The myth about black men and the size of their equipment is just that; a myth, probably exacerbated by the porn industry. I know—sadly not first-hand—because I've researched it for a commissioned article. If I was solely after big dicks to fulfil my seemingly insatiable appetite for sex, statistically speaking I'd have moved to Ecuador ages ago.
There's nothing spectacular, per se, about Owen's dick as I ride him. He plunges up into my bare slit while I cup my tits and pinch my nipple bars, head lolling, ass rippling each time our flesh slaps. I've had longer cocks. I've had shorter ones. Fatter ones, and thinner. But the adage about not being the size but how it’s used… now that's true.
This guy knows how to use what he’s been dealt. I sigh and gasp and dig my nails into the wiry hair on his dark, muscular chest as his strong hands coax my hips to take him deeper. I lean forward and my tits bounce agonisingly close to Chantal's as she makes similar noises grinding his mouth. It's a direct ride-reversal of the time we shared that randomer in Majorca last year.
Her breath plays across my cheek, my blonde hair swishing against the deep cerise caps of her luscious breasts at our rapturous motions. I can't help but brush her lips with mine. We'd shared a brief kiss on the plane and it was a lightning bolt to my pussy. In that moment, I knew what I'd missed since Majorca. During this past nine months of continuing to be besties, we seemed to have—well, I had—avoided talking about what happened, through fear of losing our friendship.
It had been one night of drunken debauchery. Two friends blowing off steam in the hedonistic voodoo of the Mediterranean heat. I'd slunk back to my room in the early evening, buzzing and glowing and conflicted. And stretched. My god, he must have been in the world's upper ninetieth percentile, and would have given the average Ecuadorian an inferiority complex. He should have been a pornstar. She sure knew how to pick ‘em.
On more than one occasion, I’ve been close to mentioning it. We share so much of our lives, and she'd be the first to tell anyone I'm pretty shameless, so it seems crazy to bottle it up. But despite many other drunken adventures with her, it never seemed the right time or circumstances. Now though, the genie’s out and I fully intend to show her the depths of my feelings.
Starting with her mouth.
We play lippy-lip a few times, taking it in turns to nip or capture the other as we bounce and grind on Owen. Neither of us give in until I’m overwhelmed and simply go for it, planting a full kiss. My tongue snakes inside, hers does likewise, and that's it. We moan. I slide both hands to her tits and take their weight, and she encourages the exploration of my fingertips on her flesh.
The hotel room we're in has probably seen more than its fair share of action in its time, but perhaps not quite like this. As I surface from Chantal's lips and we share a loaded gaze into one another’s eyes, I sit up and grind my hips in wide circles. Owen’s boner hits all the right spots, and then some. When she reaches out to cup my cheeks and trails her fingers down to my boobs, the act of her pulling my nipple bars sets off the chain reaction that’s been threatening to swamp me for the last twenty minutes or so.
It rockets to my stuffed pussy. I throw my head back and groan, throaty rhythmic rasps matching the pulse of my orgasmic beat. I flutter and soar, hand involuntarily gravitating to circle my clit, doubling the intensity. For the first time in a long time, I'm not cumming for me, I'm cumming for someone else. For her.
Whether it's watching me fall or Owen’s insistent tongue driving against her pussy and clit, Chantal stiffens, her mouth dropping open as her orgasm stakes its claim on her body too.
Separated from me by a few feet of muscled man, she's fucking beautiful, alive, matt skin glistening with perspiration as her cries fill the room alongside mine. Her tits heave and I thumb a nipple that makes her break out into a grin.
There’s so much I know about her. We like much of the same music, and that's how we initially bonded, but that's where the similarity ends. I like Marmite on toast, she prefers peanut butter. I love the comfort of being surrounded by people in the city, she prefers desolate beach walks. I'm a bit gung-ho towards sex since I ditched my lazy-ass boyfriend, while she has very specific tastes in men. Being a graphic designer, she once told me, ‘Girl, I don't date anyone more than two Pantone shades lighter than me.’
But even with all this foreknowledge, I see her anew inside her orgasm. Like she's secure enough in our friendship to reveal more of herself. To let me in, trusting me with her sexuality. It's a magic moment and I shiver, which transfers into the long tail of my climax that throbs and ebbs as Owen, oblivious to our connection, pounds away in my dripping snatch.
I've no doubt he’s gearing up to flood my pussy with silky ropes of cum, but one thing interrupts the moment. A female command from the armchair across the room:
“Stop.”
Our actions slow. Chantal and I swivel our attention to Francesca framed in the window, her crossed, endless legs encased in sheer stay-ups, elbow propped on the glass table top alongside her. Still fully dressed in her navy flight attendant uniform, its white blouse offset by the splash of the bright red necktie, she twiddles an oaky strand of hair. Owen would have looked her way too had his vision not been filled with Chantal's beautiful, plump butt.
When Francesca speaks, we listen. She demands attention. It’s her hotel room after all. Her invite. Her rodeo.
As the flight had worn on, the prospect of using the bathroom to play with Owen after he’d watched Luke and I masturbate from across the aisle, grew less appealing. A steady stream of passengers were queuing after the drinks trolleys had been cleared away, and the one time we did get the chance, Francesca raised her eyebrows at me outside the bathroom door. Shook her head. “We land soon. Wait.”
I'm not sure she grasped how desperate Owen was to blow his load and how desperate I was to help. Maybe she did, and that's why she stopped us. Maybe she knew that her 24hr layover was the perfect opportunity to indulge in some fun with two ragingly horny people. Three, counting Chantal who had joined us at the back of the plane in the spare seat alongside Owen as we chatted nonsense waiting for our chance to hook up in the bathroom. We somehow kept a lid on our flirting; just occasional touches. He was an IT consultant with an eye-watering hourly rate and bravado to match. Bagging two women was only going to boost his ego.
Perhaps Francesca wanted a proper taste, instead of only sampling me via her dripping fingers. Or maybe she wanted me to eat her again, like she made me do in the galley, crushing my head to her spasming pussy.
So many possibilities for four people to have fun.
As we disembarked, she caught my eye and smiled. Not the thank you for flying our airline and enjoy your onward journey kind of smile. It was far dirtier. More like an I'll see you later and you’re mine kind of smile. I shivered, and not just because of the cooler UK temperatures compared with Spain.
Immigration was a blur. Then came the tedious wait for the baggage carousel to start. The jostling shoulders to hench our cases off. More waiting. More anticipation.
When we were reunited with our luggage, the three of us congregated near the customs area, strolled through, then past the sea of people. Some were waiting excitedly for loved ones, others nonchalant taxi drivers holding handmade signs with names on.
As we loitered in the arrivals hall trying to figure out the best place to release our pent-up desires, in she strode. It was like something from a movie, almost slow motion. The captain, co-pilot, and both flight attendants rounded the corner dragging wheelie suitcases in their wake like they were in the fucking Matrix, strutting past passengers as if they didn't exist. We were mesmerised and as they approached, Francesca said something to them and peeled off, ending up alongside us.
“Looking for a place to have some fun?” I nodded. She smiled. “Follow me.”
So here we are. In her room a short transfer ride from the terminal. And she's the only one dressed.
Uncrossing her legs, she stands, smooths her skirt leaving that delectable strip of exposed thigh between its hem and the stay-ups, and paces to the bed. She leans in and kisses me, long and hard. Pulls away. “I need to taste you again.” I nod and begin to lift off Owen’s slick rod. “From him,” she adds.
I hide my disappointment. “Of course.”
Letting him exit fully, his meat slaps back against his lower belly and Francesca wastes no time bending, nursing him in her palm to pull him upright and then wrapping her lips around the fat head of his exposed glans.
A muted groan drifts from between Chantal’s thighs, and she in turn exhales as Owen redoubles his efforts to eat her, despite how sensitive she must be after her orgasm. I shuffle behind Chantal and hug her, nuzzling her neck and cupping her tits, squeezing them in sync with her escalating moans.
She crests again. Might even be a continuation of her first and I hold her as she shakes. Owen moans from beneath, slurping her juices, “Fuuck, gonna cum.”
Francesca lifts her fluttering tongue and swoops away from his tool. She slaps it once and squeezes the head hard. “No. You save it for her cunt.”
He groans, hips stiffening and a single stream of thick pearly spunk forms at his crown and oozes down his shaft. The contrast is mesmerising. I picture crawling to it and lapping from root to tip, savouring the slippery texture, but Francesca beats me to it. Collects the yummy trail to pool on her tongue, rises and steps towards me.
Our kiss is passionate and we share the creamy morsel back and forth. Lost in the moment, I must squeeze Chantal's boobs too hard because she squeaks. Francesca grins against my mouth and lets me take and swallow Owen’s offering.
She returns to brush the quivering cock. “Move. Just watch.”
Owen scrambles from under Chantal and she flops to all fours in front of me. That luscious ass is so inviting, so exotic. I place my hands on it, peel her apart and bend to lick from her juicy slit to asshole. My first taste of my best friend. She moans so I do it again, smearing her considerable, sweet arousal between holes.
Francesca climbs on the bed behind me and does the same to me, creating a sawtooth of bodies, chained by pleasure. We lick and feast and shudder as Owen stands idly by at the spectacle, his cock very obviously enjoying it.
When Francesca lifts clear of my crease, I'm not expecting the spanking but I cry into Chantal's pussy for more as each swat lands. The strikes are savage and she clearly enjoys dishing it. My ass throbs and I wiggle back against her as she sets up an irregular pattern: a harsh slap, soothed with a gentle palm, before immediately burying her face back between my legs to slurp leaking wetness, her nose against my ass. Repeat.
The attention from her long tongue and gentle palm over searing flesh enhances the heat that spreads through my bottom and sets up residence around my clit. She expertly flicks my jittery nub with each swab and is clearly accustomed to pleasuring women. I briefly wonder how many times she's indulged, until the next slap scatters such thoughts and demands I focus solely on the glow and her.
Each time a spank lands, Chantal is rewarded with my face mashing against her ass, my chin soaked in the juices oozing from her vivid pink lips nestled among the matted mess of curls, and drizzling down her dusky thighs. She is utterly delicious. Thicker than mine. Creamier. I can't get enough.
When Francesca lets my stinging rear recover, she holds my cheeks apart and ploughs her tongue in. The heat is incredible, spreading from hole to handprints. I do the same to Chantal, burying my tongue in her plump bum and daring to rain a few spanks alongside. We all sigh in our respective rhythms.
A few paces away, Owen is growling and cussing. I risk a glance. His fat meat is encased in a tight grip and he's slowly jacking the foreskin back and forth, keeping himself on edge. It's riveting watching the dark sheath retract and the shiny pink head emerging each time. I want to wrap my lips around it. Slurp it. Take him in my throat and gaze up with need burning behind my expression. Want to watch him gradually lose control as every inch disappears and I cough at his invasion. Maybe he'll fuck my throat. Make my eyes water as I beg with them, wide and willing.