Chapter 3: The Third Test: Taste
The silk was cool against his back, a shocking contrast to the heat radiating from the two women now leaning over him on the bed. Julian’s breath came in shallow gasps, his head spinning from the wine and the sudden, total collapse of the game. They had declared him the winner, but it felt like a surrender, and he was the territory being claimed.
Diane traced a line from his sternum down to the waistband of his boxer briefs, her nail leaving a faint white trail that faded instantly. “The debate was always a bit silly, wasn’t it?” she mused, her voice a low hum that vibrated in the quiet room.“A tongue’s length.A kiss’s technique. Parlor tricks.”
Clara, kneeling beside him, ran her fingers through his tousled hair, her touch surprisingly gentle.“But we are women of taste, Julian. In all things.” She leaned down, her sharp bob brushing his cheek. “The real test… the one we could never settle… is more direct.More primal.”
A new kind of tension threaded through him, sharper than before. He looked from Clara’s mischievous green eyes to Diane’s commanding hazel ones. “What test?”
Diane’s wicked smile returned. “Whose flavor you prefer.”
His brain stuttered, trying to parse the meaning.Clara’s laughter, light and airy, filled the space. “Not our lips, silly boy.Lower. Much lower.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “We want to know whose asshole tastes better.”
The words, spoken so casually in Clara’s melodic voice, landed with the force of a physical blow. Julian’s whole body flushed, a wave of heat that had nothing to do with the candles. This was beyond anything he’d imagined, a vault into a darker, more carnal space. The earlier intimacy of their mouths felt almost childish now.
“It’s the ultimate blind taste test,” Diane continued, as if explaining a philosophical point.“No visual bias.Just pure, unadulterated… essence. You’ll have to be our guide.” Her hand slipped beneath the elastic of his waistband, resting on his hip. “Unless you’d rather call it a night?”
The challenge in her voice, the implicit dismissal, cut through the shock. Calling it a night meant walking out of this room, down that shadowy hall, back into a world that suddenly seemed achingly dull and ordinary. It meant being just Julian again, the recent grad, the kid. Here, he was something else.He swallowed, his throat dry.“No.”
“Good,” Clara purred. She moved with a dancer’s precision, swinging a leg over him so she straddled his chest, facing his feet.The lavender lace of her chemise was a soft barrier between her skin and his. Diane, maintaining eye contact with him, began to slowly shift down his body, her silk slip whispering against his legs.
Clara leaned forward, placing her hands on the headboard behind Julian’s head, arching her back.The pose was deliberate, exhibitionistic. “Start with me, judge. I’m feeling particularly… tangy tonight.”
From his vantage point, Julian saw Diane help guide Clara out of her delicate chemise, letting it fall to the side of the bed. Then Clara’s body lowered, her knees settling on either side of his head, blotting out the ceiling with the pale, perfect curve of her ass. The intimate, musky scent of her filled his nostrils—clean skin, a hint of perspiration, and something deeper, fundamentally female and unperfumed.Her hands reached back, spreading herself open for him. The pink-brown furl of her anus was presented like an offered fruit. “Don’t be shy,” Clara urged, her voice slightly muffled.“Get in there. Tell me what I taste like.”
Julian’s heart hammered against his ribs.He turned his head, his nose brushing against her inner thigh. The scent intensified. He exhaled, then let his tongue dart out, a timid swipe across the tight rosette.It was salty.Sharp.A complex, adult flavor that was utterly foreign. Clara gasped above him, a sharp intake of breath, and pushed back slightly, urging him deeper. He pressed his mouth more fully against her, his tongue stiffening, probing at the tense muscle. It yielded slightly, and the flavor deepened, a concentrated, earthy richness that made his own saliva pool.
“Oh, fuck,” Clara moaned, her hips making a slow, circular grind against his face. “Your tongue… right there. Yes.”
He lost himself in the rhythm, in the act of serving her with this most base part of himself. His hands came up to grip the firm globes of her ass, holding her in place as he licked and sucked, exploring the wrinkled texture with a growing, desperate hunger. The competitive frame was gone; there was only this, the sound of her pleasure, the taste of her, the overwhelming reality of a fifty-year-old woman riding his face.
Just as he was finding a fervent pace, Clara was pulled away.Diane’s strong hands guided her off him. Julian emerged, breathless, his mouth and chin wet, blinking up at the candlelight.
“My turn,” Diane stated.There was no playful lead-up. She positioned herself over him, but differently.She faced him, one knee on either side of his head, and lowered herself slowly. Her smell was distinct from Clara’s—less floral, more musky, with a sharp, almost fermented note beneath. Her silver-streaked auburn hair formed a curtain around his world as she settled onto his mouth.Her taste was stronger.More aggressive. Bitter where Clara’s had been tangy, with a potent, sour undertone that spoke of deeper sweat, different soap, a wholly other body. He delved in with less hesitation now, his tongue driven by a need to please, to decipher. Diane didn’t moan; she gave a series of low, approving growls, her thighs clamping against the sides of his head. “Use the point,” she commanded, grinding down. “Harder.”
He obeyed, spearing his tongue as deep as he could, lapping at the tight, furled skin. Her flavor coated his mouth, overpowering Clara’s.It was less elegant, more demanding.
After a minute, she rose, letting him gasp for air.Clara instantly took her place, and the comparison was immediate. Clara’s taste was now familiar, almost sweet in contrast to Diane’s pungency.They swapped again.And again. The bedsprings creaked in a steady, rhythmic complaint. The debate was forgotten, any pretense of scoring lost. It became a cycle of sensation: the weight of a woman on his face, the intoxicating, forbidden smells, the gritty, salty tastes, the sounds of their pleasure—Clara’s high, keening cries, Diane’s throaty, satisfied sighs.
Julian was no longer judging.He was consuming.And they were feasting on his worship.
Diane finally rolled off him, lying on her side, breathless. Clara collapsed next to her, both women glowing with a thin sheen of sweat in the candlelight. Julian lay between them, spent, his face glistening and marked.
Clara turned her head on the pillow, looking at Diane, a slow, satiated smile spreading across her face. “Well?”
Diane mirrored the smile, reaching across Julian’s chest to clasp Clara’s hand. “I think we broke the measuring stick.”
Julian, swimming up from a depths of sensation, heard Clara’s soft reply. “Oh, he’s not broken. Look.”
He followed her gaze downward, past his own stomach, to the tented fabric of his boxer briefs. The physical evidence of his arousal was undeniable, straining against the cotton.Diane’s laugh was a rich, warm sound. “Good.” She let go of Clara’s hand and trailed her fingers down Julian’s torso, stopping just above the aching bulge.“Because we’re only getting started, sweetie. The night’s still young.” Her eyes, when they met his, held a new, more serious promise. “And we haven’t even gotten to the main event.”
Diane’s words hung in the perfumed air, a promise that coiled in Julian’s gut. Before he could process it, Clara’s hand was on his shoulder, pushing him firmly onto his back. “But the palate cleanser isn’t finished,” she chirped, her tone bright and merciless. “We need a definitive winner, and you, judge, got distracted.”
She rolled him over with surprising strength, so he was on his hands and knees on the rumpled silk. The world tilted, the bedposts looming around him. From behind, he felt Diane’s weight settle, her thighs bracketing his hips, her cunt a hot pressure against the base of his spine. Her fingers gripped his hair, yanking his head back.“Clara’s right.You didn’t finish the comparison. Pay attention.”
Clara knelt before him on the bed, her green eyes glinting. She leaned back, presenting herself again, but this time her gaze was locked on his, challenging. “Open wide,” she said, spreading her labia with one hand to offer him not just her asshole but the glistening, swollen lips beneath it.“Tell me, Julian. Is my shithole sweeter than my pussy? Lick both and decide.”
The explicit filth of her command sent a jolt through him. He obeyed, dragging his tongue from her dripping entrance up through the furrow to the tight pucker above. The flavors mixed—tangy vaginal musk layered over the deeper, salty grit of her anus.He groaned into her flesh, the vibration making her shudder.
“Such a good, dirty boy,” Diane purred from behind, grinding against him. “Eating ass like it’s his last meal.You love the taste of a worn-out cunt, don’t you? Admit it.”
He couldn’t speak, his mouth full of Clara. He probed her asshole with renewed vigor, spearing his tongue as deep as the tight ring would allow. Clara moaned, her head falling back.“Yeah, fuck it with your tongue.That’s it. God, your mouth is perfect.”
Then Diane pulled him back by the hair. Clara shifted aside, and Diane moved into position before him, her own body a lush, shadowed landscape in the candlelight.“Now me,” she demanded.“And don’t you dare lie. Tell me whose tastes fucking better.”
He dove into Diane, his face buried between her cheeks. Her scent was more potent, a fermented, acrid note that made his eyes water even as his cock throbbed. He licked broad stripes over her wrinkled star, then focused his tongue-tip on the very center, pressing insistently.She tasted of dominance and salt and something vaguely metallic.
“He’s getting harder against my back,” Diane announced to Clara, her voice strained with pleasure. “My filthy ass on his tongue does it.Suck it, Julian. Really suck it.”
He sealed his lips around the tight bud and sucked, pulling the sensitive flesh into his mouth. Diane cursed, a raw, guttural “Fuck!” that echoed in the room. She pushed back against his face, riding his mouth in slow, deliberate circles.“That’s it.Get it wet. Get it nice and sloppy for later.”
Clara watched, one hand idly pinching her own nipple. “He’s prettier like this, isn’t he?On his knees, serving. Better than any birthday cake.”
Diane pulled away, her anus glistening with his saliva.“Switch,” she breathed.
They traded places in a fluid, practiced motion that left Julian disoriented, his mouth aching. Clara’s ass was against his lips again, and he resumed his work, now a dedicated instrument of their pleasure. The taunting continued, a filthy commentary over his head.“Look at his tongue work that hole,” Diane said, her voice close. She was beside him, watching.“You’re fucking hungry for it, aren’t you? Begging for it with every lick.”
“He is,” Clara gasped, bucking against his mouth. “He’s a natural-born ass licker.Aren’t you, Julian? Born to eat our shit.”
The obscenity was so absolute, so debasing, it should have repelled him. Instead, it fired his blood. He redoubled his efforts, lapping and sucking at Clara’s rectum with a frantic, wordless yes.
Diane’s hand snaked down, grabbing his chin, pulling him from Clara’s body.She turned his face towards hers. His mouth was slick, chin dripping.“Well?” she asked, her own breath hot on his face. “Final verdict. Whose disgusting asshole tastes better?”
He looked at her, then at Clara, their faces both flushed with arousal and power.He was nothing here but a tongue, a willing instrument. The truth was a physical ache. “I can’t choose,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.Clara laughed, a sound of pure delight. Diane smiled, a slow, predatory baring of teeth.“Good answer,” she said. She wiped his chin with her thumb, then shoved that thumb into his mouth. He sucked it clean, tasting both of them mixed with his own desperation.“Now,” Diane said, withdrawing her thumb with a pop. “Since you’ve prepared us so nicely… the main event.”