Bonnie smiled, that smile that always made me smile back.
“Honey,” she said, “I want to share in your journey.”
Madonna smiled back.
“I think,” she said, pausing between each word, “I’d like that too.”
We finished our drinks.
“Home?” I asked the two women with me, “or dancing?”
“Oh goodness,” Madonna said, “I can’t remember the last time I danced.”
“Well, then,” I said, standing and grinning, “let’s go dancing.”
I paid the bill, left a good tip, and offered my arms, elbows bent in the classic gentleman’s pose. I left, okay, I’ll admit it, strutting a little, with a lovely woman on each arm.
The place I chose was a little roadhouse out of town, again being protective of Madonna’s reputation. Bonnie and I had been there from time to time. We weren’t exactly regulars, but we knew the place. I knew there would be a live band but playing at a volume that would allow conversation. It was, after all, a place to meet and be met.
We found a table, a minor miracle, or maybe a Sign ((chuckles)). The waitress found us and we ordered drinks. The band was playing a passable rendition of the Bobby Vinton classic “Blue Velvet” and I stood and offered my hand to Madonna.
“Come on, good lookin’,” I said.
She danced just like she had kissed that first time – poorly and awkwardly.
I gradually got her to at least do a passable box step and I liked the way she felt, molding herself to me.
The song ended and I went back to the table, not surprised to find it vacant.
I had barely seated Madonna when Bonnie was back, a much younger man, I wondered if he had a fake ID, walking her back to the table, his hand possessively on her hip.
I stood and he took a step back but I grinned and said, “no problem.”
I walked Bonnie to the floor and we danced a fast one, to Chubby Checker’s “Twist” of all things.
I caught sight of Madonna awkwardly trying to imitate what Bonnie’s young friend was doing.
We stayed a couple of hours, dancing, drinking, laughing. Each of the women had multiple partners while I switched between them. It was fun.
Finally, I said, “Ladies, you’ve worn me out, let’s go home.”
I was smart enough to call an Uber, well, actually a Lyft in our town, and we crowded into the minivan that showed up.
We were quiet on the way home. Neither of us was drunk, but we were well lit. And there was the anticipation. I mean, it’s not like we didn’t know what was going to happen when we got home.
As soon as we got in the house Bonnie put her hands on my shoulders and pushed, walking me backward until my knees met the couch and I sat.
“Wait,” she said, holding up a finger imperatively.
She turned to Madonna and crooked a finger, beckoning.
“Come with me,” she said.
I watched them walk down the hall, wondering what my bride had in mind.
I heard giggling from the other room and chuckled. I snuck into the kitchen and grabbed a beer and made it back to the couch before the women came back.
When they did, it was worth the wait. Oddly, for me, the first thing I noticed was NOT the fact that they were topless. Oh, I noticed that, but peripherally. I was fascinated by the change in their faces. Bonnie is good with makeup and the change she had made on Madonna’s face was amazing. Gone was the 70-something widow. In its place was a 70-something hooker, looking DAMN good for her age.
Then I got to the tits.
Such a perfect contrast. Bonnies were small, high, with very big, dark nipples on large darker areolas. Madonna’s were big and saggy, with very small, pale long nipples on small areolas.
I whistled and applauded.
“My new best girlfriend,” Bonnie said, “insists she has never been with a woman. Wanna watch while I show her what she’s been missing?”
I chuckled. “You know I do,” I said.
“Toldya he would,” Bonnie said, taking Madonna into her arms and kissing her.
I watched captivated. Bonnie is hardly a big woman. At 5’6″ and about 140 pounds she’s about average, pushing the high end on the weight range but certainly not obese. With her big hips and thighs, she is definitely pear-shaped, a body type made more obvious by her A-cup breasts. For a brief and wonderful year she had actually filled out a B cup and I had developed a taste for her milk while our son was on the tit. Then she had weaned him and wouldn’t let me keep nursing, so she was back down to her 34A bra. Her nipples and areolas had stayed oversized, though.
She looked big, though, when compared to Madonna. At 5’2″ and maybe a hundred pounds, Madonna was tiny. As a body type, she was the exact opposite of Bonnie. She was all boobs, her 32DD breasts sagging far down her ribs, and her small long nipples pointing at the floor. She had a hint of a dowager’s hump making me suspect some osteoporosis. Her neck was tilted at a sharp angle as she looked up to meet Bonnie’s kiss.
Bonnie’s hands were exploring Madonna’s back and Madonna had her arms around Bonnie’s neck. It was a good kiss I thought as I watched. In fact, it was a damn good kiss.
I heard whispering and giggling as Bonnie leaned down, her mouth at Madonna’s ear. And then hands got busy as they started searching with fingers at each other’s waist, finding buttons and zipper tabs, playing and giggling as they did.
I had another drink and enjoyed the show.
And it was a good show. Bonnie got to her knees to work Madonna’s tight jeans down. They both laughed loudly as Madonna almost lost her balance as Bonnie untied shoes and then removed them and the socks. Finally, with Madonna naked before her, she cupped her skinny ass in her hands and buried her face between Madonna’s legs. Madonna’s knees sagged.
When she came it was absolutely spectacular. I thought she had lost bladder control as Bonnie coughed, her mouth overflowing, but it was pure womanscent I smelled.
Bonnie, as I’ve said, is VERY good with her mouth and she brought Madonna through three more orgasms before she collapsed, spent, and I went over to help support her.
“Come on, baby,” Bonnie said to her, hooking Madonna’s arm across her shoulders for support, “I’m not nearly done with you.”
She looked at me and said, “help me get her into the bed.”
So I did, helping Madonna to bed and then sitting back in the chair by the wall to see what would happen next.
“You liked my mouth, didn’t you?” Bonnie asked Madonna.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Welllllll, ” Bonnie said, “I like mouths too.”
I knew what was coming and said, “wait a second, honey.”
I went to the bed and kissed Madonna.
“Open your mouth, sugar,” I said and when she did I took her dentures out and carried them into the bathroom where I filled a water glass and dropped them in it.
When I got back to the bedroom Bonnie was straddling Madonna’s face, her knees locked under Madonna’s shoulders. Her head was thrown back and I knew what was coming.
When she came she lifted herself, the spray of her release soaking Madonna’s hair, drenching her face. I was surprised when Madonna reached up and grabbed her hips, pulling her back down, her mouth greedily seeking more.
Bonnie lifted again, this time turning so she faced Madonna’s feet. She locked her knees under Madonna’s arms and then slowly settled. She crooked her finger, beckoning me. I undressed quickly and went to her.
And that is how we consummated our first evening with the new lady in our life. When I entered her she was beyond merely wet. She was slick, her love nectar, that natural lubricant, thick and warm. I slipped inside her and then embraced my wife, kissing her as we both took our pleasure from Madonna. And as she took hers. Her orgasm was wet and her scent powerful as she came around me and her breath bubbled as Bonnie came in her mouth again.
We took our time. We were making love over her and she was the object of pure sexual need under us. I kissed Bonnie as I came, filling Madonna to overflowing and I felt her cum once more. Madonna was writhing under us, her mouth and nose needing breath, her pussy satisfied.
We held that position, Bonnie in my arms, our lips meeting, feeling Madonna under is, her body growing more desperate for breath, the tension of panic building, until my body surrendered and I softened and slipped out.
“Up baby, let her breathe,” I whispered, holding her hands and pulling forward.
Madonna gasped like a drowning woman breaking the surface, and kept panting, paying off her oxygen debt, while we squirmed around, making her the meat in our sandwich. I kissed her, gently, tasting Bonnie’s pussy and Madonna’s sweat. When Bonnie kissed her I caressed down her body, finding the swollen labia and liking the way she jumped when I touched it.
We made love like that, the three of us, sharing kisses and caresses. Madonna said, “Thank you,” over and over, right up until she started snoring.
I grinned at Bonnie across her sleeping body and she smiled back.
“I’m looking forward to this next month,” I said.
“Me too,” she said.
We smiled at each other as we bent and each took one of Madonna’s long thin nipples into our mouth.
And that is how we went to sleep our first night with our new lady, each suckling gently on a big tit.