They were called Ruby and Angie. Apparently their parents were big fans of the Rolling Stones. They weren’t terribly bright, or terribly interesting. Truth be told, there were more attractive girls on offer in the room, but the tantalising prospect of nailing a pair of twins was all the inducement he needed. Sexually, they were much greater than the sum of their parts.
The three of them spent much of the night on the dance floor, their energy boosted by the pills Greg had bought from a sleazy guy in the restrooms. Before too long, the sisters were openly making out in front of a growing audience of aroused and excited onlookers. This was clearly one of their party pieces, a little bit of performance art they had no doubt been indulging in for years. Everyone clapped and whooped and hollered as their tongues met in a sloppy, frivolous union.
Eventually, with precious little prompting, Greg persuaded the two of them to return to his motel room. They explained to him quite earnestly that they were happy to fuck him separately, but they wouldn’t fool around with each other. This was an arrangement they had indulged in on numerous occasions before, and no one had ever offered any complaints. He readily agreed, happy to nail both of them, whatever the stipulations, but before too long the twin sisters were eating each other out with a familiar and well practiced relish.
This wasn’t Greg’s first ménage a trois – he’d been quite a busy boy since losing his virginity at a fairly indecent age; there were few things he hadn’t tried at least once by now – but it was the first time he’d slept with twins. Ruby and Angie were leggy and small-breasted, which for Greg was a bit of a disappointment, but the twin-premium bonus made up for it. Ideally, his preferences were for much more voluptuous women, but he always knew when to be grateful.