It had been Rosita's idea.
Of course it had been hers; who else could have possibly come up with it? Certainly not Corbett, not with the way he was currently eyeing the bed.
And Cuchillo? He'd been known to come up with some truly risque ideas in his time, but none of those were quite on par with 'make the-Americano-who-hunted-you-down-across-the-border-before-eventually-changing-his-mind-and-risking-his-life-to-defend-you sit on your dick while your wife watches'.
...Maybe some of his ideas.
Regardless, it seemed nigh impossible, and if not for Rosita's insistence that she'd get Corbett to agree, Cuchillo would likely have forgotten all about the suggestion within a few days' time.
As it was, he'd begun forgetting within the week. It took him a minute to remember what she was referring to when she whispered in his ear that Corbett had agreed to 'their plan', but once he pieced together what exactly she meant, only two questions remained in his mind:
How in the world had Corbett agreed to that?
With her clearly abnormal levels of persuasive prowess, how was Rosita not already in charge of a small army of loyal servants at her every beck and call?
Perhaps that last one was for her alone to know, but Cuchillo really thought he ought to at least have an answer to the first.
The oddest thing was how calmly Corbett seemed to take it. Had Rosita not told Cuchillo about him agreeing, it never would've seemed as if he'd been approached by a woman with such an indecent proposal. He simply carried out his business as usual, looking for all the world as if he hadn't agreed to—or even been presented with—said proposal.
It could be that the full implications of the request hadn't sunk in at the time. After all, it wasn't like they'd never had threesomes before. Granted, those had mostly consisted of them taking turns with Rosita or, on one particularly memorable occasion, both having her at once.
From there, what more difference was a dick up the ass?
Probably a lot, Cuchillo supposed, especially for someone like Corbett.
While he personally preferred women, Cuchillo wasn't entirely picky when it came down to how he satisfied his urges. But Corbett? He definitely didn't seem like the type to take those things in stride.
And yet, he still stood beside the bed now, looking for all the world as though he found himself in a duel without a gun.
True, in a manner of speaking.
Cuchillo couldn't help taking a bit of pity on him, but that didn't mean he was about to call the whole thing off. If Corbett wanted out, he had to speak up for himself.
And then proceed to be laughed at, probably. Sure, it was mean, but since when had Cuchillo ever been a nice person?
He adjusted himself on the bed, propping up the pillow and sitting back on it. If Corbett was going to take the whole night working up the nerve to follow through, Cuchillo might as well make himself comfortable.
Rosita stepped forward and interrupted his train of thought. He watched her pull Corbett in for a few kisses, hands gently rubbing the tenseness from his shoulders. Sure enough, his posture slowly relaxed and he let her drag him towards the bed. Gradually, she eased back onto it, bringing him down with her.
Taking her time, she brushed her fingers down his torso and steadily worked his shirt open. Corbett mirrored the action and reached for her breasts, lightly squeezing one and teasing the hardening nipple.
Cuchillo's dick twitched at the sight and he inched towards them, eyes trying to take in as many details as possible. Just as he was settling in to watch the show, Rosita abruptly pulled away, leaving Corbett looking dazed and confused.
Cuchillo stayed still as she crawled up the bed to where he sat. Her ensuing kiss was so deep and warm that he found himself pouting when it ended, but her mischievous grin heightened his interest nonetheless.
She palmed his dick for a few seconds before turning to look at Corbett and cocking her head. Apparently satisfied with the flash of understanding in his eyes, she stood from the bed and walked across the room, retrieving a chair and resolutely sitting down on it.
She gave the pair of them a pointed look.
Cuchillo watched Corbett take the hint and awkwardly shuffle up to him, coming to a stop once they were mere inches apart. The chair creaked slightly as Rosita leaned closer, but Corbett remained frozen in place.
Cuchillo could swear he heard a nervous gulp.
Suppressing a sigh, he slid down and pulled Corbett atop him. Opting to speed things along, he reached down to fondle Corbett through his pants, smirking victoriously when the action resulted in a muffled groan. His other hand traveled to Corbett's ass and gave it a quick squeeze. Disappointingly, his only reward for that was Corbett grimacing and shutting his eyes in an obvious effort to maintain some semblance of composure.
Cuchillo huffed in amusement, remembering all the threesomes they'd had. Corbett seemed to have made it his mission to always remain as straight-faced as possible, and generally he tended to succeed.
His consistency was likely due to the familiar nature of their sessions. Truthfully, the lack of variety did make them somewhat predictable. Cuchillo found the whole thing entertaining to no end: If Corbett was already having such a difficult time staying detached with just a few foreplay changes, Cuchillo couldn't wait to see how much further that self-control would deteriorate.
Absently, he moved his mouth to nip and lick at Corbett's neck, hoping Rosita was enjoying the show. She was a patient woman, really, but Cuchillo knew better than to make her wait too long for the main event.
He began getting rid of their clothing piece by piece, mouth keeping Corbett distracted as he worked. Slowly but surely, he made his way through everything, unceremoniously dropping it all on the floor until they were both completely bare.
Hands returning to Corbett's ass, Cuchillo thrust upwards, building a steady rhythm that left them hard and panting within minutes.
They were interrupted by Rosita setting a small bottle of oil on the bed. “Go on,” she said, arching an expectant eyebrow and slinking back to her chair.
Cuchillo watched her sit down and turned back to Corbett, catching his eyes for the first time in a while. Grabbing the bottle and giving it a shake, he asked, “Ever done this before?”
Corbett cleared his throat and looked off to the side. “No, but Rosita explained.”
“Did she now?” Cuchillo asked, mildly impressed with how many developments she'd managed to keep under wraps. He glanced her way and received a noncommittal shrug for his trouble. At his continued staring, she spared a smile and a wink as well.
Noticing Corbett watching their silent exchange, Cuchillo turned his attention back to the bottle and opened it. “Alright. Here, lift your hips up a bit. And move your leg... Yes, there.”
Corbett's eyes avidly followed as three of his fingers dipped into the oil and reemerged glistening, threatening to drip onto the bed.
Cuchillo swiftly dipped his hand down between them, breaking Corbett's eye contact with his fingers and forcing him to refocus on the wall, grimace back in place. Reaching behind Corbett's balls and running his slick fingers over the hole there, Cuchillo couldn't help grinning at the immediate reaction he got. Corbett jerked in place, eyes opening the widest Cuchillo had ever seen them.
“Wait a minute, I haven't even started,” he jokingly chided, swirling his fingers around and abruptly pushing one in.
Just like that, Corbett was back to playing the rigidity game, evidently still convinced that doing his best impression of a statue would somehow let him appear less affected by Cuchillo's ministrations.
He'll react soon enough, thought Cuchillo. He leisurely thrust his finger in and out a few times, taking care to press it against Corbett's inner walls, then slid in a second and began pumping more rhythmically. Stretching and flexing them both as much as could be manged, he eventually slid in the third, pushing in as far they'd go and curling them, trying his hardest to coax out another reaction.
Fortunately, it wasn't long before he got one.
It wasn't sudden, leading Cuchillo to believe that Corbett had resisted succumbing for as long as he could. A commendable effort, but Cuchillo was glad to see it over with.
Bit by bit, Corbett's eyes slid shut, hips periodically giving small thrusts— though whether forward in search of new friction or backwards onto Cuchillo's fingers was debatable.
Next came the labored breaths, not too damning on their own, but extremely telling given how much Corbett was still resisting. Cuchillo adjusted his hand for a better angle and felt his arm brush against Corbett's dripping dick.
Evidently, the wetness that had been gracing Cuchillo's lower abdomen wasn't due to the lubricating oil dripping everywhere, but instead to Corbett's own ardent juices.
By the time Corbett's head dropped onto Cuchillo's shoulder, he wasn't sure how much more either of them could take. Looking over at Rosita, he saw that she'd snuck a hand under her dress and was moving it tantalizingly slowly, a challenging glint in her eyes.
If Cuchillo knew her at all—and he most certainly did—there was obviously more to her plan than she'd initially let on.
But he was sure he'd find out in due time. For the moment, he had more pressing matters to worry about; namely, getting Corbett onto his dick before they both came.
Reluctantly, he pulled his fingers away, relishing the noise of dissent that came from low in Corbett's throat. “Look, my wrist is getting sore, okay? Besides, there's still something you have to do,” he said, pouring some extra oil onto his palm and slicking up his dick before helpfully holding it in place.
Corbett groaned softly and lifted his head back up, sullenly glaring at Cuchillo.
“Hey, I didn't make the rules.”
Blinking a few times as if only just remembering what he'd agreed to in the first place, Corbett resignedly sat up, carefully kneeling over Cuchillo's thighs and alternating between scrutinizing his face and his dick.
It wasn't until Rosita cleared her throat that Corbett shuffled into place, steadying himself with a hand on Cuchillo's chest.
Seconds passed and Cuchillo bit his lip in frustration. It wasn't that Corbett needed to move. He was definitely moving, lowering himself closer by the second...
But he was too damn slow, to the point where Cuchillo started wondering whether he'd been overly generous in once comparing him to a limping snail.
He was about to voice his musings when the head of his dick was suddenly engulfed in tight heat. His hands flew to Corbett's thighs, yearning to push him down the rest of the way but managing to restrain himself, nails digging into the muscles instead.
Corbett continued his agonizing descent, intermittently stopping to take a couple deep breaths. Cuchillo's hands groped at his thighs increasingly roughly.
It seemed to take forever, but at long last, Corbett's weight fully came down, Cuchillo's dick getting buried deep within him. Cuchillo willed himself to keep still despite the overwhelming urge to stab further in. They both took a moment to relax, breathing heavily but otherwise regarding each other in silence.
And that was when the rest of Rosita's plan came into play.
The dip in the bed immediately caught their attention and they turned towards it, getting themselves quite the eyeful. Rosita had left her dress on the chair and was now clearly a woman on a mission.
Cuchillo appreciatively watched as she clambered onto the bed, only realizing her end goal once she was already situated over his face. Well, he wasn't about to complain, but...
“Don't worry, I'll let you know how our Americano's doing.”
So that was settled, then.
Cuchillo enthusiastically lapped at her soaking cunt, one of his hands settling on her thigh and gently massaging it. Her hips undulated above him, spreading juices across his face. Pressing his lips to her folds, he moaned loudly and got exactly what he was hoping for: The vibrations wrenched forth an answering moan of her own as she grappled wildly at his chest.
“Alright, Americano... Show me how well you can take my man's cock.”
At first, nothing happened aside from the wet sounds of Cuchillo licking Rosita open, but then Corbett's heat left him, nearly slipping off his dick entirely before enveloping him all over again, graceless and stilted as if he was unsure of the motion.
“Good, just like that. Now do it again, but faster,” came Rosita's voice, assertive despite the undercurrent of arousal running through it.
As per her request, Cuchillo felt Corbett lift himself off his dick and slide back down it faster than before.
“Keep going. Faster, faster!”
Another moan left Cuchillo's lips as Corbett followed the instructions, rapidly moving along his dick and gaining speed the longer he kept at it.
“Yes... Fuck yourself just like that...”
Rosita's breath quickened its pace, coming hard and fast as Cuchillo thoroughly kissed her cunt, sporadically shooting out his tongue and adoring the way her pants increased in tempo.
And then Rosita's panting was accompanied by faint moaning.
It took Cuchillo a second to realize it was Corbett, riding him so eagerly that he was practically bouncing. Cuchillo's dick jumped at the mental image and he moaned into Rosita once more.
The longer Corbett went on, the more practiced his movements became, keeping Cuchillo's dick firmly planted inside himself even as he rose and fell.
“You're very good at that,” Rosita barely got out between breaths. “Are you sure you haven't done this before?”
“You haven't? You're pleasuring that cock as if your next meal depended on it.”
A stifled moan was Corbett's only reply.
“Americano... Do you even like women?”
Rosita's laugh shook her entire body. “Relax, I don't care. But you seem to be having much more fun now, like this, than any of the times you ever fucked me.”
Cuchillo had no further warning before Corbett was twitching and fluttering around his dick, all while uncontrollably grinding down.
Rosita's hips lost their rhythm alongside Corbett's, bucking back and forth on Cuchillo's face before finishing off with a few weak thrusts. He carefully sucked her as she rode out the last waves of pleasure.
All of a sudden, she sat up, scooting backwards and leaning against the wall at the head of the bed, leaving Cuchillo free to take in the view before him.
Corbett looked like an utter mess. His torso dripped with his own seed and his legs trembled from sheer exhaustion.
“Go on,” Rosita murmured from her position behind Cuchillo. “Finish fucking him.”
Obediently, Cuchillo pulled Corbett down and deftly flipped their positions. Kneeling between the open legs, he wasted no time pounding in so roughly that Corbett looked as if he was resisting the urge to start moaning all over again.
Before long, Cuchillo felt his orgasm nearing and redoubled his efforts, smiling at the sight of Rosita still enthusiastically watching them. He let the waves of pleasure begin washing over him and slowed to a halt until, thoroughly deprived of any and all energy reserves, he inelegantly collapsed onto Corbett. For the next few minutes, neither did anything but attempt to regain his breath.
“That worked out well,” piped up Rosita, moving down and squeezing herself in alongside them. “What do you think?”
Thankfully, Corbett spoke up first, sparing Cuchillo from trying to formulate an answer when he could be catching his breath instead.
“Can't say it went like I expected it to.”
Rosita smiled teasingly, unable to resist the bait. “But how did you find it? Better than the times you've fucked me? Or other women, even?”
Cuchillo propped himself up, curious to see Corbett's reaction. Surprisingly, he looked deep in thought, as if seriously considering the question and internally debating its answer. Then, still appearing as if the issue required more thought before a definitive answer could be reached, he surmised, “...I'd need to try it again.”
Cuchillo's eyebrows shot up while Rosita simply chuckled.
“I'm sure that can be arranged,” she said, giving Cuchillo a conspiratorial look.
Well, Rosita's ideas were always worth a try.