This story is inspired by true events and reflects the general nature of the experiences and conversations described. A romantic adventure that actually happened. However, all names, dates, locations, and identifying details have been altered for privacy and narrative purposes. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental.
Continued from "Neapolitan Birthday, Pt 1 - Touching the Untouchable"
My twenty-fifth birthday fell on the weekend after the 3-day weekend in February, perfect timing for a long weekend and no duty until Tuesday morning.
Michelle had been secretive for weeks, smirking every time I asked what she was planning. All she would say was, “Pack extra towels, baby. You’re gonna need them.”
We had planned to spend the weekend together, so I waited for her call to learn where to pick her up. Friday evening, she called the house from the payphone at the Bragg Boulevard theater. “Three of us are at the Skatethru Cinema. I need a favor; can you come and give a ride to a couple of my girlfriends?”
I pulled up at 2000 in my Trans Am and found them waiting under the buzzing marquee lights: Michelle in a short denim skirt and white halter, blonde hair loose and wild; Jane, a curvy brunette specialist, about 20 years old, in tight jeans and a cropped sweater that showed off her full D-cup chest; and Tamera, an 18-year-old redhead private first-class, athletic and freckled, wearing a sundress that clung to her pert C-cups and long legs.
The girls piled in laughing, perfume and excitement filling the car. I turned to Michelle and asked, “where to.” Michelle just looked at me and begged, “could we go to your house first.” She added, “I have to pee badly. PLEASE??” I figured, sure, Jane and Tamera would have no idea whose house they were going to; the dark and the winding back roads off Yadkin made sure of that. By the time I killed the engine in my driveway they were buzzing with nervous energy.
Michelle ran to my door with Jane and Tamera in tow. The second the front door shut behind us, Jane grabbed Tamera and kissed her hard, hands sliding under the sundress. Tamera moaned into it, fingers tangling in Jane’s dark hair. Michelle let it go for about five seconds, then clapped once, sharp.
“Ladies,” she said, voice low and amused, “the birthday boy unwraps his own gifts. House rules.” I stood there frozen; it took me a few minutes to digest what she just said.
She pushed me into the living-room armchair, turned the stereo to low (Def Leppard, of course), and lined the three of them up in front of me like the best parade I’d ever seen.
“Start with me,” Michelle smiled.
The living-room lights were turned low, just the glow from the stereo and one lamp in the corner as Michelle stepped forward her eyes locked on mine.
I took the hem of her white halter between my fingers and slowly dragged it upward, letting the cotton rasp over her ribs, over the swell of her breasts, until her arms lifted and the fabric whispered off. No bra. Her perfect D-cups lifted with the motion, nipples already tight and begging. I let the halter fall and traced my thumbs along the soft undersides, watching goosebumps race across her skin. Then I hooked two fingers into the button of her denim skirt, popped it open, and eased the zipper down tooth by tooth. The skirt slid over her hips and dropped. I knelt, hooked my thumbs into the thin lace waistband of her panties, and peeled them down her long legs so slowly she shivered. When I reached her ankles, she stepped out, and I pressed an open-mouthed kiss just above the neat blonde strip she kept for me. She tasted like salt and anticipation.
She moved aside, breathing shallow.
Jane came next, dark eyes huge. I started at the bottom of her cropped sweater, gathering it inch by inch, palms gliding up the warm skin of her stomach until the soft knit caught under her heavy breasts. I paused there, feeling her heartbeat hammering, then lifted higher. The sweater cleared her satin-covered breasts and they bounced free, full and firm. I reached behind her, unhooked the black bra with one hand, and let the straps slide down her arms like silk. Her nipples were dark and stiff; I brushed my thumbs across them once, just once, and she exhaled a shaky moan. I knelt again, unbuttoned her skin-tight jeans, and worked them down slowly, kissing every new inch of skin I uncovered: the curve of her hip, the soft inside of her thigh. The matching black panties were soaked. I traced the damp lace with my tongue through the fabric first, tasting her through it, then drew them down, letting the thick, dark curls spring free. When she stepped out of the denim and lace, I buried my nose in that warm bush for one slow breath before standing.
Tamera was last, trembling with nerves and excitement. I stood behind her first, gathered her long red hair in one hand and swept it over her shoulder so I could kiss the freckles along the nape of her neck. Then I found the tiny zipper at the back of her sundress and eased it down, vertebra by vertebra, until the straps loosened and the cotton slid off her shoulders on its own. The dress caught for a heartbeat on her pert nipples before falling to her waist. I let it drop the rest of the way, pooling at her feet. No bra, just pale freckled skin and those perfect C-cups with nipples the color of strawberries. I circled to face her, hooked my fingers in the waistband of her white cotton panties, and sank to my knees as I drew them down. The soft red curls came into view, damp and fragrant. I kissed the top of that fiery triangle, then the inside of each thigh, feeling her knees buckle slightly before I steadied her hips and rose.
Three naked women stood in my living room: blonde, brunette, redhead; smooth, full, athletic; every shade and shape I could dream of.
Michelle stepped behind me, arms around my waist, lips at my ear. “Happy birthday, baby. We’re your Neapolitan weekend, vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, and we’re not leaving this house until sometime on Monday.”
I looked at the three of them, all breathing fast, all waiting for whatever I wanted next, and decided twenty-five was going to be the best year of my life.
I stood there a moment, just drinking them in: Michelle’s knowing smile, Jane’s shy but hungry eyes, Tamera’s freckled chest rising and falling fast. The air felt thick, electric.
Michelle took charge (she always did when she wanted something perfect).
“Birthday boy sits,” she said softly, guiding me back into the armchair. The three of them moved like they’d rehearsed it, forming a slow circle around me.
Michelle knelt first, between my knees, and started unbuttoning my shirt with deliberate slowness, kissing every new inch of skin she uncovered. Jane and Tamera dropped to their knees on either side of her, each taking one of my hands and pressing it to their breasts. Jane’s heavy D-cup filled my palm, warm and soft; Tamera’s pert C-cup was firmer, nipple stiff against my lifeline. I groaned at the contrast alone.
Michelle tugged my shirt off, then reached for my belt. The clink of the buckle made seemed loud in the quiet room. She eased the zipper down, freed me, and all three of them exhaled at once when my cock sprang out, already aching.
Michelle looked up at me, wicked. “Ladies first taste goes to the birthday boy’s favorite flavor.”
She leaned in and took me in one slow, wet slide to the root. I felt her throat flutter around me and had to grip the armrests to keep from thrusting. Jane and Tamera watched, lips parted, then turned to each other. Jane cupped Tamera’s freckled breast, rolled the pink nipple between her fingers; Tamera whimpered and mirrored the motion on Jane’s darker, heavier one. Their mouths met in a soft, open kiss right in front of me while Michelle started a slow, torturous rhythm on my cock.
After maybe a minute (an eternity) Michelle pulled off with a wet pop and grinned. “Share, girls.”
Jane went next. She was shyer, licking tentatively at first, tracing the ridge, then taking me deeper with a soft moan that vibrated straight through me. Tamera waited her turn, but Michelle guided her head down to my balls, and suddenly I had a redhead’s eager tongue lapping and sucking while a brunette’s lips sliding down my shaft a blonde’s hand stroking whatever wasn’t in someone’s mouth.
I lasted maybe another minute before I had to stop them or end the whole weekend right there.
“Enough,” I rasped. “Bed. Now.”
They rose in a rustle of bare feet and soft laughter. Michelle leading, Jane and Tamera holding hands like they were afraid to let go. I followed them down the hallway, watching three perfect asses sway in the dim light.
When we reached the bedroom Michelle pushed me onto the mattress and climbed up after.
“Neapolitan rule,” she said, straddling my thighs, blonde curls brushing my cock. “You don’t move until you’ve tasted every flavor.”
Jane and Tamera crawled up on either side. Jane’s dark bush was first; I pulled her forward until she was kneeling over my face. She was already drenched; the moment my tongue parted her folds she cried out and rocked forward. Tamera watched, wide-eyed, then Michelle guided the redhead to straddle my hips, facing Jane. I felt soft red curls settle against my shaft as Michelle reached between them and started rubbing Tamera’s clit in slow circles.
I licked Jane deep and steady, tasting her rich, musky heat, while Tamera started grinding against Michelle’s fingers and my cock at the same time. Within minutes Jane was trembling, thighs clamping around my head, and she came with a long, shuddering moan, flooding my mouth.
Michelle didn’t miss a beat. “Switch.” Michelle dominated the girls, and I dominated Michelle.
Jane moved down, still shaking, and took my cock in her mouth to taste herself on me while Tamera lowered her freckled pussy to my lips. The red curls tickled; she tasted lighter, sharper, and she was so sensitive that two slow licks had her hips jerking. Michelle knelt beside us, kissing Tamera deeply, then leaning down to lick where my tongue wasn’t, until Tamera broke the kiss to cry out and came hard, thighs quivering, a small gush coating my chin.
Michelle finally climbed up, blonde and perfect, and sank down on me in one slick motion. She was soaked, swollen from watching, and the heat of her almost finished me right there.
“My turn,” she whispered, starting to ride slow and deep. Jane and Tamera curled against us on either side, kissing my neck, my chest, each other, hands roaming everywhere.
The Neapolitan weekend had officially begun, and we hadn’t even made it to the really good parts yet.
The room was already thick with heat and the sounds of four people breathing hard. Michelle rode me slow at first, savoring every inch, her head thrown back, blonde hair brushing my thighs. Jane and Tamera lay on either side, kissing my neck, my chest, each other, hands sliding over Michelle’s hips, my stomach, everywhere.
After a few minutes Michelle leaned forward, breasts swaying, and whispered against my lips, “I want you to fuck all three of us tonight. No favorites. Just take what’s yours.”
She lifted off me slowly (my cock slick with her) and moved to the side. Jane was next. She’d been watching with huge dark eyes, thighs pressed together. I rolled her onto her back, spread those soft, curvy legs, and rubbed the head of my cock through her thick, wet curls. She whimpered, hips lifting, begging without words.
I knelt between Jane’s spread thighs, lined up, and pushed in with one slow, relentless stroke. She was impossibly tight, slick heat swallowing me inch by inch until I bottomed out with a wet, filthy sound that echoed in the quiet room. Her heavy D-cups rocked with the motion, dark nipples already stiff. I leaned down and caught one in my mouth, sucking hard, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. Then I started moving: long, deep strokes that dragged a low, broken moan from her throat every time my hips met hers.
Her legs locked around my waist, heels digging into my ass, urging me harder. Those gorgeous breasts bounced wildly with every thrust, soft flesh rippling, dark areolas brushing my chest on the down-stroke. I switched to the other nipple, biting gently, and felt her pussy clench in response.
She hadn’t been fucked in almost two years, she’d confessed earlier, breathless and blushing, and it showed. Every stroke drew a new sound: a whimper, a curse, a desperate little “yes” that got louder each time I bottomed out. I could feel her climbing fast, thighs trembling, nails raking down my back.
Three minutes, maybe four, of steady, punishing rhythm and she shattered.
Her back arched off the bed like a bow drawn for war, head thrown back, dark hair spilling across the sheets. A raw, guttural cry tore out of her as her pussy clamped down hard, fluttering in violent waves around my cock. Her whole body shook, breasts heaving with every ragged breath, nipples so hard they looked painful. She came in long, rolling pulses, soaking us both, thighs quivering uncontrollably against my hips.
I stayed buried deep, grinding slow circles until the last spasm faded and she went limp beneath me, chest glistening with sweat, eyes glassy and stunned.
Only then did I ease out (slow, careful, watching my slick length emerge from her swollen, flushed pussy) and turned to Tamera, who was already on her knees waiting, freckled ass in the air, green eyes burning.
“Your turn, strawberry,” I said, voice rough.
Jane just laughed, breathless and wrecked. “Good luck following that, red.”
Tamera was already waiting, exactly where I wanted her: on her knees, face pressed into a pillow, freckled back arched like a drawn bow, tight athletic ass tilted high. The sight alone almost finished me.
I knelt behind her, ran both palms over that smooth, firm curve, spread her open, and slid home in one long, deliberate push. She was smaller than Jane, hotter, impossibly tight; the angle let me sink so deep on the first stroke that my hips smacked against her ass with a sharp crack. A high, startled gasp tore out of her as her walls fluttered around me, trying to adjust to the sudden stretch.
I gave her one heartbeat, two, then started moving: slow, deep strokes at first, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in, watching her apple-firm C-cups jiggle beneath her with every thrust. Those perfect freckled tits rocked forward and back, pale pink nipples brushing the sheets, stiff and begging. The rhythm built fast; I gripped her hips and started pounding, skin slapping skin, the bed creaking under us.
Michelle slid in beside us like she’d choreographed the whole thing, stretched out on her back, and pulled Tamera down into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. One of Michelle’s hands snaked between Tamera’s thighs, fingers finding her swollen clit and rubbing fast, tight circles in perfect time with my thrusts.
Tamera lasted maybe ninety seconds.
Her whole body went rigid first (thighs trembling, back bowing harder), then she broke. A sharp, desperate cry muffled against Michelle’s mouth as her pussy clamped down like a fist, spasming in hard, rhythmic waves. The first orgasm hit her so suddenly she jerked forward, tits bouncing wildly, freckles flushed dark across her shoulders. A hot gush soaked my cock and Michelle’s fingers, dripping down Tamera’s thighs in glistening streaks.
Michelle didn’t stop rubbing. She kept those merciless circles going, tongue still tangled with Tamera’s, until a second, harder climax tore through the redhead thirty seconds later. Tamera screamed into the kiss this time, body shaking uncontrollably, another flood pulsing out around me, splashing Michelle’s wrist and the sheets beneath us. Her apple-firm breasts quivered with every convulsion, nipples so hard they looked almost painful.
I gritted my teeth, hips still snapping, riding her through it until the last shudder left her limp and gasping, held up only by my grip and Michelle’s arms.
Michelle finally broke the kiss, licked Tamera’s bottom lip, and looked up at me with pure, wicked pride.
Michelle wasn’t done directing.
She pushed me onto my back again and straddled my face, facing my feet, so I could taste how soaked she was while the other two recovered. Jane and Tamera crawled down between my legs, taking turns licking and sucking me clean of each other, trading soft, wet kisses around my cock whenever they met in the middle.
When Michelle came the first time on my tongue (hard, with that familiar flood that soaked my chin and the pillow), she slid down my body and sank onto me again, reverse cowgirl this time. Jane and Tamera knelt on either side, kissing her, sucking her nipples, one of them reaching down to rub her clit while she rode.
I watched Michelle’s perfect ass bounce, watched Jane and Tamera’s mouths on her breasts, and felt my control slipping.
“Inside me,” Michelle ordered, voice ragged. “All of it.”
I gripped her hips, thrust up hard a dozen times, and let go. The orgasm hit like a freight train (thick, endless ropes pumping deep inside her while she ground down and came again, squirting hard around my cock, the overflow running down my balls and soaking the sheets).
She stayed there a moment, trembling, then lifted off. Before a single drop could escape, Jane leaned in and licked Michelle clean, moaning at the taste of us mixed together. Tamera followed, eager, until Michelle was shuddering through another small aftershock.
Michelle looked down at me, flushed and triumphant.
“Round one,” she panted. “We’ve got until Monday morning, birthday boy. You’re going to fill every flavor before we’re done.”
And we did. All night. Every position, every combination, every room in the house soaked before sunrise.
If it ended right there, it would go down as the best birthday of my life, before or since. But there was more to come.
I was sprawled on my back, chest heaving, cock still slick and half-hard against my stomach, trying to remember how to breathe. The three of them gave me maybe three minutes before they turned on each other like they’d been starving for it.
Michelle pushed Jane onto her back in the middle of the wrecked bed and spread those curvy thighs wide. She buried her face in Jane’s thick, dark bush without hesitation, tongue lapping slow and deliberate. Jane’s head snapped back, a broken moan ripping out of her as Michelle’s blonde head moved between her legs. Tamera crawled up and latched onto one of Jane’s heavy breasts, sucking hard on the dark nipple while pinching and rolling the other.
Jane lasted less than two minutes. Her hips started bucking, hands fisting the sheets, and then she came with a sharp cry, thighs clamping around Michelle’s head, back bowing off the mattress. Michelle didn’t stop; she kept licking softly through the aftershocks until Jane was whimpering and pushing weakly at her head, oversensitive.
Tamera was next. Michelle flipped her onto all fours, red hair spilling everywhere, and slid two fingers deep into that tight, freckled pussy while sucking on her clit from underneath. Jane, still dazed, knelt in front of Tamera’s face and let the redhead eat her eagerly. I watched Tamera’s athletic body tense, ass clenching, thighs trembling, until she pulled off Jane’s pussy just long enough to scream into the mattress. Her orgasm hit hard; her whole-body shook, a small, clear gush splashing onto Michelle’s chin as she kept curling those fingers relentlessly.
Michelle finally let her collapse, both girls panting and glowing.
Then Michelle’s eyes found mine, wicked and bright.
“Time for presents to be properly served,” she said.
She’d stashed a couple of my old green 550-cord boot laces in her overnight bag (she’d planned everything). In thirty seconds, she had Jane on her back again, wrists tied loosely but firmly to the headboard, legs spread and ankles looped to the bedposts so that dark, swollen pussy was completely open. Jane tested the cords, bit her lip, and gave a needy little whimper.
Tamera got the same treatment on her stomach, cheek against the pillow, freckled ass in the air, wrists tied behind her back, ankles spread and secured to the corners so her red curls and tight pink entrance were perfectly displayed.
Michelle knelt between them like a very satisfied cat, ran a hand possessively down each girl’s spine, then looked at me.
“Birthday boy gets to choose which flavor he wants delivered first,” she purred. “They’re both tied up, dripping, and not allowed to come again until you say so.”
Jane whimpered. Tamera shivered and pushed her ass higher.
I crawled up the bed slowly, letting the mattress dip under my weight so both girls felt it. Jane’s dark eyes tracked me, wide and glassy; her full breasts rising and falling fast, nipples tight, the thick curls between her legs already glistening again. Tamera gave a soft, needy whine from her facedown position, but she stayed perfectly still, just like Michelle had told her.
I knelt between Jane’s spread thighs and ran my palms up the soft insides, watching goosebumps race over her skin. The 550-cord held her ankles firmly to the bedposts; she couldn’t close her legs even an inch. I leaned down and dragged my tongue through her folds once, slow and deliberate. She jerked against the restraints, a strangled moan ripping out of her.
“Sensitive already?” I murmured against her clit.
“Yes, sir… please…”
Michelle settled on the mattress beside Jane’s head, stroking her hair like she was petting a cat. “He gets to take his time, sweetheart. You come when he says, not before.”
I took my time.
I licked her lazily, tracing every fold, circling her clit until her hips tried to chase my mouth and the cords creaked. Then I slid two fingers into her soaked heat and curled them slow. Jane’s back arched as far as the wrist ties would let her; her heavy breasts swayed with every breath. I kept the rhythm gentle, almost teasing, until she was babbling, thighs shaking, sweat beading between her tits.
Only then did I rise up on my knees, line myself up, and push into her in one long, unhurried stroke.
Jane cried out, head falling back. She was swollen and scorching hot, clenching around me like she was trying to pull me deeper. I started slow, deep thrusts that made her breasts bounce and the headboard rattle softly against the wall. Michelle leaned down and took one dark nipple into her mouth, sucking in time with my strokes; Tamera watched over her shoulder, cheek against the mattress, lips parted, rocking her hips helplessly against nothing.
I felt Jane climbing again fast, too fast for how long I wanted this to last, so I pulled almost all the way out and held still. She sobbed in frustration.
“Not yet,” I said.
I reached over and gave Tamera’s upturned ass a sharp little slap that made her gasp and clench, then turned back to Jane. I started moving again, harder this time, angling so every stroke dragged across the spot that made her eyes roll back. Michelle slipped a hand between us and started rubbing Jane’s clit in tight circles.
Jane lasted maybe another thirty seconds.
“Please, please, oh God, please let me,”
“Come,” I told her.
She shattered.
Her whole body seized, pussy clamping down in hard, rhythmic waves, a low, guttural moan tearing out of her as she came around my cock. I kept thrusting through it, drawing it out until she was shaking and gasping, tears of overstimulation in the corners of her eyes.
I pulled out slowly, slick with her, and looked down at my handiwork: Jane limp and glowing, chest heaving, thighs trembling against the green cords.
Michelle kissed her forehead, then looked at me with pure pride.
“One flavor down,” she whispered. “Redhead’s been very patient.”
I turned to Tamera, still tied facedown, ass in the air, red curls soaked and glistening, and ran a single finger through her folds. She jolted like I’d shocked her, pushing back with a desperate little sound.
“Your turn, strawberry,” I said.
Tamera was trembling before I even touched her, face pressed to the pillow, freckled back arched, wrists flexing against the 550-cord that kept them pinned between her shoulder blades. Every breath made her pert ass rock slightly, red curls peeking between her spread thighs, already soaked and swollen from watching Jane come apart.
I knelt behind her and ran both palms over that tight, athletic backside, spreading her open so I could see every inch of pink glistening under the soft red hair. She whimpered into the pillow when the cool air hit her.
Michelle crawled up beside her, stroked that fiery hair off her flushed cheek, and murmured, “Remember the rule, baby. You come when he says. Not before.”
I didn’t make her wait long, but I made her feel every second.
I rubbed the head of my cock through her slick folds once, twice, coating myself in her. Then I pushed in, slow and relentless. Tamera’s back bowed; a high, broken sound escaped her throat as I stretched that tight channel. She was smaller than Jane, hotter, and the angle (ass high, chest down) let me sink impossibly deep on the first stroke. When my hips finally met her ass she was panting open-mouthed against the sheets.
I gave her a heartbeat to adjust, then started moving, long, deliberate strokes that dragged all the way out and slammed back in. The slap of skin on skin filled the room; her whole body jolted forward with every thrust, breasts swaying beneath her, nipples brushing the mattress.
Michelle lay on her side next to us, one hand lazily circling Tamera’s clit, the other pinching and tugging a pale pink nipple each time I bottomed out. Jane, still loosely tied on her back, watched with hooded eyes, chest still heaving from her own afterglow.
Tamera lasted maybe ninety seconds before she started begging.
“Please… oh God, please… it’s too much, I can’t,”
“You can,” Michelle soothed, pressing harder on her clit. “Hold it for him.”
I picked up the pace, gripping her hips hard enough to leave fingerprints, pounding into her so deep my balls slapped against Michelle’s fingers. Tamera’s thighs started shaking uncontrollably; her breath came in sharp little sobs.
“Please, sir… I need to come, please let me come,”
I leaned over her back, lips against her ear. “Now.”
The orgasm hit her like a detonation.
She screamed into the pillow, whole body locking rigid, pussy clamping down in violent spasms that milked me in waves. A hot gush burst around my cock, splashing down both our thighs and soaking the sheet beneath her knees. Another followed immediately, then another; each thrust forced out one more pulse until the mattress under us was dark and drenched.
I didn’t stop. I fucked her straight through it, riding every contraction, until she was limp and gasping, held up only by the cords and my hands on her hips.
Only then did I pull out slowly. She collapsed sideways the second I released her ankles, red hair plastered to her sweaty face, freckles stark against flushed skin, chest hitching with little aftershocks.
Michelle untied her wrists, gathered the trembling redhead against her chest, and kissed her damp forehead.
“Good girl,” she whispered. “You squirted even harder than I do.”
Tamera gave a weak, delirious laugh, still shuddering.
I looked at the three of them, Jane and Tamera boneless and glowing in loose cords, Michelle stroking their hair like a very satisfied queen, and felt my cock twitch, already aching for round three.
Michelle met my eyes and smiled slow.
“Still two more flavors to finish, birthday boy… and the night’s barely started.
Michelle had been the conductor all night, orchestrating every moan, every shudder, every gush, while somehow keeping herself just on the edge. Now she looked like she was starving.
I untied Jane’s and Tamera’s wrists the rest of the way (they were too blissed-out to do more than flop bonelessly on the mattress) and turned to Michelle.
“Your turn,” I said.
She didn’t argue. She just lay back in the middle of the wrecked bed, blonde hair fanned across the pillow, legs already falling open. Jane curled against her left side, Tamera on her right, both girls instinctively nuzzling into her neck, hands roaming lazily over her breasts and stomach like they couldn’t stop touching.
I knelt between Michelle’s thighs and slid two fingers into her without warning. She was molten, swollen, so ready that the wet sound was loud in the quiet room. I curled my fingers hard against that spot I knew by heart and started a fast, steady rhythm.
Michelle’s back arched instantly.
“Fuck, yesrightthere, ”
Jane latched onto a nipple, sucking hard; Tamera mirrored her on the other side. I added a third finger, thumb pressing tight circles on her clit, and Michelle’s hips started bucking against my hand like she was riding a cock.
The first orgasm hit her in under a minute.
Her whole body locked, thighs clamping around my wrist, and then the flood came: a thick, hot jet that shot past my fingers and splashed across my stomach and the sheets. Another pulse followed immediately, harder, soaking my forearm and running in rivulets down her ass. She cried out, sharp and broken, head thrown back, blonde hair sticking to her sweaty cheeks.
I didn’t let up. I kept stroking through every spasm, drawing it out until she was shaking and gasping, then shifted my angle just slightly and went after the next one.
The second climax was even bigger.
It started deeper, a rolling wave that made her abs clench visibly. She grabbed fistfuls of sheet, mouth open in a silent scream, and then the gush exploded out of her: a forceful, almost violent stream that arced high and drenched my chest, the headboard, even spattered Jane and Tamera’s hair. Pulse after pulse, five, each one accompanied by a desperate, sobbing moan until the bed beneath her hips was a lake and the room smelled like nothing but Michelle.
When it finally ebbed, she collapsed, trembling uncontrollably, aftershocks still rippling through her every few seconds. Jane and Tamera kissed her softly, licking stray drops from her neck and breasts, murmuring sweet nonsense while she tried to remember how to breathe.
I leaned over her, kissed her slack mouth, tasted salt and sex.
“Happy birthday to me,” I whispered against her lips.
She gave a weak, delirious laugh, voice wrecked.
“Best… gift… ever,” she managed, then pulled me down into the wet, tangled pile of limbs and soaked sheets.
The bed was already a disaster (sheets soaked, pillows on the floor, the air thick with sweat and sex), but none of us cared. Michelle was still trembling from her double-squirt, Jane and Tamera boneless and glowing, and I was hard again, aching like the night had just started.
Michelle pushed herself up on shaky arms, blonde hair wild, and gave me that look (half challenge, half plea).
“Round three,” she rasped. “All four of us. No waiting turns this time.”
She rearranged them like toys she’d been dying to play with.
Jane ended up on her back again, legs spread wide. Michelle straddled Jane’s face, facing the foot of the bed, so Jane could eat her from below. Tamera was told to straddle Jane’s hips, facing Michelle, so the two girls could kiss and grind their pussies together. I knelt behind Tamera, between Jane’s calves.
Michelle reached back, guided my cock to Tamera’s dripping entrance, and nodded.
I pushed into Tamera in one slow thrust. She cried out into Michelle’s mouth, back arching, red hair cascading down her spine. The angle was perfect; every stroke into Tamera’s tight heat rocked her forward, grinding her clit against Jane’s. Jane moaned into Michelle’s pussy, the vibration making Michelle shudder and grab Tamera’s breasts for balance.
We found a rhythm fast: I fucked Tamera deep and steady, Tamera rocked against Jane, Jane licked and sucked Michelle like she was starving, and Michelle rode Jane’s face while making out with Tamera, hands everywhere.
It was chaos and perfection.
Tamera came first this round; she broke the kiss with Michelle to scream, pussy clamping around me in hard spasms, another hot gush soaking Jane beneath her. The clench dragged me deeper and I had to grit my teeth to keep from finishing.
Michelle was next. Jane’s tongue, plus the sight of me pounding Tamera, sent her over. She threw her head back, blonde hair whipping, and squirted straight into Jane’s eager mouth; Jane swallowed what she could, the rest running down her chin and neck in glistening streams.
Jane followed seconds later, thighs locking around Tamera’s hips, whole body shaking as she came against the redhead’s grinding clit.
Three orgasms, overlapping, feeding each other, the room full of broken cries and wet sounds.
I pulled out of Tamera (she collapsed sideways into Michelle’s arms, still trembling), then slid down and drove into Jane in one slick motion. She was swollen, scorching, and the new angle let me hit deep. Michelle leaned forward, kissed me hard, then reached between Jane and me to rub Jane’s clit while I fucked her.
Jane came again almost instantly, back bowing, a hoarse scream muffled against Michelle’s thigh.
That was it for me.
I buried myself to the hilt and let go, pumping thick ropes deep inside Jane while Michelle kept rubbing, drawing Jane’s orgasm out until we were both shaking. When I finally pulled out, a river of cum and juice followed, pooling on the already-ruined mattress.
Michelle pushed me onto my back, climbed on top, and sank down on my still-hard cock without pause. Tamera and Jane curled against us on either side, kissing my neck, my chest, Michelle’s breasts, each other, hands stroking everywhere.
Michelle rode me slow and filthy, grinding more than bouncing, letting Jane and Tamera lick and suck whatever skin they could reach. She came one more time like that, a rolling, endless waves that soaked us both again, before collapsing forward onto my chest.
We stayed in that tangled, sweaty, dripping pile for a long time, breathing together, trading lazy kisses, limbs too heavy to move.
Eventually Michelle lifted her head, voice hoarse but triumphant.
“Happy birthday, baby,” she whispered against my lips. “Two more days to go.”
I laughed into her hair, surrounded by blonde, brunette, and redhead, every inch of skin sticky and satisfied.
The room finally went quiet except for the low hum of the ceiling fan and four sets of lungs trying to remember how to work.
I don’t know who moved first, but suddenly we were untangling, limbs heavy, skin sticky, the mattress beneath us a cold, soaked disaster. Michelle found the strength to crawl up to the dry top corner of the bed and pull the one remaining blanket over us. The rest of us followed like magnets.
I ended up flat on my back in the middle. Michelle curled into my left side, head on my chest, one long leg thrown over mine, fingers tracing lazy circles through the sweat on my ribs. Jane took my right, tucking herself under my arm, full breasts pressed soft and warm against my side, dark hair spilling across my shoulder. Tamera, smallest and still trembling with little aftershocks, wriggled in between my legs and laid her cheek on my stomach, red hair fanned out like fire, one freckled arm draped over Michelle’s ankle like she needed to touch all of us at once.
We were a boneless, glistening pile (blonde, brunette, redhead wrapped around me like living blankets).
Michelle’s voice came out hoarse and sleepy. “Everybody still alive?”
Jane gave a weak thumbs-up without lifting her head. Tamera just made a soft, contented sound and nuzzled closer. I could feel her smile against my skin.
I ran my fingers through Michelle’s hair, then Jane’s, then Tamera’s, slow and gentle. “I’m never moving again,” I said. “Y’all killed me. Happy birthday to me.”
Michelle chuckled, the vibration rumbling through my chest. “We’ll get you a tombstone: ‘Died of Neapolitan Overdose, 1987.’”
Jane lifted her head just enough to press a soft kiss to my collarbone. “Worth it.”
Tamera’s hand found mine, laced our fingers, and squeezed. “Best weekend ever,” she whispered, voice small and awed.
We stayed like that for a long time (no hurry, no words, just the slow sync of breathing and heartbeats). I could feel the occasional tiny shiver run through one of them when a late aftershock hit; each time the others would tighten their hold, like we were all anchoring each other.
Eventually Michelle reached down to the floor, snagged a couple of half-dry towels we’d abandoned earlier, and draped them over the worst of the wet spots without ever fully letting go of me. Somebody clicked off the lamp. The room went dark except for moonlight striping through the blinds.
Michelle’s lips brushed my chest, right over my heart. “Love you,” she murmured, so quiet I almost missed it.
Jane echoed it a second later, sleepy and sincere, against my shoulder.
Tamera pressed a kiss to my stomach. “Love you too, birthday boy.”
I pulled them all closer, arms full of warm, naked, utterly spent women, and felt something settle in my chest I didn’t have a name for yet.
“Love you three idiots,” I said into the dark.
We were a sweaty, sheet-tangled pile when I finally asked, lazy and grinning, “So seriously, whose genius brain came up with calling you three Neapolitan?”
Michelle propped her chin on my chest, eyes sparkling. “Some thirsty specialist who haunts our softball games like a lost puppy. One day me, Jane, and Tam are parked on the bench in a row (ponytails poking out our caps like a damn ice-cream ad) and this dude struts by and goes, ‘Well, hello… chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. I’d love one lick of that Neapolitan cone, ladies.’”
Jane snickered, reaching over me to flick Michelle’s nose. “We just stared at him like he’d grown a second head. Guy practically left a drool trail.”
Tamera popped her head up, red hair everywhere. “Fast-forward a couple weeks. Michelle’s plotting your birthday surprise and goes, ‘I want to do something filthy and memorable.’ I’m like, ‘How memorable we talkin’?’ Jane wiggles her eyebrows and says, ‘Maybe the lieutenant wants to actually taste the Neapolitan cone and pick his favorite flavor.’”
Michelle poked my ribs, playful. “I looked at these two clowns, thought about that creep still jerking off to the fantasy, and said, ‘Yah. Only one man gets the real thing, and it’s my man.’”
She leaned in and nipped my bottom lip. “So, congratulations, birthday boy. You’re the very first (and only) guy who gets to lick the whole damn ice-cream parlor. That other loser can keep buying single-scoop vanilla and crying into it, he’ll never taste THIS vanilla gal.”
Jane and Tamera dissolved into giggles, sandwiching me tighter.
“Exclusive flavor tester,” Jane teased, kissing my jaw. “Quality-control certified,” Tamera added, kissing the other side.
Michelle finished with a smug little grin. “Happy birthday, baby. Hope you enjoyed your unlimited, all-you-can-eat Neapolitan sundae, because nobody else ever gets a spoon.”
Soft laughter, a few more lazy kisses, and then nothing but slow breathing and the faint smell of sex and coconut shampoo.
Outside, a late-night C-130 rumbled overhead, lights blinking across the ceiling. Inside my little off-post house, the four of us drifted off tangled together, sticky, happy, and completely wrecked.
Continue with “Neapolitan Birthday, Pt 3 – Three More Days”
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