Short, Short Story: Glowworms

If he ever cared for me, and I think he did, it was in an atmosphere like a black, heavy night, wherein love suffuses the air and turns the dim, horizontal shape of a tree line into a distant prison wall.

I was in love with love and I would take it in whatever form was offered, from the sight of a young man offering his beloved a single rose under the bright sun in Central Park to the sound of the next pop song to top the charts to the smell of a man's possessions torched by a wronged woman. New York was full of love, wherever I went and, though I was swimming in it, giddily drinking more signs of love than I could possibly have imagined when I was that skinny daydreamer in Lansing, it wasn't enough.

When one is that empty, the constant pressure another's love creates becomes a welcome thing, making one smaller, with less room for one's interior vacuum.

Our first meeting was a romantic scene, complete with me in my role as server at Jean George's and him as the host of a business dinner, flanked by high-profile Wall Street men, the whole host of them white and fat, one balding pate indistinguishable from the next. Compared to his compadres, he was distinguished, if only because his gray hair was thick and the creased lines around his eyes made him appear to be constantly smiling. Every time I came up to the table with the next wine bottle I started at his left, like the well-trained monkey I was, serving him first, offering him the cork, waiting for him to swirl and sniff and sip the vintage and make a pronouncement. We sold them ten bottles of wine that night, starting at $100 for the first bottle and working up in price, if not in quality. Ten opportunities to smile, to flirt, to praise his choices.

He brought back a new batch of Wall Street men the following week and asked that I provide the service.

I had moved to New York in search of love, I had told myself but, even in Lansing, I knew my own secret desire, which was to find a particular kind of love, which would pull me high enough into the the city's sparkling skyline to look down into its avenues and see the crawling lights down below like glowworms setting their traps in an inverted cave. A successful sort of love, then, because I was taught that everything I do must be successful.

He was a successful businessman and I was a successful glowworm, but which of us was eaten once I'd trapped him?

The snow is settling over Lansing, inches and inches of cold insulation. My large, old house looks like a Victorian fairy tale; Santa Claus might land on the roof at any moment.

I was once suffused in love, inches and feet of cold insulation. The modern loft a silent, white expanse, more silent and white than Lansing after its first snow. There were no roses, no pop songs, nothing fierce enough to result in a fire of any kind, just me, perfecting my romantic role as server, and him, whom I served and called it love, whose presence pressed me into flat acceptance, who showed me the black night above Central Park and said it made him love the street lamps, the store signs, the lit shop windows, the headlights and taillights like glowworms stringing silk afterimages around my eyes.

Non-fiction: "Look at This!"

About fifteen years ago I read "Galatea 2.2," by Richard Powers, a science-fiction, pseudo-autobiographical novel about a university teacher and writer working with a programming/network project, Helen. The story was decent, the characters believable, the writing fantastic in parts, but what stuck with me was the main character's ex-wife, a linguist, who said (and I'm reconstructing the quote from memory because I suck at Google searches; I'm sure it's out there, somewhere), "All language can be reduced to, 'look at this.'"

The main character found that to be a depressing thought, not surprisingly, as that could be taken as a rather dismissive view of language and writing. For a little while, I agreed with him. Over the years, however, I've found myself thinking that's actually pretty cool. There is nothing more awesome than saying the equivalent of, "Look at this!" and having someone else say, "Yeah! Look at that!" That's all of Facebook, Snapchat, the blogosphere and the entire internet summarized in three or four words.

So I wasn't too surprised to read that psychologists, looking for indicators of lasting relationships, have discovered that the quantity of bids for attention (either to themselves or to something else) -- "look at this!" -- and responses to them -- "Yeah, look at that!" -- is the most consistent indicator of the quality and duration of a relationship.

"50 Shades of Grey" didn't attract a huge audience because it had whips and chains in it -- and so many of us wish it hadn't -- but because every bid in it was answered in an overwhelmingly focused way. Romance novels are, at their heart, about bids for attention and whether or not they're answered consistently by the "right" person. They are talking about where the focus is; they are fantasies about worlds in which the focus can always be on the significant other, worlds in which the bidder always has her beloved say, "Yeah! Look at that!"

BDSM and erotic hypnosis provide highly structured relationships, however temporary, in which bids cannot be ignored. In this way, both are far more demanding of individuals than "normal" relationships. It can be difficult to maintain that structure, but it can also make it easier to meet each other's needs to bid and respond in a satisfying way. So, the next time your significant other comes to you with a pair of handcuffs or a swinging pocket watch, you know exactly what to say.

Warmly,
The Author

Fiction: Winter Kitteh Day

**Edited Dec 27, 2014: I've decided to just be myself and not hide behind a fictional character. I'm taking my name back. She'll come back under another name, I'm sure, because her story is rather interesting.**

Mr Myrrh and I have been in Grand Rapids for over a year now. I have to admit, I'm just as excited about this Winter as I was about last, when I got to experience a True Michigan Autumn yield to a True Michigan Winter (though every single person I met let me know it was one of the worst in recent history, so perhaps I ought to call it an Over The Top Michigan Winter).

There's nothing better than snow to impress upon me that I really am living a 1950's housewife's life. I don't need to go anywhere at all when there's a blanket of snow, I just need to make sure the house is clean and that the dinner and I are ready when Mr Myrrh comes home. I can look out the windows at the beauty of the snowstorm without worrying my pretty little head about a thing.

The only issue I have with Winter is that it sometimes puts a crimp in my kitty time; being naked when cold is no fun. Mr Myrrh likes to torture me with it, making me go about the house on all fours, nude, with the thermostat set to a comfortable level for him in his clothes. I rather think he likes the look of goosebumps and rock-hard nipples.

But then he has mercy on me and lets me get dressed.

Last year we simply stopped kitty day altogether. He ordered me a set of lovely wool thigh-high tights, ballet slippers, and a calf-length black wool dress with long sleeves and a scoop neck. He said I looked cute, warm and still accessible. I spent many lazy Saturdays in that outfit, lounging at his feet. 

This year he's been teasing me again with the kitty outfit and the thermostat setting. I mew piously, shivering at his feet, and he pretends to not understand me.

Until yesterday, when he called to say he'd be working late, but came home with a huge dog bed and a cashmere blanket.

"For you, my poor, cold, kitteh," he said.

I had already put on my kitty costume: collar, face, ears, plug tail, and was just waiting for him to put the plush mittens on for me. I mewed with delight and purred. Once he had the bed where he wanted it, he put the mittens on me and I kneaded the bed and the blanket, then nosed my way under the blanket and curled up, purring.

"There's my kitteh," Master said, settling into the couch with a book. It was late but we were both quite satisfied.

Warmly,
Ms Myrrh

Video: Lindsey Sterling's "Beyond the Veil"

I find I have nothing to say at the moment so today's little gift is a link to Lindsey Sterling's "Beyond the Veil," which is lush and lovely and makes me wish I did more with my life than write smut.

Non-fiction: Can You Keep A Secret: I Have a Crush

I adore my husband. I can tell him anything. Like, I have a crush on a girl. It's so embarrassing. Not because she's a girl but because I'm married and in my early forties and I totally want the 20-year old barista at a coffee shop in town to strap on a strap-on and fuck me with it.

She's so nice. She's sweet to my children, friendly with me, noticed our hand-knit hats and scarves, remembers our favorite things to drink.

And she's so cute, with her side mullet and sideways smile and pretty eyes.

And she's a musician and can play, like three or four different instruments, including the ukulele, and I want to tell her we have an uke at our house and maybe she'd like to listen to my youngest play their instrument and she could strum along on the uke and then maybe later, after the kids are asleep, I could go down on her and make her sing.

I'm totally mooning.

I haven't had many crushes since I met my husband and we started dating. I can only think of one, honestly. So these emotions have me questioning myself. Is it part of some sort of mid-life crises, where I'm not really in love with her, but with the idea of being her or of being in my twenties again? Or maybe, having made some huge life changes, I feel free to explore again, tug at doors I'd chosen to close. Maybe it's just a reaction to someone being kind to me in a place where I don't know a whole lot of people, yet. I don't think it's about something lacking in my relationship with my husband. I think it's about feeling this sense of "and" about everything in my life right now; like the life I have is wonderful AND the rest of the world could add to that and make things more wonderful.

Of course, realistically speaking, trying to develop a relationship with a college student probably would not make things more wonderful. It would make things more difficult. Negotiating open relationships is tricky, I've heard, and triads, assuming my husband and her actually like each other romantically &/or sexually, can be high maintenance. She'd have weird, middle-aged people to deal with on top of school and work and music and a social life. How would a social life even work? Yeah, it just doesn't.

There's a word I've recently discovered: pansexual. A pansexual person doesn't seem to care so much about the sex or gender of the people they're attracted to, they're just attracted to them for more reasons than gender, initially.

If I had known that word when I was in my teens and twenties, that's how I would have described myself. Instead, I just tended to say, "I love everyone, regardless." I often had crushes on girls but I never told them because I thought they were straight and I appreciated my relationships with them and didn't want to make things awkward by admitting I had romantic feeling for them. I was more confident with boys. Even so, I only dated a little and kept most of my kink online.

I ended up marrying the man of my dreams not because he was a man, but because he was kind, thoughtful, intelligent, funny, a good listener, adventurous, curious, and genuinely loved me back. He was patient when I said I needed a break from intimacy. He followed me to grad school. He and I wanted the same thing, the same quality of life. If he had been female, I would have loved him just the same. I love him for who he is, not what he is.

I kind of feel the same way about the barista. I tell myself I can't possibly know about all her qualities for those emotions to be legit. And then, there's Dan Savage's point that baristas and other service-industry people get hit on a lot because they're so nice. Well, they're nice because it's their job. They don't deserve to be asked out dates multiple times a day. They deserve to be appreciated for their helpfulness, tipped generously, and treated professionally. So that's what I do for the barista I have a crush on. I try my best to hide my attraction to her.

So don't tell her, okay?

Warmly,
The Author

Book Review: “Mind Play - A Guide to Erotic Hypnosis” - Mark Wiseman

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Serialized Story: "Third Party Submission," Part 9

Note: The last installment of the story. Thanks for reading! Contains lots of sex, including MMF.

---

“Would you like to cum again, fucktoy?” David asked. By the location of his voice I could tell that he was the one who had used the vibrator on me. I was momentarily pulled out of the fog of submission by hearing someone else call me that, but sank immediately into it again by how much it turned me on to hear him call me that.

Fucktoy. A toy a person fucks. A doll. A receiver of fucks, of cocks in any and every hole it has. It’s impossible to describe how much I loved being a fucktoy. Your fucktoy. A fucktoy that gets shared.

I could feel an intense desire building up again. “Mm-hmm,” I finally answered, nodding my blindfolded & ball-gagged head, “mm-hmm.”

You moved away, off the bed, I think, while I felt the mattress dip down as David got up onto it. It must have been his hands that spread my ass cheeks apart again, and his cock that teased my engorged, sensitive flesh.

“I’m going to fuck you while your husband fucks me,” I heard David say. “I’m going to fuck you, little toy, until I cum in you.”

A low, growling moan rose out of me. I wanted him in me so badly, the same cock that had so recently been in you.

I felt the head of his member rub my entrance, getting slick, before moving down to tease my clit, then up to push gently against my perineum, then down again to slide into me. He was so slow, so agonizingly slow. I couldn’t even yell at him to hurry up and fuck me; I could only moan with frustration into the gag, the lips around the gag dripping as much as the lips around his cock.

“Do you need it?” David asked, pulling out entirely.

I screamed through my ball gag in reply. Your hands undid the ball gag strap and helped the ball out of my mouth. I started begging immediately.

“God, fuck me! Slide your cock in me and fuck me!”

“Ask politely,” you demanded, yanking my head back by my hair.

“Please! Please! Please fuck me, David! I need it!” I filled the room with my need as he sank back into me. You reattached the ball gag as he started to fuck me. My brain didn’t know which sensations to pay attention to. I felt scrambled and lost in the moment.

This time, the intimacy between you and David would be something I couldn’t witness. But that thought didn’t cross my mind until later. In the moment, I was completely in my body, completely in the present.

The loss of some freedoms -- to speak, to move, to see -- gave me the freedom to thoroughly enjoy every sensation, from the stretch of muscles to the rub of the bedspread to the feel of David’s cock filling my cunt. I didn’t need or want anything other than for this moment to stretch out into infinity. I no longer cared about who was being pleasured or pleased, about who was dominant or submissive, or anything else. Just the one repeated realization that I was being fucked. It felt so good.

Then came the noises. I had already been moaning and breathing hard for what seemed like an eternity. Then David and you were moaning and grunting, too. Then came the words.

“Oh, that feels so good,” David breathed, pushing his hands harder against my ass. “Your cock feels so good in my ass.”

“Yeah?” you said, “You like my hard dick?”

“Yeah, I love it. Stick it all the way -- fuck yeah, just like that,” David said, sighing happily.

The rhythm that developed was different, slower, more deliberate. I imagined David sliding onto your cock every time he slid out of me, impaling himself on you. I imagined you fucking me through him, controlling his movements with your own cock and hips. It drove me wild. I came again.

And again.

I lost sense of time and felt like nothing more than a fuckhole, which was my favorite way to lose my sense of self. There was nothing but the three of us in our own little world of sex and moans, pushing and pulling.

I heard you come first, a loud grunt, and felt David push and lean into me. Then he came, too, his cock bucking deep inside me. I pushed back and ground my ass against his hips, willing him even deeper in, imagining him sandwiched between us, full of you and your seed, forced to wait there until we were done with him.

I was almost sad when I felt the bed shift, the pressure back off, and suddenly I was alone again. I felt David’s come leaking out of me, spreading out across my already wet crotch, sliding slowly over my clit to drip onto the bedspread.

“Wow,” I heard you say, “That was amazing. Thank you.”

“And thank you,” David replied. I could hear the smile in his voice. “That felt great.”

“You liked my fucktoy?”

I turned my head toward the sound of my nickname and whimpered around the ball gag.

“Your fucktoy was delicious.” David said. I felt a thrill of excitement rush through me.

“Do you need anything?” you asked.

“I’m going to clean up in the bathroom, if you don’t mind,” David replied.

“Sounds good,” you said. I heard the master bathroom door close, then the door to the hall bath, as well.

I, the fucktoy, waited patiently, still coming down from the high. The sweat on my body started to cool.

I heard a door open, felt you draw near just before you whispered in my ear, “Did you have fun?”

I nodded my head.

“You are amazing, fucktoy,” you said. I tried to smile.

You released me from the ball gag and I stretched and relaxed my jaw muscles before saying, “You are pretty amazing, too.”

You undid my blindfold before releasing my wrist and ankle cuffs from the bed’s straps. I saw that you were already dressed. I didn’t want to move. I kind of wanted to stay tied down so I could remain a lazy puddle of fucked toy, but I imagined I’d need to play the part of hostess again.

David came out of the bathroom, dressed and looking put together. I suddenly felt disheveled and frumpy. But, when his eyes met mine, he gave me such a warm smile I felt any self-consciousness melt away.

“Thank you, Naomi,” he said, stepping toward me. I sat up, naked save for my cuffs and collar, and he took my hand and kissed my cheek.

“Thank you, David,” I replied.

“I hope this is something we can do again soon,” he said, turning to you. You both shook hands, a kind of formality that belied what we had just been up to.

“Maybe you’d like a glass of water or something before you go?” you asked him.

“I’d be happy to get you some,” I offered.

“That would be nice, thank you,” David said.

The three of us headed back toward the living room. The fact that both of you were clothed and I was naked thrilled me. It was fun playing out my fantasy of being a plaything for two men.

I got out two glasses while you both sat on the couch again. There was a moment of deja vu. I wondered if you’d kiss. But you hadn’t by the time I brought the glasses of water out on a tray. I knelt at your feet and held the tray up and you both helped yourself to water.

“Lower the tray a little,” you said, “I want to see your breasts when you’re serving me.”

Just that matter-of-fact tone of voice made my clit jump. I lowered the tray to reveal my breasts and smiled up at you. I was just where I wanted to be.

The End

Serialized Story: "Third Party Submission," Part 8

I heard David scoop up all the toys I’d brought out earlier as you pulled me down the hall, one hand still gripping my wrist, the other in my hair. I felt myself sink into subspace, becoming not simply passive but active and willing in my submission.

“You’re going to get fucked like the little slut you are,” you whispered in my ear before shoving me down onto the bed.

“Yes, and please tie me down?” I managed to gasp. I didn’t struggle as you pushed roughly, shoving me all the way onto the bed. But when you smacked my exposed ass I squealed and shivered. You got on the bed, too, and sat on the backs of my knees.

I heard David put the toys down on the bedside table.

“Restraints?” I heard him ask. I didn’t hear your reply, you must have nodded to the corners of the bed, where there were clips on adjustable ribbons of rope.

You continued to spank me, an irregular pattern so I never knew when, where, or how hard. Every blow was a surprise. I moaned and squeaked. I was too focused on the spanking and my warming ass to really put up any struggle -- not that I wanted to -- while David attached the clips to my leather wrist cuffs. Within seconds I was truly helpless. The realization only made me wetter.

“Put the blindfold on her,” you said, and suddenly my world went black. I could feel you sitting on me, the sting of a slap across my ass, my wet, needy pussy. I could hear breathing. Someone was petting my hair. Another blow -- this time really hard -- and I pulled against my restraints and tried to turn to the side. I wasn’t really trying to escape, I was just on automatic, responding to sensations.

“Stay still, fucktoy,” you said in your most commanding voice. My body went instantly limp. Another few slaps on my ass, gentler this time, as David -- or you, perhaps -- clipped my ankle cuffs to the bed posts. Your weight lifted from my legs. My corset was untied and buckles of the spanking skirt undone, leaving me naked aside from the restraints and my collar.

There was a moment of silence. Were the two of you examining me? Conferring about what you’d do next? Did you like seeing me restrained, my ass reddening from the blows, knowing you were about to share me with another man? I could only stare into the darkness and wait.

First came the ice, drawn along my spine, from tailbone to shoulder blades. I shivered and made a small noise. I could feel goose bumps spread out along my skin.

Then, as the ice travelled back down to the small of my back, I felt something push against my lips. I opened my mouth and someone’s fingers slid in. Two fingers. I sucked on them for a moment before they spread apart, vertically, prying my mouth open, and a ball gag slipped in. The strap was buckled behind my head, then gently tightened. I moaned.

That ball gag wasn’t usually my favorite toy. I didn’t particularly like drooling onto the bedspread. But this time it felt like a further exposure to David, another loss of autonomy to a man I hardly knew. And knowing you were there to keep me safe -- to use me and share me, yes, but to keep me safe -- somehow heightened my excitement.

I still wasn’t sure which set of hands was yours, which was David’s. The ice travelled over every inch of my back, leaving a cold trail that evaporated excruciatingly slowly. One hand pinned me down, just below the base of my neck, slightly above my shoulder blades. I had to guess that was you, since you knew how much I liked to have my shoulders held down by your weight. Other hands slowly moved my ankles farther apart. I heard the sliding clink of a spreader bar, felt it attach to my ankle cuffs. It was hard to concentrate on anything other than the ice and how it made my hot pussy seem even more aflame by comparison.

Once the ice had melted completely, the hand was removed from my back and my hips were lifted into the air, only to come back down a moment later to rest on a bolster. Now, not only was I restrained by my wrists and ankles, and not only were my ankles held apart by a spreader bar, now my pussy was held up and angled for even better exposure to your eyes. I moaned helplessly, my tongue held down by the ball gag, my torso cold and shivering, my cunt hot, wet, and needy.

“No pictures?” I head David say.

“We’re just going to have to savor the moment,” you replied.

Then I heard your footsteps fade away. I was alone, I thought. I was alone and I really, really needed cock. At that moment I needed whatever anyone felt like inserting into me. Whatever it was, I’d take it and love it. I squirmed what bits of me could squirm -- my ass, my head, my waist. “Please!” was about the only thing I could think to say, and I wanted to say it over and over again, but all that came out were muffled whimpers and moans.

Just when I didn’t think I could handle the sense of abandonment, I heard you return. I heard the vibrator come to life. I felt a pair of legs straddle my torso but I wasn’t sat upon. A pair of hands massaged my ass for a moment before spreading the cheeks apart. Whoever held the vibrator had a great view of my cunt, aching and dripping with need.

The vibrator started at my rosebud, teasing around and around the tight hole, circling out from there to the insides of my thighs before moving back in, in ever-smaller arcs, to my pussy and clit. Before it even touched my clit, I came. The orgasm was so strong, so sudden, and it was over so quickly, but I felt as though I’d been momentarily unconscious. The vibrator clicked off.

“My fucktoy is so much fun to play with,” you said, “Was that a good orgasm, fucktoy?”

“Mm-hmm,” I managed to groan.

The two of you chuckled.

Serialized Story: "Third Party Submission," Part 7

This chapter: MM (anal), MF (oral)

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David was tender with you. He understood that, underneath all that excitement and neediness, you still required kindness. He lubed his own fingers and probed into you. You pushed your whole body back onto them, your eyes closed.

I decided not to make you split your attention between us and quietly moved around to be closer to David. I wanted to see you lose your anal virginity to his cock.

“You’re right,” David said, “He is ready. So open and ready for my cock.”

He used a little more lube on his shaft then held it against your ass, rubbing it around the outside of your hole before guiding the head in with one hand, the other holding your hip. You moaned loudly. I saw your own cock jerk up. I wondered how long he could fuck you before you came.

David slipped the head out until just the tip was touching your asshole, then dipped in again, just the head. “What a tease!” I thought to myself, remembering the times you’ve done the exact same thing to me, making me beg you to give me the whole shaft.

He repeated the tease a few times until the head of his cock was sliding in with no resistance. Then he slowly, more slowly than slowly, more slowly than I would ever have had the patience for, sank into you until he’d buried himself in as far as he could, then gave an extra little shove.

You came, calling out wordlessly as your cum flew through the air to land on the carpet at the foot of the couch. There was a lot of it. David held onto your hips with both hands, stayed still until your breathing slowed.

Then he really began to fuck you, guiding you with his hands on your hips, pulling your hips back to meet his. Your bodies were rocking together with one purpose, one goal, the intensity and the heat of it keeping me rapt. I could virtually feel the fuck inside of me, empathizing with both of you, wanting you both to feel the pleasure I imagined.

You got hard again almost immediately, like you often do when I lick you clean after we fuck. I realized then that the excitement of tonight would probably give you enough stamina to cum twice. The thought made me happy for you. Everything was making me happy for you. Our daring experiment seemed to have been a good decision, so far.

I pet your hair and you looked up at me, face blank for a moment before your eyes focused on mine, your body shifting and shuddering with David sliding in and out of you.

“I want to lick you,” you growled.

No need to ask twice. I hitched up my spanking skirt and sat on the edge of the couch, knees spread wide. You dove into my pussy, nose bumping against clit every time he pushed into you, tonguing me aggressively. It felt wonderful. I fought against closing my eyes to focus on the sensation. Instead, I watched the tableau as if from above: David, whom we had invited into our home, into our intimate moments, his hips meeting your ass with enthusiasm, his eyes closed; you, between us, your body being used by the two of us; and myself, being pleasured by you.

It was so different, so unusual, but it didn’t feel wrong. It felt like an amazing little adventure, it felt liberating to share you and to be shared by you.

David’s orgasm was unexpected, to me at least. He gave a sudden yell and bucked his hips hard and fast until he was spent. While he recovered, his hands were on your ass, holding you in place. Your tongue never stopped, but continued to swirl and probe. When David opened his eyes, his gaze traveled up your back and up to meet mine. The heat kicked up a notch between my legs just from knowing he saw me, and saw you going down on me.

“That was good,” David said.

“Mmmm,” was all you and I could answer.

He pulled slowly out of you. You whimpered slightly once he was out all the way. He reached for a towel to clean himself off, then wiped at you, too. You sat back on your knees and suddenly I was exposed to both of you.

I nearly came at the thought that David could see what had only belonged to you for all these years.

“She’s next,” you said. David nodded. I shrank back on the couch, momentarily afraid of the aggression in your voice.

“There’s no escape, my sweet,” you grinned as you rose, stepping out of the clothes at your feet and reaching for me. I submitted to your grip on my wrist, stood willingly when you pulled me up.

“The bed or the coffee table?” David asked.

“Bed,” you said, “Bring those toys.”

Serialized Story: "Third Party Submission," Part 6

NOTE: While I primarily write stories about straight, cisgendered couples, this chapter contains MM & MMF interaction. While I find it hot, I know a few might find it squicky. You know, I should add a similar note to my MF stories, too, because just having a note for MM sex seems biased. Until I have a chance to go back and change all the other sexy-time posts, accept my apologies for my inadvertently unequal presentation of erotic/pornographic material. xoxo

---

“My turn,” you said, pushing me gently away. I backed up and you knelt down in my place. I watched you delicately tongue the head of his cock before taking him slowly into your mouth. It was so sexy I almost came again. I looked up into David’s face. He was looking down at you, looking slightly amused but definitely turned on. I wondered briefly what he thought about us. Did he think of us as a vanilla couple just dipping our toes in at the edge of a different world? Did he think of himself as a teacher or coach or as a voyeur, or was he just excited by threesomes in general?

David glanced at me, then back down at the top of your head. He obviously liked having you suck his cock. Over the years, on the rare occasions I had wanted to be Domme, I’d made you practice on dildos, enjoyed watching you slide the fake piece in and out, swirling your tongue, hollowing out your cheeks as you sucked. The practice must have paid off, you looked like a professional porn star, taking him in all the way, twisting and turning your head, pausing every once in a while, your tongue still on the tip of his cock as you looked up into his eyes.

I didn’t feel left out. I felt engaged as I watched, like your performance was a reflection of our relationship, and I wanted you to leave him rigid and weak with need. I wanted him to feel what I felt for you -- that sort of worshipful desire -- and to have him beg for release.

He leaned back on one hand and stroked your short hair with the other, scootched his ass toward the edge of the couch and pulled one thigh up and out of your way, putting his foot up on the couch, the other thigh swinging open so I could still watch.

I decided I wanted to rejoin the fun so I moved to sit on the couch in front of the arm he was leaning on. He turned his head toward me and we kissed. It was the first time I’d kissed someone else that way. His lips didn’t feel like yours, but there was a masculine force behind his kisses, as if he was taking what I offered rather than sharing them with me. The submissive side of me responded with the desire to be guided, to do whatever he might ask.

David stopped stroking your head and moved his hand to my breast, massaged it, pulled gently on the nipple. I moaned into the kisses, then gasped as you slid your nearest hand between my thighs.

You fingers were instantly wet with my excitement and you spread that wetness up to my clit, gently sliding over and around it. I parted my thighs and cocked my hips to open the angle to your probing hand. It felt good to be teased and massaged by the both of you. It felt sexy and even dangerous, almost.

Then David broke the kiss and pulled back a little from me to look me in the eyes. His hand left my breast to rest gently atop your head, eliciting a small moan from you.

“Do you want to watch me fuck your husband’s ass?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I breathed, “There’s lube in the bedroom. I can bring it out to you if you like or you could move there.”

“Bring it out to me, please,” he said, his hand still buried in your hair. I could tell he wasn’t going to let you go anywhere until he decided it was time to switch holes.

I nearly ran to fetch the bottle of lube from the bedside table but a few other toys caught my eye so I grabbed them, too, before scurrying back.

When I returned David was leaning over you, whispering something. You were moaning in reply, still seemingly intent on sucking him for all you were worth. It turned me on to see you give up control to another man. I hoped it was turning you on, too.

“Do you want to help me a bit more?” David asked me. I nodded.

“Lube him up for me, then. I’m really enjoying this and don’t want to give it up just yet.”

“I wouldn’t, either,” I replied as I set everything down on the coffee table, some of the items making it onto the fruit and cheese platter in my hurry to free my hands. I pulled the coffee table away to make room for myself behind your kneeling form.

You know I sometimes rush things. We joke that I’m just about the least romantic person, that I can go straight to fucking, without being interested in foreplay or kissing or even taking off my clothes. But I knew from my own experiences, being on both the giving and receiving end of anal sex, that it was one of the few acts that truly required a good amount of foreplay to make it comfortable and fun for the one playing the receiving role.

I was determined to give you what I knew you liked. I massaged your ass cheeks firmly and slowly through your trousers, cupped them from below to encourage you to raise them up toward me. I took a moment to slide the waist of your trousers and g-string over your hips and ass and down your thighs to your knees, hobbling you as you had hobbled me two days before.

This time it was me admiring your ass. I spanked you once and you reacted with a short moan into David’s crotch, your body rocking forward to push your face further into his crotch. I liked how that looked so I did it again, controlling your movements with a slap and then another, and another.

Red spots began to appear on your ass cheeks and you were making wonderful whimpering, needy noises, making me want to continue spanking you. But, in all the time we’ve been together, I’ve never been quite confident on where the line was for you, where you might be pushed from enjoying the pain to being turned off by it. I decided to err on the side of caution and went back to massaging your glutes, occasionally slipping my hands between your thighs to fondle your cock and balls, pausing to push a little harder on your asshole than anything else.

When I did, you pushed back eagerly. It was all I needed to see to know you wanted me to get you ready for taking David’s cock up your ass.

I twisted my body a little to retrieve the bottle of lube from the coffee table and squirted a small amount onto my fingers. I gently rubbed those wet, slippery fingers around your asshole, then gently pushed my index finger in. I slowly fucked you with my finger until you started wriggling you ass, begging for more.

I added another small amount of lube to my middle finger and inserted it along with my index finger on the next stroke. Your sphincter muscle was tight around my fingers. I gently worked them in and out, spreading them apart little by little, helping your excited body relax in the right places so you could enjoy the feeling of a cock entering you.

These were things I’d done before, on the few occasions I’d pegged you with a strap-on. I’d never been as enthusiastic as you when it came to pegging, but I liked making you feel good, so I did it whenever you asked.

Now here you were, silently begging my with those sweet, needy ass-wriggles, to open you up for a real cock. I wondered if you’d ever want a pegging again. Or if maybe I’d enjoy fucking your ass more after tonight.

Your muscles relaxed a little at a time. I had to remind myself that there was no rush. This was a virginal experience for you and I wanted it to be as good as possible, which meant slowing myself down and waiting for you to show me you were ready.

I was getting both fingers in to the third knuckle. I added a little more lube and started to work a little harder on loosening you up, taking advantage of every moment you relaxed to spread my fingers a little farther apart. You were so needy you were virtually shaking and constantly moaning into David’s crotch.

He wasn’t much quieter than you, gasping and moaning as he pet your hair repeatedly, sometimes moving his hand down to feel his cock slide into your mouth, sometimes sliding it along your neck to massage your back.

“He’s ready for you,” I said finally, almost regretfully. I was getting into the rhythm of finger-fucking you and watching you suck his cock.

“Switch places with me, then,” David said, sitting upright and using both hands to lift your head away from his crotch. When I moved to sit on the couch in front of you, I saw your glazed eyes and hungry mouth.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” I asked tenderly as I pushed my thumb from my clean hand into your mouth. You sucked it eagerly as you nodded, your eyes on mine. I leaned down and kissed your mouth, tasted his precum on your lips, shivered at what it meant.

Serialized Story: "Third Party Submission," Part 5

Note: While most of my posts and stories are about straight, cisgendered couples, the remainder of this story includes some MM scenes. I find it hot. I basically find everything hot.

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At first the conversation was a little stilted. Not surprising, considering we were all just teasing ourselves with a facade of social niceties before jumping into bed. But you and David soon fell into an easy rapport, sharing stories about college and work and women. I added my own from time to time but I reminded myself that my role tonight was more as facilitator and I certainly wouldn’t force my way to center stage. I was content to offer bites and nibbles of brie on bread and grapes, to fetch water and another round of bourbon for you both.

Occasionally either you or David would reach to fondle my breasts and nipples, in an almost matter-of-fact way. The casualness of it turned me on, how calmly you accepted him touching me, how neither of you were distracted from each other. I felt like a sensual part of the backdrop, something fun and sexy but certainly not the main course.

I was pleased to see how comfortable you seemed with David but then I worried maybe you were too comfortable, maybe neither of you were going to make the first moves toward the three-way sex orgy we’d been fantasizing about. I needn’t have worried. When I was in the kitchen for a moment, getting you another iced water, I saw your heads draw together into a kiss.

I couldn’t tell which of you had started it. Maybe it was just a mutual thing, just the perfect timing for both of you to equally express your desire for the other. I watched from the kitchen, watched you kiss a man, something you didn’t really mention when you fantasized about sex with another man. It was weird to see you kiss someone, not me, on the lips, then really get into it, with your hand on his face. I was happy for you, I was really turned on, but I also felt outside of myself. Not jealous, just -- just that certain frame of mind when you’re learning or experiencing something new.

David broke the kiss and turned his head to look over the back of the couch and the bar to me.

“You should join us again,” he said.

I walked back with your glass of water in my hands, set it on the coffee table next to the platter. I met your eyes and you looked almost embarrassed. I didn’t want you to be embarrassed. I wanted you to be at ease, happy. I smiled at you as I stepped between the two of you and knelt again, put one hand on your thigh, the other on his.

“Please don’t let me interrupt you two,” I said, as I slid my hands up towards buttons and zippers. David leaned in and you let your lips get captured in another deep kiss. I took my time undoing your trousers and his jeans, rubbing both of you through the fabric, glancing up every now and again to make sure you were still both engaged in the kisses.

It was really happening, I told myself, with some wonder. Soon I’d see another man’s cock. I’d do more than just see it.

I coaxed out yours first and wrapped my hand around it, pulling up then down into a slow rhythm. It was covered in pre-cum and you were so hard! Then I dipped my other hand into the folds of David’s jeans and boxers to encounter his cock. It, too, was hard and wet, felt thicker but not any longer. I was inwardly relieved. I didn’t want you to spend your time comparing cocks or despairing that his was bigger. I pulled it out, exposing it to my eyes. The head was more purple than yours and looked just as delicious.

Without taking a break in the kisses, you wriggled your hips to get yourself closer to the edge of the couch and swiveled yourself around slightly, making it easier for me to take you into my mouth. I lowered my head and reached out with my tongue, swirled it around the tip of your cock, before letting my mouth follow, lips sliding along your already wet shaft until my nose was buried in the hair at the base. It felt so good, so reassuring, to do something I knew we both loved.

I bobbed my head up and down as slowly as I could, relishing each inch of you, while sliding my hand -- my “David hand,” my brain said -- up and down this new guest, spreading his pre cum along his shaft, massaging it in.

Our living room was silent for a few minutes, all of us enjoying what we were doing. You ran a hand through my hair then rested it against the back of my neck the way I like, the way that makes me feel all melty and submissive.

After a moment you swept my hair up and pulled on it, pulling my mouth up and down your cock, fucking my face. You knew it made me so horny. I started to moan helplessly. Then you pulled my head up all the way, tilted it back and kissed my lips, before pushing me away from you and down toward my “David hand” and this new shaft. Even with you controlling my head with your grip on my hair, my lips met the tip of it in a gentle kiss before they parted to let it in. He tasted different. A different soap, of course, but also a different natural taste.

You kept your grip on my hair, made me suck his cock, and I did the best I could, with one hand massaging his balls and the other on your shaft, stroking up and down. It took a lot of focus, I couldn’t be anywhere but in the moment, in myself, in my actions. David’s hips shifted and he started to fuck my mouth as you held my head still with your hand. I was so turned on by the thought of you, my husband, holding me in place so someone else could have me.

Time slowed down and every detail of the situation soaked into my brain -- the hot, hard flesh in my mouth, the odor of a different man, the rub of his jean against my chin and cheek with every slip downward, his moans and mine, your breathing, your hand controlling me, my ripe, leaking pussy, the warm, damp feel of your cock in one hand and the silky soft feel of his balls in the other, my weight settling on my knees and ankles, the buckles of the spanking skirt and the restriction of the corset around my ribs, the warmth of the ankle and wrist cuffs, my breasts exposed, my nipples hard. All of it overwhelmed me and I came, crying into his cock, stiffening slightly, my clit bucking wildly and my empty cunt contracting.

“Yes,” you whispered, “Cum for us, my pretty fucktoy.” I moaned again, my mouth full, as I came down from the apex. You pulled my head up again and kissed me, your mouth full of hunger.