Welcome Home

Coming home is always lovely, because my boys are usually as enthusiastic about me being back again–and doing all those nasty, sexy things to me again–as I am to be home and to have those things done to me.  In the past, it’s been one-on-one with the guys, with each one giving me their own, separate (and distinctly unique) welcome.
This time, though, it was different.
As he usually does, W picked me up at the airport. My original plan was that we would spend a couple hours at his house, getting reacquainted, maybe even playing a little, before taking me home. Circumstances have prevented us from the kind of fast and furious scenes I have fantasized about lately, but I am ever hopeful…
Life is a capricious bitch though, isn’t she?  It didn’t work out quite that way.  Instead we three (Ad, W and I) ended up spending an enjoyable, vanilla night together, cooking dinner, hanging with my daughter and her boyfriend, and, truthfully it was a lovely way to spend my first night at home after a long, stressful week in Dallas.
But there are other ways to be welcomed home, too.
With only a minimum of begging I convinced W to stay over. Ad had already gone to bed and was (seemingly) asleep when we came to bed, but as soon as I slipped between the sheets, he pressed against my back, revealing a large, hard cock that showed how not asleep he was. Pretty soon he was pushing into me from behind while we laid on our sides, with me facing W.  Soon W’s hand was in my hair, the other one across my mouth, and Ad was fucking me from behind…and I was coming, mewling into W’s hand, my own hands scrabbling against his skin, feeling both my men pressing, holding and pinning me between them.
My memory gets a little sketchy here. But somehow, I ended up turned once again toward Ad, laying against him, panting and spent.  He pushed me away, towards W. “W’s turn,” he said. “You need to take care of him now.”  Obediently, still sated and blissed from sex and orgasms, I turned to W.  Because a girl can never have too much sex, can she? And, of course, I do have two men to “take care of.”
But of course with W it is never just sex, and it is seldom me “taking care of” him. In moments he had turned me over, pushed into from behind, and grabbed a handful of my hair, which he used to lift and steer me back over to Ad, who had not yet had an orgasm.  He pushed my face down onto Ad’s cock and then continued fucking me from behind while I sucked–or tried to suck–Ad off. It was less like sucking and more like simply opening myself, both my mouth and my cunt, to the two of them, and allowing them to rock me between them until Ad finally came, shoving my head down onto his cock so hard I never even tasted the semen he shot down my throat.
Much later we fell asleep in a tangled, sweaty, blissful heap.
Then, of course, there was the next morning…