Athena has been following our antics from afar, with bated breath. She keeps saying this is like a Netflix show, and I’ve been telling her about it as if each step were an episode. There is my relationship with Charlotte (which, honestly, is Season 1). Then, there’s Season 2, which is the march toward the threesome. Episode 1? My date with Charlotte (parts 1 and 2), followed shortly by my first date with Sarah (my waiting, the date itself, and her account of it).
Episode 2? The ramp-up to our night out for drinks. [links to come]
Episode 3? Our drinks together.
Episode 4? The build-up between drinks and the day before the threesome was scheduled. [link to the page with all the links]
Episode 5? The day before.
And the final three episodes (6-8) are the day of.
Followed by a trailer for next season.
So our story picks up in Episode 5…
Episode 5
I was anxious about anxiety.
Both Charlotte and Sarah contended with not insignificant fears – that the other wouldn’t like them, that their lady-pleasing technique would not be… adequate. (Spoiler: their fears most definitely were not realized.) But I know from previous experience that anxiety – and the injudicious use of alcohol to manage it – can be anathema to fun in sex. And particularly in threesomes. Isabel’s over-consumption led to the premature ending of an otherwise spectacular threesome she and I had with the Rockette, and all of us ended the evening wishing she had had one (or three) fewer drinks.
The morning before, I sent around a couple of things: a page linking to all I had already written about the lead-up – most of which they had seen, but little of which had been posted live yet. I posted a link to an agenda for a Zoom call between the three of us that evening, at which we would go over everyone’s feelings and concerns. At which we would review everyone’s packing lists. At which the ladies would undress and, perhaps, come, for one another. And me (natch).
As the day progressed, Sarah confessed to mounting anxiety. I traded messages with her, seeking to explore, and address, that anxiety. “We can cancel. We can postpone,” I said.
“No!” protested Sarah. “I’ll be ok.”
I offered some thoughts about her anxiety. Suggested some things I, we could do to lessen it. We settled on a few interventions and changes. I suggested that, rather than entering a hotel room to find my cock in Charlotte’s mouth, as originally contemplated, Sarah could find us clothed, chatting. We could have lunch. A drink. Before any action began. Sarah liked this, too. I reassured her that there would be no pressure at any point. That she could leave. Or just watch. That we could adjourn. Or just talk. Nothing HAD to happen.
Sarah’s anxiety – high – seemed manageable.
And then … Charlotte told me SHE was getting anxious. We revisited the Zoom agenda. “I don’t want to do anything explicit,” she said. I assured her that was fine. Asked how she would feel about my asking Sarah to undress for us, to come for us, on Zoom. Charlotte didn’t say no, but it was clear that wasn’t a good idea. I took all sexual activity off the table for our virtual pre-date.
Thirteen hours before I was to meet Charlotte, and 17 before Sarah was to join us, we gathered in a Zoom room. We discussed the nerves. We all reassured one another. “Charlotte, what do you think of Sarah?” I asked.
“She’s cute!” Charlotte said.
“And Sarah? What about Charlotte?”
“She’s HOT!”
A few more minutes of conversation. We reviewed the packing lists. Confirmed that Charlotte’s cunt belonged to me. Confirmed that Sarah’s cunt belonged to me. I instructed them to touch their pussies for one minute after the call, and then, to come, and to share with each of us a video of the teasing, and audio of the orgasm. And then, to pack, and to send around photos of their packed bags. I reminded Charlotte to stay off dating apps for the evening, to keep her head in this game, in our game.
And we signed off Zoom.
Ninety seconds later, my phone buzzed with a video of Charlotte stroking her clit over her green (jumpsuit? romper?) It’s fucking hot. She’s fucking hot. Looking at where the outfit ends, and her yummy thighs begin? That could break my cock alone. Never mind where the fabric is joined at her cunt.
A minute later, my phone buzzed again with the audio of her orgasm. My cock felt like it might snap in two. You can’t see the video. But you can hear the orgasm.
A few more minutes passed. And nothing came from Sarah. I texted her. No response.
Shit.
Charlotte and I had a ten-minute panic. Was Sarah ghosting?!?
“What do you think the chances are she turns up tomorrow?” Charlotte asked. She was plaintive. As anxious as she was, she wanted this. She wanted Sarah. She wanted me and Sarah.
“I would say 20%,” I said.
“Oh, no!” Charlotte sounded, genuinely, devastated.
And at that moment? My phone buzzed with a smoking hot video of Sarah touching her pussy through her weirdly compelling black-and-white zebra pajamas. And then, her orgasm. Damn! It was on!
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