Vince gets some, without the others
The texts from Vince started innocently enough, thank-yous for the group session, compliments on how well I took everything, how hot it was watching me get stretched and filled. But they quickly turned personal. He wanted me alone. No Gene, no Ray, no Paul, just us at his place. A small bungalow right on the sand in La Jolla, floor-to-ceiling glass looking straight out at the Pacific, waves rolling in twenty feet from the back deck. “No pressure,” he wrote. “But I’d love to flip with you. Been a while since I bottomed for someone who knows what he’s doing. And if you want, I’ve got an older lady friend, mid-60s, still very sexual, loves watching two men and joining in. MMF if you’re feeling adventurous. Or just you and me. Your call, Dick.”
I hesitated. It had been years since I’d topped a man; my cock work had mostly been with women, slow and sensual, but the idea of sliding into Vince’s experienced ass while he moaned under me stirred something dormant. The group dynamic with Gene had been perfect because I stayed the dedicated bottom, the eager hole. This felt different: reciprocal, balanced. After a few days of back-and-forth, I agreed. I texted Gene a white lie, family obligation out of town, rain check for the following weekend. He bought it, no questions, “Miss that mouth already. Next time we’ll make up for it.”
Saturday morning I drove down the coast, windows open, salt air filling the car. Vince’s place was exactly as described: low-slung modern bungalow, private path to the beach, that massive glass wall making the ocean feel like it was in the room. He met me at the door in loose linen pants and nothing else, bare chest tanned, silver hair still damp from a shower, that curved cock already thickening under the fabric.
We didn’t rush. Coffee on the deck first, waves crashing, talking easy. He asked about my limits, my history, gentle probing. When I admitted topping men was rusty, he smiled. “I’m patient. We’ll go slow. Lube, fingers, whatever you need. And if you want to stop and just suck or get fucked, that’s fine too.”
Inside, the bedroom overlooked the same view: king bed, sheer curtains billowing in the breeze. Clothes came off slow. Vince kissed me deep, hands roaming my back, ass, cock. He dropped to his knees first, worshipping me the way I’d worshipped them all before. Slow licks up my shaft, tongue swirling the head, then deep-throating me while his fingers teased my hole. I hardened fast, leaking into his mouth. He pulled off, grinning. “See? Still works.”
He lay back on the bed, legs spread, pulling his knees to his chest. His hole was pink, shaved smooth, already glistening with lube he’d prepped. “Start with your mouth if you want,” he said. I did. I ate him slow, long laps from balls to crack, tongue circling his rim, then pushing inside. He moaned low, hips rolling, hand stroking himself. “Fuck, that’s good… been too long.”
I worked a finger in, then two, scissoring gently, curling to find his prostate. He gasped when I hit it, cock jumping, pre-cum pooling on his stomach. Three fingers, more lube, stretching him open while I sucked his balls. When he was loose and begging, I lubed my cock, thick, 6–7 inches, same as always, and pressed the head against him.
Slow push. The heat, the grip, different from a woman’s, tighter at first, then yielding. Vince breathed deep, pushed out, took me inch by inch. When I bottomed out, balls against his ass, we both groaned. I held still, letting him adjust, kissing him deep. Then slow thrusts, long, deliberate strokes, dragging over his prostate on every pull-back. He wrapped his legs around me, pulling me deeper, moaning into my mouth. “Harder… fuck me like you mean it.”
I did. I built speed, pounding steady, the bed creaking, the ocean roaring outside. Vince stroked himself in time; I felt his hole clench, milking me. He came first, thick ropes shooting up his chest, ass spasming around my cock. That set me off: I buried deep and unloaded, pulsing inside him, filling him with years of pent-up top energy.
We stayed connected, softening slowly, kissing lazily. After a breather, he flipped us, now on top, sliding back onto my still-half-hard cock, riding slow while he fingered my hole. “Your turn to get fucked,” he murmured. He ate me out first, tongue deep, rimming like he was starving, then lubed up and slid in. His curve hit perfect; every thrust dragged over my prostate. We fucked missionary, then doggy, then spoon, lazy beach-day rhythm, no hurry. He came inside me deep, adding to the mess.
Shower after, hands soaping each other, slow handjobs under the water, another mutual cum. Then deck again, naked in the sun, beers in hand, talking. He brought up the older lady again: “Her name’s Elena. Widowed, insatiable, loves watching men fuck and then jumping in. Sucks like a pro, rides as she means it. If you’re ever curious for MMF… or even more.”
I smiled, ass still tingling, cock spent but satisfied. “Maybe next time. Today was perfect, just us.”
I left late afternoon, sun low, ocean breeze cooling the sweat on my skin. Vince kissed me at the door, promised more one-on-one soon. Driving back to San Diego, I felt deliciously used in a new way, top and bottom, giver and receiver. Gene would get his turn next weekend, probably with the full crew again. But this private flip with Vince? That was mine. And I already knew I’d be back for more.
On the drive home, the coastal highway humming under my tires, the salt air still clinging to my skin from Vince’s deck, I couldn’t shake the thought of Elena. Vince had planted the seed perfectly: mid-60s, widowed, insatiable, loves watching men and then diving in. My cock twitched at the idea even though I’d just emptied everything into him and vice versa. I pulled over at a scenic turnout overlooking the waves, engine idling, and dialed Vince.
He picked up on the second ring, voice warm and amused. “Miss me already?”
I laughed. “Always. Listen… about Elena. Is she real? And if she is, could you check if she’s free tomorrow? Sunday. If you’re up for round two, or three, with her involved. MMF. I mean, if that’s too fast, no pressure, but… yeah, I’m curious.”
There was a pause, then a low chuckle. “Dick, you’re full of surprises. I like it. She’s very real. Smart, sexy, curves in all the right places, soft tits, nice ass, still gets dripping wet just thinking about two cocks. She’s been asking about you since I mentioned the flip session today. Give me twenty minutes; I’ll call her and ring you back.”
I hung up, heart pounding a little harder, staring out at the Pacific turning gold in the late afternoon light. The bungalow flashed in my mind again, that massive retractable glass wall blending the living room with the beach, waves crashing just beyond, the kind of place where boundaries dissolve as easily as clothes.
My phone buzzed twenty-five minutes later. Vince.
“She’s in. Tomorrow afternoon works, say 2 p.m.? Her place is closer to yours, up in Del Mar, but she said she can come to mine if you prefer the view. I told her you’re experienced, but this MMF is new territory for you. She’s excited, said she’ll bring toys, lube, and her favorite strap-on in case we want to play switch. But mostly she wants to watch us fuck first, then join. Suck us both, ride one while the other takes her mouth, whatever flows. No rush, all consensual.”
I swallowed. “Your place. The beach view sounds… perfect. Tell her yes.”
“Done. Text me when you’re on the way tomorrow. And Dick? Wear something easy to take off. Elena likes unwrapping presents slow.”
I drove the rest of the way home half-hard, mind racing through scenarios: Vince and me kissing deep while Elena watches from the couch, her hand between her legs; her on her knees between us, alternating mouths on our cocks; me sliding into Vince while she rides his face; or her bent over the bed, taking me from behind while Vince feeds her his curved length. The flip energy from today carried over; topping Vince had unlocked something hungry in me, and now adding a woman to the mix felt like the perfect evolution.
That night I prepped quietly: showered, trimmed, plugged lightly to stay loose and ready (old habits), slept fitfully dreaming of glass walls and tangled bodies.
Sunday morning came bright and clear. I texted Vince around noon: “Heading out soon. Excited.” He replied with a photo, his deck, ocean sparkling behind it, two lounge chairs pulled close, and a bottle of chilled white wine sweating in the sun. “Door’s open. Elena’s already here. Come get us.”
I arrived just after 2, pulse thumping. Vince met me at the door in swim trunks, shirtless, smiling wicked. Inside, the glass wall was fully retracted, breeze carrying salt and sunscreen. Elena stood by the kitchen island, mid-60s, silver-streaked auburn hair loose to her shoulders, wearing a simple white sundress that clung to full breasts and hips, no bra obvious, nipples faintly visible through the fabric. She was shorter than me, curvy in a soft, inviting way, green eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Hi, Dick,” she said, voice low and warm, stepping forward to kiss my cheek, then my lips, soft, tasting faintly of wine. “Vince has told me everything. You sound delicious. Ready to play?”
We moved to the living room, couch facing the open wall, waves rolling in like a private show. No awkward small talk; Elena sat between us, hands on our thighs, squeezing gently. “I want to watch you two first,” she murmured. “Kiss. Touch. Fuck. Then I’ll join.”
Vince and I leaned in over her, deep, hungry kiss, tongues sliding, hands roaming each other’s chests. Elena watched, breathing heavier, slipping a hand under her dress to touch herself. Vince pulled my shirt off; I tugged his trunks down, his curved cock springing free. Elena leaned in, licking the head while I stroked him, then took me in her mouth, warm, skilled, no teeth, deep throating like she’d done it a thousand times.
We migrated to the bedroom, same ocean view, bed huge and low. Vince lay back; I straddled him, lubed up, sinking slow onto his cock. The stretch felt familiar now, perfect. Elena knelt beside us, kissing me, fingering herself, then sucking Vince’s balls while I rode him. She climbed up, straddling his face; he ate her eagerly, tongue working her clit as she moaned into my mouth.
We flipped positions: me on my back, Vince sliding in deep missionary while Elena rode my face, wet, sweet, grinding down as I licked and sucked her folds. She came first, shuddering, flooding my tongue, then switched, taking my cock inside her while Vince fucked me from behind. The rhythm built, her tight heat around me, his thick curve pounding my prostate, until we all tipped over together: her clenching on me, me shooting deep inside her, Vince unloading in my ass with a groan.
After, we lay tangled, sun streaming in, waves crashing. Elena kissed us both, lazy and satisfied. “That was just the start,” she whispered. “Next time, bring your friends. Or just come back soon. Vince and I have plenty of room.”
I left late, sun setting over the water, body humming, tasting Elena on my lips, Vince’s cum still leaking out. Driving home, I knew this was opening new doors: men, women, flips, groups. Gene would hear about it eventually. But for now, this secret Sunday was mine.
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