Plait

This story was originally written for a competition on exhibitunadorned.com/ in conjunction with a TV baking show.  I worked from the pastry related prompt word; Plait

Three parts, twisted together to make a single strand.

Mark

Mark watched her and wondered how she could make such a complex thing seem so simple. Behind her head, with quiet dexterity, she separates her glossy hair into three, fat strands, smoothing each to make them manageable and compliant, then deftly weaving them into a single rope

He’d always thought about watching her fucking someone else, the liquid thoughts of another man’s cock slipping into Rebecca had spilled out of his fantasies and flowed into conversation with her with ease. Thoughts about her greedy legs pulling someone else into where he felt so at home filled him with an unfulfilled longing he didn’t quite understand. Now he couldn’t remember why he was surprised that she was so open to the idea. Yes, she had a habit of making complex things seem simple. Beautiful, sexy, brave Rebecca.

He glimpsed her looking at him as he walked from the kitchen to the sofa with his glass of wine. They’d agreed he’d sit opposite them to watch, and he wanted her to seem him getting into place but she was already moving towards the knock at the front door. This really was about to happen.

Ben was bigger than he’d expected and had a confidence that Mark hadn’t banked on, a strong physical presence, relying on well-practiced action over words. Although he politely acknowledged Mark’s presence he had clearly taken the couple’s preferences for him to be a bystander on board and became immediately busy in making Rebecca feel at ease. The curtain was lifting on the scene Ben had conceived, instigated and directed; the scene in which Mark had cast them as the protagonists and himself as an audience member. He watched Ben deftly navigate the etiquette of greetings, and wine

Ben

There it was; that familiar, delicious thrill of unknown promise as he waited on the landing outside the flat. He was used to situations like this; he often browsed for opportunities to join couples, to be part of their intimacy without being part of a relationship. To him it was the best of all worlds, hot, varied sex and no commitment; just how he liked it. The trick was to keep small-talk to a minimum and get straight to action. Small-talk made things complicated, and complicated was not want he wanted.

He was pleasantly surprised when Rebecca opened the door, they’d chatted plenty on-line, but Face-Time had short-changed her of some of her animation and sparkle. He kissed her hello, lingering a little as if to reiterate and confirm the purpose of his visit. She responded with warm, doughy lips, that didn’t speak, but clearly told him ‘yes’. He sipped the wine she’d poured him and set aside (as wine can trip you into a small-talk situation) preferring to put his lips on her cheek and neck, pulling back to look at her face as he undid the buttons of her shirt. Minimal conversation, just smiling, consented action.

This was his natural habitat, a beautiful, willing woman opening easily to him, but also it fed into his testosterone-fuelled competitive nature, he aimed to quite undo her, right under the very nose of her loving partner, he aimed to fuck her in a way Mark wished he fucked her.

He felt her little hand slide into his jeans and circle around his cock, his cue to take them off.

Rebecca

“This is what I wanted, isn’t it?”

Written, it seems like a question, but it wasn’t, it was a reminder; her own mind reiterating what she already knew, looping these whispered words back into herself to reassure her nervous reflection as she fixed her hair. In truth this was what she wanted, but in the pacing moments before the Ben’s arrival she spoke them to herself for courage.

She and Mark had chosen Ben together, his easy chat and open face had made him the obvious choice for this adventure, but the reality of his footsteps on the stairs outside the flat pushed this former confidence to the back of her mind. She cast a look over to Mark in the kitchen just before opening the door but his face did not reflect her own last minute nerves.

The kiss Ben gave her as she closed the door behind him dispelled many of her misgivings, she’d worried that when he arrived she just wouldn’t feel attracted to him and thoughts of the ensuing awkwardness and niggled her, but that wasn’t going to be a problem. She poured him some wine, which he sipped and set aside. He seemed well versed in keeping a strong forward momentum.

She helped him with her blouse and then his jeans, slipping her hand in the open button fly to get her first impression of his cock, it felt solid and efficient, keen to spring from the denim. As he slid his trousers off she took a seat on the sofa directly opposite her Mark as they had planned, but her eyes fixed on Ben as his body was quickly revealed. She opened her mouth instinctively as he stepped towards her, accepting his cock and exploring its unknown contours with her tongue and hands.

Mark

Mark saw Ben exhale as he slid his cock between Rebecca’s lips, the way his shoulders relaxed and widened reminded him of the intense, enveloping pleasure Rebecca’s mouth was. His own cock twitched in his pants now at the thought of it. By the time Rebecca was naked and Ben’s face was buried between her legs, his fingers deep inside her, Mark was finding it hard to keep his emotions in check.

He shifted positions, cleaved by his own thoughts. The scene was so hot, just as he’d envisaged it, and he’d got himself a ring-side seat. He could have just reached out over the coffee table and touched them; Rebecca’s soft pale skin, the colour of pastry and usually available to him to stroke and knead, now oddly off-limits as the weight of Ben pressed onto her. He felt the sharp edge of his own jealousy for the first time, not a sharpness that honed him to an elegant point as he’s imagined, but a jealousy that dragged him over the whetstone, rasping and gritty, over and over with each thrust of Ben’s muscly arse, driving into his girl.

Ben

One foot on the floor and a knee on the sofa, Ben curled Rebecca’s copper plait around his hand to pull her little pale body on to him, his large left hand spread over her waist, thumb on the hard bumps of her spine and his fingers curling downwards towards the softness of her belly. He felt as if, like this, he controlled all parts of her from above, like a puppet master, he could feel her relinquishing herself a little more with every push. Even each of her exhalations were voiced, sound pushed out from within her by his own physicality. This is what he browsed for on the internet, a stranger in a strange room his temporary plaything, and her boyfriend, agog and silent admiring his skill. He looked over at Mark, his face now pale and shiny, head tipped to one side in open mouthed observation, his dick hot and hard and red in his hand.

Mark

He was struggling to get on top of his feelings. God, it was hot seeing her like this, a pink flush rising on the skin of her neck and chest as her orgasm started to clutch at her. Golden tendrils escaped her neat braid and curled near her cheekbone, catching on the light sweat on her face, the muscles in her thighs shaking a little now. But his mind didn’t know how to process the sight of Ben’s commanding presence, not only was he soundly, deeply fucking Rebecca, but now, he was looking straight at Mark, not a passing a glance, but a challenging gaze. But what unsettled him most was Ben’s lips; was that the slightest hint of a smile?

He’d orchestrated this whole scene, he’d expected to feel some form of jealousy, god he’d yearned for it, but the eye contact made him feel belittled; as though he’d been caught peering in, uninvited, from the edges, and caught with his dick in his hand, beads of come leaking from the tip at that.

Rebecca

In his profile there was something about Ben’s which attracted Rebecca to him, a sort of confidence in his ability, but in the following days when she’d revisited these words she’d worried that perhaps if it wasn’t confidence, but arrogance (such similar traits; one so attractive and one so repellent). But now, brought to the very precipice of herself by his tongue and flipping swiftly over onto all fours at his bidding, pleading with him to put his cock in her, (“urgh..now, please, fuck me now…”) his confidence seemed entirely founded.

She pushed hungrily back on to him, one hand forward on the arm of the sofa to give herself a physical foundation to better meet his thrusts. She flexed a little at the waist and hips to find that angle, that perfect slant; adjusting and adjusting, then finding it. Her focus narrowed down onto to that delicious intensity, Mark’s presence opposite them driven to the peripheries of her consciousness.

All three players in this scene were dancing to Rebecca’s lead, each waited and wanted and willed her orgasm on. She tensed, arching into its warm, spreading glow, welcoming it at the centre of herself then allowing it full rein to radiate to her edges. Ben came hard too, the tightening of Rebecca’s cunt and the little boy expression on Mark’s face together too much now. Mark, his hand tight on his cock came just after them, his milky come arcing upwards and his raspy gasps the last of the three of theirs to settle in the quietening room.

Rebecca

She lay face downwards panting and stretched out the dissipating orgasm in her arms and legs. Her hair, loosed now, fell over her face. Undone.

Ben

Ben ran his large hand down Rebecca’s milky back and allowed his latent smile to spread across his face. Released.

Mark

Mark felt around for a familiar emotion to which to moor himself. Unravelled.