"I want to have another threesome."
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The moment I heard those words, an image surged into my mind—Sharon lying on her back, her head tilted over the edge of the bed, Or standing above her like a Greek god, his cock deep in her wide-open mouth. That image, combined with the feeling of my own cock wrapped in warmth mouth, was more stimulation than I could handle. I remember the tightening just before release—like my testicles were being pulled up into my stomach—and then an explosive orgasm followed by three intense aftershocks, each as strong as a regular climax.
Time lost meaning. Everything moved in slow motion. I screamed to release the pressure, but I couldn’t even hear myself. Everything went white—as if my body had shut down every other sense just to focus entirely on the orgasm. The suction, the swallowing—it only heightened the intensity between each wave.
I collapsed. I hadn’t come back to myself yet. Everything was hazy. I couldn’t move. My brain couldn’t process anything. I felt empty—but in the most incredible way. Like a hurricane had just stopped cold—and left behind perfect stillness. Maybe this is the floaty feeling people talk about in meditation?
I faintly felt Sharon still sucking my cock as if to drain the last bit of strength from me—literally and figuratively.
After some time (I couldn’t say how long—my brain was offline), I felt Sharon sit beside me.
"So… yes? You agree?" she asked.
"Agree to what?" I couldn’t process her words. I was still in a fog.
"To… um, what I asked… the… threesome?" she said, a bit embarrassed. The pieces started fitting together in my head.
"Ohhh… right… yeahhh…" The realization hit. It felt like forever since she’d asked.
"Yeah?" she asked eagerly.
"No!" I snapped, confused and overwhelmed.
"No?" she asked, worried.
Maybe I was too harsh. "I mean… I don’t know. I need to think about it."
Silence.
Slowly, my brain started to boot up again—like a computer restarting after a crash. The alcohol and that earth-shattering orgasm had really messed with my ability to think clearly. I was completely drained.
"Let’s talk about it tomorrow. I’m going to bed. I’m dead tired." I got up and headed to bed. I couldn’t even look at her. I felt… betrayed.
That night was one hell of a rollercoaster:
From the hope of finally having full-on sex ? to an intense, fast climax ? to the disappointment of not being able to penetrate ? to an insane blowjob and mind-blowing orgasm ? and finally, that question.
I stepped into the shower, and with the water came the thoughts.
Had she planned this the whole time? To drive me wild and then ask? Or was it a spur-of-the-moment thing? Was the sex real for her, or just a setup? It felt real—so why did she ask? Was I not enough? I really thought things had changed. And why the hell did I come so hard—and the second time?!
I was too exhausted to deal with it all. I went to bed, silently praying she wouldn’t bring it up again tomorrow. Maybe it had been a misunderstanding.
I passed out like a corpse.
I woke up alone. Sharon wasn’t beside me. Slowly, the memories of the previous night returned—still a little foggy, but I remembered everything, especially the disappointment and the pain that ended the evening.
Did she even sleep next to me? I hadn’t felt anything during the night. I grabbed my phone to check the cameras and see what happened after I went to bed.
I saw a message from Sharon. She had gone to her parents’ place to pick up the kid and said she will stay there for the whole day until the evening—“so you can rest and do some thinking.”
So, no, it wasn’t a misunderstanding. She hadn’t forgotten. 🙁
And she wasn’t going to let it go—
Damn her!!
I’m saying no!!
She doesn’t need him. We had amazing sex without him, right?
Or… was it all because of him?
I started watching the footage from last night. I was curious to see how we looked from the outside—maybe I’d notice things I missed in the moment.
It felt strange watching myself this time. Honestly? It was kind of arousing.
But I couldn’t help comparing myself and Sharon to Or and Sharon.
It was way less impressive.
With Or, it looked like porn: intense, electric—lust oozed from every second.
With me? It was like an amateur video—restrained, gentler, more intimate.
The difference was obvious: sex vs. emotion—that’s the best way I can describe it.
I focused on Sharon, trying to figure out if she genuinely enjoyed or if it was all an act to tempt me into saying yes to being with him.
Maybe I was just imagining it, but from the outside, she looked very turned on—yet not fully surrendered.
With Or, it was like she was in a trance—completely uninhibited. She gave herself to him, fully, with every fiber of her being.
With me? She was clearly aroused and clearly enjoying it… but the difference was real. And it hurt.
Then it hit me and i could I understood her.
How could she not want that again?
How could anyone not want to feel that kind of wild ecstasy?
And that realization hurt so badly—so deeply.
When I heard her say again, on the recording, “I want to have another threesome,”
I climaxed—and broke into tears.
The contrast between what we had and what they had crushed me.
I paused the recording until I calmed down.
Wiped myself off, washed my face, and continued watching.
I felt frustrated—and the worst part was, I had no one to talk to.
Or and Sharon are the two people closest to me – any dilemma, any problem—I’d go to one of them, or even both.
How the hell am I supposed to deal with this?
What am I supposed to do??
Sharon didn’t get dressed after I went up to bed. She sat on the couch, deep in thought. After a few moments, she picked up her phone—it looked like she was sending a message. I was curious. Who the hell would she be texting in a moment like that? (And no, it wasn’t me—she messaged me in the morning.) She stopped typing and just stared at the screen for a few seconds. Waiting for a reply?
She brought over the breast pump and attached it to her right breast. Before she turned it on, she glanced at her phone again, then lay back on the couch and started the machine. She must’ve been full, because milk started flowing into the bottle right away. My wife leaned back and bit her lip, put her phone down beside her, and—surprisingly—spread her legs and began rubbing her clearly wet pussy. She didn’t use her fingers, just an open hand to pleasure herself. At one point, she opened her eyes and with her free hand checked her phone again, while still rubbing with the other. She put the phone back down. She checked it three more times before she came.
She finished pumping, got dressed, and came upstairs to bed (not before checking the phone one last time). She lay down next to me.
I had to understand what was going on, though I already had a pretty strong suspicion.
Since Sharon was a technophobe and I was the tech person at home, I knew all the passwords to our devices—there were no secrets between us – so I thought. So of course, I knew the password to her computer, and I also knew that all her messages synced with it (thank you, Apple). That mean I could see all her texts. I’d never done it before, but then again, I’d never had a reason to. Still, I felt a little ashamed.
But unfortunately, I was right. Not surprised.
She had messaged Or:
“Hey, just updating you—I’m talking to him, and I’ll make sure he agrees! ”
He still hadn’t responded.
That’s when I got scared. So she had planned this. I panicked, and a deep fear started creeping in—that I was losing her.
I had to clear my head. I drove to a quiet café, sat in a corner with a coffee, took out a pen and paper, and started writing down all the thoughts and conclusions swirling in my mind, trying to make sense of it all:
It hurts me to see them together
I’m insanely turned on watching them together
I’m jealous of Sharon—for being able to enjoy herself that much and reach that kind of ecstasy
I’m jealous of Or—for his body, his dick, what he gets from her
I’m afraid of losing my wife and the family we built
I’m afraid of losing my best friend (he really was the closest person to me)
The sex with Sharon has become wild—she’s giving me things I only dreamed about
I’ve reached heights I never expected (with her and even without her)
I understand her —how hard it must be to give that up
I stared at the list and tried to draw some conclusions. I couldn’t deny the fact that watching them was both arousing and painful. And I thought again about what Sharon had asked for—a threesome.
She didn’t ask to be alone with him like he told her, not even to open our marriage – She asked for a threesome—with me involved. That means something, right?
Maybe this is my opportunity to enjoy the best of both worlds? I wouldn’t lose her if I’m part of it, right? And I wouldn’t need to be jealous if I’m an equal participant in this triangle.
The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like the perfect solution: on one hand, enhanced pleasure (watching and joining), on the other—minimal jealousy, minimal pain.
And after all, she did things with me that she didn’t even do with him. That means I’m not just a backup option! I started imagining what I could do with her.
I made my decision.
A threesome is perfect.
I couldn’t wait to talk to her about it.
I got back home — Sharon wasn’t back yet. So of course, I checked if Or had replied. He had "OK" — that’s all he wrote. Nothing more.
I kept going back and forth in my head, trying to decide what to say to her and how to approach the conversation. What should I ask? Do I want her to confess? How hard should I push? Should I lay out terms again? That didn’t work last time anyway…
But as far as she knows, I still see her as innocent — clueless that I know the full picture.
She came home in the evening, after the baby was bathed and asleep. She tucked him in and came to me, looking nervous.
“So… you want to talk? Have you thought about what I asked you last night?”
Straight to the point, huh?
“Maybe take a shower first, and then we can talk properly,”
I don’t even know why I said that. Maybe I just wasn’t ready for the conversation yet and wanted to delay it a bit.
I waited for her in the living room. She came back with a beer for me and a glass of wine for herself.
“Figured a conversation like this needs some alcohol,”
She was right, honestly.
“So, what do you want to talk about?” I asked innocently.
She took a big sip and fired off:
“I want to have a threesome again.”
“Why?” I decided to play a bit. I wasn’t going to make this easy for her— maybe I could get some answers out of her.
“What do you mean, why?”
“Why now? What suddenly changed? And why is it coming from you this time? Back then, It was hard just to convince you.”
“Look, the truth is there’s something I didn’t tell you.”
I was surprised she was about to confess. She took a breath and hesitated a bit.
“The truth is… I really enjoyed it. A lot more than I expected. And I still think about it from time to time… So I’d like to try it again.”
So… no confession then. That’s it?
“Okay… so why now, specifically? Did something happen?” I pushed.
“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve been feeling really turned on lately. Maybe it’s the post-birth hormones, maybe it’s the breastfeeding… but I’ve just had a stronger drive and more desire lately.”
Breastfeeding who??? I thought. But honestly, that was a good cover — one that actually made sense from my point of view, not knowing what I knew.
“I see… and with who?” I asked, feigning innocence.
“What do you mean, with who? With Or!” she answered immediately, without hesitation.
“Or? Are you sure?”
“Yes. What’s the problem?” she asked, a bit worried.
“It wasn’t easy to convince him last time — and he only agreed because we told him it would be a one-time thing. I’m not sure he’ll say yes again. Maybe we should find someone else? Someone we don’t know?”
“Absolutely not!” she snapped. I flinched, surprised. She noticed, took a deep breath, and softened her tone:
“I just meant… I really don’t want someone random. You know I need to feel comfortable and safe during sex. I need someone I can trust. And I can only think of Or. Do you have anyone else in mind?”
Clever… she was playing me.
“What if he says no?” I asked.
“Then we’ll look for someone else, or drop it altogether.”
Right. She knew damn well I barely had any other friends — certainly none she knew like she knew Or. He’s practically a brother.
“What are the rules this time?”
I was genuinely curious about what she’d say.
“As far as I’m concerned, there are none. They don’t really matter anymore. The only rule is that it has to be someone we both agree on. Do you have anything in mind?”
I wasn’t sure what to answer… On one hand, they broke every single rule I set last time, and I actually really enjoyed watching that.
But I’m not supposed to know any of that, right?
“I don’t want you kissing him,” I said.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“What about penetration? We haven’t even had sex yet, and now you want a threesome?”
I wasn’t ready for him to be the first to penetrate her.
“There won’t be any penetration. After last night, I realized I’m still too scared, and I need to work on myself and go back to those exercises — it’s going to take time.”
“So how is this even a threesome, then? What exactly are we going to do? Last time, the whole point was him being inside while you went down on me,” I reminded her.
“We’ve come a long way since then. I’ve started to enjoy oral more now. So that’s what we’ll do — just oral.”
“So no penetration at all?” I pressed her.
“None.”
Damn. I was really hoping that maybe, in that kind of situation, I’d finally manage to penetrate.
“So what, you’re just going to go suck both of us and that’s it? That’s what you want?” I asked to be sure.
“First of all, I don’t ‘suck’ on anyone — don’t talk about me like that!” she snapped, her tone sharp.
“If anything, I’ll go down both of you. And I expect to be pleasured too.”
I stayed quiet — partly because I regretted the way I worded it, and partly because I was annoyed that he could talk however he wanted to her but I couldn’t. And seriously, what did I even say?
“So… do you agree?” she took my silence as hesitation.
“Umm… I think so. I really enjoyed it too, back then. But one last question: when?”
“Tomorrow!” she said, confidently.
Damn. She really couldn’t wait, huh?
“Tomorrow? We haven’t even talked to him yet — he might say no.”
“He’ll agree. And it’s the perfect opportunity — he’s staying with us, so it’s convenient. So… will you talk to him?”
“Me??” That caught me off guard.
“Yeah… he’s your friend….”
Shit, I forgot I wasn’t supposed to know anything.
“Yeah yeah, of course… I was just surprised. It’s all really sudden. I’ll talk to him tomorrow evening,” I tried to explain.
“Perfect!” she practically squealed with excitement.
“Now, since you agreed to my request, you get to ask for something too,” she said, almost mischievously.
“But don’t go overboard,” she warned.
Boom — my head exploded. This was a dream!
I could ask for anything, and she’d say yes?!
A million thoughts raced through my head.
What do I ask for?!
I started thinking about all the things she’d done with Or — things I could only fantasize about.
mouth fucking.
Tit fucking.
Ball licking.
Suck on nipple.
Rough play with her breasts.
Rimming.
Or maybe even go crazy and ask for anal? Or would that be pushing it too far?
The truth is, part of me felt weird asking for a sexual act. It’s supposed to come from desire, from natural chemistry — not some mechanical request like at a store.
It’s not like Or asked her to do stuff — she either did it on her own or he guided her and she went with it, willingly.
But still — no way I was missing this opportunity.
I tried to think of things she hadn’t done with him, something that would give me a little win over him.
But I came up blank.
They did stuff I couldn’t even have imagined.
So maybe I should just go for it and ask for anal? But that really did feel like too much.
I knew it wouldn’t happen, and I didn’t want to ruin the moment by asking for something over the top.
Sharon set her wine glass aside, climbed onto me, straddling me with her face toward mine, and started kissing me softly.
Of course I opened my mouth and melted into the kiss, trying to calm the storm in my head.
She moved to my neck (she knows it drives me crazy), slowly trailing her lips and tongue.
“So? My beloved husband…” she said between kisses. “What treat would you like?”
“Umm… would you be up for giving me a rimming?” I asked, hesitantly.
“A what?” she asked, confused.
I forgot how innocent she actually is.
She acted so sexually open with Or that I forgot — she doesn’t know kink terminology or names for things, even if she has done them.
“Uh… like… licking my asshole…” I said awkwardly —
God, it’s embarrassing having to explain stuff like that.
Sharon froze for a second —
Maybe wondering where I even got that idea.
“There’s a name for that?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
“You guys actually enjoy that?”
So innocent… I already said that, right?
“Yeah… it’s pretty common,” I mumbled, dying of embarrassment.
“Ummm… I don’t know if I can do that,” she said hesitantly.
“We did say no going overboard, right?”
That bitch.
Overboard?!
You literally just did it — like, recently — and you didn’t exactly look like you were suffering.
“Okay then… maybe with your boobs?” I asked, embarrassed again.
“Mmm… you know they’re sensitive right now,” she said,
“but for you…”
She started kissing my neck again, while pulling off my shirt.
Then, she pulled off her own.
She straddled me slowly, her thighs pressing against mine, lips teasing mine with a deliberate tenderness that made it hard to think. I melted into the kiss, opened my mouth to her, surrendered to her rhythm. She always knew how to disarm me when she wanted something.
Her mouth trailed downward, planting warm, fluttering kisses along my jaw, then down my neck — she knew exactly what that did to me. My breath caught in my throat. I was already hard.
Then she sank to her knees between my legs, still fully clothed, but eyes burning. Her lips danced over my stomach, slow and playful, trailing kisses just above the waistband of my pants. She lingered just long enough to tease — she had gotten good at that. I couldn’t take it anymore.
With deliberate slowness, she undid my pants and pulled them down, leaving just my underwear on. She looked up at me, eyes sparkling, then reached behind her back and unhooked her bra.
God, her breasts.
Full, round, heavier now from nursing, with darker, swollen areolas and nipples that stood proud — the sight was enough to make me tremble. There was something wildly erotic about seeing her like this: topless, still in her jeans, motherly yet dripping with sensuality. My eyes widened in awe; I felt precum leaking into my underwear, soaking it. She must’ve noticed.
She leaned in, grinning mischievously, and whispered, “Someone’s ready…”
I nodded, silent, overwhelmed. My cock was straining against the fabric, almost painfully stiff.
She rubbed me through the soaked fabric, bent down, and kissed the wet patch right over the tip. Then she looked me in the eyes and smiled, wickedly. With one hand she reached for her breasts, cupping them from below, and gently rubbed them along my underwear.
“Like this? Feels good?”
All I could do was groan in response.
“Let’s see what you’re hiding here…”
She pulled my underwear down, finally setting my cock free. Then she went back to using her breasts — warm, soft, generous — gliding them along my shaft, pressing them together. And then it happened: small droplets of milk began to bead at her nipples, mingling with the precum already coating me, creating a slippery, heated mess that made everything more intense.
It was beyond erotic. It was otherworldly.
After a minute or two, she leaned forward and flicked her tongue over the tip, now wet with milk and arousal. She kissed down my shaft, slowly, deliberately, almost reverently — as if savoring the taste of what we'd become. Then her mouth closed over me.
Wet. Sloppy. Perfect.
She sucked me with deliberate pressure, salivating generously until I was slick and glistening. Then, when she decided I was slippery enough, she paused — and wrapped her breasts around my shaft.
Oh fuck.
She started moving. Slowly. Pressing her breasts from both sides, letting the slickness do its work. Her milk trickled out more freely now, dripping onto my cock, turning everything into a slippery dream. The warmth of her skin, the rhythm, the pressure — it was divine. I clenched every muscle trying not to explode.
I wanted to ask her — beg her — to take me deeper like she had with him. To let me into her mouth, down her throat. But I couldn't even speak. Just grunts. Moans. Whimpers. And even if I could ask — could I really match him? I wasn’t him.
She continued, slow but steady, her tits wrapped tightly around me. I was so close.
Then she stopped.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, jolted.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” she said, her voice suddenly more serious. “I’m really full, and my breasts are super sensitive right now.”
“Yeah… I am. Really close. Umm… would it be okay if I moved a little?” I asked carefully, trying my luck.
“I just said how sensitive I am. No way. It’s hard enough already.”
Fuck. I had wanted to fuck her tits like he did. To feel what he felt.
But she didn’t stop entirely — thank God. She gave me a short, wet suck again, then continued stroking me with her breasts, slower this time.
“I’m… yeah… really close… please, a little faster…”
But she didn’t speed up. She kept the same slow, deliberate pace. And that was it — I lost it.
The orgasm hit, but not like it should’ve. It was messy, soft, weak. The climax didn’t burst out — it oozed. A sluggish, leaking release that just dribbled over her chest, milking out of me like defeat. Not the explosion I knew I was capable of.
And I collapsed.
She stood, wiped herself with a tissue, and said casually, “I’m going to wash up. He’ll probably wake up soon for a feed. We’ll talk more in the morning over coffee, yeah?”
She kissed me on the forehead like a child and walked off.
I lay there on the couch, humiliated. Not just from the sad orgasm — from the comparison I couldn’t stop making.
Where was my intense titfuck like his?
Where was the wild, relentless blowjob?
Where was the mouthful-and-swallow finish?
Where was the fucking hunger?
She gave me… something. A version of what she gave him. But smaller. Less. Like a consolation prize.
I stared up at the ceiling, my cock still twitching pathetically, and felt a pit open in my chest.
Had I made a mistake agreeing to this?
Trying to prove I could be an equal third in this triangle — an “equal side” — when I knew I wasn’t?
Was this what I had signed up for?
And with that shame tightening around my ribs, I went to sleep.
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