The Second Adventure of Julian and James: Lucy, Part 1

erotica ebooks by Desmond Blume

Lucy was the trigger that truly opened up our threesome experiences to BDSM. Julian and I were having our usual, end of the week drinks at Das Hotel. We had switched from sushi to this. Sushi was for the winter, drinks for the summer. Das Hotel was a small bar right next to the Landwehr Canal in Kreuzberg. We usually grabbed a cocktail there, followed by a beer from a Späti and a walk by the water. As we strolled, we checked out the scene, watching a diversity of hipsters, foreigners, expats, locals, Berliners, crusties, and pseudo-anarchists enjoying the chill vibes of another Berlin Summer night. Das Hotel had cafe style seating. We took our drinks there, a swath of people surrounding us, smoking, chatting in different languages, drinking, laughing. Julian was in a particularly punchy mood after a shit week at work. As had become habit, he had brought a list of complaints, as per his organized persona.
“…Herman is being a dick, I find my work utterly meaningless. I mean I just don’t give a shit about the products we’re making. I don’t really have to but, you know, who gives a fuck about b2b relationships. Fuck the cloud, man. Another year of this and my brain is going to explode. Not to mention the price of this type of work on my body. I feel like a fucking slug sitting there all day at a desk.”
I rolled my eyes. I had not had a shit week. In fact, I was still glowing from a wonderful Tantra session with one of my long term partners. I had been looking forward to telling Julian about it but here he was spewing. I didn’t mind it. What were friends for if not this?
“Seriously, man. I need this exercise app that we’ve been talking about. Fucking healthy snacks in the break room. That only does so much, you know?”
I smiled.
“I hear you, man. It’s all temporary though, yeah?” I offered commiseration.
“Sometimes I wish I could just be a pornstar,” Julian said. There was a momentary silence between us. We both took the fantasy seriously. We were both imagining our last encounters and experiences in the bedroom, together and separate. Then we both laughed. The bubble of the fantasy burst.
“So what’s going on with your dating life?” I asked.
Julian folded up his list and put it in his pocket. I wondered if he went home and archived his lists somewhere in his apartment or whether he would just throw them out and forget about it all later. I hoped it was the latter. I don’t exactly know why. Perhaps there was something serial-killer-esque about stashing a list of complaints every week for years on end.
“James, James, James,” Julian said, smirking. “Always thinking about sex.”
“Hey. You were the one who brought it up,” I retorted.
“True, true,” Julian said. “Alright, sir. Let’s get into it then. You know, I keep thinking about our threesome with Greta. It was just a few months ago, but it feels like ages have passed since then.”
“I know what you mean,” I said, remembering. “What exactly have you been remembering about it?”
We both sat for a moment, the memories of our threesome stirring up different images and feelings into our thoughts. The curve of Greta’s butt as Julian fucked her across the couch while my cock slid in and out of her mouth. Her moans of pleasure as she came. A quick wink from Julian as we switched positions.
There were conversations around us on the street. Some French. Some Deutsch. Some English with accents. Swarms of people rode by on bicycles, passing us on the street. The moon looked down from over corner, just over Kottbusser Brücke. The moon. Always, the moon was watching. The greatest voyeur of all time.

Lucy sat down at the table, across from us, unaware of the wake of staring eyes she had left behind her as she weaved her way through the tables of the narrow, main dining area in the tapas restaurant. The room was dimly lit, a candle in the center of each round table. The ceiling arched like the cellar of a basement room originally made for keeping things cool and dry, for storing wine or whiskey. It was Saturday night. Julian and I had been there for maybe an hour, excitedly discussing the prospects of the night and where it might lead. We were both a bit stunned as we watched Lucy cross the floor and approach the table. She was a magnet of attention. She wore a short, black skirt, tight, but loose enough to boldly stride forward on her long legs. She was shorter than both of us by maybe five centimeters. She wore a horizontally striped, black and white top that was cut off just above her breasts.

The top wrapped continuously around her arms, baring her shoulder and her upper back. Her neck was long and her black hair was swept up and pinned behind her head. She looked straight ahead, definitively, as she weaved between the tables, completely ignoring any heads turning towards her, completely focused, without looking directly at Julian or I, on her destination: our table. She pulled out the wooden chair, sat down, took a sip from the glass of water in front of her. She looked first at Julian and then at me. She set her glass of water down and then greeted us. Her voice was soft enough that both Julian and I leaned forward in order to hear her. She spoke without waiver, without lilt, in her voice, with a flat structure to her sentences, that only dipped and peaked every so often, when she was perhaps insecure or unsure of the idea behind that to which she was speaking.
“Hello, boys,” she said. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Very much so. James. Thank you for arranging this, how do you say, I don’t…

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