Autocorrect This by Alison Tyler
Audio: listen to Autocorrect This MP3
“I hope Marcella doesn’t lick me out.”
I stared at the iPhone trying to figure out what Lucy meant. Why would she hope that? Had the two been doing something I wasn’t aware of. Sure they were roommates. But were they “roommates” in quotation marks, or simply roommate-roommates?
“Why?” I typed back, infinitely curious. I could feel my cock twitch in my jeans at the thought.
“Why do you think?”
I stood there in my hotel room, staring at my phone, trying to come up with rational reasons why Lucy wouldn’t want Marcella to lick her out. Finally, I wrote, “Because you’re not a lesbian.” That seemed like the best answer.
There was nothing for a moment and then, “Hold on, I’m laughing too hard to type. Meet me downstairs in the bar.”
I tried. I went to the hotel bar, but the place was packed. Seemed as if every hip-looking attendee from the Convention Center lobby had decided our bar was the place to be. I wondered where Lucy was. I spent a few minutes looking around, and then I texted her. “Fuck, it’s busy.”
She wrote back. “I know. Sorry. I took one peek and headed up to the room. Meet here instead?”
I went to the wall of elevators to wait.
“Can we talk about licking?” I typed as I waited.
“It was supposed to be LOCKING.”
Aha. That made more sense.
“Can we talk about licking anyway?”
There was palpable silence. I stared at the screen and then followed the herds into one of the elevators.
“Why would we do that? You said yourself I’m not a lesbian.”
“Neither am I.”
“Funny, Kerry. Funny.”
“What if all three of us got together and admitted that we weren’t lesbians, and then I sat on the sofa and played with my cock while the two of you locked each other.”
I arrived at their floor and walked down the hall. I didn’t know if I’d overstepped my boundaries or not. I could hardly blame Autocorrect for that whole sentence. What would cock have been other than cock?
When I got to 718, the door was already open. Lucy and Marcella were sitting on the bed furthest from the door. Maybe they hadn’t read my latest text. Maybe they were going to start yelling at me for being a sexist pig. Maybe…
“Do you really want to?” Marcella said.
“Want to….?” I dangled the words in front of me, like bait.
“Is that a trick question?” There was a six-pack on the table by the TV. I helped myself to a beer and sat in the leather chair opposite the bed. Their room was outfitted exactly like mine—except there were two stunning women in this one. Lucy, with her dark hair and rhinestone-studded cat-eye glasses, and Marcella, all sinewy and punk with fire-engine-red curls and tattoos on her wrists that looked like cuffs.
“See, we’ve both been trying to figure out who gets to fuck you,” Lucy said. “We’ve had fights since the first Friday sessions.”
“Tickle fights?” I asked hopefully.
“No, just like—if I make this shot, I get him. Or first one prepped and ready to go out gets him.”
Maybe they were the sexists. I was feeling sort of like a piece of meat. But I didn’t mind.
“So who won?”
“Nobody. We kept tying. That was the problem. Until you said…”
“Licking,” Marcella finished.
“Would you really do that?
“Only if you were in the middle.”
I was taking off my shirt before the period landed on her sentence. I swear I’ve never undressed so fast in my life. SXSW can be a sexed-up “Spring break for geeks,” but this show had been dry for me. Why? Because the two women I was most interested in had been dicking around—for want of a better word—trying to decide which one would boff me.
Well, here I was.
“Ready to be licked?” Lucy asked.
“Or locked?” I stared as Marcella suddenly stood in front of me, cuffs in hand.
“Autocorrect this,” she said, grinning. I was game. I sprawled out on the bed and let her cuff my wrists over my head. What did I have to lose? Nothing. At least, nothing but my sense of power. In seconds, the women were stripped, as well. Marcella said to Lucy, “Which do you want? Mouth or cock? I’m not going to fight you any more.”
Lucy looked me over. “God, he’s cute,” she said, and my erection grew even harder, although I wouldn’t have thought that was possible. “I’ll take mouth.”
“Perfect,” Marcella said, settling herself between my thighs.
Holy fuck. How had this happened? How had I won the jackpot of all jackpots? Marcella began to lick my cock, up and down, her sweet tongue caressing me with a gentleness I would not have expected from a punk rock queen. Lucy let me experience momentary bliss before straddling my face. I looked up at her, expecting a command. I got nothing except a mouthful of pussy. That was fine with me. I mimicked the rhythm Marcella was using down below. I licked the lips of her pussy and then waited as she helped me, parting those pretty petals and opening herself up. I went right for the clit, leaning forward so I could flutter my tongue against her. She sighed and ground her hips against me. She was leaving a wet spot on my chest. I hoped Marcella would lick up after her.
When Marcella wrapped her lips around the head of my cock and sucked, I locked my lips around Lucy’s clit and did the same. It occurred to me that we were going to come together, but then I felt badly for Marcella. I pulled my head back. Lucy tried to push me forward, but I panted, “Wait!”
They both froze.
“There’s a condom in my pocket,” I told Marcella. “Can you put it on me?”
She was off the bed in a flash. I heard the tear of the packet, felt the rubber inch down my cock.
“Let’s do this together,” I said, sounding a little like the motivational speaker I tend to become at conferences. I cheerlead for our team. I’m not embarrassed to admit that. But this was different.
“Climb on,” I insisted. Marcella slowly lowered herself on my cock. I looked up. She was holding onto Lucy for balance. That tugged at something in me. Lucy pushed her pussy up to my mouth again. I didn’t let her down. I licked and lapped at the steady flow of juices. Marcella pounded her body against mine as she strove to catch up to the two of us. I could feel her muscles tightening around my shaft. I’d loved being in her mouth—but this was even better. Too soon, I heard one of them—I couldn’t tell which—whisper, “I’m going to…”
Oh, it was Lucy, because Marcella hissed, “Wait, wait, baby.”
Baby? Were they…?
I didn’t have time to wonder. I said, into Lucy’s pussy, “Me, too. I can’t hold back.” Who knows if they understood the muffled words. I could hardly understand myself. But I didn’t care. I was coming. Marcella was coming. Lucy was coming.
I wondered what Autocorrect would have to say about that?