Hannah Watching (LFS) free porn video

"Do you remember Hannah?" Mark asked.

He and his wife Caitlin were visiting us for the weekend. The four of us were out for the evening down by the harbour, eating out at Valantino's, our favourite Italian restaurant. Jess always looked forward to their visits, had fussed all week so that everything would be perfect for our dearest friends from the scene.

"How could I forget a woman like Hannah," I said. And I meant it. Jess punched my arm, told me to behave.

Just then the waiter arrived with our drinks. Mark paused for a moment.

Drinks served, Mark watched the lad leave our table as if expecting him to double back. When he was sure the waiter would not return, only then did he resume his tale. "Now where was I? Oh yes, the lovely Hannah..."

"— Bloody hell, Mark. Do you want me to tell them?" Caitlin said, her impatience getting the better of her.

"Come on, Mark," Jess said. "Spit it out. What about Little Miss Perfect?"

"That is what I'm trying to tell you if you women would stop interrupting me." And here he paused, his eyes daring any of us to interrupt him again. "As I was saying: the lovely Hannah has this fantasy that's driving her nuts."

"What kind of fantasy?" I asked him.

"She wants to be a fly on the wall in the bedroom of an attractive married couple while they make love. We thought..." he paused again for a moment and looked at Caitlin.
 
"— and we suggested you and Jess," she chirped in.

Jess and I had met Hannah earlier in the year at Mark and Caitlin’s New Year's party. To see her was to wrestle with yet another cruelty inflicted by fate. That there existed a Hannah, someone who in one package epitomised elegance, beauty, and sexuality — and who on that first meeting I imagined I was destined never to bed — was the latest of life's long succession of jokes.

And as I thought of Hannah's beauty in the weeks following the party, I realised that her unavailability to my erotic needs was a circle of hell whose existence I had never previously suspected existed until that awful night that I had set eyes on her.

You see, I’m a real sucker for Pre-Raphaelite redheads. I considered Hannah to be a twenty-first-century upgrade of Elizabeth Siddal, the Victorian original, poster girl of the brotherhood.

During that New Year party, I studied her from a distance. How could I not? I saw her happy and carefree in the company of her new, post-divorce, boyfriend, the gaze of each intent upon only the other. I wondered what kind of saint he must have been in a previous life to get to bed Hannah in this one. Jack; that was the guy.

It turns out he was as much of a pratt as run-away hubby Trevor. Both men now long-gone from her life Mark told us. What's this thing with gorgeous women and pratts? That's whatI'd like to know. Not that being married to Jess makes me a pratt.

I asked Mark: “Do you and Caitlin not fancy entertaining the lovely Hannah yourselves?”

He looked wistful. “Believe me, mate, would love to... but Caitlin's put on her hobnails and danced a mill-girl jig on that sweet idea — haven't you, o-love-of-my-life?"

The look Caitlin gave him was not one I would relish receiving. Even a rumour of sex with Hannah would put Caitlin on a war footing — what with Hannah being her oldest and dearest friend.

"We’ve made that mistake before," Caitlin said.

"What mistake is that?" Jess asked.

"Fooling around with old friends."  

"Aren't we old friends?" I asked."

"I mean old friends as in friends before swinging," she said.

"I know," I said. "Just teasing."

I said Jessica and I would be only too happy to help Hannah out in her time of need — compassionate souls that we both are, Jess nodding her head emphatically as I did so. Jess and I had talked about Hannah. You know the dirty kind of talk, taking turns to describe to each other what we would like to do to her if either of us ever got the chance.

"I told her you'd be up for it," Caitlin said.

"Hannah?" Jess asked.

"She knew we were coming over to see you, said she would be happy for me to mention it."

 That is how two weeks later, Jessica and I came to be sitting in our car outside the local railway station waiting for Hannah to arrive. The sleepless nights her impending visit had caused me were now a distant memory.

How tall she looked in those heels. Over six foot, easily. That first glimpse of her beauty amid the weekend travellers stole my breath away — wouldn't give it back, either. Her red hair abundant and bright in the afternoon sunshine meant you could do nothing else but stare. Stunning as she was, she looked uncertain, fretfully even, scanning the passing faces in the hope of spotting us.

If truth be told, I'd half expected her not to show. But there she was, five-eleven of elegantly proportioned femininity packaged in the cutest of short, flower-print, cotton summer dresses, her lavender overnight bag trailing behind.  She looked a sensation, and I wondered where the entourage could be.

Before I had a chance to get out of the car to go and greet her, she had taken out her phone and was texting. I sat entranced by the gracefulness in her performance of even this most mundane of acts. It only was as I watched her that the reality of her arrival sank into the soil of my consciousness and put down roots. Slowly I came to realise that it would be little-old Jess and me strutting our stuff for this living goddess.

"Go on then, stupid!" Jess said. "She'll think we're not coming for her."

Knowing that she had actually arrived paralysed me. Just then, Jessica’s phone pinged a message.

"What does she say?" I asked.

  "'Where are you?'"

 I was out of the car in an instant and walking briskly towards her.

When she spotted me, uncertainty flared in her eyes. She must have thought I was alone, that Mark and I had tricked her.

"Where's Jessica?" she said, her eyes sincerely anxious now.

"There she is," I said pointing in the direction from where I had just come. "She's in the white Range Rover." I raised my arm and beckoned Jess to come and join us. "See, here she is now."

Hannah's relief was unmistakable. She turned to me and gave a contrite smile, came close and held me tightly and kissed my cheek: "I'm sorry," she said quietly, her mouth next to my ear.

"What for?"

"You know, for doubting you," she said as she moved away from me, now holding my gaze.

"The world is full of weird pervs," I said. "You can never be too careful."

"Yeah. I know." She smiled almost sadly. "The weird pervy ones make it hard going for us run of the mill pervy ones," she said.  

We both laughed.

 Then Jess was with us, Hannah greeting her, embracing her. They went cheek to cheek and I imagined them together in our bed. Jess so petite; Hannah so... so much of her!  I ran through a list of my body parts, singling out those I might consider forfeiting to see it happen. Perhaps I wouldn't miss a kidney so much after all.

Five miles to our home with me listening to Jess and Hannah chattering like old school friends, gossiping about mutual acquaintances we shared with Mark and Caitlin.

I carried Hannah's overnight case to the room we had prepared for her exclusive use. It is a bright room with windows set in two walls. The sun had blazed all afternoon and by then the room was an oven. I opened the windows and a gentle breeze stirred the drapes. She kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge of the bed.

"We planned to eat at seven-thirty. Is that okay?" I asked.

"I'll shower and change," she said.

Her skirt had ridden high, and I could not help but look at her bare legs, long and shapely, evenly tanned. I did not want to leave her, stood in silence. I suppose I was staring.

"I'm not going to tip you," she said archly.

I became self-conscious. I might have blushed.

Then came her disarming smile: "I'm only here to watch... remember?"

How could I ever forget? I left Hannah to do what she had to.

We ate at seven-thirty. Nothing fancy. Thai curry.

Over our meal, I broached the subject of her divorce. She welcomed the opportunity to talk.

"During that final year we were together he was shagging her — three times a week — the bastard," she said and then drained her glass of Chablais. "Christabelle Evans," she added with venom when putting down her glass. "When I first discovered their affair he suggested me and her should get together in our bed, him between us. He even phoned me six months after he'd left me and asked if I wanted to go over and join them in their bed.

"And did you?" Jess asked.

 "I might have if it had been anyone else."

"Oh... What was wrong with Christabelle Evans?"

"My, God! she was just a girl. Eighteen! Can you Imagine!"

Oh, I could imagine all right; I found it hard to stop imagining. I'd met Christabelle Evans at some occasion or other. While not the mature sensation that was Hannah, Christabelle was a pretty enough girl, somewhat sweet and, rumour had it, inordinately sexually insatiable. Her little-girl-lost glances a mere facade, a Siren's call for men to jump ship and throw their lives away.

But there was so much hurt in Hannah's voice that I thought it best to move on from the subject of her ex-husband and his teenage femme fatale. I steered the conversation back to the matter at hand.

Which was: she wanted to watch. It was the only reason she was here, she reaffirmed.  Call me arrogant, or maybe just senselessly optimistic, but I already considered a threesome a done deal. Jess, ever the pragmatist, was not so sure. She had warned me not to over-inflate my optimism, said if I did, it could explode in my face.

I asked Hannah the origin of her need to be present at a couple's lovemaking. She said she used to watch couple-porn with hubby Trevor, to get them in the mood. Now she was left with nothing but UHD and her fingers. But even that no longer did it for her. She wanted to see flesh and blood. It had become an obsession.

I filled her glass with more wine while saying, "Jess likes me to watch her masturbate — don't you, luv?"

"Nothing makes me hotter than a man studying my cunt," Jess said.

"A woman might," I said.

"Looks like I came to the right people," Hannah said.

"Did you and Trevor ever swing?" Jess asked.

"We spoke of it. Made plans that never happened. What about you two?  Do you have anyone else besides Mark and Caitlin?"

"We treat ourselves a couple of times a year, like to make it an occasion. We have good friends, people we can rely on," Jess said.

"Others like Mark and Caitlin?"

"None to compare to Mark and Caitlin," I said.

"People you can trust," Jess said.

"Absolutely," Hannah said.

In the bedroom, I pointed out the chair Hannah could use while she watched us. It's one of those wood and upholstery Poang things from Ikea. We had it positioned set back in the corner, just off centre opposite the bed. Usually, it was piled high with Jess’s clean laundry awaiting internment in her closet. Today all her crap was where it should be, stashed neatly away. This evening, the chair was strictly for sitting on.

When she first saw it, Hannah seemed unsure. Was it only then hitting her what she had let herself in for? That this was happening, was no longer just her private fantasy. What she had dreamed about for so long was about to take place. She looked from the chair to me. I nodded. She sighed softly and sat down.

Jess was wearing a short, plain cream cotton summer dress that had big ladybird buttons all down the front. With her petite frame and fresh complexion, it emphasised her girlishness.

Oh, I’d better describe Jess.  Five-two, with chestnut hair to her shoulders, parted to one side. She is such a slight thing, lithe as a dancer. When stretched out on her back, her breasts all but vanish, the only reminder of their existence being nipples as copper coins placed either side of her chest. I love to tweak those nipples, watch them become tiny proud sentries ready for action.

I adore Jess's unique look, and I would not have her any different. She says that I love her chest because deep down I am gay and want her as a boy — and sometimes she lets me have her like one. That's if I've been a good boy myself.

Jess and I took up position facing each other standing at the foot of the bed. We looked into each other’s eyes and Jess smiled this tremendously sexy smile. She went up on tip-toes, her prompting me to kiss her. But in her bare feet and me being six foot, I had to tilt, stoop, and angle my head to meet her lips at. It was awkward, like in our courting days. So my palms quickly went under her butt to lift her, pressing her tightly against me, hauling her over my torso until her eyes were dead-level with mine.

At that moment we shared something profound. It was an exchange of looks that shouted our love for each other.  It simmered between us, became critical, and ignited to become an explosion of shared rampant sexuality.

We were on!

Our tongues commenced this foxtrot back and forth from her mouth to my mouth and back again. I love Jess’s tongue; she is an oral athlete. We kissed while I supported her, my arms and hands slings fashioned to carry her rump. After loads of slobbery kissing, I gently lowered her to her feet. She stood motionless, looking up at me with her big expectant eyes while I undid the buttons of her dress, peeling it back from her shoulders when fully opened.

She was not wearing a bra; does not need one.

I checked Hannah out to make sure she was still cool. What I saw sent a jolt of excitement rampaging through my skin and bones: the hem of her dress hitched high, her hand inside her panties gently stirring herself.

I turned away and dropped down to my knees to face Jess’s hips, pulled down her panties and began to kiss her abdomen, working my way over her pubic swell. When she parted her legs for me, I nipped at her pubic hair and growled gently like a lion cub, and then on down to lash her clit with my tongue, then lower delving between labia lips while piloting her backwards, down onto the bed.

It was in the very moment that Jess began to arrange herself for comfort to take my mouth back between her widening legs that I heard Hannah say, "Guys, guys! Sorry to interrupt but could I ask a favour?"

I disengaged my tongue, turned looked up at Hannah. It was a freeze-frame moment, both Jess and I waiting for Hannah's next words. I hardly dared breath.

"Sorry to be a pain but would either of you mind if Jess masturbates for me. You did say how much she enjoys people watching, and I've never seen another woman pleasure herself. I've not stopped thinking about it since you mentioned it."

"Jess?" I prompted.

The ball was in her court. She looked at me with delighted eyes. "Do you even have to ask?" she said, "That would be so, so, much of a turn on to have Hannah watching me cum." She turned to Hannah, "Hannah, babe, don't be shy about asking either of as anything at all. We're both very open people."

Jess angled herself on the bed diagonally so that her arched and parted legs fully displayed the raw warmth of her trimmed pussy. From her chair, Hannah could see Jess's cunt in all its glory.

"Hannah, babe, can you see okay?" Jess asked.

"Yes. You're lovely, Jess."

"Why thank you, kind lady."

And then Jess began to touch herself, first feathering the backs of her knuckles back and forth over her nipples and then moving her hands down, she drew her nails over her skin, scoring her flesh as they travelled, scraping lightly over her belly and abdomen. Ephemeral tracks appeared in their wake, gradually fading.

Her fingers at work on her clit, slowly at first, then building, building, building, until they were a thrash metal blur. When it came, her orgasm broke over her like a shock wave from an ariel detonation. I watch her abdominal muscles ripple beneath the veneer of her belly flesh.

Her cries of pleasure were almost animal — as if pain, not bliss, racked her body. But even in the self-loss of her orgasm, I sensed self-restraint. It was as if she could not abandon herself entirely; as if she were keeping a lid on an internal trauma that might contaminate us all.

And I thought to myself, that was powerful, Jess. You must have loved Hannah watching.

Now I undressed and, as Jess began to calm, I made my way on bare knees up the sinking mattress and arrived at her head. I straddled her so that my balls dangled above her mouth. Jess knew what I wanted, and when she had gathered herself, calmed her breathing after the orgasm that had just washed her clean of need, she raised her hands to rest them on my hips, drawing me down so that my balls fell upon her slightly pouting mouth.

And there they sat like two eggs in a nest. Her tongue began flickering beneath them while my cock tip strained until it popped its foreskin. Here I am!

I angled myself so she could taste the tip of my cock. The skill with which her tongue flickered meant I had almost forgotten Hannah was in the room. It was the creaking of the Ikea chair that reminded me of her presence, the wooden tension relaxing from her shifting weight.

And then her footfall on floorboards. A moment later I felt her cool palm in the small of my back, resting there for a moment before sliding down.

"I hope you don't mind," she said. "I have another request."

I eased myself from Jess and saw Hannah sat on the edge of the bed, her big eyes full of astonishing sexuality.

"You only have to ask," I said. "This is all for you."

"I'd like to join in. If that's okay with you both?"

"Oh," I said, shocked by her request, coming out of the blue as it did like that. "Yeah, sure." I turned to Jess and said, "Hannah wants to join us. Should we let her?"

It was a rhetorical question. Jess was already on her feet and approaching Hannah. "Come here, babe," she said, taking her by the hands and encouraging her up on her feet too. When standing, Jess had to crane her neck to catch Hannah's eyes, Hannah looked down at Jess, almost coy,

"Your dress is lovely, Hannah, but I think you're best off out of it, don't you? Here, let me,"  she said moving behind Hannah to tackle the dress fastenings.

"Thank you, Jess. It's new. I'm afraid the buttons are a bit stiff yet."

"I'll take care of them," Jess said,

 She reached out to bunch the fragrant bounty that is Hannah's hair, moving the gathered locks aside, arranging them to flow over her shoulders and on down over her breasts, so that its mass no longer impeded the undoing of the buttons behind.

Dress and bras disposed of, Jess arranged Hannah's hair again, now bringing it back behind her, sending it in a cascade over her shoulder to run free down the length of her back.

"Isn't Hannah the most beautiful woman possible?" Jess asked, now circling her, eyes scanning her entire body. As Jess circumambulated the motionless Hannah, one hand remained outstretched, trailing as she wandered, her nails transiently scarring the pale, smooth flesh of Hannah's midriff, her sides and the small of her back.

I saw a certain look in Jess's eyes as she meandered around Hannah, a look I have seen so many times, the one she only gets when she understands another woman is about to give herself. She loves that first moment in which a beautiful woman becomes biddable.  

Three times widdershins, Jess circled Hannah, coming to rest facing her prize, and then considering Hannah for a moment, hardly sure how to approach the perfections that were her breasts.

 She would have to reach up.

"Have you never been touched by another woman... here?" Jess asked as she gingerly reached out and upwards with both hands.

"Never," Hannah said. It was not a word, more an exhalation, her excitement robbing her voice of volume, making it barely a gasp.

Jess left one hand on Hannah's right breast and moved her other hand slowly down over Hannah's belly and abdomen, pausing for a moment before slipping her fingers between her ever-so-slightly parted legs, saying, "What about here?"

"Never." Another dying breath, hardly even a gasp now. Hannah closed her eyes and threw her head back.

My wife is such a tease. After only a moment between them, she extracted her hand from between Hannah's legs. She was about to recommence her circling but had second thoughts. She leaned forward and took Hannah's right nipple into her mouth, drawing in the breast flesh too, full to bursting.

Hannah's cry: "Oh God, Jessssss!"

Jess's circumnavigations resumed. Twice more she rounded Hannah as a living statue until stopping behind her to bury her face in that inferno of hair, inhaling before bunching it and shifting great handfuls away to make a clearing. And then she encircled Hannah's torso with her arms and drew herself against the smooth expanse of her back, cheek coming to rest against the now exposed skin below her shoulder blades. I saw Jess content, lost within that perfect moment as she savoured the reality of this stunning creature in her arms.

Jess eased herself onto her knees, drawing her nipples down into the smooth concavity of Hannah's lower back. Down lower still, over her softly rolling haunches until her tiny breasts skated the backs of Hannah's thighs. Kneeling, she pressed her cheek softly against Hannah's left buttock, her lips pecking at the right now just in reach of her mouth. And then her mouth flitting from one cheek to the other,  gently, over and over.

When she had slathered each cheek with her kisses, she pulled away and scanned what stood before her, considering her options. A decision made, she reached out again, this time to fill each hand with half a half-moon of Hannah's softly poised fleshy buttocks.

A decision made, both hands firmly parting the fleshy fissure to reveal a hidden singularity, that tightest of orifice seals. A pause, and then Jess's tentative tongue emerging. The cook will taste the dish — yes, just right. Then commitment, a determined nuzzling, facial features lost to sight; tongue, chin and nose. Hannah's butt-flesh held at bay by staunch fingers — until released, and then two cheeks blanketing in a landslide of flesh subsuming lesser cheeks.

Hannah could not pretend, could not disguise her pleasure, her hands resting on hips as she threw back her head. Words of disbelief: "Oh, God, Jess. You're licking my arse."

She parted her legs a little while gasping as if outraged by Jess's brazen tongue.

I shifted position to stand in front of Hannah. I wanted to see pleasure running riot with her features as Jess truffle-hunted in that most rarely enjoyed anatomical location. I hoped to see facial shifts, nuances of delight as they came and went, but her eyes were tightly closed. And so I watched how her breasts rose and fell, powered by an accelerating excitement.

I took one of her hands from her hips and piloted it to my cock, now protruding inches from her belly. She gave it the warm greeting of a friend long absent, stroking it gently as I ran my hands over her body. Starting from her shoulders, I guided them down to her breasts.

I was astounded by their almost sublime perfection, how their heavy presence could scorn gravity's insistence, so balanced, taut and perfect. I pinched her nipples between my knuckles, squeezing them to elicit her response   — not spitefully, but enough to make her flinch, to gasp. Soon I could not tell if it were my pinching or Jess's licking caused her such grateful moans.

Though Jess and I have enjoyed swinging for years and years, Hannah is, as well as being the most elegant and beautiful, the tallest woman we have shared, her legs the longest and most perfect. But her height pales in comparison to the perfection of her breasts, her tallness a mere afterthought tacked on by whatever precocious deity created her.

"Would you like me to suck these?" I asked, lifting her breasts, amazed that I even get to touch. I wanted to hear her say it out loud.

Her, "Uh-huh," was barely more than acquiescence, all she could summon from the depths of her euphoria as bliss erupted from Jess's arse-trawling tongue.

"Say it then," I said, not as a command but with an insistence that might still compel.

When her words came, it was an outburst: "Lick my tits. Suck them. Bite them. Oh, God! Do it now — whatever you want."  There it was: her command. I could do little else but obey.

From one breast to the other, my chin rasping her softness, even though I had shaved again only two hours previous. Her wincing did not distract me, I would make it all better with my ameliorating lips and tongue; there, there. I sensed the fire that raged within her and wondered if it were I or Jess that pleased her the most.

Up to kiss her lips. Her tongue found mine with gratitude in a deliciously timeless slide and curl. But soon I wanted the inner Hannah, wanted to hear her voice, her secret thoughts.

My cheek against hers. My breath at her ear: "What's Jess doing to you now, Hannah?" Tell me. Say the words."

"She's licking my arse." Words whispered in shame.

"Has a girl ever licked your arse before?"  It made me want to cum saying those words to this perfectly fashioned female creature.

"Oh God, no. Never!"  said with outrage, the realisation of years wasted.

"Do you like Jess's tongue sliding along the crack of your arse?" I said, excitement making my voice falter and crack.

"So much," her affirmation, a confession.

"How much?"

"I love it."

"What is it you love?

"Having my arse licked."

She hates herself for saying it — loves that she has. She's a filthy slut now — our very own.

"Who do you like best licking your arse?" I asked.

"Jess."

"Say it. Say how you love Jess licking your arse."

"I love Jess is licking my arse. She is the best."

This is not play acting. Not just dirty talk. Something profound stirs within.

And then I was kissing her lips again, lips that had uttered such filth. The picture of Hannah waiting at the station only hours ago flashed across my mind. Not in a million years could I have then have imagined words like these leaving the lips of such a woman, let alone her surrendering herself to Jess and me so readily.

It was a moment of perfection. I could not envisage a time that would outshine this one.

I did not want to spoil the things by parting the girls, no matter how briefly, but a man has needs too. I began to plot how I could transfer this set up to the bed. Jess could carry on between Hannah's bum cheeks while Hannah sucked my cock.

So I eased my cock from Hannah's palm and stepped away. She was reluctant to relax her grip.

"It'll be only for a minute, babe," I told her. "When we are on the bed you can let you pretty lips loose on it again."

She did not appear to be listening, her head right back, her hair like blooded white water flowed down her back. Now her eyes were two laser beams focused on the ceiling above where she stood. Jess's hands had joined the party now, her arms encircling Hannah's hips, her fingers-tips massaging the pudge of her mons, sliding lower, worming irresistibly, determined to penetrate. That's it: you're on the right track there, Jess old girl.

A storm on the horizon, Hannah's orgasm rolling in. Her arms went up, her palms interlacing behind her head, elbows angled either side. I was about to tell Jess to bring Hannah and this magic to the bed, and that I had tricks of my own I wanted them both to see, but now with completion looming, I could not abandon Hannah. I quickly resumed my previous position, attended to her nipples like some mad scientist at his panel of nobs and dials trying to ramp up more power to complete the experiment.

I have never heard a woman beg for her life before: "Oh-God! No! No! No!"  I have never heard the word 'no' as an affirmation of self-loss. Perhaps she was afraid that at that crucial moment Jess and I might leave her be, turn it all off and abandon her to herself and her sorry lone fingers.

I watched the mother of all orgasm roll across her body, her muscles trembling, her very bones shook by its power. Her body began to twist into that pose you see in superhero films, the one when the aspiring hero becomes empowered for the first time, limbs and body made rigid by preternatural voltage, sinews stretching as the mutant transformation comes bursting loose from its discarded shell.

At her orgasm's peak, she fought to lid its intensity, batten it down, prevent her limbs from flailing. She reached out to me with both arms and drew me hard to her. I sensed that only by grounding herself with my body's immediacy could she remain among us.
 
Traumatised by bliss! Some shrink should write it up. A brand new entry for the DSM.

Hannah calmed, the surge that fried her neural circuits now subsiding. But Jess and I now had our very own life-sized floppy doll to cherish. Between us, we supported her dead weight, manoeuvred her to the bed and eased her down. Hannah looked up at me, and then to Jess, and I saw incomprehension.

It was as if she were waking from nights and nights of fabulous dreaming, no longer recalling where or why she had fallen asleep. I lay one side of her, Jess the other, and we stroked her body while waiting for her desperate breathing to subside.

"You guys!" she finally managed. "What-the-fuck was that!?

"Don't look at me," I said. "Jess is a white-witch, her power is fearsome. She has not been the same since a house fell from the sky and flattened her sister."

The two girls laughed, and Hannah turned to Jess and they kissed gently, in the way only two women can.

"I know some magic too," I said.

"Oh?" Hannah said.

"My wand is right here."

"Show it to us then," Hannah said.

"Yeah," Jess said, "Show it to us!"

I fucked Hannah long and hard — fucked her three times that night. I fucked Jess long and hard, but only once. And in those rare minutes when I was limp and of no use to either, Jess and Hannah would lie and hold each other, whisper and giggle. Occasionally, their hands and mouths would become restless and go travelling the length and breadth of each other's bodies. I would watch them, my heart full of gratitude for this day's gift of Hannah in our bed.