Lesbian Couple & Man: Threesome Passion

By Jasinda Geller

I relaxed my lip lock and rocked back panting. My breathing evened out, "Don't you want to see me naked?" I returned her question.

"Oh god yes! Yes, I do."

"Well then you need to undress me."

Her fingers moved with lightning speed to my blouse. Starting with the top, each button slipped through her fingers and separated. The final button, which was below my skirt waist, she effortlessly retrieved and undid my skirt.

Find out what happens next in the full eBook.. Happy reading

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jasinda Geller
• Release date: Dec 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005377342

Jasinda Geller

I am a middle aged woman who loves reading and writing erotica. Erotica just gives me a sense of liberation like nothing else. I hope you enjoy my writing. Do leave reviews after reading my writings. Thank you in advance

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Lesbian Couple & Man: Threesome Passion

By Jasinda Geller

Published by

Euphoria Publications at Smashwords

[e-mail]

Copyright 2021 Euphoria Publications

Distributed by Smashwords

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entire coincidental

Authors Note:

All characters depicted in this work of fiction are at least 18 years old or above. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 1

I was feeling great; resting on the aero bars, breathing easily; my legs kept up an effortless, steady tempo; the flecks of white gravel embedded in the asphalt streaked below me like shooting stars. Off to my right, the sun was about 2 diameters above the horizon in the clear autumn sky. My speedometer flirted with 35 kph. The beach road unfolded before me like a long black ribbon. The vacation season ended several weeks ago so I only had to compete with the locals and a few fishermen for the road.

A police car passed and then slowed to my pace. I recognized the officer and nodded. Don't go too fast he admonished, or I will have to haul you in. I opened my grip in a slight wave and smiled. He returned my wave and continued down the road. A rider came into view ahead and I accelerated to pull alongside. It was Art. Hey I shouted, using the standard term of address in the area. Hey Pippa! He replied. We continued side by side down the road. A long break in the dune line revealed the wide beach leading down to the edge where surf and sand met. The panorama of sand, sea, surf, sky, clouds, and sun enchanted me as much now as when I first experienced it six years ago. It still astounded me. I only paid half attention to my riding as I stared. It still astounded me.

You are going to miss it, Pip. Art chirped up.

Yes indeed. I will miss it. But it will be here when I return. That old ocean isn't going anywhere any time soon. I spoke to reassure myself that nothing would change until I returned. For the last few weeks, I was in denial that we were leaving, even though I agreed with the decision. I even anticipated the change; but I will miss my life on the sandbar. I likened this place to a married lover you can never have as your own but is always around and you knew would be available.

Something caught my eye on the far side of the road. Instinctively, I lowered my left hand to indicate I was slowing and then turned abruptly across the road to the beach access as Art continued down the road. A girl held a bike helmet at her side and watched as a man, her cycling partner no doubt, tended to a wheel on her bike. I cruised by in a lazy circle and stopped. Can I help? I asked more out of politeness than necessity since most people say everything is under control. Maybe came the unexpected reply, this is her second flat in about a mile and the patch doesn't want to hold.

Hmmm I puzzled as I unclipped my remaining foot from my pedal. When you start getting a lot of flats like that, it is time to look for something other than wear and tear on the tire. I bent over the wheel with the tire partially off the rim. May I look? With an air of frustration, he handed over the wheel. Sure. Have a try. I examined the rim, more for show than anything, but just to be sure there was no major blips and then slowly ran my finger along the inside of the tire until I swabbed the entire inner circumference.

Why did you do that the girl asked?

Just to make sure you hadn't picked up a small nail or piece of glass that could cause the problem.

How will you know if I did? The first sign is that I will cut my finger. I laughed. I didn't do that, but I did feel a slight 'stick' about halfway round the tire.

Art cruised in and stopped, nodding to everyone as he did.

I examine the tire in detail. Unfortunately, there was no way to determine the relative location of the puncture on the tire. Look at this! Everyone gathered around as I pried the bead up with my fingernail to reveal a polished piece of glass embedded in the tire. A street diamond, I exclaimed. This is my suspect. I took my small Swiss Army knife from my pocket and pried the shiny glass fragment from the tire which left a half inch gash through the sidewall and the inner ply.

How can we fix it? There was a slight desperation in the girl's voice, won't it just cause another flat and we are about five miles from the house, and we don't have another tube.

I removed my helmet. Attached to the back with a strip of Velcro, I carried a spare tube. Here is a tube. Let's see what we can do about a temporary fix for the tire. Do you have a dollar bill?

Sure the man answered and opened his wallet, How much do I owe you?

You don't owe me anything. I want to make sure this holds until you get a chance to fix it proper. Just a dollar.

He rummages through the loose bills until he found one that he thought I would find satisfactory and handed it to me. I folded it lengthwise and then lengthwise again before I positioned it over the spot where the glass punctured the tire. I then held it in place as I worked the new tube around the rim with my free hand. When that was in place, I worked the rim of the tire into the wheel. The last foot or so of the tire gave me some trouble but a rock of the wheel and a stretch of my forearms popped it in place. Dollars are tough stuff I added, It should hold for a few miles. The tire fit nicely even with the added bulk of the dollar. I took my hand pump and inflated it as much as I could, about 65 lbs. I then took a compressed air cartridge and inflated it until it was firm if not solid to a press. I deftly mounted the wheel and declared it Done!

What do I owe you the guy asked again, this time with a sense of relieve.

I already answered that. You don't owe me anything. Just when you see someone with a problem ask if you can help. Which way are you heading? They stared at each other and pointed south down the road. Rider's up. I commanded, We can ride together for a while and see how it holds.

Art rode ahead at his pace while I kept with the couple. We chatted idly about biking and the beach. I thought that perhaps I had been too assertive about the bike repair and did not want to appear patronizing. That was not the case. They were thankful for the assistance and agreed to improve their repair skills. If you can ride it, you can fix it I shouted as they turned off to their cottage, And don't forget your dollar!

I caught up with Art who had maintained a constant separation. Why do you do things like that? He posed a question I asked myself frequently. I don't know. It just seems like the right thing to do.

I'll buy you dinner. Art changed the topic.

No thanks. I had been through this several times already.

Why not?

You know why not. I don't want you to be my biographer.

But you are an interesting person, maybe not in your opinion, but in mine. And everybody has a story to tell, and I want to hear yours

Yeah. Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy. That is your goal. Art never liked being accused of anything remotely resembling the truth.

Yes . . . but . . . besides I love you.

You know my situation. We have been over that a few times.

I know what you have told me but until I see a ring on your left hand I consider you to be available. That is one of the things that I find interesting. Besides you are leaving, and I may not have another chance.

I turned into the beach access area hoping he would continue without me. But he followed me to the deck overlooking the dunes. I rested my bike against the sand fence and climbed the steps to the deck. The ocean stretched endlessly under an azure sky. The surf broke in lazy long rolls and spread the white spume across the brown sand.

Art stood beside me. Great view he noted.

It is a wonderful view. I never tire of it.

Why are you leaving?

I did not answer. Instead, I leaned on the railing and said, I was standing right here. This very spot, the first time I saw the ocean. Right here! I recall it like it was yesterday. It was evening, the sky was dark, ink clouds, the wind was calm, the tide out, although I didn't know it then, and the sun behind the clouds about an inch above the horizon, right back there.

How about a drink at least?

I need to finish packing. Maybe some other time.

There won't be another time. He pleaded.

That's OK. Nothing will change. I took a long look at the ocean and made my way down the steps to my bike.

You are a tough one. I really wish I knew what makes you tick.

I looked back from my bike, gave a smile and a wave and pedaled home. The note from two days ago was still on the kitchen counter. I picked it up and read it again to myself with a smile. Pippa, I miss you already. Can't wait to meet you at the airport. As ever with love. R. The writing was small, tight, and precise. However, the signature 'R' was the distinctive bold scrip. I placed it next to my purse so I would not forget to take it.

I disassembled the major parts of my bike and stuffed it into the molded plastic shipping crate. No more LSD for a while I said to myself. 'LSD', my euphemism for Long Slow Distances, and a modest goal I set for myself when I started regular riding six years ago. I felt a lump in my throat as I snapped the latches on the crate.

Last looks! Tomorrow early, Claire will drive me to Richmond to catch a flight. In exchange for the cab ride, I gifted the car to her. Six years of beach weather had taken a toll on the finish, but it was still roadworthy. It was not worth shipping or storing and Claire needed a car. The deal worked out for both of us.

I finished the last-minute clean-up of the house, even straightened the 'For Rent'