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The Summer of Nora

Category: Group Sex
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Nora. Red-haired, round-bottomed, small-breasted. Thin, lithe and angular. Shaved her pubic hair into patterns, depending on her mood. Tattoo of a treble clef on her ankle. Her relationship before me had been with a woman. After me, she moved in with a couple. Sometimes I led my girlfriends (later, my wife) to the dark side. Nora had a steady table there long before I got to her.

We met through an increasingly graphic bit of mutual flirtation one night at a bar where she was waiting tables. It began with a clumsy comment of mine about her red lipstick. It ended with her briefly lifting her skirt to flash a single candle-like flame outlined in fine auburn hair above her pussy.

It turned out we were both musicians. She came to my next show, I went to hers, and about the time she dragged me into the woman’s room, pressed me back against the wall with her hand and sucked me off without locking the door, I knew we were going to be friends. An innocent-looking blonde passed us on our way out. I caught Nora looking at her ass. “Where was she a minute ago?” she said, then pushed me back out to the bar in front of the stage.

Over the next few months, we left bits of clothing and a trail of disbelieving stares all over town. She’d ride topless in my car. Blow me in traffic jams. One night she pulled me out of the car, bent herself against a parking-lot wall, hiked her skirt up and had me fuck her in the ass right there. She came, then turned around, got on her knees, and cupped her hands in front of me for me to jerk off into. When I did, she looked me in eye and licked my come slowly out of her hands, never breaking eye contact as she swallowed it until it was gone.

She was a bad one.

On nights we weren’t together, she’d call me as she was about to come. Let me listen to those short shallow breaths that preceded the soul-deep sigh of her orgasm. Say my name as she came.

The “other woman” thing was ever present in our sex. She’d flirt with girls when we were together, make out with one every once in a while. When she blew me, she’d nibble one side of my cock and rub her fingertips over the other side, saying “This is her.” When we fucked, she’d lick a finger and flick it over my balls or against my asshole. “That’s her tongue.”

She’d had a threesome before, with her husband at the time. She liked the woman, thought her husband was a clod throughout it. All penis and no soul. She finished with the woman alone the next weekend. Still jonesed for the real thing.

There were certainly nights it looked like we were headed that way, intentionally or otherwise. She hit it off with a short-haired, boyish woman in a gay bar one night. They disappeared into the woman’s room together, came back out fifteen minutes later, sat next to me. Nora squeezed my leg and nodded, indicating that what I thought might be happening later would indeed be happening later. But not long after that, her new friend kissed her on the cheek, squeezed her hand, and headed out.

Another night her ex-roommate Gin confessed to us, in an off-hand comment, that if she were ever to be with another woman, she’d want it to be Nora. Nora walked over, gave her a deep, soulful kiss, then left the room to get changed for the night. Gin looked at me in flushed amazement, looked down at her own erect nipples poking against her white-silk top, and fanned herself with dramatic flourish.

I adored Gin. She was dark and feminine. Black hair, green eyes. No sharp angles, the anti-Nora, pure sensual economy. And an impossible pair of tits, all perfect circles and subtle swells, complete with a freshly pierced nipple she’d proudly shown off several weeks before.

Gin often spent the night at one or another of our houses after an evening out together. None of us was ever shy about walking around naked. She’d presumably heard us having sex more than once, since it was rarely a quiet affair. She’d even seen the polaroids (remember those?) Nora had taken of my cock, Nora’s pussy, us fucking—a bit of knowledge that turned me on, my proclivity for being watched being what it is.

But it was not to be. Nora said she felt like she knew Gin too well after living with her, that the window had probably passed. I said that that that was 20 pounds and two hairstyles ago. By most objective measures, Gin was hot, windows or no. “Then fuck her,” Nora said, nonchalantly.

So we continued as a platonic threesome, albeit one with undertones.

One night the three of us–Nora, Gin and I–were getting ready to go out. Nora’s place was a funky little pad over a garage, with a bar just up the street, where we were headed. Gin had showered, was wearing a tight pair of thin black pants and a lacy little black bra, nipple ring occasionally glinting through the tight fabric. She was looking through Nora’s closet for shirts to wear. Nora herself was in a ratted pink t-shirt she’d bought for change at the salvation army, a pair of boxer shorts. Ironing. I was lying on the bed, my own shirt not yet on, enjoying the eye candy.

Phone rang. I answered. Hesitation. Then, “…Hello? Did I get Nora’s house?”

I brought the phone to Nora. Gin headed out to the living room to try on her bounty. I joined her there to get a beer. Gin tapped me on my back and nodded toward Nora, who was flushed, smiling, posture slackened. Leaning against the door frame, funnelling a section of her soul into the phone receiver.

Cass. Clearly.

Cass was Nora’s ex-girlfriend, for whom it was safe to say the window was still open. They’d had prodigious and explosive sex, the details of which Nora often used as adult bedtime stories. “So, you want to hear about the time Cass came for eight minutes straight?” “Want to hear about the night Cass used a strap-on on my ass?” And so on. But never a threesome—Cass wouldn’t have it. In the end, they only broke it off only because Cass had moved away.

Silhouetted against the bedroom doorway, Nora had begun absent-mindedly circling a thumb around one of her nipples through her salvation army shirt as she spoke, Gina looked at her and back at me and squeezed my shoulder. “Sorry, big guy,” she said. I told her I didn’t mind, which was true.

Neither Nora nor I had any illusions that we were a permanent thing. It was temporary insanity. Skydiving. In a way, that’s what freed us to do the things we did.

“Here, check this out,” Gin said, still trying to change the subject for me. She lowered the front of her pants just far enough to show me a new tattoo, a tiny yellow rose, right at her bikini line. Just far enough down to make evident that she’d waxed clean the neatly trimmed bush I’d caught sight of during our sleepovers.

“Very nice,” I said. “Did it hurt?” “Oh, yes,” she said, with no indication in her twinkling green eyes that that bothered her.

Nora came back in, uncharacteristically flushed.

“Cass?” Gin asked.

Nora nodded. “Guess where?”

Gin looked down, not wanting to intrude on what she assumed was an uncomfortable moment for Nora and me. She turned around to try another top on.

“You want to head down there first, or should we all still go together?” I said.

“I thought I’d run down first, if that’s…” Nora was quieter than I’d usually heard her. Her nipples were hard. Her mind was elsewhere.

“We’ll see you there. Enjoy,” I said, heading to the couch with my beer. Nora was in a different time zone, ambling back to the bedroom to finish getting ready. Gin was looking at me, what–impressed? Confused? Compassionate? Something.

Gin sashayed back to the bedroom herself to look for more shirts. Nora reappeared from there there moments later in her “bad girl” outfit–a short plaid skirt, long boots, a gauzy top, red-red lipstick. Blew a kiss and wiggled her panty-less ass for me on the way out the door. The door shut and clicked and Gin and I were alone.

She was in Nora’s bedroom, checking herself out in Nora’s full-length mirror. Front, side view, rear end–the patented self-examination procedure of women the world over. She’d settled on a silky, tapered, button-down deep-green shirt, which she’d left strategically open to reveal the lacy trim of the black bra and the stunning swell of her breasts. A little make-up, some scattered glitter on her chest. A soft-focus wet-dream. Jesus.

I stood in the doorway and watched. She looked over, smiled softly, turned to face me. “Good?” she asked.

“Jesus,” I said.

She walked over to me, pressed her hands against my chest, then pinched both my nipples–hard. She lifted herself on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear.

“Glad you like it,” she said. She tugged forcefully on my nipples, made a look like she was trying to find the right place to take a bite–ear, neck, shoulder, lip–then let go and continued into the living room.

“Let’s go, big guy. We’re wanted elsewhere.”

I was stuck to the wall, stunned. Turned on.

She showed no signs of coming back, so I grabbed my shirt from my gym bag, pulled it on, and joined Gin at the front door. She looked me up and down, lingered a moment on what must have been clear evidence of my arousal against my jeans, shook her head once to herself and headed out the door. I followed. Of course.

The bar was called Maggie’s, owned by, of all things, a man named Maggie. Short for Dimaggio. Regular place, not a joint, not a club. No bikers, no bankers. Something in between. Bands on weekends, I’d played there myself way back.

Small crowd tonight, straighter types. People in khaki pants. Older.

No sign of Nora or Cass.

Gin and I took a quick circuit, looking for the girls. And closing in on each other. I’d stand next to her, she’d linger a moment, find a reason to move, brush against me as she did. I faced the bar ordering drinks, she backed against me gently. As we stood and took our first sips, she played with her shirt collar to flash a deeper view of the exquisite swell of her breasts. And when she turned again to scan the place for our two compatriots, she grazed the front of my pants with her graceful hips.

I closed in behind her.

“I think you might be a bad girl, Gin.”

She made no effort to move this time. “Mmt-mm, Nora’s the bad girl. I’m a good girl.” Then she turned her head back so her mouth was next to mine. She looked me straight in the eye. “Or don’t you fuck good girls?”

She slipped her hand between us and ran her thumb down the underside of my cock, which was pressed uncomfortably against the front of my jeans. Gave me a single squeeze.

The middle-aged woman sitting closest to us tisked disapprovingly and turned away. Taking a page from Nora’s book, I took Gin’s hand and led her back to the woman’s room. Pushed the door open and pressed her against the wall to kiss her. She stiffened, stopped me, pointed to the sink across from us.

On which Nora was sitting, legs apart, head back, mouth open, heaving, while Cass, a short, soft, honey-haired blond in upscale-hippie clothes, crouched with one arm around Nora’s waist and the other pistoning forcefully under her skirt, presumably pushing a finger or three into Nora with each thrust.

I’ll say that differently. There, in the bathroom, was a beautiful woman with her hand inside my girlfriend.


I backed against the wall next to Gin, she reached over and placed her palm flat against the front of my jeans, squeezing me rhythmically, running her other fingers lightly across her own lips. She was transfixed. Sidled her ass back in front of my cock, keeping her hand on me. Pressed back. Rested her head on my chest. I cupped her breasts, she held my hands there with her free arm and writhed a bit. I pinched her nipples through her shirt and she grunted, stroking me faster through my jeans.

Cass heard this and turned around, stopped moving her arm for a second. She was lovely. Fair-skinned, natural, wearing a flowing skirt of some sexily disorganized material, a suede vest with apparently nothing underneath, a complicated necklace. Long honeyed hair that kept moving after she’d stopped.

Nora looked up, saw that it was us, and shook her head no–don’t stop. Grabbed Nora’s hand rode it a bit with her pussy. Cass looked at her. “It’s OK, that’s D____ and Gin,” she said, pulling Cass’s arm back into her.

I smiled by way of introduction, was about to say something when the bartender opened the door, saw Gin and me there, and said, “OK, the two of you out of here. You’re out.”

Nora and Cass were dead quiet, watching. Waiting for him to turn to them. But he didn’t come in any further. Just stood there at the door to supervise as we composed ourselves and left. Behind the bartender, looking in, was the middle-aged woman from the bar. She’d seen us head to the woman’s room. Gotten him, I guessed.

None of them knew that three feet away from them, on the other side of the bathroom wall, was a big-eyed blonde woman with her hand buried in the cunt of a red-lipped redhead with the newly shaven pattern of a sunset carved into the fine hair above her pussy and a treble clef tattoo inked onto her trembling ankle.

So Gin and I left Maggie’s Bar and returned to Nora’s apartment. We walked in the door and hell broke loose.

I pushed her back against the wall, pressed against her, kissed her–finally. Pulled her shirt open without unbuttoning it. “I’ll get her a new one,” I said. Cupped her breasts, held her face, ran the backs of my fingers down from her shoulders and caught her nipples between the second and third fingers of each hand, pinched down and tugged.

She wriggled against me, one hand squeezing my ass to pull me tighter against her, the other between us, holding my cock through my jeans, tugging on it from the base.

She reached up, grabbed the back of my hair, pulled my head down to her, then back, face to the sky. She ran her tongue straight up the underside of my neck to my chin, which she bit. I turned her around, pushed her hair up, bit the back of her neck, her earlobe. Ran my tongue straight up her spine. She turned around again, pulled my mouth to hers, kissed me, softer suddenly. A kiss that felt like Gin looked, all feminine round edges. As it ended, she ran her fingernails straight down my back from my neck, back up again, grabbed my hair once more, pulled my head back and bit my neck.

We edged our way toward the couch, still standing. I unhooked her bra, slid it off her shoulders, followed its path with my tongue. Took her nipple and ring into my mouth, pulled it with my teeth, sucked it in and flicked my tongue over it, moved my head from side to side. She unbuttoned my pants, opened them, wrapped her hand around my cock. I slid my palm down over her belly and pressed it against her pussy from the outside of her pants. Squeezed against the heat, feeling her work her smooth lips against me. Pressed her clit with my middle finger, rubbed, teased, tickled two fingertips against it. Then moved my hand farther between her legs, still on the outside of her thin pants, my palm pressing against her asshole, her riding my forearm.

She still had one hand pulling at my cock, tapping it, grasping it, tugging. I looked up at her with her nipple ring between my teeth and mouthed the words “Bad. Girl.”

She cupped my head with her hand, pushed her nipple back into my mouth, ground faster against my forearm. I pressed her back onto the couch, kissed down her belly, squeezed her pussy with my lips through her pants. Raised her legs together and gently pulled her pants over her hips and off of her. There was the new yellow rose tattoo and an absolutely smooth pussy that was just like the rest of Gin, all round edges and feminine curves. My cock ached to sink into her.

I pressed my mouth against her pussy lips, ran the flat of my tongue over her, then quickly sucked her clit into my mouth and went to work. She was vocal and physical, grabbing my hair, squeezing my head with her thighs, lifting her ass off the couch. Then somehow running her hand up my back to the back of my neck, rubbing it and pressing my mouth harder against her, and it was a good twenty seconds before I figured out that that was not her hand, could not be, but was Nora’s, Nora who was home and naked already and stroking my neck as I ate out her friend.

Cass was there too, perching herself softly on the couch, legs curled in front of her, and kissing Gin lightly. Cass’s skirt had fallen open to reveal a downy coating of light blond hair up and down her legs. Gin ran a thumbnail along Cass’s calf as they kissed. I turned up the heat between Gin’s legs. Nora licked spiral lines up Gin’s thigh, over her hip, up her belly, and sucked her nipple, the unpierced one, into her mouth. After a moment she worked her way higher, first kissing Cass, a lovely, deep kiss, then cradling Gin’s face and making out like a teenager. Gin stroked Nora’s back, kissed the back of her neck, ran her hand down to her ass. I gave Gina an extended bit of pointed flutter directly on her clit, had her sucked in hard to my mouth, and, with a muffled, throaty release, she pulled both women to her and came, came, came.

Cass took Nora’s hand and pulled her to her, laying back as she did. Nora negotiated her way over Gin, who took a couple of nibbles of Nora’s lithe body as she passed, cupping a small breast and studying her lean body. I bit Nora’s ass, then kissed Gin, who wrapped herself immediately around me, pressing her wetness against my cock. She pushed my pants the rest of the way down with her feet, cupped my ass with her hands, kissed me intimately and intensely.

Then slapped my ass hard–HARD–with her hand. Cracked up. As did Nora and Cass, who were now both naked and tangled together, alternating honey and alabastar limbs, pussies pressed against each other as they kissed.

Nora slapped Cass’s ass. Cass slapped Nora’s. Nora reached over and slapped mine.

Gin loved it. Laughed, green eyes twinkling. I said “Ok, that’s it,” in mock sternness, turned Gin over, slapped her once, pressed my cock against her from behind. She wiggled her ass, pushed up to meet me. I pushed down into her, and she exhaled, pushed her head down into the cushion, fucked back up against me. I licked the back of her neck, reached beneath her, tickled her clit. She pushed her hand down between her legs and let my balls hit her fingers as I fucked into her.

I looked up and saw that Cass had gotten up, left the couch. Nora got on her knees, waddled closer to us, and kissed me.

Cass returned. Only now she had a cock. She’d strapped on a prodigious dick and was positioning Nora to fuck her from behind. I lifted Gin’s head so she could see what was happening. She watched, took it all in, as Cass pushed the fake dick into Nora. Cass began to sway her round hips in a familiar rhythm that made it clear that she was now doing to Nora what I was doing to Gin.

Gin and Nora moved closer to each other, kissed, kissed again, tangled their arms together, pinched each other’s nipples, got lost behind each other’s hair. Cass looked at me, and we exchanged a certain look of shared experience as we fucked our respective partners.

Nora started biting the air as she did when she was about to come, and was increasingly vocal–“fuck yeah, there it is, take it from me, oh fuck.” Gin started throwing herself back against me, swallowing me up inside her pussy. I met her each time, pushing her back against Nora, whose nipples she was now grasping in a two-finger vice grip.

Nora came, a shaking, scratching, groaning affair. Gin was fucking the daylights out of my cock. I gritted my teeth, and Nora could tell I was close. She quickly extricated herself from Cass’s equipment and moved behind me. Stuck her tongue in my asshole, flicked it over my balls, became the “other woman” we’d gotten off talking about so many nights before now.

Cass moved forward and lowered Gin’s head onto the strap-on cock, which rose sexily from her downy-haired legs. Gin licked Nora’s come and other juices off the cock as I pushed hard into her, all the way in, then hard in again, then, with Nora looking over my shoulder, warm palm cupping my tightening balls, one more deep thrust and I came in profound spasms and countless bursts of heat into Gin’s beautiful pussy.

I collapsed on top of her. Cass leaned down and kissed Gin, their first, a long french kiss made all the more interesting by Gin’s hand on Cass’s “cock.” Nora was scraping her nails over my ass and kissing the back of my neck. She leaned over my shoulder and kissed Gin as well, then me, then Cass. The two of them headed back to Nora’s bedroom, strap-on and all, to finish their evening.

Gin and I lay together, kissed, laughed, then eventually got up to get water, kiss a bit more, watch whatever might have been happening in the bedroom. What was happening was Nora working the fake cock into Cass with her hands, driving it in, turning it, really fucking her. When they saw us, they beckoned Gin over.

So Gin got her night with Nora. With Cass, too. And I got this story, which, if I’m honest, is why I was going out with Nora in the first place. Skydiving, remember?

Nora and I lasted a bit longer, some months, then couldn’t hold it together. She ended up moving in with the boyish woman from the gay bar and her husband (!). And I continued on my journey–one which did occasionally include a night with Gin.

Who was, by the way, a very bad girl, no matter what she tells you.

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