth, against the wet hair of his goatee, bucking, rolling, riding the wave of her explosion.

They were all breathless.  Dave slipped down to lay beside Becca, again head to toe with her.  George eased back to sit on his heels, licking his lips and savoring the last few tastes of Becca. And Becca eased up on her elbow, looking down her body to smile at the two men.

"You know," she said, wiggling her toes in front of their faces. "I don't really like plum."

"Toenails" by Clover copyright 2002 All rights reserved

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