Eve St. Albert

June 16, thinking of doing something different

"Memoirs of a Teen Slut" or maybe "The Shit Game."

I recently came across some old stuff that I had done, and I'm thinking of posting some of it, just to see. I'm a little nervous about it though.

A bit of background. I lost my virginity when I was young, a teenager. In hindsight, I don't think it was especially young. I was maybe a year or so ahead of the other girls. But I lost it to a much older man, and it turned into a torrid affair and infatuation for few months one summer. I went from naive, to worldly and experienced, or so it felt.

I suppose that was a mistake, because I don't think I was really equipped to handle it, not emotionally, and not in that station in life. Things fell apart, I was fighting nonstop with my parents, skipping school, grades in the toilet, I was getting drunk, getting high, fucking up, angry, self-loathing, promiscuous. I ran away from home.

A few years later, at a difficult but more stable place in my life, I started writing off and on about some of these experiences. I think it was about sorting things out.

Anyway, I found some of this. I might put up one or two pieces. Like, the time I did a gangbang or pulled a train.

I don't want to be accused of anything, so I'll change a detail or two, and anything that happens, I assure you it was all after I turned eighteen.

What do you think?

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 21, The Guys and Blaze Midnight

SAM HANGS OUT WITH LEROY, PART TWO OF TWO

June 7, 2025 - What's next...

Cuffed is finished for now. Although, like Catfish, I have ideas for further adventures for our protagonist. I'm not sure if I'll do either of them, or when though.

I have a bit of breathing room though. The next three chapters of Kayley and Sam are written and ready to go.

The next chapter, coming up next Friday, will feature Sam's point of view as he and Leroy venture to a strip blub and encounter a crazed stripper named Blaze Midnight. She was a lot of fun to write, and we'll definitely be seeing more of her.

After that, two weeks later, and then two weeks after that, we Kayley will be visiting Leroy solo at his place, to lay down some rules for him, only to find herself kneeling, getting laid, and ruled.

Then there'll be a Kayley and Sam couples adventure. I'm writing it right now. Looks like two parts, maybe three. Kayley's POV.

Then after that we'll get to the Second Cuckolding, also Kayley's POV which will be absolutely FEROCIOUS!!! It's half written, but I have shared some scenes with a few people, and they seem to like it. Probably a three parter. Don't worry though, it'll be between eleven and thirteen weeks away, so plenty of time to get it finished.

In the meantime I have so many ideas for so many wicked things to happen to our protagonists. Why just going through the list would make your pants explode.

Which leaves me unsure of what to do with my off weeks?

Maybe the chronicle of Susan, an accidental dominatrix? Who tries to navigate the strange road of her newfound sexuality.

Or Amy, who loves to play at being a sex slave? Having found a Dom who can entertain her with perverse games? Continually demanding more and more.

Mandeep, patiently and carefully earning trust and deconstructing an unwary but gifted artist until she's no more than a willing receptacle of desire?

The heroin from Cuffed, now past her Josh phase, having discovered a taste for self bondage, and a pizza number that delivers a extra sausage.

Lizabet from a previous story, continuing her quest to escape her upbringing and find satisfaction, and keep her clitoris.

I have notions for young women who seek out their roots, only to find incest. In one case, a mother and her lover/pimp who lures her into degradation and prostitution. In another case a father who is both a dom and a sociopath. Or perhaps a backwoods clan.

How about a hard driving CEO does the undercover boss, to unravel sexual harassment in a division, only to find herself gradually enslaved in her undercover identity... and loving it.

I have this idea for a really ruthless businesswoman travelling cross country, who falls foul of some ruthless Texas Chainsaw Massacre / Hills Have Eyes Clan, who at first uses sex to survive, but finds a disturbing amount of common ground...

A naive young actress slowly falling into a spider's web.

Oh here's one: A famous actress, fond of method, starring in a movie where she plays a cheap prostitute. In order for her to find the character, a colleague finds an ex-pimp who can teach her about the life.

What about an heiress, an elite member of the 0.001%, so bored with her life, so taken by depravity, that she secretly buys herself a sleazy strip club so that she can dance and wallow under an assumed identity.

A virginal superheroine, vat grown, innocent, discovers the pleasures of sex, but at the same time, it makes her powers unstable.

In the fantasy realm, a woman from our world, enters a cyberspace matrix to play a version of live D&D, only to discover that because her Elf character is pregnant with an Orc baby, the software has been corrupted and she can't check out. Now, trapped in a world of NPC's, cut off from Elfdom and magic, she has only one skill. Worse, the corruption of her software progresses further with each new adventure.

I'll try to think of something.

Cuffed - Ch. 3, Jewels and Jails

Afterwards, she found herself dwelling on the experience, returning to it again and again, over the next few days, reliving the blinding sensual intensity, and the feelings of deep abject surrender and submission.

In hindsight, she found herself a bit shocked and disturbed by her own recklessness, the danger she’d put herself in, the risk she’d taken. What if there’d been two of them? What if he’d been rough? What if he had a disease? A complete stranger had walked into her home and slid his cock up inside her. She had no idea who.

She found herself being very careful to lock her doors, being extra attentive in her comings and goings. But nothing happened, no one seemed to be watching her, or stalking her. Slowly she relaxed.

In one sense, that was exciting, the notion of stranger sex was primal and exciting. But it was also disquieting. The intensity of her self abandonment shocked her. She wondered if she was truly submissive, or perhaps as to the degree of her submissiveness.

Now, with some distance, with her self possession, she could regard the event with some degree of clinical reflection, the nature of her feelings, their depth and intensity had been a product of the circumstances, and not truly innate. She did not crave slavery, certainly many of the inherent tropes of sadism and masochism left her indifferent. Her responses had been genuine, but not the core of who she was.

Still, she decided, she needed to manage her risk better. No more fucking pizza boys in her own home. At least, not while blindfolded. It had gone well both times, gone spectacularly the second, but she was well aware of the fears she’d experienced, and of the genuine risk.

Sometimes, working without a net, you simply crash.

She chose not to tell Josh about this second encounter, partly out of the twinge of guilt she’d felt about him as a result of the first encounter, partly fearing his disapproval. But mainly wanting to selfishly treasure the adventure and keep it to herself, sharing, disclosing it would make it less hers in some way.

There was one thing from the encounter, that she did disclose to Josh in her bedroom games. On reflection, the thought that there could have been two of them became tremendously exciting. It wasn’t that she had never thought of or masturbated to the idea of a threesome or foursome before.

But while it was happening, the thought that there could be two of them, that they would collaborate, take turns using her, was exciting. There had been so much going on, and the real experiences had been so intense, this idea had occupied little space in the swirl of terrors and cravings.

But now that it was over and she had distance, the idea took on a new intensity. It was the unturned stone of the encounter, the thing that hadn’t been, and therefore intriguing in its mystery.

So she talked about it now and then, without revealing why she talked about it. Sometimes, during sex with Josh she voiced fantasies of them being watched, sometimes spied upon unaware, sometimes deliberately performing to some audience. She talked about other men joining them, or having her in succession. Sometimes, she even pointed out someone on television or walking down the street, a flickering fantasy “If he was available...”

Despite this, their trysts remained exclusive.

Talking about it was one thing, doing it was another. The one genuine suggestion from Josh, bringing in the Pizza guy, that faceless, nameless stranger or strangers, that suggestion she shut down hard and immediately. He was a little confused, but didn’t press it.

She liked that about him. If she said something, he simply accepted it. No questions.

Apart from that, her fantasies and scenarios continued, the encounters with Josh remained steady but unpredictable and intense, like two random orbits intersecting. She remained thrilled with her sex life, more vivid and satisfying than she could have imagined.

Her regular life continued normally, except, of course, when stray thoughts or random images or some passing comment triggered a flush of arousal. But she loved those, it made her feel alive and vital. She was confident that barring a few odd trips to the bathroom, which she tried to keep to a minimum, no one noticed anything out of the ordinary.

But the truth was that it was noticed, she had more verve, more confidence. She strode rather than walked, her smile had flash. She was more open with her opinions, her wit quicker, but without harshness. The people around her found more cheerful, more vivacious and energetic. She had a zest for life. They wondered if she’d found a lover, even as she parried discrete inquiries.

There was Josh of course, athletic, able and substantially younger. If her peers had known, they would have chalked it up to the liaison, even while disapproving of the relationship.

But Josh was just a small part of what was going on with her. The truth was that somehow with this sexual exploration, she felt more like herself, more fully complete than she’d ever had before, and it gifted her with the confidence to sail through her days.

The truth was, that her life was simply better. Even when she was consumed by her newfound sexuality, she was happier, more satisfied. She felt like herself, more herself than she’d ever felt. It felt like she’d finally gotten being herself right.

So of course, she wanted more. She made out with Josh in her car in a semi-public location. He fingered her to orgasm, and she masturbated him. The awkward interior and bucket seats making anything more too awkward to attempt.

She dressed more sharply, particularly away from work. Tighter fitting clothes, shorter skirts with slits, heels, plunging necklines. For the first time in her life, she paid attention to men and even women noticing her, seeing her as a sexual being, and it made her glow.

This sexual awareness, this sexual expression slipped into her taste. When she shopped, she found herself attracted to mirrored chrome, to curves. She found she loved bold colours, strong but subtle contrasts. Minor items of furniture were discarded, replaced by a new and bolder sensibility. Her taste in clothes and make up shifted, though not dramatically. It was definitely changing, masked by the fact that she retained much of her old wardrobe. Even if she used that older wardrobe less.

To the outside world, she was just somehow, indefinably bolder and more striking. But not in any overt way you could put your finger on.

The real changes weren’t visible to outsiders. Her underwear had transformed completely, old panties and bras, all but discarded. Now it was colours and fabrics, there were corsets and bustiers, garter belts. Some of it was uncomfortable, to be worn alone at home. An awareness of comfort drove her to search out more expensive bras that fit comfortably. No one, except Josh, saw her underwear, it was all for her, a secret self expression that made her smile.

Ropes and cuffs hung from the four poster bed, and a growing assortment of toys occupied a drawer not to it. Additional sets of cuffs, both chrome and velcro, along with a few condoms, were tucked in a box in the credenza's drawer.

The apartment sparkled for her. She’d fucked or masturbated in literally every room, on or with every piece of furniture and fixture. She’d posed and explored in front of every mirror.

But her true sexual odyssey was in her own mind, a revelation of herself as a dynamic sexual being, and an endless flood of fantasies, scenarios and images.

“You know what would be hot,” she whispered one night, in the middle of sex, as she raked fingernails down his back, feeling him thrusting deep inside her. “Getting arrested.”

“Arrested?” Josh asked. He was used to these sudden strange eruptions of fantasy from her. Some were volcanic, mind blowing, a series of words that made him rigid as a steel bar. Others were entirely bemusing, the product of strange processes he could not follow. It didn’t really matter, mostly they came to nothing, spinning out in the air and evaporating away before the tangible intensity of actual fucking and playing.

Whatever they were, he went along with them, it excited her to talk about her fantasies, and her excitement and enthusiasm was captivating, part of the wellspring of sexual energy he rode.

“Not arrested for real,” she whispered, her legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him deeper. “Play arresting. Like you could arrest me at the mall.”

“For shoplifting?”

“No. Something good. I could be an international jewel thief or something. You could stop me, arrest me as I was setting up a job.”

“Uh huh?”

“You could take me to the security office, where I’d seduce you into letting me go.”

“I could handcuff you right there in the store,” Josh whispered back. He’d come to know some of her fetishes. “Perp walk you through the mall, right in front of everyone. They’d be looking at you, wondering what you’d done.”

“Oh yes!” she cried out with sudden enthusiasm, rocking her hips hard against him. Josh could feel her sparking, some image or idea lifting her up, sending her hurtling to orgasm. He picked up his pace, thrusting harder and faster, matching her building urgency.

He looked down, she was luminous.

&&&

A week later, she was examining jewelry at the mall, her hair meticulously coiffed, her make-up perfect, dressed expensively and elegantly, browsing among different pieces.

The sales girl, Helen, graciously removed utterly expensive rings and broaches and necklaces from locked display cases, and together they discussed the merits of different pieces.

She’d been there half an hour, enjoying herself thoroughly, when Josh walked in.

“Hands in the air,” he barked harshly. “You’re under arrest.”

Helen was shocked, eyes wide, mouth gaping like a fish. She put down the amethyst broach Helen had been showing her, turned to Josh, radiating confused innocence, and perhaps, a hint of malicious confidence.

“Excuse me,” she asked.

“Put down the broach,” Josh ordered. “I’m serious.”

“What’s going on,” Helen asked, her voice trembling on the edge of panic.

She put down the broach, standing up to face him. Josh stepped forward, seizing her wrist, he slapped a cuff on.

“Hey!” she protested, outraged.

Josh turned her around, drawing her hands behind her back, cuffing her other wrist.

“Wait! What? What’s the meaning of this,” she snapped, outraged. “Take these things off. What the hell are you doing? Who’s your boss? I’ll have you fired. Let go!”

“I said you were under arrest,” he told her. “There are warrants for you.”

The sales girl stared wide eyed.

“She... she wasn’t doing anything,” the girl protested. The store manager, an older, slender woman was coming over, along with another sales girl.

“Helen,” she called struggling with her cuffs. “Call the police. I’m being assaulted by this security guard. False arrest. I’ll sue the entire mall.”

“What’s going on,” the store manager demanded.

“I was showing Amy... Ms Cohen, some pieces and this Mall security guy walked in and arrested her.”

“I’m a customer!” she snarled. “These cuffs hurt, loosen them! I’m going to sue.”

“Are you sure there isn’t some mistake?” the store manager asked. Her name tag read ‘Eleanor.’

“Amy Cohen,” Josh said. “Stephanie Del Mar. Victoria Santorini. Magdalene Pollard. Sylvia St. James.”

She seemed to deflate in front of the uncomprehending sales staff, going passive in the cuffs, defeated. Her head slumped.

Josh spoke the sales staff. “She’s got warrants out right across the country. High end professional thief. She was casing you. Those are her aliases.”

At that moment, she lifted her head, looking directly at the Jewelry sales women. Her eyes narrowed, her features set in feral cunning. She chuckled, a low evil sound.

“He missed a few.”

Unconsciously, the three women behind the sales counter seemed to turn pale. They took an involuntary step back, as if she’d turned into a cobra in front of them. Their reaction thrilled her. She’d never in her life felt so poised, so powerful.

“You have nothing,” she told Josh, giving him a contemptuous side eye. “I’ll be free before you finish your paperwork.”

“Not this time,” Josh said righteously.

“Big talk little man,” she sneered, and then pretended to look him over. “Not so little though, are you. Tell me does the length match the height.”

The sales women watched this exchange wide eyed, like three deer caught in headlights. She smiled at them.

“Ladies, my apologies for this interruption. It seems that the law here is a little bit faster than I thought. And we were having such a good time. You were so... easy. I was really looking forward to picking up a few things.”

She glanced at Josh mockingly. Her voice turned sarcastic.

“Which reminds me, I have to ask. Are you fast in other ways? That might be disappointing, a strapping young thing like you. Tell you what, let’s call this a misunderstanding, take these cuffs off, let me go, and I’ll just disappear. No harm done... yet.”

“The cuffs stay on,” Josh told her. “We have you dead to rights. This time, whatever your name is, you’re going down. I’ll make sure of it.”

She sneered, her voice laden with contempt. “You’re not the first lawman to say that.”

“This time...”

“We’ll see.”

Josh took her by the shoulders, turning her away. He glanced at the sales staff.

“Ladies, thank you for your cooperation. I would suggest you conduct an immediate audit of your inventory, just in case. I think we caught her in time, but...”

She turned to look at them. “Oh yes,” she said her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Please do. An inventory will make it easier for me to decide what I want. Helen, Eleanor, I am so sorry that we were interrupted, it was going so well. But don’t worry, I’ll be back. You’ll see me again.”

She winked. They looked terrified.

“Or may you won’t.” She grinned at them. “But regardless, I always finish what I started.”

She clicked her tongue.

“That’s enough,” Josh told her, as he marched her out of the store.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded angrily, as they exited the store. Inside, she was walking on air, giddy with elation. This was perfect!

“Security office,” he said loudly. “It’s on the other side of the mall, lower level, we’ll have to pass through the food court. Once we get there, I’ll process you and hand you over to the police. I’ll warn you, don’t make a scene or try anything funny.”

She scoffed, dismissively.

Actually, the security office was straight downstairs, in the basement, literally off the fire stairs, next to the jewelry store. But this way, she’d be marched, an exquisitely elegant prisoner in cuffs all over the mall. She was so excited she could hardly wait.

The walk was wonderful. She strode, absolutely poised and confident, a secret smile on her lips. Her pussy clenching so hard she thought she might soak through her panties, her nipples pushing stiffly against her padded bra.

Josh marched her at a measured pace. Everyone looked, some stopped and stared. She smirked, catching eyes boldly, sometimes making people look away. He made a point of never deviating, having people step out of the way with a curt “Excuse me, make way. Extremely dangerous prisoner coming through.”

A few people, particularly teenagers in the food court, asked what she’d done. Josh would recite that she was a high end thief caught red handed cleaning out the Jeweler. International warrants were mentioned. Occasionally, she’d interrupt with some defiant remark or sarcastic innuendo.

Another security guard approached. She’d seen him previously at the mall, but seldom paid attention. Who pays attention to security guards? She knew his name was Clark, because Josh had told her. Shorter, than Josh, but then everyone was shorter than Josh. Thicker in body, but not fat, with a shock of blonde hair and a goatee.

“What have you got?”

“Major catch,” Josh said. “High end thief, major warrants all over the place. Multiple identities. I spotted her casing the Jeweler.”

She shrugged.

“I was just having a little fun,” she explained confidently. “A diversion while setting up the big job.”

“The big job?” Clark asked.

She winked, improvising. “Sure. What was I going to clear from a shopping mall Jeweler? A few hundred thousand? That was just a sideshow. The main one is millions... minimum.”

“You need any help?” Clark directed his question to Josh.

Josh looked at her, Clark following the direction of his eyes. Clark was in on it, of course. Not the details really, but he knew Josh was doing some sort of role play sex thing in the security office, and he’d had to be told and agree to it. Otherwise, he might accidentally walk in.

Josh had proposed Clark as a second, a suggestion she’d automatically rejected, but then waffled. Provisionally, the answer had been a soft no. But Clark had agreed to keep the security office clear and run interference if they needed it. He did have some hope...

She looked him over, playing the role, smiling arrogantly. Why not. Spur of the moment, she decided to go with it. She nodded carefully, meeting Josh’s eyes.

“Even handcuffed, two of you might not be enough to handle me.”

“Yeah,” Josh said. “This is a big one. I think I need help.”

Clark fell in with them, walking on the opposite side of her from Josh and taking her other arm. Bordered on both sides by security, her arms held, her wrists cuffed, she’d never felt so powerful, so dangerous. She felt like a character out of James Bond.

They walked the lower floor, into the service corridor and stepped into the battered old freight elevator, finally ending up in the basement.

The security office, when the arrived was wonderfully dingy. A bank of monitors, the security cam system, radio dock. A table, a desk, assorted bits of old padded office furniture, vinyl services split.

“Can you take the cuffs off now?” she asked. “I promise I won’t beat you both up and get away in my helicopter.”

She was still playing the role, Josh noted, so the answer was obvious.

“Sorry. Policy.”

“Well,” she said. “At least switch them to the front, they’re hurting my shoulders.”

Josh stared.

“All right.”

He produced his key and uncuffed one wrist, loosening the other so he could rotate the cuff, and then fastening her wrists in front of her.

“Thank you,” she said.

Josh pulled out a chair beside the desk.

“Sit there, we’ll take your information. The police are already on their way.”

“Aren’t you going to search me?” she asked. “Who knows what I might have concealed.”

Josh raised an eyebrow. They’d done the ‘up against the wall, pat down’ routine many times as foreplay. It had slipped his mind in the role play.

“I’ll do it,” Clark said, quickly.

Josh glanced at her, she hesitated, seemed intrigued but pensive nodded slightly. Josh understood the meaning, she wasn’t entirely sure of Clark. She wanted to see how he behaved, if he came on too rough or too strong, Josh could pull him back before it got too out of hand, and if necessary, they could end it. Easier now than later when things had advanced.

“All right,” Josh said.

Clark took her by the arm.

“This way, Ma’am,” he said, as he lead her towards the wall. “I’m going to pat you down for weapons or contraband. Have you ever been patted down before? I can explain the process before we start.”

“Many times,” she said. “I know the drill. I’ve had it. I guess you can say I’ve been drilled a lot.”

She leaned forward into the wall, bracing her elbows against it, arching her back.

“I know how it goes. Bend over and spread wide,” she purred. She looked over her shoulder at him and winked. “Ready when you are, officer.”

Clark’s pat down was careful and professional, pulling the tails of her blouse out of waistband of her skirt, checking pockets and seams. Despite that, she mewed and squirmed under the his touch and pushed her bottom out into his hand.

“All clear.”

That was disappointing, she thought.

“But officer,” she called. “Are you sure?”

Josh frowned slightly. Officer felt like his name, in their bedroom games. It felt odd to hear her use it on someone else, even Clark.

“Officer,” she called again, still up against the wall, looking over her shoulder at Clark. She wore a half smile. “Officer, come here. I want to make a confession.”

Clark looked to Josh uncertainly. Josh nodded.

Clark stepped close. “Yes.”

“Officer, it’s a very important confession,” she whispered. “Vital even.”

She paused, her voice dropped an octave going moist and husky.

“I’m not wearing any panties. Not a thing. Did you know that?”

“No.” Clark was blushing furiously. She enjoyed his reaction, it made her playful.

“It’s true! I was so busy this morning, I completely forgot about them. Isn’t that terrible?” She giggled. “Of course I hardly ever wear them anyway. I find they only get in the way. And it’s not as if I need them, I’m smooth down there, completely smooth. Like satin. You didn’t notice?”

“No.”

“Well, I think that just shows that you weren’t very thorough. I must say, I expect more ... diligence from my law enforcement. After all, I could be concealing... all sorts of things... in all sorts of places.”

“I should check again?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t tell you what to do. But maybe you should? Just to be safe? You wouldn’t want any surprises?”

“All right.”

“Take your time,” she husked, rolling her hips slowly in a figure eight. “But be careful, I am a very (bump), very (bump) dangerous criminal.”

This pat down began as professionally as the first, but more thoroughly. She felt hands on stockinged legs moving up and down. She pressed back against hands on her ass, rolled her body to his touches. By stages he grew bolder, at first circling the bare flesh along her skirt’s waist feeling her belly. He cupped her breasts over her blouse, and then with encouragement, slid his hands under to cup her bra.

He pulled her skirt up, exposing the tops of stockings and garter belt and beyond. A hand reached between her legs, making her shiver with delight as it tentatively stroked her lips. She moaned slightly, rocking her hips.

But that was the limit of Clark’s boldness, his hand withdrew.

“She’s clean,” Clark announced, his voice unsteady. She could tell without looking that his hands must be shaking.

“Oh no I’m not,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m not clean at all. I’m dirty! Very dirty! Why, I’m positively... filthy!”

“If you can bring her over here,” Josh called. “We’ll take down her information.”

She turned around, and with Clark’s hand on her arm, and his other finding her ass, he lead her the few steps to the table where she primly took a seat, crossing her legs in a ladylike pose, cuffed hands on her knee, her shoulders swinging slightly..

Clark pulled up a chair facing her, so close she could stretch out a foot to caress his calf. He was desperately trying to conceal a raging erection. His face was red with exertion and his hands trembled. His eyes were glassy. She loved the intensity of his reaction, but worried that he might blow just sitting there.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Clark said.

“Yes,” she agreed, leaning back in the chair, her knees parted, heels pointing inward, head tilted. “You should definitely keep an eye on me.”

“In case...” she continued.

She casually undid a button on her already low cut blouse, exposing her bra. Carefully putting on her most innocent expression.

“...I try something.”

If anything, he got even redder.

“Name?”

“Santeria Sebastian.”

Josh looked up, momentarily confused.

“Santeria... that’s voodoo?”

“My mother was a witch,” she teased. “She could put a spell on men. So can I. Perhaps I’m casting a spell on you now? Do you feel yourself falling under my power?”

“That’s not one of your aliases,” Josh’s brows knit.

“It’s my real name, Santeria Sebastian of San Salvador. You can call me Santa,” she paused and stretched luxuriously. “My friends call me Christmas.”

“Well,” Josh said, uncertainly, “Miss Sebastian... Santeria... Santa? I have to warn you, you’re in a great deal of trouble, and it’s in your own interests to cooperate. Now-”

“Pooh!” she said. Casually she undid another button. Leaning on the arm of her chair towards Josh, her knees parting further apart with the movement, the skirt riding further up her thighs.

Clark was staring with feverish intensity at the shadow between her thighs, unable to really see anything, but entranced by the possibility. All he could think of was the feel of her pussy against his fingertips, the amazing softness, the mysterious folds, when he’d reached between her legs.

She squirmed in her seat.

“Gentlemen, boys. I have a proposition. Surely you know that my associates have already sent for my lawyers. They’ll arrive here before the police. You have nothing on me. We both know it. All you will accomplish is to ... inconvenience me. Slightly.”

She was deliberately ignoring them, playfully undoing another button. She shifted in her seat once again.

“I hate to be inconvenienced. It would be unfortunate for you. I think, you should let me go, instead. Do not trouble yourself with all this fuss or bother. That’s a job for someone else far away. They’re paid for it. You are not. Do your duty? You will see nothing, no money, someone else will take all the credit. You win nothing but my displeasure.”

“Instead, let us forget all this unpleasantness. There is no need to involve the police. Call it a misunderstanding...”

Her blouse now fully opened, she began toying with her left bra cup, lifting a breast from it, letting it settle against the folded cup. Her nipple poked out proudly.

“Do me this favour,” she told them, “and that will allow you to ... convenience me.”

Her attention drifted away from the two men, as she stared down at her breast.

“Hmmm...”

She toyed with her nipple, pressing her fingernail into the aureole and making a circle that seemed to occupy her attention completely. She shifted again in her seat, the movement of her thighs causing the skirt to ride up completely, exposing the tops of stockings and beyond.

She looked up innocently from her nipple, her gaze flickering back and forth between the two men.

“Oh! I think this is hard!”

She seemed to dismissed the thought, and smiled a wanton smile, turning her attention clearly upon the two men. She crossed her legs.

“What do you say to my proposition, Officers? Will Christmas come early this year?”

“Uh,” Clark began.

“I think we’re out of our league,” Josh said. “This case is too big for us. Too hard.”

“Much too hard,” Clark agreed. “I think we should do what she says.”

“Yes,” Josh agreed.

“Then it is settled,” She said, pulling her skirt up to her hips, sliding her ass forward on the chair. “Come, unwrap me so I can receive your presents.”

Josh rose, coming around the table to her side. As he reached her, she twisted, bringing her cuffed wrists up to his crotch, feeling him already hard in his pants. He bent down to kiss her on the mouth, deep and hungry. With one hand, he reached into her almost completely undone blouse, freeing her other breast from its cup.

She couldn’t see Clark, but she could feel him, spreading her legs apart. She hooked one knee over the arm of the chair and felt his hands, strong but shaking, against the insides of stockinged thighs. The his mouth was on her vulva, licking with wounded urgency, frantically lapping from her asshole to her clit.

The sensation was amazing, like that time on the credenza, with fingers from the stranger invading her mouth and vagina. Except these were mouths, tongues, moving and wet against her, accompanied by hands. There was no coordination, instead the both acted out of synch with each other, and her attention was drawn back and forth. It was exciting but distracting, she found she couldn’t focus. Her hips lifted, she squirmed in the seat held in place by Clark’s grip, and from above by Josh’s hand, she was trapped, helpless and rolling on waves of sensation.

She broke off the kiss, half breathless already. Without his distraction, she could squeeze his cock in his pants. She stared down at Clark’s head, bobbing between her thighs.

“You should keep the cuffs on me, at least until you have had your pleasure. Or I might overpower you both.”

“Yes,” Josh said, standing. “She’s dangerous. Treacherous.”

“I am,” she pronounced. “I am the very definition of treachery. Even together, you would be no match if I were freed. But...”

She kissed his cock, taking the head in her mouth for a moment, and letting it out. She bared her teeth, looking at it, and snapped her teeth at it, as if to bite it

“... my danger is what you love.”

She took it back in her mouth again, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked on its length. Josh let his hands drift to her head, moving her back and forth. This was easier now. It was hard to concentrate on sucking Josh’s cock with Clark’s frantic licking. But at least now she wasn’t floundering back and forth helplessly.

Her knee, straining, fell from the chair’s arm, and Clark simply pushed it back up, causing her body to slide down further. The cock fell from her lips, and she felt herself bent around like a pretzel.

“This is getting awkward,” she said as his cock slid against her nose.

“Let’s get you on the desk. I want to fuck you.”

She stood long enough for her skirt to come off. Josh tugged at her blouse and jacket, but her cuffed wrists prevented removal. Instead, he bent her forward across the desk. For a moment, she felt four hands all over her ass, two sets of fingers probing her vagina and beating against her clit. It was a bizarre sensation, almost impossible to describe. The one set withdrew and the others clamped around her hips, pulling her back and into position.

With a grunt of desire, she spread her legs as wide as she could and raised her ass, arching her back to present her wet pussy for mounting. Josh, she could tell it was Josh, entered her with the hard readiness of a cock that knew her intimately. She lifted up, gasping, as it slid inside her. He pushed down on her hips, holding her in place and began to pound. She was sweating in her blouse and jacket, hands forward.

“Oh god yes,” she cried out. “Fuck me.”

From peripheral vision, she sensed Clark on the side of the desk, he reached for her, running fingers through her hair, twining the locks between thumb and digits. He lifted her head, pushing two and then three fingers in her mouth. She heard him ordering her to suck and obeyed willingly, sucking two or thee fingers alternately, licking his palm. She had the vaguest sense of his pink erection protruding from his pants, bobbing unused.

Again, there was that weird doubling, the splitting of attention that left her floundering and divided. The mouth wasn’t an erogenous zone, not in the same way that her pussy was. A kiss, or finger blow job didn’t have the same intensity as Josh’s pounding cock. But still, it was there, demanding her awareness, pulling her in separate directions.

Spastically, her legs kicked almost randomly as Josh pounded fiercely into her. The impact of his thrusts mashing her flat on the desk, shoving her hips so hard into the edge of the desk it was almost bruising.

“Want a turn?” she heard Josh say. For a moment, she had no idea what he was talking about, or who he was addressing, the words being only a third level of distraction.

“Yeah,” Clark said. The fingers left her mouth, leaving trails of drool as he moved out of her line of sight. “Do I need a condom?”

“Are you clean?” Josh demanded, still ramming into her with bruising force.

“Oh yeah, I’m clean. But what about her.”

“You have to be sure you’re clean,” Josh ordered. “No fucking around.”

“I don’t want to get her pregnant.”

That struck her as senseless. She was on birth control. She was paying for a prescription to have occasional sex with one man. At that moment, it seemed to her that it would make more sense if the prescription was justified by two men having sex with her. Amortizing the investment. But before she could say that, Clark spoke, “I’m going to use a condom.”

“Jesus, Dude. Whatever!” she snapped.

Moments later, Josh froze. He pulled back and slammed one more time in a thrust so ferocious that the desk rocked, and her thighs and hips were momentarily crushed. Then just as quickly, he pulled out leaving her suddenly empty.

“All yours!”

One of Clark’s hands was on her ass, she felt the tremble of it, the style of grip completely different from Josh’s. His cock, when it entered felt completely different, thick and ramrod straight. Clark thrust hard several times, bringing cries of pleasure from her, and then fell out. He slid in again, this time gently, moving forward with short pumps, then going still.

Without the forceful ramming, she could push back onto him. Clark was shorter, she bent her knees, sliding a little off the desk. His cock moved upwards in her, bringing new sensations. But he kept falling out. He had no rhythm, almost every stroke of his cock was different, it was almost maddening.

Josh stepped in again, after Clark’s brief fucking, and soon she was being rammed breathlessly against the desk. Her blouse and jacket were drenched with sweat

“Wait! Wait!” she called. “This isn’t working. Let’s move!”

Once let up, her legs were wobbly and she was panting from the sexual energy in the room. Josh pulled his pants up from around his knees, he was still wearing his shoe. Clark had discarded his shoes to slip out of his pants. He was naked from the waste down, except for black socks. Sometimes, she thought, there’s no way for a man to look sexy. Shirt and black socks just didn't do it..

Her clothes were driving her crazy, and the were already tangled up in her cuffs. Rather than take them off, Josh and Clark helped her push them over her head and down her forearms where they formed a big wrinkled knot around her wrists, a tangle of bra, blouse and jacket. At least it was off her now.

For a moment, she stood panting. Then Clark’s hand slipped across her breast, capturing her nipple. The sensation was gentle, pleasurable, a relief from the heady pounding, she swayed, leaning back against the edge of the desk, enjoying it. Without a word, with no sound from any of them, Josh joined, fondling her other breast. Their free hands moved began to move over her body, roving freely.

Two sets of fingertips probed at her pussy, sliding in and out, sometimes against each other, stoking or pushing against her clit, without any coordination. It was deeply pleasurable, but so strange. She had a flash of a video of starfish at high speed underwater, slowly crawling all over each other, both full of meticulous intent, but utterly unaware of each other. The hands parted, touched, moved away, explored, each on their own journey.

Josh lowered his head to suck on her nipple, she was intimately familiar with the way he did it, the teasing tongue, the scraping nibbles. Clark followed suit, and she had two mouths on each of her nipples, a delicious experience. Except that Clark’s style was different, biting lightly, alternating probing and sucking.

She closed her eyes trying to follow the sensations, swaying as she did. But she couldn’t, there were too many touches, too many things going on in two many places, sensations and kinds of sensation, different experiences. She couldn’t rack it all.

So she just gave up and simply experienced it, surrendered to the pleasure of the touches, the licks, the nibbles, the random explorations of her body. No longer trying to follow it, to focus on who was doing what, but simply letting it happen, she experienced it as a new kind of pleasure. She allowed herself to float on it.

“Okay,” she whispered. “This is good. This is great, let’s keep doing this for a while.”

She allowed them to lean her backwards, lifting and supporting her until she was laying on her back on the desk, her bound wrists above her head, hanging down one side, her knees bent and legs spread, heels perching on the other side.

She closed her eyes and floated, allowing them to touch her, to explore her. The image of the starfish relentlessly crawling all over each other, full of mindless, oblivious purpose came to her again.

Someone kissed her, and she simply welcomed it, letting a tongue slide into her mouth, meeting it with her own, all part of the endless sensation as other hands explored her, her nipple was pulled, fingers slid inside her. Then another mouth on hers, different, but she welcomed it as well, feeling as it kissed her, a second mouth on her nipple, and then between her legs, hands griping her thighs, ad other hands fondled her breasts.

She was helpless again, as she’d been on the Credenza, drenched in oblivion. But this was different. On the Credenza there’d been possession and surrender, submission and taking, until she’d swirled down to some dark state of total relinquishment, had given up everything to a master, become property, become owned.

This was different. Here she wasn’t owned but utterly free. She’d become an object again, with no will of her own, but instead of property possessed, she was worshiped, drenched in an ever changing, ever flowing tide of sensation. It just built and built, ebbed and flowed. When the orgasm came she was simply experiencing, not chasing, not anticipating. When it overtook her, it was completely unexpected, and absolutely wonderful, as were the next ones.

She had the feeling that they were entranced with her, consumed by her body and their exploration, that the orgasms drawn from her were wondrous to them, and so they did everything they could to prologue it.

Eventually, there was a shift. She felt her body being hauled forward, her head closer to the edge of the altar that had been a desk. Her legs were parted, hands spreading her knees apart. She opened her eyes, and Clark was looming over her, fully naked, his pale body freckled around the shoulders, his erection proud in a glistening condom. She noted his pubic hair was blond too. Looking closer, she saw he had chest hair, so sparse and pale that you wouldn’t notice it was there.

“Is it okay?” he asked. “Can I?”

There was something sweet about his tentativeness. He was the odd man out. Josh and her had fucked so many times, they knew each other, their preferences and boundaries. They were comfortable. Clark was feeling his way, terrified of making a mistake, navigating a tightrope.

She smiled up at him, gave a little jerk of her head, and spread her knees just a little further.

“Come and fuck me,” she invited.

He slid forward, balancing himself unsteadily on one hand, trying to guide his cock to her. It poked at the inside of here thigh. She wanted to reach up, to help him draw it in, to touch him. But her wrists were trapped. Instead, she pulled her knees back, rolled her ass. He found her, she felt a push between her legs. He threw his hand out, hovering over her on both now, and pushed.

It was easier getting fucked this time with him. Everyone’s the same height laying down. She was still flying from the sensual bath, but there hadn’t been much penetration. His cock felt good in her, different from Josh’s, thicker, straighter. She laid back, lifting her legs until the thrusting felt just right. His pumping was more regular this time, he had a rhythm and a pace. She mewed and moaned, feeling herself floating towards another orgasm.

But before she could reach it, he leaped ahead, thrusting hard into her suddenly and making her gasp. His expression above her was that of a man falling off a mountain, he thrust convulsively, wildly. His cock inside her moved weightlessly, rushing but not pushing.

“Cum baby cum,” she told him, she wasn’t there and she could tell she wouldn’t make it. But he was already past the point of no return. With three frenzied thrusts, he pushed deep into her, went stiff and then limp, panting.

His weight settled on her, which was all right at first, but his body was heavy, and his weight pressed her down. She couldn’t do anything about his weight except jerk her bound wrists, frustrated with the cuffs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear. “I was too fast.”

“It’s all right,” she told him. “You were fine.”

Ideally, she thought, he’d have lasted until she could come, and it would have been nice if he could get off her and not crush her flat. But she still felt the residue of that deep empathy that had led her to welcome him into her body, and so she was moved to kindness.

Finally, he got off her so that she could breathe. Josh mounted up on the desk, but she put a stockinged foot on his chest, halting him.

“Get me out of these fucking handcuffs,” she told him. Her shoulders were already aching, and her back was starting. “And let’s do it someplace else.”

Josh hopped off and found the keys and soon, she was out, and free of both the cuffs and the tangled sodden bundle. It was a mess. Her wrists were raw, but being out of the fucking things was bliss. At that moment, she couldn’t see the appeal of the damned things at all.

There was an old blue couch up against the wall, solid steel frame, torn fake leather upholstery in modern style. It looked like it had been stolen from a failing airport. They moved the party there.

“I want to be on top,” she said, mainly because she didn’t want to be on her back again, or taken from behind. She pushed Josh gently back until he was sitting and straddled him. Clark, his cock thoroughly deflated, but condom still dangling, sat beside them, watching. That struck her as funny.

Josh held his cock straight, as she balanced with one hand on her shoulder, and positioned herself over him, gently sinking down on him until he was buried in her. She reached over, pulled the condom from Clark’s deflated cock and tossed it away.

“Sorry,” Clark apologized.

“No worries,” she assured him.

“Make sure you pick that up later though,” Josh warned. “We don’t want people finding used condoms in the office.”

Way to ruin the mood, she thought at him, but held her tongue. Instead, she focused on riding him, feeling comfortable with his familiar presence inside her, feeling his hands creep up to her breasts, or cradle her hips. This wasn’t so different from straddling him on the couch in her apartment. The weird part was Clark sitting on the couch beside them, smiling, politely watching. Not weird good, but not weird bad, just... weird.

“Clark,” she said, working rhythmically on Josh, “come stand behind me.”

Shyly, he obeys, standing neutral, a little a foot behind her. At first, she didn’t understand, but then realized it was some gay paranoia thing, that if he came too close, he might have some body contact with the man fucking her.

“Come a little closer,” she said, “put your hands on me.”

Obediently reluctantly he approached an inch or two, but he reached out to put his hands on her shoulders. She was surprised by how much she enjoyed his touch, the intimacy of the human contact. Reaching up, she put her hands on top of his, as she rode, and gently drew them down, pulling him closer until his hands were on top of Josh’s on her breasts, and she could feel him against her back. Sandwiched loosely between the two men, she felt an intimacy, a safety that went beyond sexual.

“You know what I loved,” she told them. “It was when you were both touching me at once, touching and kissing. It felt so good, it felt special.”

Josh’s hands slithered away, finding other parts of her body to cares as Clark’s hands moved around her breasts. They’re getting the idea. When she leaned back, she began rocking, her back pressing against Clark’s chest, and he didn’t yield. It felt so satisfying to her, as if it’s meant to be this way.

“Kiss me,” she demanded of Clark, twisting around towards him. He bent forward, their bodies twisted against each other, his hands clutching her breasts hard, as if to steady himself. Their lips met, brushed against each other, found again and clamped together.

Riding one man and kissing another was wildly exciting, both their hands all over her was wildly exciting, and suddenly, she felt it, appearing almost out of nowhere, having quietly built up, her orgasm came roaring. She gasped, breaking the kiss, and pounded herself onto Josh’s cock more and more ferociously, even as she felt the lightning bursting out below, crawling up her spine.

It was too intense, she couldn’t breath. Suddenly her body went spastic, refusing to obey her. Her fingers sink into Josh’s shoulders, fingernails like claws. She gasped but no air would come. The orgasm swept over her and her body went rigid. Muscles tightening up, she rose up off his cock involuntarily, not wanting to, wanting him deep, but rising as of drawn upward, until only the head of his cock is still in her. That’s when she felt it, the spray between her legs, like a firehose. An intense moment when her stomach tensed so hard it hurt, and the spray came like niagara falls, great immense endless rushing surve. She’s vaguely aware of Josh’s surprised yell, Clark holding her thrashing body steady.

Then the rigidity passed, she could breathe again, sucking up great lung-fulls of air. Trembling muscles failed and she sank down hard on Josh’s cock. And immediately, the white noise burst in her head, she felt her stomach tensing and another spray between her legs as she twisted Then suddenly, she couldn’t stand it any more.

“Stop! Stop!” she gasped. “No more! Stop!”

Body hyper-acute, she struggled off Josh’s cock and pushed both of them away from her, wild eyed, panting uncontrollably. Clark reached out to her, and she slapped his hand away.

“Holy shit!” she said.

Something more was called for.

“Holy shit!” she repeated.

She waited, feeling her body settle down. An aftershock hit her, and her body spasmed.

“I’m okay,” she told them, staring eyes not really seeing them. She waved her hand randomly in the air, careful to keep her legs splayed, as if the simple pressure of closing her eyes would trigger another spray. “I’m okay. It’s okay. I’m just coming down.”

Panting.

“I’ll be all right.”

“You squirted,” Josh said. “I didn’t know you squirted.”

She gulped air, trying to focus.

“It never happened before,” she lied.

Suddenly, she found herself desperately wanting intimacy.

“Hold me, both of you, hold me.”

But the minute they touched her it was too much, it was overwhelming and she pushed them away.

“No no no! Hands. Just don’t touch me. Hold my hands.”

The two men ended up on opposite sides of the couch, with her in the middle, holding her hands in theirs, as if she was a sexual Madonna. She waited for the feelings to recede. Finally, she tried a word.

“Wow.”

Success. Try some more.

“That was good.” She thought it was an understatement, but now she was sure she could manage rational conversation. She swallowed.

“Are you all right?” Clark asked.

“Me? Oh yeah,” she said. “Totally fine. Let’s just sit here a while, okay.”

She listened to her steadying heartbeat, and held up a hand arms length, studying her fingers. Vision good. Fingers numb. Toes? Numb. Lips? Numb. Body? Like rubber. She could live with that.

Out of the blue, staring off at nothing, Josh spoke. “Best! Christmas! Ever!”

For a second she had no idea what he was talking about. But then, just as she got it, Clark spoke.

“God bless us every one!”

And that was all it took, they burst into giddy giggling and laughter. She laughed until her sides hurt.

“I think we’re done,” she said finally. “I don’t think we can top that. I don’t think I could stand it.”

Her head swiveled loosely, bearing on Josh.

“Hey Sweety,” she asked. “Did you come?”

“Not quite.”

“Oh.” That was disappointing. She couldn’t imagine letting anything near her pussy for at least a week. “Let me come down, I can give you a blow job.”

“It’s okay.”

She nodded, glad to be let off the hook.

“All right, next time. I’ll make it up to you.”

Clark moved to let go her hand, she clamped down on it.

“No.”

But it was over. When she could move, and was willing to let them go, Clark started putting on clothes, and then Josh. She was still wobbly, and they were solicitous of her.

The skirt was fine, she climbed back into that and her shoes. The blouse and jacket were a mess, buttons missing from the blouse, the shoulder ripped on the jacket. They’d need trips to the dry cleaner and a seamstress to be salvageable. Instead, she borrowed one of Clark’s T-shirts from his locker.

She checked a mirror, her hair was a mess, she didn’t give a fuck.

They both walked her out to her car in the parking lot.

“Sorry,” Clark said again. He was apologetic.

She understood, he’d been hair trigger, over-excited, had come too fast. But she didn’t mind. They all knew Clark was the weakest link, but she didn’t hold it against him. Her first time with Josh had been five minutes.

“You did fine,” she assured him.

He hesitated.

“Do you think we’ll do it again?”

“No.”

She thought of her procession through the mall in handcuffs. Absolutely drained of sexual energy, she couldn’t understand it, it seemed ridiculous. She could remember the feeling of excitement and power, but couldn’t feel it at the moment.

“I don’t think I can set foot in this Mall again. Not without everyone calling out the National Guard. That’s burned.”

She had no plans for a threesome again.

But then, she had a second thought. Maybe don’t rule it out entirely. She needed to process the experience, the good and the bad, what worked and what didn’t. It had been intense and overwhelming, and she needed to absorb it before she could think about it.

Could she do it again? Could it be better? Would Clark be more relaxed and confident now that he’d had experience, avoid some of the mistakes, focus on what really worked. This had been something of an experiment, they hadn’t really known what they were doing, just improvised.

So... maybe?

“Maybe,” she said out loud.

“Question,” Josh said. “All that stuff about Santeria and Christmas, where did that come from.”

She nodded. They’d charted out a much more elaborate role-play, but Clark’s presence had thrown things off, so she’d short circuited and gone straight to sex. It had been a good choice, she thought.

She shrugged.

“I just improvised. Was it too hokey?”

“No, it was great. Just threw me for a loop for a minute.”

“It worked out,” she agreed.

They arrived at her car.

“Are you safe to drive?” Josh asked, worried.

She held her hand out to see if it was steady. No tremors. Good enough.

“Yeah.”

She hugged Josh, and then Clark, got in her car and went home.

Nothing ever quite matched that adventure, although she had many other adventures.

She and Josh eventually drifted apart. There was an age difference, and except for sex, there was little in common. Josh started to see a girl, it got more serious, and so she faded from his life.

But that was all right. There were no hard feelings on either side. She’d found herself, her bolder, better self. There were other lovers, other adventures. Her life proceeded along its previous path, but better, with more energy and confidence. She was more successful in her career, happier in her life.

There were two incidents of note.

Once about a year later, in a restaurant, she noticed a group of girls were staring at her, whispering and pointing. It took her a second to recognize Helen from the Jewelers at the Mall. Their eyes met, the girl stared at her with something like terror.

She smiled her best shark-like smile, nodded and lifted a wine glass as if in toast to the girl. Then she simply returned to her meal, unaccountably but deeply satisfied.

The second incident was years later. She was walking down the street, and suddenly, in front of her was Josh. He was a little older and sported a beard, but it was him. He was walking hand in hand with a girl.

For a moment, they both halted, Josh visibly awkward. They made small talk of no consequence.

Then abruptly, she stepped forward and hugged him.

“Thank you,” she said. “For being there. You were a good friend. You were what I needed back then, and I’ll always appreciate you.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, and he returned the hug.

After, they separated. She smiled at the woman (girlfriend?).

“Take good care of him.”

And walked on, her footsteps light and confident, into the rest of her life.

In the end, she lived happily ever after.

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 20, Guy's Night Out

SAM HANGS OUT AT LEROY'S PLACE, PART ONE OF TWO

LEROY POV

Leroy heard Sam knocking on the door. He grabbed a towel for his waist, and opened wide. Sam stepped back a little. Leroy was naked

LEROY

Leroy heard Sam knocking on the door. He grabbed a towel for his waist, and opened wide. Sam stepped back a little. Leroy was naked, soaking wet, barely covered.

“Hermanos!” Leroy called, and embraced the younger man, wrapping wet arms around him, pressing his body.

“Uh hi,” Sam replied.

“Oh yeah,” Leroy said, looking down. “Sorry bud. Come on in!”

Leroy pulled Sam into the apartment.

“I was out playing hoops with some guys,” he explained. “It went long. I thought I was back in time to finish a shower. Timing’s off, but I’m glad you came. I’ve been wanting to see you.”

“Oh that’s okay,” Sam said. “Should I come back another time?”

“Fuck no!” Leroy told him. “I’ve been looking forward to this. I thought we’d get out in a bit.”

“Okay,” Sam said awkwardly.

“Relax,” Leroy said. “I got coffee on, there’s beer in the fridge. Help yourself. I’ll be right out.”

Leroy dropped the towel, exposing his half erect cock, knowing that Sam would look instinctively. He pretended not to notice Sam’s sudden blush, and turned on his heel, throwing the towel over his shoulder and letting its length not quite obscure his ass, and headed back to the shower.

Stepping back in the shower, Leroy ran the water, rinsing shampoo and body wash from his hair and body, thinking about how to handle the younger man.

Kayley he was handling. She was easy. Kayley was like a Chinese puzzle box, very strong, very complicated, but if you pressed the right buttons in the right way, her legs spread open automatically. Kayley alone, eventually, he could do anything with her, or to her. And eventually, he would. His cock hardened in the shower, and he stroked it casually.

Taking apart Sam? That would take more finesse.

He stepped out and grabbed some sweatpants, drying himself off as he went.

“Hey sport,” he called, walking out. “What are we having?”

“I grabbed a beer.” Sam’s eyes flickered to the loose gym pants, and the bulge in them.

That was critical, he had to keep Sam sexually intimidated. Intimidation meant deference, deference meant subordination. It was a balancing act, be too overt, push too hard, and Sam would push back, and then it would all go to shit. So basically, just a low level, but regular. Like a frog in a pan of water, or maybe a bonsai. Just raise the temperature slowly, a push here, a twist there. Never enough to provoke the wrong reaction. But eventually, he’d be twisted into the shape you wanted.

“Sounds great,” Leroy said. “Grab me one. Talk at the table, or the couch.”

“Table I guess.”

Table meant Sam was insecure and defensive. That was good. Leroy sat down at the table, sprawling on his chair, casual and comfortable. In control. He read Sam’s body language as he sat down.

“You’re not comfortable,” Leroy told Sam.

The youth stiffened.

“I’m okay.

Leroy shifted, in his chair, straightening.

“I’m not sure you are,” he said, looking Sam in the eye. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, away from Kayley. I’ll ask you the same question, I asked the other night: Are you all right?”

Sam tried to stare back.

“I’m fine.”

“Sam,” Leroy said. “We absolutely humiliated you the other night. I took your woman away from you...” His cock hardened at the thought. “Even if it was just role play, it felt real when it was happening, didn’t it? And you came like a fountain, again and again. You got off on it. That fucks anyone up. It fucked me up back then. We need to work through it.”

Sam’s brows knit.

“It fucked you up?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

Leroy shrugged theatrically. “Oh I’ve been through it,” he lied. “That kind of devastating humiliation, and somehow liking it. It’s a powerful thing, strips away your illusions, gets you to the truth of who you are when you shed pretensions. But it’s not easy.”

“How’d you deal with it?”

Leroy pretended to laugh, and drank some beer, staring off into the distance.

“Oh,” Leroy said. “It fucked me up completely. Until I met someone who helped me work through it. I reconciled, got to know myself better. Liked myself better.”

He paused.

“The biggest, most important thing I learned,” he told Sam, “is that we don’t get through life alone. I won’t let you go through this alone. I’m here for you, brother. Women don’t understand this, it’s for men only.”

Sam stared at the table and took a deep breath, and then another.

“It was the worst thing ever,” Sam said. “It was fucking horrible. It was like all my nightmares rolled into one, the only thing missing was being naked doing a class presentation –”

“We came close to that one,” Leroy said ruefully.

Sam barked a bitter laugh. “Yeah. We did.”

“Maybe we’ll work that in next time.”

Sam sighed again.

“Kayley, I love her so much. And she was choosing you. I wasn’t even in the running. You were fucking her better than I ever had. You were doing things to her I hadn’t imagined. You were turning her into a sex slave, and she was begging you for more. It was fucking bottomless. You were like a fucking runaway bonfire together, I was like a fucking waterboy with a damp towel. It was a nightmare.”

He paused.

“But,” Sam continued, “I was super-excited through the whole thing. Crazy hard. I kept coming, and it was like a nuclear explosion each time, I hated it but I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t turn away. I couldn’t stop it, and I didn’t even want to stop it. The more it went on...”

“The more you wanted it to go on,” Leroy said softly, “the worse it hurt. But the excited part of you just didn’t want to let it go.”

“Yeah,” Sam whispered. It was like a confession.

Leroy nodded.

“You, my brother,” he pointed at Sam, “are a first class spectator. Like just about every other human on this planet. You like to watch, and you got treated to a first class live sex show, triple XXX cubed, fourth wall breaking, senssurround. It was fucking epic. Seriously, I used to do porn, and that was award winning stuff. You got it live, you got it authentic, and you knew the players.”

“You did porn?” Sam asked.

Leroy shrugged.

“For a while,” he said. “After I left the band. Kind of fell into it. I was Richard Ramera, that was my porn name. I did okay, was up for some awards. Even did some directing. But it wasn’t for me.”

“Oh,” Sam said, staring at Leroy.

Leroy shook his head and drank his beer, pretending not to notice.

“Holy fuck,” he said. “If I hadn’t been in it, I’d have paid money to watch. Ringside seats would have gone for ten grand. You got it free, all for you, a command performance. You’d have had to be a fucking zombie not to get off.”

Sam smiled, it immediately disappeared, then flickered back on and off a few times. Amused, uncertain, ashamed.

“Your girl,” Leroy said. “She’s fucking thermonuclear. She’s fearless, she radiates sex like an atomic pile in meltdown. I was just hanging on, trying to keep up with her.”

“You were really dominating,” Sam said. “You were definitely in control”

“Yeah,” he replied. “She let me. That’s how it goes sometimes. The sub takes over, they’re really directing the action. That was happening with her. There’s no stopping her. You think she’s more than you can handle? Fuck Sam, she’s more than I can handle. Difference between you and me is she loves you like crazy. I had to just play the top card, try and be dominant and hope she goes with it and lets me pretend to be in charge.”

“Never thought of it like that,” Sam said. “It didn’t look like that.”

“You were just watching,” Leroy laughed, “I was just trying to hang on and stay on top, like one of those rodeo guys with a bucking bull. And I was trying to watch out for you, make sure you were okay and a part of things. It was tough.”

“You were suffering too,” Sam said sarcastically

Leroy barked a laugh and after a moment, Sam joined in tentatively.

“She’s something,” Leroy said admiringly.

“She is.”

“More than the two of us could keep up with,” Leroy said. “She’d leave us behind in the dust.”

Leroy paused thoughtfully.

“She ever do that?” he asked. “Like just go extreme. Talk about it. She ever tell you a fantasy where you’re going ‘Holy cow!’ How do I keep up?”

“A few times,”

Leroy looked directly at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Really?” he said. “Spill!”

Sam looked around awkwardly.

“Well,” he said, “she’s mentioned a few times, just dressing up like a hooker... not just dressing up... like dressing up yes, but really going out on the street, and turning tricks. Actually being a hooker. For the adventure.”

Leroy thought about it.

“On the street? Not massage parlour. Not brothel. Not escort? Not bars? Street?”

“Street.”

“Street?”

“Definitely, out on the street. Getting picked up by passing cars. Total strangers. Buying her. Going up to a sleazy hotel room and doing it for fifty cash.”

“That’s raw!” Leroy said. “Girl’s hard core. Just like once or twice, or the whole night?”

“I dunno,” Sam said, “She’s stubborn, if the did it, if she committed to it, I don’t think she’d stop with just one. Unless it was bad experience. Otherwise, maybe a few times. We haven’t talked about it in detail. But... I think in her fantasy, she’s probably out all night.”

“Hmmm,” Leroy grunted. “This sounds like a really strong fantasy for her, but she’s not going into that much detail with you. Holding back? Did she ever mention having you as a pimp in the fantasy?”

“Not really.” Sam’s brows knit. “No.”

“There,” Leroy said. “Street hooker’s and pimps, the two go together, part and parcel. If she’s got a street hooker fantasy... She probably has a pimp in her fantasy there making her.”

“Girl’s got a submissive streak.” Leroy pretended to think a moment. “Definitely there’s a pimp, she never mentioned it. Doesn’t really go into detail?”

“Well,” Sam said. “Sometimes. We talk locations. Or outfits. Sometimes, kinds of customers... But no, not a lot of detail.”

Leroy nodded.

“Never talked role playing it?”

“No.”

Let Sam think about that and draw his own humiliating conclusions.

“She ever dress up?” he asked. “Like for role play.”

Sam shrugged evasively. Leroy nodded, the youth was thinking about it now.

“She ever want to drive by real hookers, check them out. Drive through the districts...”

“Maybe,” Sam shrugged evasively. That told Leroy enough, all by itself. Even if she never intended to really act on it, she had a very specific fantasy.

Sam didn’t seem suspicious of Leroy’s questions, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Sam seemed distracted, as if he was wondering why, if this seemed to be such a strong fantasy for Kayley, she hadn’t really shared much detail with him. Leroy could almost see the wheels turn in Sam’s head, wheels he’d set in motion. Time to move on.

“Anything else,” Leroy probed. “Any dirty dark fantasy?”

Sam shrugged.

“Gangbangs,” Sam said.

“Oh yeah?” Leroy encouraged.

“Completely anonymous, strangers, just one after the other. Sometimes different races. I guess all the usual...”

Leroy wanted more, but judged it mined out for the time being. These weren’t unique fantasies, but every woman had their little variations, their little triggers, their details.

If he kept pushing for Kayley’s fantasies, Sam would start to resist. That was okay, he’d gotten things he could use. He could come back to it later.

Sam would eventually trickle out all her little secrets. Very carefully, encouraging or being a confidant for offhand remarks, bragging, complaints, confessions, Leroy would extract all of Kayley’s weaknesses, her cues, her susceptibilities, the secret hidden desires, including the ones she confessed to Sam, and the ones she hinted.

Even the ones that Sam or even Kayley herself didn’t realize were there, revealed in casual comments, if you knew what to recognize and were patient.

In the meantime, he’d driven another little chink into the foundation of their relationship. Sam was wondering a little now, as to what she told him, and what she held back.

Leroy would build on that too, quietly inserting mistrust and suspicion between them, pushing them apart from each other, and into his influence.

“That girl,” Leroy said. “She’s a firecracker. I’ll admit, I was shocked. She got really into the cuck thing.”

“You said that, afterwards,” Sam said.

Leroy nodded. “Yep, I did. I didn’t expect it. There were times, especially when she was messing with you, it didn’t feel like role play at all. It felt real. I’d feel like I had to pull her back. Or she’d have to stop and remind herself. Did you notice that?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “She kept saying it was a role play.”

“And then go right back to it,” Leroy noted. “There was no restraint at all.”

Leroy held up a finger and pointed.

“You? I could tell you were into it,” Leroy said. “And I could feel you conflicted. I knew it would mess you up. I expected that. What I didn’t expect was how much she was into it, and it didn’t mess her up at all, she had no doubts, no reservations.”

Leroy fixed his eyes on Sam. He’d already driven that wedge, time to open it a little more.

“You had no idea at all?” he said. “She never let on? Never mentioned. Or is this another thing, a little kink she had, but didn’t really share?”

Sam took a deep breath.

“I suppose,” he said. “I mean, we liked the flirting game. And you know... going further. But... I mean, I guess looking back, there are signs...”

Sam shrugged helplessly.

Now that Leroy had pointed him there, got him thinking about it, Sam would go through his memories, looking at things in new ways. He’d find signs, even if they weren’t really there. That was how people worked, you planted the right seed, and it would work its way into memories, bring re-evaluations and reappraisals, and eventually, they’d just remember different.

“Fucked up,” Leroy said casually, “that someone you love puts you through a wringer like that. There’s role play, and there’s a certain humiliation play, but... Man!”

The word choice was careful - ‘someone you love’ not ‘someone that loves you.’

He let that simmer for a moment.

“You know what?” Leroy said. “Women are complicated. There’s all sorts of shit that goes through their head. Just because she worked you over, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you completely, with all her heart and soul. It could be some buried resentment.”

Let that sink in. Let Sam wonder if he was pissing her off, or if he’d done something to piss her off. Let him imagine resentment, and he’d start to see it. Then he’d start to see hostility. He’d start to be careful, cautious, in retreat.

“Or,” Leroy continued, “maybe she just has this dom or cruel streak and it got off the leash.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Leroy said. He’d stuck the needles deep into Sam. He needed to ease off a little, offer some reassurance. “You and her. You guys are absolutely solid. Kayley and me... that’s just fresh cock syndrome. She loves you though.”

“Fresh cock syndrome?” Sam took the bait.

“Yeah,” Leroy said casually. “You know how it is. People love something new, not the usual. A married man loves a new pussy, even if it feels the same. A girl loves fresh cock. I’m fresh cock. I’m brand new, so she goes a little crazy for it.”

Leroy shrugged.

“It wears off. She gets used to it. Then she goes back to you.”

“Oh,” Sam said, relief barely concealed. “Okay.”

He seemed mollified by the idea that Leroy was, at least in some ways, a temporary thing. That he’d regain his ground, that Kayley would drift back to him.

Particularly, he wouldn’t have to do anything, Kayley would get used to Leroy, or get bored, and then she’d go back to Sam. Leroy was happy to put the idea in his head. It encouraged passivity, going with the flow, letting Leroy do whatever he wanted without resistance.

“This shit,” Leroy continued, “this is just a game, a fantasy thing. She has lots of fantasies, everyone does. Some so extreme it’s hard for her to talk about or even admit. She hides. Well, she shared with you, that’s a good thing. She felt safe enough, confident enough, to let her flag fly. That’s healthy. For both of you.”

“Safe,” Sam said. “She used that word.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “When we kind of started taking these steps, with you and Derek, she told me a few times that I made her feel safe. It gave her the strength to... do it.”

Interesting, Leroy thought. It was an insight into Kayley, how to ease her past boundaries and orders. Not so much drag her or force her into something, which he might have tried to do given her submissiveness. But rather, open a door in front of her and just make her feel safe to go through it, a little push and reassurance from behind.

He filed it away to use later.

“And you’re still giving her strength,” Leroy said. “To explore, to be herself, to be brave.”

Leroy held up his beer.

“That is admirable, my brother,” he said. “I know it’s tough on you. But you’re giving strength and that’s beautiful. Salut!”

Sam lifted his, and they clinked beer cans in an awkward toast.

“All I have to do is go round and round in the cement mixer,” Sam said morosely.

“It’ll get better,” Leroy said. “You’re feeling better now, aren’t you?”

Sam paused.

“Surprisingly... Yes.”

Leroy nodded. Dealing with shit. That was a natural human process, if allowed the opportunity, mostly people could get over anything. The key was to get them to deal with it the way you wanted them to deal with it.

“Maybe I took the wrong approach,” Leroy said thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?”

“Bear with me,” Leroy leaned forward, towards Sam, “I figured, that since the two of you were so tight, and honestly, I liked you. I wanted you to be in there with us. A participant, part of the events. The camera thing, that was a good role - spectator plus. I wanted you to have some ownership.”

Sam nodded.

“But this is a difficult thing,” Leroy said. “I figured if I watched out for you, I could make sure you were okay. But...”

“Still a fucking nightmare,” Sam said. “Maybe even made it worse.”

Leroy nodded soberly.

“There’s the other approach. Sit in the cuck chair, just watch, don’t do anything at all, but jerk off. We don’t acknowledge, no talk. It’s like you’re a ghost... Maybe that would have been easier? We could do that?”

Sam thought about it.

“I don’t know... No,” he said awkwardly. “As tough as it was... I don’t know that being a ghost would be better. It feels... Worse.”

“We could just stop,” Leroy offered. “I know we’d all agreed to another session. But we don’t have to do it.”

He paused.

“The trouble is, I don’t think Kayley wants to stop...”

Sam absorbed this.

“And I don’t know that you should,” Leroy said. “I know it’s tough, but it’s a journey, and I think you need to see it to the end. And yeah, you get off on it, I think it’s important to come to grips with that part of yourself.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully, still reserved. Leroy played his next card.

“I know we were talking about Saturday coming up... But I’m kind of committed on the weekend. I was thinking a Wednesday or Thursday.”

Sam frowned.

“A week night?” he said. “I don’t know, we both have work the next day... that kind of constrains it. I think we... Kayley, would rather the weekend.”

“Yeah,” Leroy said, “I think she would. But I got stuff to take care of, like I said.”

He put his hand on Sam’s wrist, staring into his eyes.

“Hermanos, Buddy, can I be straight with you?”

“Sure,” Sam said.

Leroy nodded. “I could maybe make the weekend work, really tough but maybe. Easier if I don’t. But here’s the thing... do you remember the night.”

Sam froze.

“I kept waking up with her mouth on my cock,” he said. “Normally, that’s a good thing. But the trouble was... she wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t let go the role play. Some of the things she was saying... did you hear?”

“I heard,” Sam said quietly.

“That wasn’t me, Sam,” Leroy said. “The session was over, but she wasn’t stopping, She was driving. I was fucking her, but she was in control, and she couldn’t stop. It was almost scary. I kept thinking it was too much. Too rough on you.”

Memory was fluid, Leroy had learned. If you were careful, you could tell people to remember something a certain way, and it was like they’d forget what really happened, and just remember it the way you wanted them to.

It had worn him down, spending the night breaking the little bitch until she was finally saying and doing what he wanted the way he wanted. The cunt had actually snuck out to cuddle on the couch, he’d had to bring her back, and force her to suck his cock until he was finally hard enough to go at it. It had taken forever. Then even after, he’d had to hold her back from trying to sneak off again. It had been exhausting.

But now, Sam was uncertain, and open. Leroy was sliding in a different slant - Kayley as insatiable for Leroy’s cock, unwilling to stop the cuckolding, refusing to let the role go... Sam would start to remember it Leroy’s way. Managed carefully, that would become the memory.

Kayley as a whoring, betraying bitch, hooked on Leroy’s cock, and hooked on humiliating Sam.

That was how he wanted Sam to think. Leroy was confident he’d get there. You just had to introduce the idea the right way, and keep tapping it.

“Fresh cock syndrome, right?” Sam said, blushing, clearly looking for reassurance.

“You got it, Sport,” Leroy said.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I don’t want to sleep over. She needs space to let it go, she needs to be with you. This time, I come over, I spend a few hours. I go home, you settle in together.”

Subliminal message: I’m giving you your woman.

The message behind that: She’s mine now to give to you.

Sam wouldn’t consciously think of it like that. But it would float around in his subconscious, making him just a little more insecure, a little more pliable.

He paused.

“Honest?” Leroy said. “I love all us sleeping in the same bed, waking up together, it was like a family we made. But after a session? Too powerful.”

“I think you’re right,” Sam nodded. “That would be better.”

Leroy’s real reasons were different. He’d found that one of the best weapons for control was distraction. You laid down the rules, introduced the ideas, set the pattern, but there was always resistance - particularly if they had time to think it over, to reflect, to talk, to wonder where things were going and what they meant.

You wanted them tired, confused, distracted. Pulled in other directions, dealing with other matters. You wanted their attention diverted, so they’d wrestle with other more immediate things, and just find themselves going along or accepting what you were trying to train them into.

Yes, Kayley’s sexual appetites had worn him down, and that was a factor. But he was confident in his ability to completely exhaust both of them, particularly her, through a session. It was just a matter of managing them.

That was the key: When he was ready to let them go, and return to his home, they’d be worn to the point of passing out. There’d be no bonding, no recovery, no ‘couples time’ - they’d just pass out together. They’d just crash and go to sleep the way they’d left him. Any second thoughts would wait until the morning.

But in the morning, there’d be no time or energy for second thoughts. They’d be consumed by the immediacies of the day. They’d have to get up tired, go to work, spend an eight hour day, and eventually come home exhausted and fatigued. No sex, hopefully, no discussions, no reflection or processing.

Meanwhile, he’d have made his mark, worked his changes, and left them exhausted and harried for time, with no opportunity or inclination to think things over.

Distracted, they’d be more accepting of his ideas, his dominance, tired, going with the flow, too pulled in too many directions to really think for themselves or compare their thoughts.

“I’ll call Kayley,” Leroy said. “About the change.”

“I could just talk to her.”

“Let me,” he said. “I want to have her out for coffee.” He winked. “I want to talk to her, see how she’s handling it as well. Spend time with our clothes on.”

Sam laughed politely.

“While I do that,” he said, “I’ll talk to her about a week night, get her to go along with it, even if it’s a little inconvenient.”

Leroy paused.

“I get the sense,” he said, “it’s a little difficult for you to talk about some of this with her.”

Sam nodded. Leroy had done his best to make it difficult for him, to try and drive a wedge into their communication. This was part of that, under his concern, a subtle message ‘you can’t talk freely to her about this.’

He patted Sam’s wrist. “It’s okay, I understand. I”ll talk to her for you. We’ll get it sorted out.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, he stared at his beer. “I guess. You’re right. I’ll mention you want to talk to her privately about it. And that it’s okay with me.”

Again, Leroy judged this acceptance was as far as he could push. Time to change the subject, inject more energy.

“Hey,” Leroy said, “do you have the video you took.”

Sam almost relaxed with the shift from the abstract contemplation of his sexual humiliation, to something tangible and concrete.

“Uhm yes,” Sam replied. “It’s still on my phone.”

“I’d love to take a look,” Leroy said. Sam hesitated. “I am in it after all.”

“I guess,” Sam said, pulling out his phone.

“You know,” Leroy told him, “we can watch it on my big screen TV.”

Sam looked surprised.

“Sure,” he said. “I got the software. We just hook up to my laptop. You haven’t done it.”

“Not really,” Sam said. “We have it, but haven’t really checked it out.”

Leroy grinned.

“Let’s do it!”

Sam smiled awkwardly, and, shrugging, produced his phone.

“But first,” Leroy said, he turned to head to the bathroom, “after this beer, I got to piss like a racehorse. How about you?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, standing awkwardly. He followed, till he was standing outside the bathroom while Leroy went in.

Leroy didn’t close the door, he just stood at the toilet and let it rip, the sound carrying clearly.

“Kayley thinks that’s funny,” Sam said, to cover the awkwardness. He couldn’t see Leroy’s dick, but he could see the edge of the golden stream as it fell into the toilet.

“What’s funny?”

“Pissing like a racehorse,” Sam said. “The way it goes on and on for men. She jokes about it.”

“Huh,” Leroy said, considering this bit of information. “She ever watch?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Leroy said. “I’m done. Your turn.”

Leroy leaned on the washroom doorway, diverting attention from the admission by making random small talk, while Sam urinated self-consciously. It probably didn’t mean anything. But you never knew, maybe it did.

The two men proceeded to the living room, and Sam took the couch while Leroy popped open his laptop and plugged it in.

Laying the phone visibly on the coffee table, Leroy bent over the laptop so that Sam couldn’t see, and activated copying software designed to download the phone’s entire content and create a virtual clone of it, in his system. That would give him access to a lot of Sam’s electronic life.

The television screen lit up. On a separate program, he opened a channel to the phone. A root directory came up, and Leroy scrolled it. A lot of pictures, smaller video clips, he ignored the temptation to peak. There would be plenty of time later.

And one particularly immense video file. Leroy tapped it, an image of Leroy and Kayley appeared on the television big screen. Leroy closed the laptop and sat down next to Sam.

“You guys haven’t watched it at all,” Leroy asked. “Have you even downloaded it?”

Sam shrugged awkwardly.

“We haven’t really talked about it. I don’t know, I feel we’re avoiding it a little. It’s not just sex...”

“It’s the things that got said,” Leroy nodded sagely. “I get that. Heat of role play... kind of difficult.”

“Yeah,” Sam said quickly.

“Okay,” Leroy said. “This is good, we’ll watch it together. It’ll be easier than you watching with Kayley.”

Leroy had an app or two he wanted to install, but cloning came first. He might have a chance, or he might not. He worked quickly to set up the clone without tipping off Sam.

On the television, Leroy was talking earnestly to Sam, whose voice came through. The ‘rules’ - Leroy noted that Kayley was a little restless when he’d been instructing Sam. She didn’t like being left out. Another little thing to file away. He’d have to watch the video a few times after Sam was gone, focus on how she reacted to things.

Fucking a girl, you missed stuff, the bull-cock urge to drive into them, to dominate them and bend them the way you wanted was delirious. But it meant you inherently overlooked stuff, good reactions, bad reactions, signified by expressions, narrowing of eyes, special choice of words, tones of voice, how quickly or slowly they reacted. If you watched a video carefully, you could pick up things to help you break her harder, next time.

“That part goes on too long,” Leroy commented. Sam glanced away from the screen, up at him. Leroy didn’t mind talking over this part, subliminal reinforcement worked best when the subject was a little distracted.

“I got to say, Buddy,” Leroy said, “you really need to download, or even delete it. Either way, you don’t want to be walking around with a file like this on your phone.”

“Yeah,” I guess.

“Seriously, dude,” Leroy said. “What if your phone got stolen? Or hacked?”

‘For instance, the way I’m doing now.’ Leroy clamped down on the thought.

“Yeah.”

“Seriously compromising stuff.”

“I’ll do it when I get home.”

On screen, Kayley was in close up finishing her speech. The phone was being handed back to Sam. Leroy’s ‘shut the fuck up, Sam,’ lecture came through clearly. Tnen he began to make out with Kayley.

“Okay,” Leroy said, “creepy part is over, we’re getting to the good stuff!”

And it was good. Kayley exuded a natural sensuality, and she responded so vividly, so intimately to Leroy’s touches and kisses on screen, that he was fascinated in spite of himself. A quick glance at Sam’s trousers showed that the younger man was already hard.

Leroy hadn’t shown it then, but the cuckold session had left him a little intimidated. Sam just didn’t stop getting hard, and Leroy was pretty sure it was all natural, the fucker. five minutes after he blew, Sam’s erection was well on its way to returning, if it even went away. And he seemingly had an unlimited ability to keep coming back, a half dozen times or more.

Leroy, in contrast, had to prolong as long as he could, and when he came, it was an hour or more before he’d be ready to go, and if he managed three times in a night, it felt like a fucking miracle. And that was pumped to the gills with viagra.

“Look at that,” Leroy said, as they watched Kayley kiss, “she’s all over me. I didn’t have to do anything, she just leaned into every kiss. She was so fucking hungry for me. Every touch, she just shivered.”

Just casually undermining Sam with a remark.

“Fresh cock, Syndrome,” Leroy reassured him.

Up on the screen, Kayley kissed Leroy passionately, she pushed her breasts against him, sighing. Eyelids fluttering, she took Leroy’s hand and licked each finger like a cock. Sam watched, fascinated, eyes wide as saucers.

“It was so fucking hot when she did that,” Leroy said. “You know, I swear she kept forgetting you were there at all. She’d be going, right into it... Look, I’m taking her panties off. Look at her face, Sam. Look at that bliss. She’s so into it.”

Kayley’s expression as she lifted her hips was glazed with lust, grinning devilishly. She squirmed from Leroy’s hands under her skirt. Although he’d filmed it, Sam moaned on the couch alongside Kayley onscreen as the panties came into view.

“She would just forget you were there, I could feel her getting into it, just blocking out the rest of the world. Then she’d remember you, you could tell, she’d stiffen a little, and she’d start talking...”

The camera focused on Kayley, disheveled, half dressed, her expression hungry and fierce. “He fingered me....,” she seemed to look out at them from the television screen, she’d been looking directly at the camera. “You were there... you did nothing.... You just sat there in a chair, doing nothing, nothing at all you worthless little cuck.”

Leroy talked over the words, he didn’t want them overwhelming Sam. “Girl has a nasty mouth. I couldn’t believe how she was getting into it. Role play right, but she made it hard to tell.”

On screen, she returned to making out with Leroy.

“Okay, he said, “back to the good stuff.”

Kayley was kissing him passionately, her mouth open and hungry. You could see how flushed she was, how clearly aroused and eager. Leroy wanted to make sure Sam saw it, he wanted it hammered into Sam how hot his wife had been for Leroy’s touch... and how she kept forgetting Sam was even there. Leroy stroked his cock through his pants, keeping an eye on Sam. The younger man was definitely rigid, but too timid to stroke it, even in his pant. Leroy smiled.

Psychological warfare: Leroy used Sam’s high sexual potential against him. During each of their sessions, Leroy had worked to get Sam so hyper-excited that he came quickly with Kayley during their sessions, or spoiling his orgasms so he shot premature, or at the wrong time, or not at all.

Or alternately, exhausting Kayley to the point where she barely reacted to Sam, or distracted so carefully that she was unable to come with him. Making sure that he, Leroy, was the one that made her come, right in front of Sam. Talking Kayley to be extra loud for him, but dead quiet for Sam. Just continually carefully showing up Sam in all sorts of ways, making sure he woke to Leroy fucking his wife, or subtly taking control away from Sam during sex.

He was intent on hammering a sense of sexual inadequacy into the younger man, making him less capable, more deferential and submissive.

Watching the video, replaying Kayley’s obvious arousal and Sam’s enforced submission was part of that. But it needed careful managing, too harsh, the video humiliation too brutal, Sam would shut down. Leroy needed to emphasize the raw sensuality and sexuality of the scene, to fascinate Sam, to make him hard or hungry. The humiliation would be swallowed almost unconsciously, becoming part of his arousal.

“This is where she strips,” Leroy said leaning forward. “Fucking watch this Sam. My God, she’s gorgeous. You’re an amazing cameraman.”

Up on the screen, Kayley was naked, in Leroy’s arms, her breasts firm, her nipples taut and hard. She writhed like a goddess, her expression commanding and confident. Her smile told everything, this was a woman who knew exactly how hot she was, and was loving it. Kayley reveled in her nudity, in being revealed.

“Look at that,” Leroy said, “right between her legs, that beaver shot, you can see how wet she is.”

It was true, as she twisted in Leroy’s arms, as her hips moved, they could see her pussy lips already parted. Her inner thighs were shiny with sweat or seeping lubrication. Her expression was radiant, heavy lidded, knowing.

“Look at her face,” Leroy said. “She knows she’s going to get fucked, and she wants it.”

The video moved on, Kayley crawling onto the bed. Then on her back, knees raised and legs spread, willingly offering her body up to impending surrender to a new master. The camera lens zoomed in on Kayley’s wet pussy. It filled the screen in exquisite detail, The spread thighs, the pubes and pubic mound and at the center the delicate lips, clearly parted and shining, already dilated with eagerness to be claimed.

“This,” Leroy narrated on screen, “is an exquisite pussy. It’s fucking perfect, inside and out, and I know, because I’ve been inside. Just look at it. Smooth as silk, perfectly shaved, not a stray hair, no blemishes, balanced pubes, lips made for fingering. And that clit? Gorgeous!”

On the couch, Sam was fascinated, almost hypnotized. Carefully, Leroy unzipped and slid his cock out, slowly stroking it.

“Now she’s going to get claimed,” Leroy announced. “See that big fucking dick up there, Sam, it’s going to go in and fill her up, and she’s going to love it.”

Sam nodded, utterly captivated. Only slowly, he became aware that Leroy’s erection was out right beside him. Leroy kept a side eye on Sam, watching the dawning awareness. Then the nervous glance.

“Fuck,” Leroy said, on screen his cock head was burying itself in Kayley, casually pushing her pussy lips into a new configuration.

Sam was torn, unable to tear himself away from the erection on screen, while disturbed by live the erection beside him.

“Look at that. I was fucking her so slow, just going in, and I could feel her! I could feel how wet and tight she was! I could feel that pussy just tremble around my cock.”

On screen, Kayley’s moans filled the room.

Leroy pretended to finally notice Sam’s nervous attention. He laughed.

“Jesus, Sam,” he said. “How many times have we been naked together with Kayley? We slept in the same bed naked. I think we should be used to each other’s junk.”

“Kayley’s not here,” Sam said tentatively.

Leroy laughed and looked him directly in the face. “She’s up there on the fucking screen. Don’t make me feel weird Sam. This is the hottest porno ever made, and we both know the star. Get it out, I know you’re fucking hard right now.”

Sam blushed deeply. Leroy indicated the big TV screen, where his giant sized penis was thrusting into Kayley’s vagina. He pointedly looked to it, while stroking slowly and methodically. From the corner of his eye, Leroy saw Sam fishing his cock out, and self consciously started to jerk it while staring fixedly at the screen.

Leroy allowed himself a smile. Sam was rock hard, but it was the only firm thing about him. His nerves were keyed up. He’d either lose his erection or come fast, either way, Leroy would win, and Sam would feel inadequate.

“Oh god, Leroy,” Kayley gasped up on screen. “I can feel it. I can feel you stretching me apart, opening me, bit by bit, the further you go.” She threw back her head, her eyes closing. “It feels incredible. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I can feel everything, I can feel you in me shaping me around your cock as it goes in.”

“Oh god, Leroy,” she panted on screen. “This is different. This feels so different. This feels consequential. It’s not just fucking, this is more profound. It’s on deeper levels, more levels.”

“...I want it, I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. I need it. I can’t explain. It’s like a compulsion, an irresistable compulsion, a drive. It scares me, but I can’t resist it. I don’t want to resist it.”

Sam had fallen back into something akin to a trance state, he stared at the screen, letting the sight of Kayley’s vagina relentlessly despoiled fill his mind, letting Kayley’s words blot out all thought.

On screen, Kayley’s orgasm erupted, they watched the reddish flush, the sudden whitish discharge all around his thrusting cock as her lubrication went into overdrive and her pussy creamed, the tremble and sudden seizure of her pussy on big screen in incredible fine detail, and her cried of ecstasy.

“Oh god,” she sighed on screen, It’s done. It’s over. I can feel it all the way down to my core. I’m different now, I’m owned, completely and totally owned, a posssion, a piece of property, an object.”

The woman on the television screen turned her head, looking directly at the camera, seeming to look out through the screen directly at the spectators, and particularly at Sam. Kayley’s face was filled with passion and exhausted conviction, an expression of both submission and satisfaction, as she said, “I’m Leroy’s now!”

Sam actually moaned in response, his body stiffening. For a moment, Leroy thought the boy might ejaculate right at that moment. But somehow, he didn’t make it.

On screen the video shifted to Leroy’s savagely fucking Kayley, switching from her body giving way under pounding, and her blissful expression in close ups. Leroy noted that Sam’s masturbation sped up whenever the image zoomed in on her face.

“Over here...” Leroy called on onscreen, the camera angle shifted rapidly becoming distorted. As it straightened and stabilized, the view became Kayley’s face, slack and fuck-drunk, glazed with sexual exhaustion, held up by the hair. “You got to catch this, this is going to be so good, so momentous. I took her cunt, now she gives head. You want to suck that cock, don’t you, bitch?”

“Yesssss,” she drawled on screen, her jaw working slowly staring at the cock head looming in front of her. She licked her lips unconsciously, her jaw dropping in automatic eagerness.

“Yeah,” Leroy told the lost girl. “You want to kiss it, you want to lick it, you want it sliding between your lips, down your throat.” Kayley moaned. “I need it.” “Fucking right you need it. Look at it.”

As they watched, Kayley took Leroy’s cock into her mouth, an expression of bliss filling the screen. Sam watched helplessly, obsessively. Leroy waited a moment, allowing the Kayley on screen to fall into her blow job, and to drag Sam after her.

Then casually, he reached over and wrapped his hand around Sam’s cock. Sam stiffened, turning to look at Leroy. But Leroy ignored him, focusing entirely on the blow job on screen. For a moment, Sam hung indecisive, and then Leroy stroked slowly downwards. The blow job on screen was too overwhelming. Sam moaned with pleasure, surrendering, his hands falling away as he gave up control to Leroy.

“She loves that cock,” Leroy spoke out loud. “You can see in her face how much she loves. It almost makes you want to suck it.”

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she,” Leroy said on screen, as he pulled his Kayley’s submissive gorgeous body onto her back, preparing to throat fuck her, his hands sliding over her frame. They watched Kayley’s body on the big television, conquered, submissive squirming and writhing to the touch, but offering no resistance at all, she had completely surrendered. “She’s my property. Make sure you get every inch of her. I want it all,” came Leroy’s voice

On screen, Leroy began his throat fucking of his willing conquest. Sam watched captivated as Kayley swallowed Leroy’s length, her throat bulging with each thrust.

Leroy could hear Sam gasping, sense the absolute fascination of the youth as his cock stiffened and beads of precum worked their way steadily from Sam’s cockhead, lubricating Leroy’s fingers. Leroy tightened his grip on Sam’s cock, stroking harder and faster, waiting for his moment, until...

“You could suck it, you know,” Leroy said casually, “I would let you.”

“What?” Sam had been so completely occupied by the incredibly erotic spectacle of Kayley’s sexual violation on screen, that the words hadn’t quite registered. It took a moment for the words and their significance seep into his mind, shocking and disorienting him.

He looked at Leroy, but the older man ignored him, acting as if he hadn’t spoken, all the while his hand, with a will of its own, stroked Sam’s cock, inciting unbearable pleasure.

But by now Sam was rushing past the point of no return. Whether it was the images and sounds on screen, or Leroy’s steady hand on his penis, or simply the shock and disorientation, Sam found himself rushing uncontrollably towards orgasm. Suddenly, his hips lifted, and with cries of ecstasy, he began to spurt wildly. Leroy only squeezed harder, increasing the tempo until the older man’s hand was a blur, and Sam was writhing helplessly in one of the harshest strongest orgasms of his life.

When it was over, Leroy took his hand off the gasping youth’s cock, and casually wiped off with some kleenex. He passed the box over to Sam to clean himself. Onscreen, Kayley’s violation continued, temporarily forgotten.

“Fuck,” Leroy said, he’d already put his cock away, so as not to draw Sam’s attention. He hadn’t come, but Sam didn’t need to dwell on that or what it meant. “That’s one hot video. And it’s not even half through.”

He turned to Sam. “I would really like to make a copy of that,” he told Sam. “I mean, come on, I’m half of it after all. It’s me up there.”

“But Kayley...” Sam protested.

“She doesn’t have to know,” Leroy grinned. “It’ll just be between us. I’ll never mention it, and I promise not to show. This is private. I mean, it’s just too good.”

“Well...” Sam was too scattered to put up any resistance. “I guess.”

“Terrific,” Leroy said. “We won’t tell Kayley. She wouldn’t understand.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, uncertainly.

Leroy stepped over to the laptop, allowing the video to continue to run, opened the screen and pretended to fiddle with it, as if to copy a video file. An indicator told him that less than half the phone’s information had been cloned so far.

“Okay,” Leroy said, slamming it shut. “Done. It’s a big file, it’ll take a while to copy. Tell you what, this has been a little too intense. Let’s get the fuck out of here. I know this strip club, fucking gorgeous dancers, private shows. Why don’t I take you there?”

“Okay,” Sam said. “What about my phone.”

“We’ll just leave it here,” Leroy grinned. “Kayley doesn’t need to know about the strip club either.”

Cuffed - Ch. 2, Chrome and Pizza

Laying in bed, she thought about the night. A smile crept over her features. Her shoulders ached a little, but she didn’t mind. It was like a reminder, it brought her back, made memories flash, images and sensations. What she’d done to get that ache.... soooo satisfying. She stretched her arms out into the air, waving them around unselfconsciously. There were red marks around her wrists. Not too bad, she stretched an arm out above her, looking up its length appraising, as if examining a bracelet or piece of jewelry.

The next day, she woke refreshed. There was no gradual transition at all. She simply woke, consciousness switching on like turning on a light. Her first thought was what she’d done the night before. She grinned.

Get up, shower, coffee, breakfast, get dressed up, go to work.

On the way out, she stopped at the door. There was an imprint of her butt on the door. It was barely visible, the light had to catch it just the right way. But yes, there it was, painted in sweat and skin oils, the smeared shape of her ass against the veneer of the door, from where she’d been fucked up against it. She knelt, staring at it, tracing it upwards with her fingers. There was her back. She remembered sweat running down the small of her back, the pull in her shoulders from the weight of her body on her wrists, his cock thrusting up inside her, the door shaking in its frame with each thrust. Yes, the shape of her ass and back, and right above, two smears that marked her shoulder blades.

She was entranced, a physical image of her fucking. She glanced at the floor below the door, but the carpet was clean. The leather of the couch seemed unmarred. There was just this marvelous image of her on the door, round ass cheeks and sharp shoulder blades, the narrow smear of her back connecting them. Like the Shroud of Turin, she thought, the Shroud of Fucking Turin.

For a second, she thought of getting a j-cloth from the kitchen, a bit of spray, and washing it off. But she didn’t really want to. Instead, she reached for the doorknob. Time to go. It would be here when she returned, waiting for her, the thought sank down into her, a warm little secret.

Work was a breeze. She smiled, she sparkled, everything just seemed to go perfectly. She waited for anyone to notice the red marks circling her wrists. She had a terrific lie all ready to go - something about heavy grocery bags, plastic wrapping around her wrists, having to wait in line... But no one asked. It was a little disappointing. They remarked on her cheerful mood, she just smiled. Laughed. The day flew by as if it had wings.

Buoyant. That was it, she thought, that was the word. This light, floaty almost weightless feeling. She thought perhaps she should feel guilty. But she didn’t. Or ashamed, but she didn’t. She didn’t feel particularly kinky. She just felt good, liberated.

She felt completely and absolutely unapologetic. It was almost as if she wanted to go to Church, to enter a confessional, to divulge in graphic detail every nasty moment, to relive each image, the flash of chrome around her wrists, the shape of his cock in vivid detail, the way the underside of it had tasted as it lay on top of her extended tongue, the way his hands had felt cupping her ass and lifting her, the way her weight had shifted back and forth from hanging from her wrists, to pressed against the door, to her ass lifting under his grip.

She wanted to tell that to a priest, and then say “I’m not sorry at all! He hung me from a hook and fucked me and I loved every minute of it! No Hail Marys! I want to do it again, I want to do it and do it, until every part of me aches!”

It was personal, it was hers, it was just for her and no one else. It was a step outside the world, outside responsibilities and duties and all the routine and necessity of life.

In hindsight, the only surprise was that she waited so long to call him back that next evening.

He found her waiting on her bed, on knees and elbows, wrists chained, the lights dim, the room smelling of scented candles. She’d been waiting for fifteen minutes, slowly growing wetter and wetter. When he stood in the doorway, she was so aroused her pussy lips had parted of their own accord. She imagined what she must look like to him. She was dripping...

She loved being on all fours, presented for mounting, wrists bound in the cold unyielding cuffs beneath her gaze, her elbows splayed for balance. She loved the moment when his hands clamped on both sides of her ass. The way the mattress shifted and bounced slightly as his knees settled behind her. It was as if she was hyper aware, aware of her heart beating, aware of the air moving across the fine hairs on the back of her neck. The moment when he entered her, filling her with one thrust, made her cry out with pleasure. She gathered the sheets in her fists, pulling them from the bed, the force of his thrusts pushing her cheek against the mattress.

After a while, the handcuffs became a bother. She had him use the keys to remove them, she never told him about the release latch, that was always her secret. Although he was always gracious and obedient to her wishes, it still made her feel more confident. It meant the real power over her bondage was with her, no matter what he decided, she was cuffed only as long as she wanted to be. It didn’t matter, they fucked hard, her legs wrapping around his hips, her butt off the bed every time he pulled back for another thrust.

Later on, she had him put them back on her, chaining her wrists behind her, taking her bent over the kitchen table, as she came continuously, over and over.

And of course, afterwards he left.

She was slightly embarrassed to admit to herself, that his leaving was one of the best parts. She reveled in being alone with her satisfaction, did not want to share the blissful feeling of satiation.

The next night, she hung from the door, grunting like an animal, her legs suspended in the air, knees dangling over crooked elbows, the door smashing again. The next morning, she took a moment to stare at the shape of smeared in skin oils on the door. She reached up, toggled the hook, it was loose in its screws. That probably wasn’t good. An awkward image of it letting go during wanton sex flickered through her mind.

Her shoulders ached again, worse. There was a particularly sharp pain under her left shoulder blade. It occurred to her that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to hang from a hook while fucking. The red marks dug into her wrists were particularly livid. Ligature marks, he’d told her they were called “ligature marks” between bouts of sweaty sex. There’d been a small satisfaction in learning it, of course there had to be a name for it, once you thought about it.

Maybe a table then, or a counter or something? Something to support her weight. She thought about it off and on during the working day. Nothing she had seemed to be quite right for it. Perhaps she would shop.

Fucking continued. Not every night. But again, and again. Never at quite the same times. There was a lack of routine in their couplings. A hungry unpredictable eagerness.

He told her once, that he would get hard randomly, just thinking about her. Watching television, out with friends, patrolling the mall, he’d think of her, of their hungry intense couplings and his cock would go rigid.

It thrilled her to hear that, to know she had that effect on him. It was the same with her, in the middle of work sometimes, she'd think of him, of what he did to her, and she would soak!

Once, he’d texted her at her work, offering, demanding. She’d immediately taken the afternoon off sick, had gone to his place, showed up at the door with her panties peeping lazily from her purse. He’d seized her wrist, bent her over in his hallway, her legs spread, his black security issue handcuff dangling from one wrist, her other hand braced up against the wall as he pounded into her.

Oh god, that had been so good.

She had been reluctant to allow him to put his own security guard handcuffs on her. There was an extra threshold of real-ness. Those were real cuffs, slightly heavier, more substantial, the ratchet had more teeth. And there was no latch, no release catch.

The first time he had put them on her, there had been a shiver, a frisson of genuine fear and nervousness. She’d stood it as long as she could, and had asked him to take them off. And he had. That made it easier, knowing that the minute she asked they would come off.

Still, she preferred her own, she decided, one night, playing with them on the couch. It wasn’t just that they could release with the touch of a latch. It was that they were hers. They were the symbol, the device, not just of her submission, but of her power, her wantonness. Wearing someone else’s handcuffs undermined that power a little, she decided. And then she decided she was over-thinking it.

Perhaps it was simply that they were more convenient. Convenient? No, that wasn’t quite right. They were more accessible to her. She didn’t need him around, to put them on, to wear them. Casually, she fitted one of the steel rings around her wrist, ratcheted it close.

She liked putting them on. Wearing them before he came over. It was a process. A wickedness. It was like foreplay, except not quite. She rolled her tongue around in her mouth, tickling the metal of the dangling cuff with her fingernail. It wasn’t foreplay. It was arousal... Yes, that was the word.

The handcuffs were about arousal, and that was sex, but it was also something else. She let the second cuff close around her other wrist, feeling the cold steel, listening to the now familiar ratcheting. Bent one knee, lifting her foot up on the couch, letting the chain lay across the knee, the weight of her hands dangling the wrists on either side.

Arousal.

Very slowly, very deliberately she drew her other foot up onto the couch, bent knee high in the air. She spread her legs. He heart started to beat, just a little more rapidly.

Arousal.

She thought about calling him. But then decided that the thought of him was enough for now. What they had done. What they might do, would do.

Arousal.

Her hands slid down her thighs, the metal links connecting the cuffs clinking slightly, the cold metal brushing lightly against the smooth skin, of her inner thigh. She made it slow, slower, and slower. When her fingers finally parted her lips, she was already wet.

She came to enjoy his handcuffs. It was different from her own. There was more surrender in it. But more abandonment, more liberation, more freedom to simply be. They were more about the sex, when he put them on her, she was moments from being fucked.

She wore his for shorter times though, sometimes only on one wrist, his hand wrapped around the other cuff like the handle of a leash. Often they would take it off during sex, putting it on again, as positions changed. Sometimes the cuffs were threaded through a pipe or a piece of furniture.

Once she let him handcuff her to the toilet, but it hadn’t been a turn on.

The idea of being on a leash was wildly exciting. She bought herself a dog collar and chain and wore it for him one night. It was incredibly exciting in the first moments, but then faded quickly for lack of anywhere to go with it. They didn't do that one often.

Another time, her hands were cuffed behind her, and he had her on her back. But the cuffs bit into her tailbone, hurting her. They tried a cushion between the cuffs and her ass, but it didn’t quite work. Finally wrapping a towel around the cuffs under her did the trick, she could just feel the cuffs against the small of her back, there but not hurting.

Absolutely aware of her helplessness she looked up at him, looming above her as he grabbed her ankles, lifted them, and parted her legs. She felt her lips part, opening, felt a sudden exquisite rush of wetness, a tightening up deep inside her. Her hips elevated by the cuffed wrists allowed him to plunge deeper, making her gasp at the bottom each stroke. In that position, they could only manage sex for twenty minutes before the stress on her shoulders got too much. But what a fucking it was!

When she couldn’t take it any more, instead of releasing her, he’d flipped her over. Used the cuffs behind her back to pull her to her knees and thrust his cock hard and fast into her, rushing towards a grinding roaring orgasm. He left her in that position, ass up in the air, her pussy drenched, sweat covering her body, panting, face pressed against the mattress, just fucked and incomplete.

She remained in position, listening to him go to the bathroom, listening to the sound of him pissing, the sizzle of the piss striking the toilet bowl, the sound of the flush, of him padding around the apartment. Helpless, waiting, she began to drip, she could feel it, could feel her pussy squeezing.

He went into the kitchen. She couldn’t see him, just a flash of movement around her peripheral vision. She could hear the sound of his footsteps padding into the kitchen. There was the sound of the fridge door opening. Him drinking. A cupboard, clatter of a cup or dish. The fridge again.

She waited.

He padded back, his footsteps more felt than heard. The mattress surged as his weight settled behind her.

She waited.

An exquisite wet coldness touched her clit. She gasped loudly back arched, she pushed forward. Was that an ice cube? Cold fingers? She could not tell. The touch returned, sending a shiver all the way through her. His fingers slid down, cold chilled fingers, between her lips. They slid inside, two fingers curling up inside her, cold cold cold, she was breathless. They began to move back and forth, her mouth opened soundless and wide, her toes curled, she squirmed and wriggled. But the fingers kept moving, and moving, thumb stroking her clit until she came.

Her next sex toy was from Ikea.

When she saw it, her pussy tightened, she felt a sudden wet surge, and went red from top to bottom. The people around her noticed nothing. The voice of the sales clerk faded away, and although she could see his lips moving she couldn’t hear a word she was saying. She swallowed, and swallowed again, almost shaken by images, carnal couplings, sweating bodies, cocks and pussies, naked legs curling around his ass, a deep sexual grunting.

“That looks nice,” she said finally, her voice almost breaking. “I’ll take it.”

Just like that, she was the owner of a hall table, a credenza..

It was perfect, shallow, just wide enough for her to perch her ass on. The legs were sturdy to take her weight, the forward edge was curved for ease of fucking, and beveled so the corner wouldn’t bite into her butt cheeks. Even the height was perfect. Perfect for fucking, perfect for a cock to slide into her pussy.

She stared at it, and all she could think of was about fucking on it, being naked on it, spreading her legs and resting her heels against the table legs. Maybe she could tie her ankles to those table legs, so she was spread helpless, lips parted and dripping. Maybe she could turn around, press up against the wall, the table pushing her ass out just enough to be taken from behind? She’d probably have to wear high heels.

Note to self she thought, shop for heels, not to wear, but to be fucked in.

The thought made her shiver.

The thought of selecting shoes, not for walking, not for any normal purpose, not even for display, but for the sole purpose of fucking, of raising her heels on stilettos, altering her posture, thrusting her ass out for fucking... It was utterly, deliriously wanton.

Better than wanton, it was deliciously insane.

She imagined going to a shoe store, addressing staff: “I want shoes to be fucked in.”

All through the purchase, the taking it to the checkout, having it loaded in her car, she kept blushing red, her thoughts going to what she would do on the table.

She’d never thought about things like this before. But now, it crept into her mind. Standing in the subway, packed with people, thinking about a short skirt, ‘accidental’ exposure.

At her workplace, she sat at a boardroom table and gave her report, but in the back of her mind, images of being bent over the table, straddling the table like a stripper, fucking in the huge plush leather office chairs.

Furniture had always been furniture, but now, it seethed with carnal possibilities. Everything seethed with carnal possibilities.

Even a park bench took on a new excitement.

It was liberating, it was liberation, like being awake for the first time, like looking at the world with new eyes, seeing things in ways she never had before. It was like being alive.

Along the way, she bought a wall mounted coat rack.

At home she assembled the credenza herself with breathless excitement, planning the night before her.

Later on, she drove her building supervisor nearly mad with her insistence on the placement of the wall coat rack, far higher and too inconveniently placed to be of any use. And then there was her insistence on extra deep screws, to make sure it wouldn’t come loose this time.

She texted Josh, set a time for him to come over.

The rest of the evening flew by. There was something deliriously delicious about the anticipation. Sex was a certainty, by now, she had played enough with him that she had absolute confidence as to what would happen, how it would happen.

But that wasn’t dull, not at all. It just made the anticipation excruciating.

Getting ready, was so much fun, she had to resist touching herself in the shower. There was so much process, it felt like everything was foreplay and arousal. Shaving her legs, the oh so careful and meticulous process of shaving her pussy, clearing away stubble.

She liked to have a mirror in front of her so she could watch, could both see and feel her growing wetness. This was a thing that had come with the cuffs, before that, she would have been aghast at looking at her pussy in a mirror. Now she couldn’t stop watching. She ran a finger along velvet smoothness, and allowed one exquisite circle of her clitoris.

Lipstick! She’d almost forgot that. She tried several, settled on one that seemed to make her lips pert. Make up, not too heavy. A bit of blush, a hint of eyeliner.

The hallway was too bright. She hunted around until she replaced it with a 25 watt bulb. Note to self, she thought: candles, wall mounted. Candle light was so much nicer. But the dim light of the 25 watt bulb made an acceptable substitute.

Experimentally, she slipped up onto the table, easing her back against the wall. She let her butt rest on the table’s edge, bracing her heels against the tables legs. She could feel her lips part, sense her wetness.

She reached up with both hands over her head, crossing her wrists, feeling the coat hook against her skin. She felt a slight twinge of pain just under her shoulder blade. Maybe not that, not yet. Disappointment.

She parted her hands, reached for the coat hooks at the far sides. Not quite. She got off, moved the table a couple of inches to the left, and found she could stretch out and grab them easily. It was too bad she didn’t have two pairs of trick handcuffs. Perhaps she could improvise a tie? But she immediately discounted that. It was a little too scary, the thought of being tied so she couldn’t easily get out in an instant.

This was good. She looked up and down the hallway. Looked down at herself. Her tummy stuck out a little too much. She sucked it in, and then left it. Even with that, this was hot. This was going to be so hot. He was going to come in his pants!

She swung her legs girlishly, sitting on the table. There was still time. What to do? She really didn’t fancy sitting here for a half an hour. She looked around. The light wasn’t right. It needed more shine.

She went to the bathroom, picked up some lotion, and rubbed it across her breasts. Padding into the hallway, she admired the way her breasts shone in the dim hall light.

In the end, she let the chromed cuff dangle from one wrist, and reached up, wrapping her hands on separate coat hooks widely separated. She let her ass ease forward, dangling from the edge of the credenza, so she could feel the tug of her weight in her shoulders. She spread her legs as wantonly wide as they could go.

Perfect. She wished she could take a picture.

There was a fleeting impulse to ask Josh to take a picture when he arrived.

Of course, he’d fuck her immediately.

After sex then?

But she found herself shying at the thought of giving up the camera to someone else. These adventures were all about her, they were her creations, her possession. She could imagine taking pictures of herself, but not someone else taking them.

The weight was a little much, she eased her ass back onto the credenza, and was immediately comfortable. She let go the coat hooks, letting her hands fall to her knees, and swung her legs girlishly. Yes, this was perfect.

When she heard Josh arriving, all she had to do was reach for the hooks, scoot her ass forward. He was still dressed in Security Guard uniform, his own cuffs at his side. As the door opened, she realized that anyone passing in the hall could see her, if there had been anyone, and that spurred a flash of excitement.

Josh walked through the door rock hard, and immediately grabbed and lifted her knees, his hands dropping to his ankles. She saw that he was already wearing a condom. How long? When had he put it on? Had he been hard all the way over here? Since her call? Had he worn it all this time?

This evidence of rampant, relentless lust, her effect on him, her power over him delighted her. Almost before the door closed, he was thrusting deep inside her. She gripped the coat hooks with all her strength and wrapped her legs around him, welcoming him.

The sex was everything she wanted, and more. Frenzied, furious, weirdly spontaneous (despite her planning and posing) fucking. A wanton animal act that left them both sweat drenched and panting.

Afterwards, he carried her to the bedroom, where they fucked the evening away. And as always, he pleased her by leaving, so she could revel in the experience by herself.

Was she selfish? Cold. She wondered about that. But she had affection for Josh, they liked each other. If either had reached out for a further intimacy, neither would have denied the other.

But this way added to the fun. There was something raunchy and liberating about “come and fuck me, then go away.” It felt free, and harmless.

She played with herself idly. His Security Guard shirt was sweat stained when he’d left. She hoped he had a spare. Or would he have to launder it tonight when he got back to his apartment?

Should she have offered to launder it for him? She made a face - too domestic.

Instead, she arched her back, squirming on the messy bed. The cuff was still dangling from one wrist. It felt a little sensitive. Maybe she should take it off.

Instead, she raised her arms straight up above her and fastened the other wrist. For a moment, her hands fluttered like butterflies. She stretched her hands above her head, to the headboard.

He’d had his own cuffs with him, she could have worn both, she thought. She imagined being chained spread eagled on the bed, captive and helpless, and felt a wet surge. But there was no place on the headboard to fix cuffs. And black and chrome, they wouldn’t match, they wouldn’t feel the same, it would be distracting.

Still, the fantasy made her breathe harder. Slowly she drew her cuffed hands down, pressing the back of her hand against her cheek.

“Oh please, Monsieur, I’ll do anything! Anything at all!” she whispered. “Take mercy on your helpless captive.”

She pulled up her knees, and spread her legs.

“This Monsieur,” she whispered. “But I can’t, I mustn’t. I am pure, I promise. Oh please.”

She let her hands slide down across a breast, pinching a nipple.

“Ow, Monsieur! You take such liberties. I am chaste, truly. You do not believe me?”

Then down between her legs.

“You want me to part my lips for your inspection! You wish to see? To examine me? You are a devil, Monsieur. But I must obey.”

The touch.

“Oh Monsieur, you have found me out. You have exposed my lie. I am not chaste... but wanton. Take me now, for I cannot conceal my hunger for the touch of a man such as yourself!!!”

It was very satisfying, although her wrist ached in the morning.

The next day, she bought a four post bedframe.

And another pair of trick handcuffs.

She practised first with one cuff attached to a bedpost, until she was sure she could work the latch. It was harder, but manageable.

Then she tried both, with some trepidation. If she couldn’t work the latches spread like that, it would be awkward. The experience wasn’t quite satisfactory. Her arms were pulled too far, the cuffs bit awkwardly into her wrists. Her head was too close to the top of the bed, touching the headboard. It was difficult to work the latches. She’d need to add chains or ropes or something, to lengthen it and make it more comfortable.

The most awkward thing was that with both arms stretched out, she couldn’t masturbate. As potentially exciting as it was, she’d need to free at least one wrist to play, or she’d need Josh.

More shopping, and more experiments, until she found something satisfactory.

Along the way, she discovered velcro cuffs. They were so bleah, completely without the exciting sensuality, the coldness, the weight, the hardness, the delicious clicking sound of the ratcheting mechanism. Everything about her chrome cuffs was exciting. Nothing about the velcro cuffs was the least bit arousing, particularly the sound of velcro unzipping. But they made good ankle cuffs. She bought four - two for the bedroom, two for the credenza.

When everything was finally ready, she called Josh. Forty minutes later, he found her, naked and blindfolded, spread eagle to the four posts of the bed. The first she knew that he was there was his cold hand cupping her pubic mound, fingers flattening her clit and spreading her soaked lips.

Her body practically levitated off the bed and she came instantly.

Afterwards, there was more of course. The blindfold came away. The ankle cuffs proved a bother and were released. Deliberately helpless, she could only spread her legs, lifting her knees to accept his thrusts deep into her.

It was absolutely satisfying.

Josh was absolutely satisfying, and though their relationship was almost purely sexual, she felt a deep appreciation and affection for him.

Josh was her very best toy!

But most of her sex life was masturbation, an ongoing exploration of herself and her toys. She played with bondage, drenching herself in scenarios of submission and bondage. Yet there was power in the submission, in her fantasies, she was a helpless captive. But she was captive because she was dangerous, rebellious, wanton. She was a spy, a femme fatale, a police woman, an executive, powerful women who could not be tamed, only restrained. So dangerous that restraints were vital, the only way to contain her.

She explored, buying more exotic toys. Not all of them worked, an experiment with nipple clamps ended with them being thrown across the room, and then consigned to the trash bin. A ball gag was used once, found pointless, and ended up forgotten at the back of a drawer. Other items, vibrators, butt plugs, lingerie, worked out better.

She experimented with taking pictures, a project which she found excessively complicated and arduous. She didn’t like the pictures, they were flat, not reflecting the adventurous and sexual creature she had become. She deleted them without showing any of them to Josh.

The most successful, and the most difficult step, was sharing her fantasy scenarios with Josh. After all, he himself was one of her fantasy scenarios. It felt like admitting to cheating to reveal that there were others.

“I’m a wanton French schoolgirl at a convent,” she said. “Like Madelyne, in a uniform, I look like butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. We aren’t even supposed to touch ourselves But I have this secret life where I pursue every boy,... and girl, that catches my fancy. Of course the Monsignor is on to me, and so he ties me in place to investigate whether I am a virtuous girl or a wanton...”

There are long heartbeats where she waited for him to laugh.

Instead, he said “Cool.”

And a moment later, in the worst fake French accent she’s ever heard, heavily laden with Spanish. “Young lady, some very disturbing reports have come to my ears!”

“Monsieur!” she whispered. “I have no idea what you could mean. I am a good girl!”

She felt sensitive about it. But carefully, she shared a few - an underworld assassin, a jewel thief, a spy, a private eye. Tentatively, they worked out role plays, sometimes awkward, but mostly satisfying. They didn’t do them often, they weren’t really needed, the actual sex and bondage remained volcanic in itself. But she shared a little bit.

“Here’s one,” she whispered following a drenching, exhausting, satisfying sexual encounter, where she’d been bent over the couch, tied and spread, and taken from behind until muscle strain caused her to call time out.

“I’m tied to the Credenza, naked, blindfolded, and a pizza guy comes to deliver an order. He takes one look, fucks me hard, and leave. A total stranger, I never see him, never know who. He comes, he goes. That’s hot.”

“I could do that,” Josh’s arms were around her as they sprawled on the couch, spooning on the precarious lack of space on the cushions.

“No,” she told him. “It wouldn’t work if it’s you. We’ve already done it. The thrill is the idea of having a complete stranger. A zipless fuck. Completely anonymous.”

He thought about it.

“I could set it up,” he said. “I know some pizza delivery guys.”

She laughed.

“Horny pizza delivery guys?”

“Is there any other kind?”

But then, a few days later, she asked him to set it up.

For the next few days, the idea of the zipless, anonymous fuck drove her wild. She masturbated constantly, even sneaking into the bathroom at work to quietly bring herself off. She felt weightless, she literally flew through each day. The next two encounters with Josh were incandescent.

The day came. She had a phone number for a particular pizza place, a particular order that would alert a particular driver. She almost danced with excitement in the shower, washing, working lotion into her skin, shaving her legs and pubic mound. The afternoon came. She started to get cold feet.

The time to make the call approached. She got cold feet, butterflies in her stomach. This seemed like a ridiculously bad idea. The sex would probably be awful. Porn aside, how capable were Pizza guys anyway? They were probably minute men, with shriveled dicks. What if he took pictures? What if he decided to get rough?

She should call it off. Nervously, she chewed her lip. Stomach doing flip flops. Then she called Josh.

“I don’t know if I can do it like this,” she said.

“I understand.”

“No,” she explained. “I want to, but I’m kind of scared of it going wrong. I want you here.”

“To do it.”

“No,” she said. “I just want you in the apartment, just in case anything goes bad.”

“So keep an eye on it.”

“Not to watch. I don’t want him to know you’re there. Just hide in the bedroom, just in case. And after, if everything’s okay, you can leave.”

There was a long silence on the phone.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll be right over.”

They disconnected. Staring at the phone, she felt herself blushing, ashamed of the weakness that led her to call him, appalled at her own recklessness in going through. Was she crazy? Had this wild ride gone too far?

Waiting for him to come over, she busied herself with preparations, writing post-it notes, making sure the apartment was properly presentable, any loose bondage gear carefully hidden away, nothing untoward. No easily pocketable goods in evidence, to the extent possible. The stranger would have the run of her apartment, she didn’t want them walking off with her laptop.

When Josh arrived, she made the call, annoyed at the way her voice shook.

“It should be about fifteen minutes,” Josh told her.

Her stomach did flip flops.

“Good. I think.”

“We can cancel.”

She thought about it.

“No.”

Josh was banished to the bedroom. She didn’t really want him to see what she was doing, although he could probably guess. She got into position. The cuffs were already in place, one end clamped tightly around the base of two coat hooks above her. She was naked, except for her special red ‘fuck-me’ shoes with their stiletto heels. She fastened her blindfold in place, an act both scary and exhilarating.

Then carefully, she reached up with one hand, feeling around, until she found the dangling cuff. She clamped it tight around her wrist with her free hand. The ratcheting sound was insanely loud, insanely exciting, and she almost made it too tight. She’d have trouble springing it, she knew. But decided not to adjust it.

Instead, she felt around with her free hand for the other cuff. Her heart skipped a beat, as she made a spear of her fingers and slipped her hand through it until she felt it around her wrist. Then she pushed it against the wall slowly and carefully, listening to the measured clicks of the ratchet, making sure it tight, but with enough room she could spring it easily.

She’d practiced a lot the previous days, with and without blind folds, punctuated by masturbation, denying orgasms for the anticipation, She’d been able to get in and out of the cuffs fairly easily.

Except now it was the real thing, and she was a lot less confident. The uncertainty made her pussy spasm with wetness, she could almost feel her clit throb. This was the real thing, not play, not pretend, it was going to happen.

She sat on the edge of the credenza, letting it bear her weight, her legs spread.

Nothing happened. She couldn’t even hear Josh in the bedroom. Time ticked on. She shifted and squirmed. It felt like it was dragging on. Had he chickened out? Was it going to happen at all? Was he delayed? She realized there was no way to judge time.

How long should she wait? Maybe she should get out of the cuffs, prepare a little more? But what if he, whoever he was, arrived then. The adventure would be ruined. Should she call for Josh? What would she say?

In the end, despite endless doubts, she remained silent, waiting, listening to the sound of her own breathing and heart beating, of her blood rushing through her ears, feeling the faint breezes of her apartment against her nipples, occasionally squirming within her bonds.

There was a knock at the door.

Her heart skipped a beat, it was like a jolt of lightning went through her whole body, she almost jumped within her bonds, her muscles twitching.

Another knock.

Couldn’t they see the post-it note on the door that read, “I may not hear you. Just come in, the money is on the Credenza”?

She heard the doorknob turning.

“Hello!” A voice, a male voice, a stranger. She felt the electrical jolt of excitement go through her, and experienced an intense rush that was almost, but not quite, an orgasm. “Hello? I’m here? Pizza?”

The voice trailed off. Was that a gasp? She imagined him catching site of her.

There were tentative footsteps, approaching her. Indrawn breath, coarse with excitement. She waited patiently, her pussy getting wetter by the moment. Her nipples felt so achingly hard they could cut class.

On the edge of the credenza was a twenty dollar bill, a condom, and another post it note. “Don’t speak. She is your tip. Help yourself. Do anything you want, but wear the condom.”

There was a sucked intake of breath. A rustle, but she couldn’t tell of what. She remained still, blindly staring straight ahead. Her heart was racing.

A whiff of the pizza. Footsteps. And then... nothing. Had he chickened out? Had he left? Was he standing there taking pictures? Just looking at her? Planning his next move? What was he doing?

The touch of a hand against her left breast, her nipple, brought a loud gasp from her. Her body convulsed, back arching. Her bodies reaction shocked her almost as much as the touch, it was so extreme and unforced, a spontaneous jerk. The hand vanished, and she relaxed letting out an equally loud, equally unforced sigh.

She quieted, waiting for his next move. It came again, the hand against her left breast, finger stroking the nipple. Again, she gasped and jerked, but more modestly this time, the gasp evolving into a sigh. The hand did not withdraw this time, but cupped her breast, tracing the nipple. She sighed again. Another hand on her other breast, and she sighed in response, her back arching slightly.

For long moments, she was held there, splayed and immobile as a complete stranger felt her breasts, fondling and exploring, bringing soft sighs and sinuous movement from her. Gentle pinches of nipple brought gasps and mews, quick twitches. Her shoulders shifted within the confines of her captivity. Her legs free, remained spread. She thought she felt a brief light brush of fabric of a pants leg.

The fondling became an exploration, the hands roved over her body, bringing more sighs from her. The touches moved along her collarbones, up the side of her neck and then along the line of her jaw. Two fingers traced her lips, and then intruded into her mouth, where she sucked them, flicking her tongue against him.

He didn’t speak, but she could hear his coarse breathing.

The hands traced her shoulders and arms, teased down her rib cage, palm against her belly, but always returned to her breasts, again and again. Her sighs turned to moans, she writhed, her body rising into each touch, thrusting itself into the strangers hands, and falling back with disappointment when those hands lifted.

Finally, the hands slid down along her thighs, pushing gently. Obediently, with a murmur, she submitted, spreading wider, her back arching to push her hips further to the edge of the credenza. Her blindfolded head tossed and then inclined, dipping as a further gesture of surrender to the stranger’s imminent possession.

His hands moved to the insides of her thighs, and she felt them tremble helplessly. She could feel her vaginal lips part of their own accord, her pussy dilating with uncontrollable arousal. She was unbelievably wet, she could literally feel it flowing from her in slow pulses.

The fingertips against her pussy brought another loud gasp, a spasm of her hips. The fingers vanished, and then almost immediately returned to an equal reaction. And again, she bit her lip and whined at the teasing.

Then a firm grip on her thigh, something poking at her vagina, sliding against her lips. She moaned with hunger, raising up her knees to give access, and then the stranger slid his cock deep inside her. She grunted at the penetration, moaning and gasping openly, her legs lifting in random uncoordinated motions.

The stranger thrust wildly into her, without finesse or control. A dozen hard thrusts, shoving up inside her. Hands grabbing at her, her breasts, her thigh. She almost spoke words. But his pace was already accelerating, like a runner reaching the finishing line. The thrusts grew rapid. Then he moaned loudly, his hands tightening on her thighs, his cock pushing deep in her. His urgent thrusts became weightless. And then he was panting.

She knew the stranger had come.

That’s it? She thought, disappointed.

She was panting as well, breasts heaving with arousal, but nowhere close to orgasm. She tried to push her mound onto his deflating cock, but he pulled back and fell out of her.

She went quiet, panting softly, waiting to see what the stranger would do next. Her body longed for more touches, fingers, hands, his cock. She waited, legs splayed wide, freshly used vagina waiting for him to slide fingers. She could hear him panting.

She waited.

After a moment or so, she heard the door open and close.

She waited another moment or two, but the silence was total.

He’d left.

The wild excitement of the experience was followed by an intense deflation.

This was it? After all this anticipation, the preparation, the fantasies, the fear and cold feet, the almost surreal intensity, the crackling electricity of the beginning... it had wilted.

She worked her left hand around to release the catch and spring the cuff. Pulling the blindfold off, she looked around. Gone. The place was empty. The pizza was sitting in the living room. The twenty dollar bill was gone, so was the condom. She hoped the stranger had actually used it, she couldn’t really tell. The post it note was on the floor beside the credenza. Frustrated, she freed her other wrist, massaging it.

Well, she thought to herself. That happened.

Was Josh still here? Or had he left too. Maybe he’d watched? Maybe they’d left together?

“Josh?”

“I’m here,” from the bedroom. “How was it?”

She hesitated. Her feelings, when she examined them, were too complicated to articulate easily. She settled for something superficial.

“It was hot,” she said. But it still felt inconclusive, she wanted more, her body wanted more. “You want a turn?”

“Oh yeah!” He came out without pants, and they fucked on the Credenza, and then on the couch.

The handcuffs were left behind, still fixed to the coat hooks. She missed them, crossing her wrists above her head as he fucked her on the couch, but it wasn’t the same. She described an embellished version of events, as he pounded into her, and they both came.

Afterwards, she laid her head against his chest, cuddling on the couch, feeling the first twinges of guilt she’d ever had with him. She’d fucked him, thinking of the encounter, reliving, embroidering it, using him to deliver the orgasm the stranger had denied him. It was the first time she’d fucked him thinking of someone else.

For all the intensity, she’d found the experience deeply unsatisfying. It had come and gone much too fast, without her satisfaction. The stranger’s ejaculation had felt altogether premature, something that neither of them had been ready for.

Perhaps somewhere, the stranger felt as dissatisfied as she did?

The dissatisfaction was compounded by her sense of her own cowardice, calling Josh in to stand guard. As if she couldn’t handle it on her own.

Of course, Josh had set it up for her, and he’d come when called, and it had been completely sensible to have him here. But it still rankled. The fantasy was compromised, the thrill flattened.

She didn’t discuss this with Josh, or give him any sign of it. But it got under her skin, and she chewed on it.

Perhaps try again?

Ridiculous.

Perhaps try again?

Why?

Perhaps try again?

Well...

Try again?

Without Josh.

Just to show herself that she was brave, that she was in charge.

After a week or so, she called up the Pizza Place.

“Hello,” she gave her address. “I had a Pizza delivered here last week. I think the driver accidentally left something behind?”

“What is it?”

“A set of keys. It doesn’t belong to anyone here, and we think maybe the driver dropped them when he was delivering.”

“Hold on, I’ll check the logs.”

“Thank you.”

“I haven’t heard anyone mentioning losing anything, but we’ve got the same guy on shift today. I can ask him if he lost anything.”

“Oh sorry. I just realized where the keys must have come from. I’m sorry, false alarm.”

“No problem. Will that be all.”

“Actually, you know what? Since I have you on the phone, I might as well order a pizza. I really enjoyed the delivery last time. Now, about these toppings, I want...”

She hung up, heart pounding. What the hell was she doing? This was insane. She was totally working without a net.

It was exhilarating.

How much time did she have? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? She needed to scramble. Shower quickly, write post-it notes, get the apartment ready.

This time, she waited blindfolded, bound and spread, genuinely nervous and twitching. She was very conscious of flying without a net, and yet that added to the excitement. Time had dragged out the first time, but on this occasion it went quickly. It felt like she was only in position for a few minutes before the knock came at the door.

As before it inflicted an electric thrill, her body jolted. She turned her head automatically to the door, despite the blindfold. There was another knock, and again, she jolted, her heart racing. She could feel spreading warmth, a flush of hotness. Her pussy clenched wetly.

This time there was no voice calling. Instead, she could hear the doorknob turning the door opening, deliberate steps.

The sound of the lock clicking shut. Her heart skipped a beat at that. There was something ominous about locking the door, a mute declaration of her captivity. No one else would be coming through that door, the stranger had just made sure he had her body to himself.

She couldn’t help it, she squirmed, on her seat, shifting her weight from one ass cheek to the other, her knees involuntarily moving together. She stilled herself and waited.

The whiff of pizza, like before. Probably depositing it in the living room.

Was he reading the post it note?

Did he need to read it this time?

She’s left an extra message on the post-it.

Both an accusation and a request: “I want to come this time.”

She strained to hear. Taking the cash? Unwrapping the condom? She heard soft footsteps. Was he walking away from her? There was a creek of a door. Again, her heart skipped a beat. This was different from last time. He was exploring the apartment. Her stomach knotted with tension. She heard a drawer open and close, other sounds. This was more of an intrusion, a deeper penetration of her space than she expected or wanted. She had a sense of violation, of intrusion, that both excited and scared here.

What was he doing? What was he going to do? She started to worry. Maybe it wasn’t the same person. Maybe it was someone else with different motivations or purposes.

Maybe he wasn’t pizza delivery at all, but some burglar here to clean out the place.

No wait! she’d smelled pizza!

Okay.

In her mind, a series of panicky scenarios flashed through, a burglar intercepting the pizza guy, the pizza guy deciding to toss the place, mistaken identity, intrusion.

The footsteps returned. She turned her head left and right, trying to track it, feeling appallingly vulnerable. Tension and trepidation and arousal warred within her, the feelings far stronger than before. This time there was no Josh waiting in case she needed saving. She’d made herself helpless and served herself up, bound, blindfolded, naked and spread to a stranger. Anything could go wrong. It was terrifying and wonderful.

She found she was panting lightly, squirming, unable to keep still.

What was he doing? Taking pictures? What if he was, what could she do?

What if there was more than one? What if he’d brought a friend? The thought made her pussy spasm, she gasped spontaneously, without being touched. Only sheer will kept her from grinding her thighs together.

Hands on her breasts, first her left, and then an instant later, the right. Rigid nipples trapped between fingers, squeezing lightly. Her back arched in response. As before, she gasped loudly, the sound shifting to a moan. Now that the stranger’s hands on her body seemed to signal desire, an intent to possess her body, to have her sexually, the fears and wild thoughts seemed to ebb. Her head shifted from side to side before bowing in surrender, acquiescing to possession. She was in free fall, events out of her control.

This time, the hands on her body were more deliberate, far less tentative. More confident in their exploration of her body. The stranger seemed to stand closer this time, she had more of a sense of looming presence, her thighs and calves as they shifted seemed to brush up against legs.

She wondered if it was the same stranger. Perhaps someone else had come, utterly unaware, and simply taking advantage. Or maybe the first one had shared the story of the encounter, handed her off.

Her lips formed words, but she held back from asking, as if words would break the spell. Instead, she listened intently to the sound of his breathing, focussed on the touches, the hands exploring her body, trying to determine if it was the same man. Maybe? She couldn’t be sure. As vivid as the first experience had been, it had been too new, too fast, to get a sense.

A hand travelled up between her breasts, circled her throat but did not choke. Fingers touched her lips, pulling her lower lip down. Obediently, she opened her mouth. But this time, fingers didn’t immediately enter, rather they teased her, drawing her tongue to flicker out, before finally sliding two digits between her lips.

She closed her lips around the fingers as before, her tongue flexing against them, cheeks hollowing as she sucked on them. This time, the fingers lingered, sliding in and out in a vivid simulation of fucking. She concentrated on the false blow job, whining a little in the back of her throat.

His free hand, whoever he was, explored the rest of her body, cupping a breast, squeezing a nipple. The hand slid down below, stroking her clit suddenly, making her body writhe. She sucked hard then on the fingers, feeling them slide deeper between her lips. Her body writhed, and again she moaned around them.

Two fingers slid inside her from below, pushing her lips apart to smoothly invade her wet folds. It sent shivers of pleasure through her, causing her back to arch offering her pussy up to his invasion, her thighs clenched, closing and opening, closing and opening, indifferent to her will, seeking only the best way to accommodate this new intrusion.

The sensual sensation of the fingers in her mouth, as she sucked, the fingers in her pussy, was almost overwhelming. She visualized him outside her, his arms outstretched, points of contact from pole to pole, with a kind of sensual magnetic field in radiating between them.

The fingers left her mouth, leaving her gasping. She felt a mouth settling on her left nipple, and twisted to the side to thrust it forward, offer her body up even as she rode the fingers still anchored inside her, stroking her G-spot. The mouth shifted to her other nipple, and again, she twisted her shoulder to offer up her body to pleasure. Teeth bit down lightly, nibbling with increasing pressure, the bites coming in tandem with the motion between her legs.

By the time the stranger left off her breasts, her nipples were raw and drenched with saliva. The fingers left her pussy, to explore again, hands firm. There were no limits this time, the touches ranged from her neck and jaw to the inside of her thighs. Her mouth and pussy were teased again and again, stoking her desire, but slipping in possessively only at her master’s will. The touches were far less tentative than the first time, there was a patience now, a sense of control.

Was it the same stranger as before, now used to her? Or perhaps regretting the hastiness of the last encounter and bent on taking his time? Or someone new and different? Try as she might, she couldn’t tell, she could only surrender and offer her body up in submission to an unseen captor.

Her body was awash with sensuality, she had made herself helpless, presented herself blind, bound, naked and spread for him, and with each touch, the stranger enforced his possession. She was almost delirious with the sensual and psychological intensity.

The stranger lifted her knees up with bare touches, her body moving on its own to silent commands, beyond her control, eager to obey its new master and consecrate the change of ownership. She felt his cock at her vaginal lips, probing an instant before it slid smoothly up inside her, bringing a deep gasp of capitulation, her mouth opening wide. As the cock slid its full length inside her, two fingers slid into her mouth, her lips closing instinctively, sucking on them willingly.

Fleetingly, she hoped he was wearing the condom. Then she realized it didn’t matter. She’d surrendered that choice, surrendered that decision, when she’d given up ownership of her body to his cock. She was property now, without will or volition, to use as he pleased, and whether he used it or not, whether he ejaculated inside her, was his decision, not hers. She could only accept his will, her body now his compliant property.

It didn’t even matter if this stranger was the same as the previous one, or if this was someone new. She was property now, nothing more than a possession, her will irrelevant, her identity erased, her body dedicated to the service of this unknown master.

Her new master fucked her relentlessly with powerful strokes, moving her yielding pliable body like a rag doll. She moaned and gasped continuously, and any time she felt the impulse to form words, the fingers invaded her mouth and she sucked on them eagerly, lost in a haze of obedience.

Her first orgasm rolled over her helpless form, leaving her quivering, but her master’s steady thrusting did not alter. She realized the consequences of her surrender and his ownership, that her body was for his use now, not her own. And yet, that understanding, of being property now on some deep primordial level, triggered an abandonment, a relinquishment of will and a chain of orgasms ripped through her, leaving her utterly helpless, as they built one after the other, until she couldn’t breath, until her stomach tensed and her thighs were literally vibrating. Suddenly, for the first time in her life, she squirted, liquid streaming from between her legs, her muscles turned to water, leaving her helpless and trembling.

She was barely aware when her master finished using her, her body obedient and compliant, her will and identity long dissipated. She accepted his convulsive thrusts as he rammed into her with all his force, again shaking her like a rag doll. He came, and she neither knew nor cared whether he came in a condom or spilled inside her body. There was a sense of regret and emptiness as his cock fell from her pussy. A moment when his hand seized her jaw, opening it, and she accepted his lips pressing against hers, his tongue in her mouth.

Then moments later, he was gone.

She didn’t move, she sat there, hanging exhausted, her body tingling, feeling boneless as rubber, her lips, fingertips and toes numb to sensation. She had no will left, only exhaustion. She was a thing, waiting for an owner to return and resume his possession.

Only the mounting pain in her shoulders eventually drove her to free herself. Half dazed, she made sure to lock the door, and then staggered to her bedroom, falling on the bed and immediately entering a deep sleep.

It wasn’t until she awoke the next day, that she felt returned to herself.

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 19, The Cuckolding, Kayley's Perspective

THE CUCKOLDING!!! PART FOUR OF FOUR

KAYL

May 11, 2025 - Kayley and Sam, on the fly

Not an actual chapter - that will come at the end of the week. Sorry to get your hopes up.

Nope. This is about the writing of a Chapter. In this case, a sequel to the three part 'The Cuckolding!!! Da Dah DAH!!!'

One of my dedicated readers, not naming names, felt that Kayley's behaviour was kind of all over the place during the Cuckolding, like, she's really really mean to Sam at points, and loving at other points, and she doesn't even feel his cock at another point even though Sam is almost the same size as Leroy.

So, they made a suggestion that maybe I should do Kayley's point of view.

I thought about it, and that seemed like a cool idea.

Yikes!

Kayley has ten separate sexual encounters, eight with Leroy and two with Sam over the course of fourteen hours. The girl is totally worn out. That's a lot of ground to cover.

Or to put it another way, 30,000 words in the Cuckolding, and Kayley's in pretty much every scene.

So full Kayley POV would be a lot, I mean a lot of writing. A total shitload. Another thirty or forty thousand words, and most of it going over scenes that we've already seen from a different POV.

Yep. I knew I was in trouble.

So I tried to boil it down to what was distinctive in Kayley's internal monologue, what was going on with her, why she acts one way in one scene, and another way in another.

I think from Kayley's point of view, she's fumbling through. Leroy has a plan, an agenda, and he's relentless: Fuck Kayley, Dominate Sam, Gaslight them both, he may zig or zag, but he never wavers from those goals. Sam is placed in a position of subordination, and Leroy puts a lot of effort into keeping him there at all costs.

But Kayley, she's just kind of feeling her way through. She's talked into something, it's kind of weird but maybe fun. She goes into it for Sam. It goes all sorts of places, some of which she loves, some of which she doesn't. It goes and goes, wearing her down. She's got a script, a role to play, but she's not sure. She tries to read both Sam and Leroy and where they're going. She's trying to find what's wanted from her, and what she wants. She has innate desires and urges, some of them dark, and this inflames her. She makes choices, even if they're inconsistent.

In the end, I wasn't going to write 40,000 words. But I did write 15,000, exploring pivotal scenes for her and key scenes for the audience.

One thing that was really interesting was exploring the night-time scenes, particularly because Sam only has snapshots. He wakes up, Kayley's getting fucked by Leroy. He wakes up, Kayley's blowing him. He wakes up, Kayley's getting fucked by Leroy. He wakes up, they're fucking, he's dismissed and told to make breakfast. He's got no idea what's going on, it's just really confusing and mostly emasculating.

That really needed to be filled in with her POV, which is very different from Sam's, both better and worse. She touches on terrifyingly dark stuff in her Id moments. And as before, she goes through changes, reacting differently each time.

Of course, I wanted to do more than just rehash scenes, even if some of them were really fun.

Leroy is a relentless gaslighter. Any time he's alone with one or the other, he's fucking with their heads, lying to them, trying to sell them on wanting to do what he wants, lying to them about each other, and trying to get them to lie to each other to drive a wedge.

One of the things I loved when some people picked up on it, is that Kayley's already lying. In their one on one scene together, she glides past what happened in the Peep Show. Then during the Cuckolding session Leroy teases her with allusions to the Peep Show and makes her sweat (we'll see that in her POV).

She wanted to tell, would have, but Leroy cornered her into not doing it, pretending it was temporary, but now we'll see her feeling trapped, and internalizing responsibility.

I really liked it when some people noticed the deliberate lie, and saw it as a crack in their loving relationship.

Anyway, I like how relentlessly manipulative Leroy is and so I followed through on scenes where he's alone with Kayley. I don't know how much my readers enjoy these scenes, but I love writing them. I think in part because I was a victim of gaslighting at times, I got talked into things, and because even when I didn't fall for it, I saw it happen to other people, and I saw people who did this.

And I wrote another sex scene, a Kayley solo, which shows us that all is not well with our heroine, that damage is being done already and she's reaching for unhealthy coping mechanism.

Anyway, Chapter will be up this week - I hope you like it. It wasn't part of the plan, but written on the fly pursuant to a reader request.

Oh by the way - IMPORTANT NEWS - one of my gentle readers has offered to Edit me. I'm extremely flattered, and will probably take him up on it, as soon as I get my lazy ass organized. You may see a marked improvement in my stories.

After this, 'The Cuckolding!!! Da Dah DAH!!!' will be officially finished, Leroy having won a decisive victory across the board against both of them (helps when they don't even realize he's at war) and is intent on advancing in his quest for destruction. After this, we explore the fallout of the event.

The next two chapters will feature Sam, one on one with Leroy, featuring hetero sex with dark homoerotic hints. Then Kayley and Leroy one on one, where she tries manage and gets managed. Those are written.

After that, I might write a Kayley/Sam one on one, just to affirm their relationship. Sort of an interlude.

Leroy, of course, is preparing them and setting them up for the Second Cuckolding, which will be even more extreme and traumatic, and will run three chapters. That's almost completely written. Warning, not for the faint of heart.

What else? Two more Chapters of Cuffed in the alternate weeks. Then I've got a few other things, I can throw in. I might do some spontaneous stuff.

I've got a bunch of ideas for something called "Open Season on Amy" - it's a little bit of a comedy, when it's not being hyper-raunchy.

The idea is that Amy's husband, the love of her life is an extreme cuck. He's been damaged. His sexual self worth is zero, and he can only really find fulfillment in being treated like shit and cuckolded, that's his addiction. But she loves him passionately, and if this is what he needs, she gives it to him, including the abuse. But like a lot of people who hang around with addicts, she becomes addicted too. Their life gets complicated.

And I've got this idea for a thing called "Undercover Boss." Basically, the protagonist is the CEO of a large corporation. An extreme, high powered, ball busting bitch, an unstoppable force of nature. Her billion dollar corporation manages to acquire an invaluable small subsidiary, an office that makes a crucial component. Only problem - the place seems stuck in the 1950s, there've been multiple sexual harassment complaints, female turnover is through the roof.

She decides to go undercover, getting a job as a part-time receptionist, playing an under-educated, barely competent bimbo. Maybe its for a reality show, with hidden cameras everywhere.

And yes, it's as toxic as she expected. The boss is a controlling asshole who inflicts an increasingly demeaning and sexist dress code on her. Her co-workers, all male are sexist pigs, as the lowest person the totem pole, her receptionist disguise gets no respect at all, but a lot of sexist and sexual attention.

But something starts to happen. A submissive side is triggered, in her receptionist guise, she has no option but to accept and roll over with her treatment. She finds herself becoming compliant, and then sexually aroused by both demands and compliance.

She starts to fall under the sway of her increasingly dominant and demanding boss, and her sexist co-workers, increasingly surrendering to them. While at the same time she is struggling to find the time to maintain her other identity, which is rapidly eroding.

I'm thinking of doing a follow up to Lizabet, simply because her contradictions are so extreme.

And I have ideas for Catfish - basically, Kate's fake identity is exposed, her love leaves her, and despondent, she goes on an odyssey of extreme, kinky, self-hating sex.

The main priority right now though, is chronicling the adventures of Kayley and Sam.

Cuffed - Ch. 1, Cold Shiny Metal

She never thought of herself as kinky.

Kinky, to her was a an ungainly combination of the appalling and the ridiculous. Pretentious youths with too much make up, blotchy tattoos and too many piercings, or dumpy self absorbed people, pushing middle age. She didn’t see herself in there, the rope bondage seemed pointless and uncomfortable, the role play demeaning, floggers and paddles and clamps... That looked like it would hurt. It didn’t appeal to her at all.

She was, when she bothered to think of herself, quite conservative. She was from a large farming family, full of brothers and sisters. The recklessness that had accompanied puberty had been closely monitored by the elders and busybodies of her small village. Rebellion was little tolerated, and there had been too many chores and too much babysitting to get into much trouble. She’d gotten better marks than her peers in school. This had lead to college, and a career in accounting, a job in the city.

She never felt really comfortable with her peers though. Shaped by an odd mixture of small town values, family responsibility and the demands of single urban life, she found herself mostly alone. Not a virgin by any means, that had been dispensed with at university in the aftermath of too much drinking, a perfunctory and unsatisfying act. She’d had sex a few times, found masturbation to be superior, had learned to suck a cock not for any particular enthusiasm but because everyone was doing it and it simplified things. There’d been a few boyfriends, even a relationship or two, but nothing that had lasted.

In reflective moments, she thought that she was one of those self contained people that didn’t need someone in her life to complete her. Growing up in a crowded household, she relished the privacy of her own apartment. At times, she worried about growing old a childless spinster, but she was only in her thirties, there was still time.

It was late September, she was shopping for the twins birthday. The twins were a nephew and niece, she had a lot of nephews and nieces. They all had birthdays and Christmases and Easters and Halloweens, it added up. So she ended up in the Halloween section, looking for a gifts that would be cheap and unique.

A pair of trick handcuffs caught her eye. Perhaps the nephew would like it? Boys always wanted to be cops, or secret agents, or cowboys. She picked up the package and hefted it. To her surprise, there was a bit of weight, they were real handcuffs, steel, with keys and everything.

A closer look showed that they were trick handcuffs, each cuff had a little release latch so that you didn’t actually need a key.

Silly thing, she thought. If its got a release, why would you even bother with a key? And why handcuffs that you could release so easily? For children’s games, she thought....

Or adult games...

Her nephew probably wouldn’t like it, and even if he did, his parents probably wouldn’t approve. Perhaps she should go looking for a Nerf pack.

But still, less than ten dollars? Why not? She tossed it into her cart.

Later that evening, after supper, she wrapped the twins presents. The handcuffs? Definitely not included. They didn’t go with the other purchases, a unisex set of Nerf toys. Maybe she’d pass them on to some other relative, perhaps in a bridal shower.

She poured herself a glass of wine, carried them to the couch with her, and clicked the television on.

“Made in china.” Well, that was why they were so cheap. She handled them, weighing them in her hand, there was a surprising heft to them. They seemed well made. She played with them absently, running the clasp all the way through, listening to and feeling the click, click, click as it ran through the teeth and then swung free.

Really, if they opened so freely, what good were they? But then, she though, if there’s something in there, then it can’t go through all the way, it would catch.

Experimentally, she stretched out her wrist. Let the cuff slip on, felt the click, click, click as it ratcheted closed around her wrist.

Her heart beat a little faster.

The metal was cold against her wrist. The other cuff dangled free at the end of the chain, a pendulum weight tugging at her arm. She stared at the shining steel locked around her wrist, silver plated, catching the light. There was something ... remorseless, about it, relentless. She shivered.

They put these on bad people, she thought. To hold them, keep them. She’d seen enough cop shows and movies to know the combinations. Wrists in front, the prisoner, helpless in the dock. Cuffed to another person or a piece of furniture, enforcing immobility, or forcing them to follow. Or behind the back, to render someone powerless.

What would the real ones be like. She’d never thought of what it might be to be a criminal.... Or a prisoner. Would there be a feeling of helplessness as they went on. A loss of freedom. What went through their minds.

Humiliation? Submission? Surrender?

The metal was hard and cold and heavy on her wrist. Was it like that for them? For someone being cuffed, to hear every click, to know that freedom was vanishing in the bites of hidden metal jaws.

Carefully, she slipped her other wrist under the second cuff. Turning her other hand, to ratchet it shut. It was harder, the links between the cuffs limited her mobility. As it bit tight against her wrist, she realized she was caught - her world now defined by the space between three silver chain links and to pieces of ratcheted chrome plated steel.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Deep in her stomach, butterflies launched and batted themselves against her wrists.

Take them off, she thought. Right now. She got up to retrieve the keys from the kitchen table. But they were too tight, there was no room for her wrists to twist inside them. The cuffs were facing with the keyholes the wrong way. She couldn’t quite get the keys in.

That was okay, they had quick release levers. She’d worked them several times, as she’d played with them. A cold thought struck her, the release levers had worked, except that they hadn’t been encircling anything then. Her breath caught just a tiny bit, a gasp so subtle that no one else would have heard it. Her hands trembled just slightly as she tried to work her fingers around to the release catch.

She found it, the tight steel ring loosened, and she opened it up completely, freeing her wrist and then undoing the other. She laid it on the kitchen table. What a silly thing, she thought. Not so silly if she hadn’t been able to open it though. She wondered, out of the blue, if 911 got a lot of calls from people who’d accidentally handcuffed themselves like that and couldn’t get out. What a thing to have to explain.

Leaving the cuffs on the kitchen table, she went to the bathroom, then back to the living room, settled on the couch, and channel flicked until she found a decent movie.

About an hour in, she paused to go to the kitchen, make a cold plate of cheeses and pickles. Absently, she picked up the cuffs again, and absently played with them, as she watched the rest of the movie, listening to the click of the ratchets, the play of weight from one cuff to the other, the shaping of the hinged jaw. Once in a while, she’d slip it around one wrist, ratchet it closed, and the release it again, but only one wrist. A friend called, she chatted, absently dangling it from a fingertip, watching the light play off the chromed surface.

Eventually it was late. She went into the bedroom and undressed, dropping her clothes in separate adjacent drawers, one for underwear, one for whites, for colours, for darks. She was always vaguely pleased at how organized and tidy she was, it was an instinct.

The bathrobe was plucked from the bedroom door hook. Into the bathroom, hang up the bathrobe, turn on the shower, and when the temperature was just right, step in. She enjoyed showers, there was a casual sensuality to it. She liked the needles of hot water jetting against her skin, liked the private exhibition of her nudity. Sometimes, in the right mood, she played with herself in the shower, occasionally to orgasm.

Bathrobe on, hair toweled, moisturizer applied to face and body

After that, she proceeded through her apartment, shutting off the lights. It was a ritual, start with the kitchen, check to make sure all the appliances are off, then the lights, then the doorway and hall, around to the living room, lamps off, television off and so on....

As she reached for the last remaining lamp by the couch, she noticed the handcuffs again on the coffee table, ratchet jaws open, catching the soft light on the chrome surface and throwing it back.

She sat back on the couch, picked them up. They seemed heavier in the low light, more ... potent? More.... Sinister? She flashed back on the awkward moment when for a second she thought she’d been trapped. Not really, of course, but there’d been a moment... of helplessness.

Her heart beat a little faster.

They put these on bad people... she thought. Naughty people, wicked people, people who committed crimes, broke the law, robbers, drug dealers, hookers... Dirty people.

To make them helpless.

Her heart was beating just fast enough for her to be aware of it. Her stomach felt light. Did she feel a tingle.

Not this of course, it’s safe, easy to get out of.

But, still....

Abruptly, she stood and slipped out of her robe. Naked she laid back on the couch, reclining up against the arm.

She watched the ratchet jaw close, felt the vibration as the teeth rotated through, capturing one wrist.

Then the other.

She was naked wearing nothing but handcuffs. It made her tingle. In the low light, the metal seemed to shine bright. It wasn’t as tight as before, she could move her wrists a little. She pulled her hands apart, feeling the millimeters of slack vanish against the clinking of the chain links. Caught, she thought. Helpless. Anything could happen to her, someone who cuffed her could do anything they wanted, and she’d have to submit.

She pulled one leg up on the couch, knee bending, thighs opening up.

Heart pounding, she lowered her cuffed wrists to her pubic mound, letting her fingers crawl through the black thatch of pubic hair. She touched her lips. She was already wet. She could feel the cold metal against her pubic mound, as she rested her wrists between her legs, fingers opening herself, thumb rubbing against her clit with a fierce urgency. She arched her back. “Fuck!” she whispered, and kept whispering it louder and louder, pulling against the chains, feeling the cuffs, the captivity, the constrained mobility, her excitement building and building.

Until she came, the orgasm a blinding rush, like a landslide falling on her, a sense of impact striking her and just surging up and through her body, leaving her breathless....

The handcuffs were a fascinating new toy. She hadn’t expected the effect on her, and couldn’t adequately explain it to herself.

Was she a masochist? She didn’t think so. She felt no urge to be whipped, to wear a collar, dress up in a leather harness. Calling someone ‘Master’ just seemed silly.

And yet, there was an allure. Somehow, it made things more intense. Maybe it was the restriction on mobility, the fact that she could not move her wrists freely, it meant her hands were like a pair of horses in tandem harness, working together. That was certainly part of it, it seemed to focus her more when she masturbated it.

But there was more. There was just a ...sexiness to them. She liked the way they shone in candle light. She used her silver polish to make it shine and catch the light, it worked best in low lights, under a single lamp, or in front of candles.

Sometimes, she’d carefully wrap it in a tea-towel and leave it in the fridge while she went to work, so that when it went around her wrists it was bracing cold, the iciness making the metal ruthlessness more emphatic. Chilled handcuffs, she thought, there was something sexy there. It was hard to ignore or overlook chilled metal binding your wrists, it focussed your attention...

There was something about looking down at her body, especially her naked body, and seeing the arc of her arms, drawn together, the unforgiving shining metal binding her, shaping her posture. There was a fascination to it, it was almost hypnotic.

For the first time in her life, she watched herself intently as she masturbated.

It was a wonderful toy. Sometimes she’d carry it in her purse, shopping, or to work. She’d never wear them outside of course. But just knowing they were in her purse, that secret naughtiness. It was a thrill.

Perhaps, she thought, it was like the earnestness of teenage boys carrying a condom around, sometimes for months or years, never using it, never having even a chance, but just having it. It was the signifier of sex, of naughtiness.

She wondered sometimes about why it affected her. A signifier of sex? Perhaps.

A signifier of ... badness, wantonness, of criminality and rule breaking. Did it excite her because it made her think of herself as a bad girl, a naughty girl, the sort that broke the law... There was that, definitely, she’d feel oddly wicked and powerful, liberated, when she wore them. The sort of girl that does sexy nasty things and doesn’t care what anyone thinks.

But there was also surrender, submission, helplessness. Yes, that was there too. It occurred to her, when she thought of it, that the feelings wearing the handcuffs were contradictory. That it didn’t make sense to feel both liberated and surrendered, nasty and helpless at once. But she was smart enough not to worry about it, and just revel in the senses.

Exploration came slowly. She wore them in the kitchen, in the bedroom. Once, she spent a whole evening naked in cuffs, watching TV, fumbling as she made a meal, masturbating repeatedly and touching herself. She wanted to wear them in the shower, by candle light, but was afraid that the water might damage the inner mechanism.

Once on the bed, she knelt, ass up in the air, face down on a pillow, gasping as she struggled awkwardly to a shivering orgasm. Another time, leaning against the bedroom, legs spread, face and shoulders pressing against the wood grain, as close to a police pat down as she could get, hands between her legs, leading her to an orgasm that made her knees tremble.

Mostly, she liked to watch. She liked a comfortable position on the couch, something where she could sit up and look down, knees up, legs spread, steel glinting against the black pubic hair of her mound.

But of course, she couldn’t really see that much. She’d never been one of these feminists who got to know their vaginas with mirrors and speculums. She’d always thought that was vaguely disgusting, there’s nothing special about knobby toes, or flabby skin, or the odd places of anatomy. She’d seen cats’ assholes, she’d never felt an urge to get a look at her own.

But now? The cuffs made things different, she wanted to see herself framed by the cuffs. It started with awkwardly trying to use a hand mirror at the same time, which gave her shaking views of the insides of her thighs and rushed glimpses of pubic curls. Then a stationary mirror.

Then on the couch, hips elevated on pillows, a mirror propped up on a kitchen chair placed carefully.

It was a revelation. Her hands, cuffed at the wrists, joined by silver links, seemed almost things of their own, pink butterfly wings, fluttering, joined by chrome. Between the pairs of slender fingers, the black pubic hair, the pink slit. She saw herself wet for the first time, saw not just her pinkness but the shining shimmer between her lips.

Mirrors became a part of it, not always, but often enough. She watched herself in different positions, different postures as she masturbated in handcuffs. Watched a vibrator slip inside. She tried masturbating in different ways. Sometimes she watched her whole body, her pussy hidden between her legs. She stared in fascination at the signs of her own arousal, watched her lips as she gasped, stared at nipples hard and rigid as the glass, noticed the sweat, gazed at the trembling of muscles. It was as if she was seeing herself naked for the first time, seeing her own body, appreciating it, enjoying it rather than simply living in it.

She cropped her pubic hair, something that she had very consciously avoided. She wasn’t a model, why not let it grow. But messy bush clashed with the elegance of steel, the shapeliness of fingers and hands like butterfly wings. Butterfly wings, she liked that image, sometimes handcuffed, she let her hands flutter between her, imagining a bird or butterfly in flight. From a cropped bush, to a bikini line.

One night, she shaved it off completely, just to stare at it in the mirror, before sending the butterfly to flutter her to orgasm.

Shaving brought a new self awareness. Panties felt differently. Not just utilitarian, she was more aware, lace was different, satin was different, a thong stretched over her hips, silk worked its way between her lips. Underwear was now an adventure, even if she was the only one to ever see her in it, it was still something.

Lingerie interested her. She bought a garter belt, spent nights of frustration cursing clips that didn’t seem to hold, discovered stay ups and never looked back. She visited La Senza and Vieux en Rose and Victoria’s Secret, pored among bustiers and teddy’s, slips and robes. It was a little too much though, too over the top. She bought a long silk robe, and then on another occasion, a short silk top.

But really, her favourite lingerie was her hand cuffs, there was nothing like the elegant symmetry of its shape, the shine and weight and chill of its steel, the implacability of it all. No push up bra, it seemed, could shape her body, could pose so sexily and elegantly as her wrists joined together.

It was such an odd small thing, but somehow, she felt more alive, more sexual than she ever had before. It became a game, an exciting game. Sometimes at work, she’d think of some new thing to do with the handcuffs, a new position, or with the mirror, or wearing Cuban heels. The decision to shave away the last of her pubic hair had come during an appallingly dull teleconference, had livened the rest of the day, added a spark of anticipation.

It was better than a vibrator, she thought, since the cuffs inspired infinitely more variation. It didn’t hammer her clit, but somehow, it allowed her, invited her to do more things. It was better than a boyfriend, much as she loved the feel of a live hard man inside her, it was a lot less maintenance, available at her whim, receptive to her impulses.

Her fantasies ran riot, there were men in them of course, sometimes two, sometimes a black man or a Chinese man, sometimes a tattooed goth. There was handcuffed to a tree, or a desk at the office, or a chain link fence, there were scenarios of arrest and captivity where she was feared, too dangerous to be loose. There were the links between the cuffs seized with a brutal hand, arms yanked away from her pussy, above her head, her body roughly claimed. Or straddling a hairy chest, wrists joined, palms flat, supporting her weight as she impaled herself. There were arrests, kidnappings, hostage crises, romances, astonishing things that had the common thread that as satisfying, as exciting as they were, she’d never do them in real life.

But it did kind of draw her. She had a vibrator, and used it. She had a dildo and used it. But it was her using it. The thought of a live man, a body above her, a hard cock that throbbed in her, that moved by someone else’s will.... At some point, she knew she was going to wear handcuffs to bed with a man, the thought excited her as she masturbated.

Of course, at times the idea seemed freakish. What would he think? Would he laugh, that would be unbearable. Would he think she was some kinky sex freak? She wasn’t really. Sometimes the idea of wearing them to bed seemed like such a horrible misjudgement. Fated to be a disastrous embarrassment.

As it turned out, when it did happen, it was quite unexpected.

It was a Saturday, she was at the mall, her feet were getting a little sore from walking around so much in heels, she decided to stop in the food court for an Orange Julius.

As she sat and sipped, the thickened orange juice a couple of security guards sat at the table next to her. She glanced at them. Young men both, in their early twenties. They wore faux police uniforms, and bulky vests. Were those really bullet proof vests, she wondered, or fake - designed to look like kevlar - the way that the security uniforms were designed to look like law enforcement. They wore utility belts - flashlights on loops, unidentifiable pouches, handcuffs, pepper spray? No gun of course. The handcuffs were black.

The two men chatted briefly, then one walked away, leaving the other to sip his coffee.

“Excuse me,” she said suddenly, “are those real handcuffs?”

“What?”

He looked at her. He was unshaven in a hipster sort of way, short brown hair, thick eyebrows, but large expressive eyes. He was very tall, at least a head taller than her, but with average, unassuming build.

She blushed. The words had escaped her, a throw away impulse. Perhaps her own handcuffs, carried now in her purse, had pushed her, put the thought in her head, or gave her the little extra impulse to ask.

“Oh,” she said, “nothing, I’m sorry.”

“These,” he said, patting them and lifting it off the belt clasp. “They’re not police issue or anything like that. But they’re real. I mean, they work. The company pays enough money for them.”

“Oh, I see,” she said. “I guess that you don’t get police issue gear.”

He smiled. “Not for what they pay us, no. But it all works, mostly. It’s for show, but it has to work, obviously.”

“Have you ever needed it.”

“Mostly no, people are cooperative. I had to pepper spray a drunk fighting with his girlfriend in the parking lot once.”

“Really.”

“It was terrible. He threatened to sue. I got written up six different ways for it. It went on forever.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Have you used the other stuff?”

“Sometimes. Ninety per cent of the time, all I use is a notebook. I’ve had to handcuff a few people. Mostly if they’re being belligerent. Just to keep them from hurting anyone.”

“Not shoplifters,” she smiled.

“No, shoplifters usually just come along quietly,” he said. “I’ve never had a problem with a shoplifter.”

“Good to know,” she said, hesitated, and then cautioned, “Not that I plan on shoplifting or anything.”

He laughed. “You don’t look like a shoplifter.”

“Thanks.”

“Though you never know.”

“Maybe you should keep an eye on me.”

“Maybe I should,” he laughed. They smiled at each other.

Ask, she told herself. It was a sudden impulse. Go ahead and ask.

“Can I see?” She asked, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“The handcuffs, can I see them?”

He hesitated for a second, surprised by the request, not sure if he should agree, but seeing no clear way to refuse.

“Oh sure,” he took them off his belt again, and placed them in her outstretched hand.

They were a bit heavier than her own handcuffs. Cool, but without the chill that she liked on her own. There were four chain links, forged. The cuffs were matte black, not chromed. No quick release lever. She’d gotten so used to her own release levers that half the time she forgot where her keys were. They seemed slightly larger than her own. But on the whole, she was struck by how similar they were.

“What’s the difference between this and police issue?” She asked.

“I have no idea. I think these are actually used by some police forces, just not the ones in town.”

She didn’t want to hold them too long, didn’t want him to think she was kinky or anything like that. He seemed edgy, probably wasn’t used to people handling his gear. She gave them back.

“Very nice,” she told him, she needed to cover herself a bit, “I won’t ask to see your pepper spray.”

He laughed. “That would be a little much.”

She nodded.

“Well, Josh,” she said, it was on his nameplate, “it’s been a pleasure. Thanks for being patient with me.”

“Likewise.” He fidgeted as if to leave, shifted in his seat, half stood. “So...” he said, “you’re meeting your husband here?”

“I’m not married,” she replied, and then added, “I’m single.”

“That’s surprising,” he told her, “you’re very nice.”

“Nice,” she smiled, “Never tell a woman she’s ‘nice’, Josh, it’s a backhanded compliment.”

“Sorry,” he said awkwardly. He moved as if to stand up.

“It’s all right,” she told him. She watched him fidget. Her fingers slipped into her purse, fondled the ratcheted steel jaw.

“Josh,” she said, “are you working up to asking me out?”

“No....”

“Because I don’t mind.”

“Sort of... yes.”

“I wouldn’t mind going out for a drink sometime,” she said. Some part of her was screaming ‘what are you doing, he’s at least ten years younger than you are. More than ten years.’

“Good,” he said, “that would be fun.”

“Do you have a car?” She asked. That was sort of a minimum standard. A man without a car... Well, what was the point? What kind of man was that, probably still living with his mother.

“What? Yes? Sure!”

“Good,” she said. “Then you can pick me up tonight.”

They exchanged phone numbers, addresses. She watched him walk off. Nice ass, she thought.

Then, she thought, I’ve done a very stupid thing. The sensible part of herself was appalled. Dating a security guard? Why not a parking attendant? She was a professional. And he was so much younger. What the hell?

But then again, when was the last time she’d gone on a date with anyone. Why not. It would be good to just get out and do something. It didn’t have to go anywhere. She wasn’t shopping for a husband. What’s the harm of going out, worse come to worse, she’d just beg off and call it a night.

Unconsciously, she took the handcuffs out of her purse, and rotated the jaw over and over, fingers sliding against the smoothed metal, with the ritual insistence of a devout stroking prayer beads.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. She got home, she practically tore her clothes off, threw herself on the couch, masturbated in steel shackles, her fingers blurring inside her. She felt elated, almost wanting to laugh spontaneously. It was so different, so bold, she was so timid usually, so bland, she felt as if she’d stepped into a free fall. She liked this new self, this little bit of adventurousness in her.

What would it be like, she’d think to herself, as she cleaned up the apartment, to just meet him at the door naked? To just say to hell with drinks and just fuck him right then and there? She’d never do that of course, but she could imagine the look on his face. She couldn’t imagine actually being that bold. But it was exciting to think.

He arrived on time. The apartment buzzer went off. She almost jumped out of her skin. She wasn’t quite ready, so she invited him up to wait.

A moment or two later, there was a knock at the door. She opened it, there he was standing there, looming over her, no longer dressed like a pretend cop, but still well dressed, clean and casual, male and youthful. She invited him in, offered him coffee. He didn’t try to kiss her, which she was glad of. Aggressiveness might have been scary. He was polite.

She excused herself to go to the bedroom and finish getting dressed.

Once the door closed, she sat heavily on the bed. He heart was starting to pound heavily. She took a deep breath.

What am I doing? She asked herself.

They could go out for drinks, and then they’d talk and tell each other things about themselves, then they might ... what.... go dancing, go for a walk, go for ice cream... And then maybe her place, or his place getting naked and sweaty, or maybe they’d find it wasn’t really working and he’d drop her off and that would be that. That’s how it would go.

Or....

Her heart started to pound even harder, her breath caught in her throat and butterflies exploded, battering and fluttering against her insides, her hands shook.

Or....

He looked up as the bedroom door opened, and she stepped out... Wearing smooth shaven pussy glistening, nipples hard, wearing nothing but black stay ups on her legs and shining chromed shackles around her wrists. For a second, they stood there, him just staring at her naked blushing body, her shivering and blushing, her eyes dripping.

Then he was on her, his hand on her shoulder, the other seizing the chain between her wrists. He marched her backwards, towards the door, lifting her wrists up over her head. She felt her back slam lightly against the wall, the cold solid flatness of the wall pressing against her back. He lifted her wrist higher, forcing her up on tip toes, pulling the cuffs hard against the edges of her wrist. The chain slid up and over a door hook at the top, trapping her.

His mouth descended on hers. One hand, a large hand, grabbed her breast. He had such big hands, his palms were cold. She moaned, lips parting under his, his tongue pushed into her mouth. His free hand shoved up between her legs, she was already wet, she was dripping, she could feel how wet she was, it shocked her how sudden and intense it was.

Fingers entered her, she spread her legs for him, her weight dragging her wrists down on the cuffs, the steel biting into her in a way it never had before. He thrust deep, fingers opening her, the heel of his hand hard against her clit and all of a sudden she was coming, instantly, as fast and hard as an express train.

Bound by the handcuffs, wrists pulled almost painfully tight above her, hanging from the door hook, the orgasm that erupted from his hand gripping her pussy took her by surprise. She had never come so fast or so hard. She arched her back and thrust, pushing her hips down on his fingers, forcing them up against her pussy with a ferocity that surprised her.

She felt his mouth cover hers, opened her jaws wide, swallowing his tongue, pushing hers into his mouth, barely aware of his hand squeezing her breast.

He pulled back for a moment, his hand leaving her pussy, she felt her hips roll, trying to follow the hand. She knew his fingers were slick. He was grabbing at his pants, unzipping.

“Yes!” Some part of her screamed. He was going to fuck her. She couldn’t wait, she wanted it, it was all she could think of. Her urgency, her heat, was like a runaway train.

“Wait,” she said, “do you have a condom? Put it on.”

She was almost disappointed when he stepped back, fumbling it from his pocket, his pants falling around his knees. His erection was huge, already thrusting the part at the bottom of his shirt. His hands were shaking, she saw, as he tore the wrapper, rolled it on.

Then he stepped forward. She lifted up her knees, letting her wrists and the handcuff chain take her full weight for a moment. He stepped between her legs, she wrapped them around him, locking her ankles, as he reached down. They seemed to shift together, finding each other, his cock sliding against her pubic mound, the inside of her thigh....

Then suddenly, she felt him at her lips. She tried to arch her hips, lift her legs a little higher, one heel digging into the small of his back. Suddenly, he surged deep, all the way up her in an instant. Her legs loosened and she felt the weight of her body settle around the base of his cock, pushing it deeper up inside her. No man had ever been so deep, had ever had so much of himself in her. They were so deep, so tight together, she felt the imprint of his pubic hair pressed into her lips.

He kissed her again, his mouth ravenous against hers. His hands grabbed for her breasts, squeezed and then caressed, he lifted them, as if to memorize the shape and weigh them. Finger pinched her nipples, as she worked her thighs up and down, humping herself against him. He reached down, grabbed her ass lifting some of her weight and began to thrust savagely in her, long deep thrusts that had her screaming with pleasure.

Her back and ass were slammed against the door, banging in its frame with each heave of his body. She was already drenched with sweat and excitement, could feel it running down her spine, trickling between her breasts. All she wanted was him inside her fucking harder and deeper.

He let go one ass cheek to grab her breast, mashing it almost painfully between his fingers. With only one cheek held, her weight shifted, she felt him move differently inside her body, the angle of penetration changed a few degrees. Her legs kicked up, wrapped around him, fell, kicked and wrapped, she tried to climb up his cock with her thighs, her hips grinding down against his pussy.

The long thrusts rapidly gave way, becoming shorter and faster, each lunge of his hips slamming her against the doorframe harder and louder. They were both loud, screaming, grunting, moaning. She was coming again, and she could feel him, his thrusts going frantic and brutal, pounding up into her and knew he was coming too. She wanted to come first, could feel the rushing surge of pleasure.

And then it hit, she arched her back, her legs dropping, wrapping around his thighs, pushing herself down on him, she shrieked. She could feel him thrusting harder and faster up into him, pounding, his orgasm exploding even as hers went on and on. As he stiffened inside her and against, pushing mindlessly, and then slowly relaxed.

Finally, it ebbed. The pleasure was still so intense, that even after orgasm, her skin tingled. It was almost too much pleasure.

He stepped back, his cock falling out of her.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. He seemed almost deflated, as if coming had emptied him out physically. “That was intense.”

“Uh huh,” she didn’t trust herself to say anything more complicated. She just leaned back against the door, feeling the smooth panel slick with her sweat. Letting her cuffs take the weight, it hurt a little, but she didn’t seem to care. Her legs felt too wobbly and weak to support her weight.

He stepped forward, reaching between her legs, and she felt a tiny pull, a slick movement. The condom came away in his hand, he let it fall to the ground, making a tiny plop. It had come off his cock half in her, she thought, after he came. As he’d lost his erection, she’d been squeezing, and her pussy had stolen it.

She took deep shuddering breaths, tried to straighten her wobbly legs. Her chain rattled against the door hook. She couldn’t quite pull it off herself.

“Help me to the couch,” she asked him. She felt his strong arms wrap around her, easing her weight up briefly. Her cuffs came off the hook, and the relief in her arms and shoulders was exquisite. Together, they staggered to the couch and flopped on it, still panting with relief.

“Holy shit,” he said again, “this was like something out of a porno. I never imagined anything like this. It’s like the stories you hear about.”

At his words, she felt this strange flush of pride. She was like something out of a porno, out of stories. It made her feel special. Powerful in a strange way.

“It was pretty amazing,” she said. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“You’re kidding!” His amazement was in his voice, and obvious on his face. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No,” she laughed. “First time.”

“Wow.” He laid his head back. “Well, if that’s a first for you, then you got it right in one. My God. Why me?”

She laid her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat. His shirt was half undone, the lower buttons opened. She could see a hairy belly, and bare thighs. She reached down, finding his cock, even limp, she wanted to feel it, to squeeze it in her hand.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Right time, right place, I guess.”

“Oh,” he said. He sounded a little disappointed. She wondered if she hurt his feelings.

The handcuffs had served their purpose. Rather than triggering the release latches, as she usually did, she had him get the keys from their little bowl in the kitchen. There was an intimacy in having him unlock her, even if it was unnecessary, she still enjoyed it. Her wrists were bruised, red welts in the flesh where the handcuffs had bitten into it. She allowed him to massage her wrists.

Afterwards though, neither of them found that they had much to say to each other. He was at least a decade younger. She didn’t feel like she wanted to talk to him. After-sex conversation, the idea of it seemed exhausting. She felt him grow restless as well. When he made some excuse she was all too willing to let him leave, his presence now unwelcome and unnecessary.

Once he was out the door, she simply relaxed for a while. At length, she made herself a hot cup of coffee, and sat back on the couch. The handcuffs, opened and harmless were on the floor. She picked them up and put them on the coffee table. She couldn’t help smiling at them.

It was a satisfying, amazing experience.

Brief. Had it only been ten or fifteen minutes? Amazing.

Finishing the coffee, she went for a shower, luxuriating in the feel of the hot water on her skin. She didn’t scrub, just let the water wash over her in hot rippling sheets, carrying away the sweat and smell of sex. And yet, there was something so sensuous about the shower, the glow of the sex had never left her. Her fingers slipped down, feeling hard nipples, teasing them, pinching them. One hand slipped lower, spreading her lips apart, stroking her clit gently.

Closing her eyes, leaning against the side of the shower, she could feel the heat, the lust building up again. She reached for the memories, concentrated on them, the feel of him, the wet sounds of his cock thrusting into her pussy, the feel of the cuffs, the way her legs wrapped around him. The frenzied passion.

Abruptly, she stopped and turned off the water. She put her hands up flat against the shower stall, panting. She wanted to touch herself.

Not yet, she told herself, not now.

It would be better in cuffs. It would be so much better, wearing the cuffs.

She toweled off roughly, her body still half wet, droplets clinging to her skin everywhere, her hair heavy and limp.

The cuffs were on the coffee table in the living room. Reaching for them, she noticed a text. It was from him. “Had a wonderful time, would love to do it again.”

She almost laughed, it was so carefully neutral. “Fucked you like a slut, can’t wait to pound you all over.” Would have been better.

“Are you hard?” She texted back.

The answer was instant.

“Yes.”

“Then come back and fuck me again.”

“10 minutes!”

She laughed this time. She hoped that he’d last longer this time.

“The door will be unlocked.”

With her knee, she pushed the coffee table away from the couch. Her heart was pounding all over again. The first time, that had been a wild wanton impulse, but this was deliberate, this was calculated. It excited her, made her feel bad.

The lights were too bright. She turned them down, and lit a couple of candles. She moved the coffee table further out, making sure that it would not obstruct the view of the couch from the doorway.

She wanted him to open the door, and see her right there on the couch, legs spread. She leaned back, the cuffs in her hands, assuming the position. Back elevated on cushions, so she could look right at him. Carefully she spread her legs wide, one knee lifted, foot on the seat cushion, the other leg sprawled off the couch.

She was wet all over again. This is how he would see her when he came in. He’d stand there in the doorway and look, staring at her naked body draped over the couch, at her wet pussy waiting to be fucked.

At the glint of steel between her wrists. She ratcheted one of the cuffs closed.

And below them, her fingers opening her.... The other cuff closed.

She stretched her arms down between her legs, letting the cuffed wrists rest on her lower belly.

Gentle fingertips teased her clit....

Opening herself for him.

She blinked slowly, playing with herself, watching the door.

By the time he arrived, she had almost come two or three times, had brought herself up to the edge of orgasm, but held it back. She didn’t want to come until she felt a hard cock inside her, until she felt a male body on top of her. She wanted to feel him between her legs, to listen to him grunt, to touch him, smell him, lick him.

The door opened, spilling light into the living room, overwhelming the candles. She blinked. He was silhouetted, frozen, staring as she had imagined. She writhed, half in pleasure, half in performance for him. Long fingers reaching between her lips, she slid them against the labial folds and pulled apart, opening her wetness.

She imagined he might simply drop his pants, rush upon her, fucking her with the furious urgency of the last time. Instead, he stepped in, and closed the door, locking it.

“Fuck,” was all he said, half prayer, half amazement.

He approached slowly, unbuttoning his shirt, staring at her as if afraid to look away, as if he was afraid that she might vanish if his gaze wavered. She shifted her hips as he moved into the room, keeping her opened wetness facing him. She watched him, enjoying his hypnotized fascination.

He’s hard already, she thought. He was hard before he got here. But when he opened that door, it was as if he hadn’t had anything, all of a sudden all he could think about was how hard he was for her, how badly he wanted her again, she thought. She loved the effect on him, loved the sense of power and excitement.

Still watching her, he slid his pants down to his ankles, kicked awkwardly out of shoes, and stepped toward her.

He did not immediately lunge to mount her, lift her legs and push his cock hard into her with one brutal, exciting thrust. Instead, he circled the coffee table, moving towards her, his erection bobbing between his legs, until he was near her head. His cock was inches from her face.

He reached between her legs, pulling her chained wrists away from her pussy, up towards his cock. Hands linked by the cuffs and the narrow chain, her hands were almost in the position of prayer. Guided by him, they curled around both sides of his cock, her little fingers brushing the soft sack of his scrotum.

“You wanna suck my cock,” he whispered. Half a request, half an order. Or was it simply a statement. She had never cared much one way or the other before, but at that moment she wanted to suck this cock. To taste it, to feel the shape of it against her lips, under her finger tips.

She ran her bound hands along the shaft, enjoying the hardness of it, the hotness, the texture of the skin and the feel of the veins. It curved a little she noticed. He was uncircumcized. She peeled the foreskin back gently, staring at the graceful curve of the glans. There was already a bead of pre-cum. She stuck her tongue out, licked the tip lightly, harvesting the wet pearl of semen. He pushed forward gently. Abruptly, she opened her mouth, took the head in, squeezing with her lips just past the glans.

He moaned. It thrilled her to know she had made him do that. Was there a trembling in his thighs. She felt him move, balancing his weight with one arm over her, on the back of the couch. His cock bobbed gently between her lips. She felt his other hand on her belly, spread her legs a little wider, arched her hips until she felt his fingers curling into her pussy. It was her turn to moan.

He let her suck his cock for a while, sometimes her mouth pulling off, to lick and lap its length with her tongue. Sometimes she cradled his balls in her cupped hands, as she worked the head. She tried to get that moan out of him, the sound of helpless pleasure, and was gratified every time he gasped.

Finally, he pulled his hand from her sopping pussy, she felt his weight shift as he stood upright, the cock pulling away from her lips. For a second, there was a long thread of drool joining his glans and her tongue. A condom was pressed into her cupped, cuffed palms.

“Put it on,” he ordered.

“Oh yes,” she whispered.

She hadn’t put many condoms on. Mostly, men just did that for themselves. But she wanted to do it now, it was like a new adventure, an action. Opening it, placing, rolling it down his length.

She gave a chaste quick kiss to the tip of his glistening, latex member, tasting a hint of lubricant oil.

“Time to fuck me now,” she whispered. He pulled her cuffed wrists back, until her arms were straight out, above her head, out of the way. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it left her whole body open for his gaze, his touch, his cock.

“Oh yeah, I’m going to fuck you,” he said, moving to straddle her, one knee sinking down into the couch cushion. His hand moved from her pussy, the knuckles parting her lips, up her belly, up her ribs to close around one breast.

“Fuck me good,” she told him, bending her knees back. Looking down, she could see his erection hovering over her belly, could see her pussy lips. He reached down, moved his cock. She felt the head of it slide over her clit, down between the lips.

Her breath froze as she watched it enter her, watched and felt it at the same time. This time, there was no instant orgasm, no explosion, no runaway freight train. This time, it was a steadily mounting excitement, a heaviness and lightness within her, a feeling of accumulating tension and desire, that built and built.

He sank in her up to the hilt. His body pressed down against hers, one hand still clutching her breast, the other forcing her bound wrists above her head, his weight partially on her. She loved the feel of him, the way the couch seemed to creak and shift under them.

He began to fuck her. Not like before, not in the frantic out of control way, as if he had been racing to stay one step ahead of his orgasm. No, this was a good fucking, a hard fucking a steady rhythm that built and built up inside her. It took ten minutes to reach her first orgasm, and then only a moment after that for her second, and she loved ever moment of it.

His passion built. His hand left her breast, his entire weight pushing her down into the couch. His mouth found hers, his free hand cupping her face. She came as they kissed.

Abruptly, he pulled out. She floundered awkwardly, as he turned her over, moved her into position on all fours, her upper body straddling the arm of the couch. He thrust into her from behind, fucking her doggy style, pulling her hair, making her back arch as she came, her ass thrusting, pushing back onto his hips.

Later again, she turned, onto her back, legs wrapping around him, him lifting her half off the couch, only her shoulders touching it, as he pushed in and out of her until finally her grip broke and she fell back, only to come as he plunged into her.

By the time he came, she’d lost count of her orgasms, was drenched with sweat, the couch soaked with their fluids, her whole body ached and felt hot and feverish. It was wonderful.

After sex, after they had fucked into aching, sweat drenched satisfaction, once again, he’d released her from the cuffs, and then in the ensuing awkwardness, he’d once again made his excuses, and she’d patiently waited him out the door. She hadn’t bothered to shower, just crawled into bed, wrapping herself in sheets, and drifted off happily.

Laying in bed, she thought about the night. A smile crept over her features. Her shoulders ached a little, but she didn’t mind. It was like a reminder, it brought her back, made memories flash, images and sensations. What she’d done to get that ache.... soooo satisfying. She stretched her arms out into the air, waving them around unselfconsciously. There were red marks around her wrists. Not too bad, she stretched an arm out above her, looking up its length appraising, as if examining a bracelet or piece of jewelry.

The next day, she woke refreshed. There was no gradual transition at all. She simply woke, consciousness switching on like turning on a light. Her first thought was what she’d done the night before. She grinned.

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 18, The Cuckolding, Leroy's Victory

THE CUCKOLDING!!! PART THREE OF OF FOUR

SAM'S POV

“No coming without permission,” Leroy almost shouted gleefully. His throat fucking slowed, he gave her longer spells to breath. Her body relaxed, going limp. He thrust down her throat a few times, unhurried, but with absolutely no resistance, simply affirming his victory.

Leroy’s cock, as he pulled it from her mouth and it trailed across her face was the wettest, slimiest I’d ever seen anything, white saliva foam was smeared across it, and drool sheets oozed from it. Beneath him, Kayley simply panted like a dog.

“Holy fuck!” she said. I zoomed in on her expression, wide eyed and blasted.

“Holy fuck!” she said again, staring past me, breathing heavily.

“I’m so fucking hard from that right now,” Leroy announced, “I could pound six inch nails through a two by four. Time to finish.”

He clapped Kayley’s shoulder, shoving her. “Move bitch. All fours. Doggy style, you’re going to love this.”

Kayley tried to move, and fell back, still panting. She looked a little dizzy. I wanted to help, but simply kept the video trained on her, as Leroy helped her awkwardly move into position on knees and elbows on the bed. I could see she was still trying to recover as Leroy slapped her ass.

“Wider,” he ordered. “Get that ass up there.”

She complied, head hanging. He positioned himself behind her, his fingers digging hard enough into her ass to leave bruises. Sweat was dripping off her, running down her body, her skin was shiny and flushed. She grabbed a fold of bedsheet and used it to wipe her eyes. Leroy was true to his word when he said she would tear up. When I glimpsed them, her eyes were red and raw. Another wipe removed dangling snot from her nose.

“Sam,” Leroy commanded. “Get in front of her. I want you to video her face as she takes my cock.”

As I hastened to comply, he shouted another command, “Hey Princess, get your fucking head up and look straight at the camera. I want to capture the moment.”

Kayley’s expression was utterly vacant as she stared at my smart phone. I didn’t think she was even aware of that I was behind it, or who I was.

“Ready?” Leroy asked. He didn’t wait for an answer.

I watched Kayley’s face.

At first, there was only vacant exhaustion, her breathing had slowed, she was barely panting. Her features were slack, her mouth still shiny in the corner with drool, where she’d missed wiping, her eyes staring but not seeing.

Then, suddenly, she came into focus, or focus came into her. Her eyes opened, her mouth was no longer slack but now parting, lips pulling back. The muscles of her face tightened, and she raised her head. I knew that he’d begun to enter her, that she was feeling the intrustion of his rock hard organ. Her breath hitched and she gasped, throwing her head back. Her eyes opened so wide they almost bulged, her jaw opened, closed, opened wider. She took a deep breath, exhaled rapidly, blinked, which turned into a flutter of eyelids, and then wide open. Kayley gasped loudly.

“Ohh! Ohhh! OH HOLY FUCK!!!” she screamed as his cock barreled all the way deep inside her, splitting her open and bottoming her out. She began to rock back and forth wildly, not of any volition of her own, but simply flung back and forth like a rag doll by the sheer power of Leroy’s fucking. There was a loud “Smack!” as he slapped her ass, making her head swing wildly. Her whole body was in motion, hair, breasts, arms swinging with the force of his fucking. She lost her balance, face planted in the mattress, and he merely reached out, grabbed her hair and pulled her back into doggy style.

Wrapping his hand around and around, he tightened his grip on her hair, using it like reins to pull her hair back and make her spine arch as he ferociously pounded her hapless pattered cunt, pounding it to jelly. Kayley was completely gone, a toy for the end of his cock, only able to make grunting and gasping noises, and spurt random obscenities.

“Fuck, get over here Sam,” Leroy ordered. “The action’s at this end now.”

I climbed across the bed, using the video to take a profile view of him fucking Kayley with stunning brutality. His cock was like a battering ram, with each pull back, inches of shaft were exposed, and then he’d hammer it in so fast and hard it was like an explosion, flinging her around. Only his grip on her hair kept her in place. I panned a zoom close up of her face as he fucked her with ferocious, frantic strokes. She was gone, her mouth gaped like a fish, her eyes were wild and vacant. Whatever, whoever Kayley was had been fucked out of existence and now she was just clenching female meat wrapping itself around his cock.

“Look,” he demanded.

He slapped her ass again, hard. There were red handprints all over her ass cheeks, and outer thighs, one livid against a shoulder blade. He grabbed an ass cheek and pulled it open. I trained the smartphone between them, looking straight down between Kayley’s ass cheeks, as Leroy’s thick shaft pistonned her body to pieces at high velocity.

Leroy shoved his thumb all the way up her ass, unti it was gone. This brought a new sound, from Kayley, a new dimension of frantic exertion, as the stimulation of her body redoubled. She squirted uncontrollably, her juices splashing against his belly and balls. He grinned at that, enjoying her body’s eruption, but showing no mercy, neither slowing nor speeding his frantic pace and brutal lunges.

Instead, as she squirted, he spoke to me. “See this? This asshole. It’s fucking cherry, Sam, and I claim it. You had your chance for what, years, and you were too pussy. That’s gone, Sam. I own this, and next time, I’m popping this cherry. You’re going to watch and film that.”

The fuck was so insane and frantic, I had no idea what he was talking about, just pointed the video wherever he directed. I backed off, making sure I could get him and Kayley in frame. Sweat was coming off him in rivulets, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and his muscles shone. Kayley danced on the end of his cock, a thing with no will of its own.

He fucked her like a man possessed by demons, driven to give everything he had. No matter how awesomely hard he fucked, he seemed to keep driving harder. Sweat was flying, the room reeked of male virility and female rousal. The sounds were the endless slaps of their bodies, shockingly load, and the laboured breathing and gasping of the two of them.

He forced Kayley to another orgasm. I watched as her body struggled to go rigid, only to break and be overwhelmed by his thrusts. She cried out like a damned soul. And he simply fucked past that, dragging her along with his furious intensity.

Finally, I heard him growl. He lifted her up, his knee straightening, then pushed her forward onto her face. He let go her hair, grabbing her hips like with hands turned into two iron claws. His cock, almost a blur from his devastiing fucking, appeared to swell.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck you I’m coming,” he roared and pounted Kayley with such wild convulsive thrusts she was flattened into the bed, squashed as yet another orgasm tore through her. But he wouldn’t stop, his thrusts became fewer, but more powerful, literally shaking the bed, until finally, there was just him, laying on her, his whole body a single tense, rigid mass, straining to push even a few more centimeters into her, to evacuate every last sperm, to breach her cervix and fill her to the brim with his semen.

It was over.

Suddenly, the silence was overwhelming. It was just the two of them panting, and I realized I’d been holding my breath again. I kept recording, not for any other purpose than that I’d been told to, and no one told me to stop. My cock was rigid, dripping precum, so swollen it almost felt like it was burning.

After perhaps five minutes, Leroy groaned and pulled himself off Kayley, rolling onto his back. After a moment or two, he rolled her onto her back, where her legs splayed open bonelessly. His come oozed from her ravaged hole. I zoomed in to get the shot between her thighs.

Leroy pulled himself up until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me. After a moment, he grinned.

“All right! Sam!” Leroy stood, turned to me and clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m going to give you something that no cuck ever receives: Just for you, buddy. A Turn!”

He waved at Kayley, laying there, sprawled bonelessly in bed, her laboured breathing slowly returning to normal, her expression blasted and empty, staring at nothing.

“She’s all yours, Buddy. Fuck her as hard as you can.”

My cock felt ready to explode, my long denied erection harder than it had ever been in my life. Harder even than it had become that morning, when I’d woken to find he’d been fucking her the entire morning through one silent orgasm after another while I slept, and I’d come to the realization that he was bigger, harder, better than I could ever be.

My level of excitement was off the charts. I was delirious with desire. Having spent what seemed like hours watching the woman I loved experiencing what was surely the greatest sex of her life, I was finally invited to have her, to make love to her, to possess her for my own. Suddenly, I was at this pinnacle of absolute elation and happiness, overwhelmed with eagerness.

Leroy shoved, and I lost balance momentarily, falling forward on top of her. But I caught myself immediately

Driven by pure urgency, my hips thrust with a frantic will of their own. My hard cock entered Kayley, and felt... nothing. She was wet, amazingly, slippery wet. But there was almost no pressure, no tension. The wetness even felt cold, her pussy held me loosely, indifferent. Here cunt was slack and loose, completely fucked out by Leroy’s big cock. Her body remained limp, her skin, covered with cooling sweat, felt cold, almost clammy.

“Fuck,” I whined, consumed by the urgency of finally being in her. I didn’t care that her exhausted hole felt like an empty slimy cavern, that it offered no pressure or resistance. I loved her passionately, and I was finally getting to fuck her the extreme excitement of being cucked. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.”

The feeling shook me, I’d never felt her this way before, so completely fucked out and ruined. Yet I couldn’t stop, after watching them engage in volcanic sex for what must have been hours, I couldn’t contain myself. Finally let loose, I humped into her like a madman, thrusting wildly and uncontrollably in her slack wet hole. There was no finesse, no rhythm, just frantic intensity.

Kayley didn’t react. She didn’t change expression, she didn’t even blink. Her breathing didn’t shift, but remained steady and even. She didn’t even look at me, her expression indifferent, or perhaps simply exhausted. Instead, she stared over my shoulder, up at Leroy. The only sign I was fucking her was the frenetic slapping of my hips against her mound, and the shaking of her body.

I was terrified, but somehow, uncontrollably excited by her indifference. I felt rejected, and yet, wild to try to reach her, to win a response, or even to simply have her notice. My thrusts accelerated, became frenetic. But Kayley didn’t even twitch. She didn’t even blink. Her body took my most extra vagant sexual fury... and gave back nothing. Not even acknowledgment. Her breathing did not change.

Suddenly, after barely minutes of fucking, if that, I felt lighting surge rapidly up my spine, my cock seemed to explode, my ejaculation came so sudden and fast and intense it was like a seizure. My body went spastic, I fucked into her so hard, her body was pushed several inches up the bed.

As fast as it had swept over me, the orgasm fled, leaving me feeling hallowed out, in a state of collapse. I went soft on her, all over her, as limp as she, panting like a small dog, consumed by futile exertion.

I felt it, experienced it, but the overwhelming intensity of the moment kept me from fully understanding. This was the greatest sexual experience of my life, and it was also a complete humiliation.

I had come harder, more urgently, more explosively than I ever had in my life. The fastest, most physically devastating orgasm of my existence. Kayley hadn’t even blinked. I trembled, part of me wanted to cry.

Kayley moved as I lay on top of her, I realized my weight was on her and lifted up. But before I could get off her, her arms wrapped around me. Instinctively, it turned into a mutual embrace. She kissed me.

“Hey?” her voice was warm, her eyes met mine. I think it was the first time since we’d moved into the bedroom that she’d looked at me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, but she closed my apology with a kiss.

“It’s okay,” she said, “intense? Good?”

“I love you,” I whispered. “I always will.”

She smiled up at me tenderly. Her lips moved.

“I lo–”

“Hey hey,” Leroy said. There was the sound of a slap against Kayley’s thigh. “Enough of the mushy stuff. That’s for later.”

He fell forward heavily into the bed, beside us, the compression and rebound of the bedsprings bouncing all three of us and separating me and Kayley. He reached for Kayley, pulling her towards him. She crawled up into his arms, curling around him, laying her head across his chest.

For a moment, I wasn’t sure what to do. But then Leroy caught my eye. He grinned.

“Bring it in, Sam! Bring it in, you’re part of this too.”

With his invitation, I crawled up against Kayley, pressing myself against her back and hips. I think she twitched, her back flexed and thighs shifted to acknoweldge my presence. She was drenched in sweat, her skin slick and shiny.

I pressed my forehead against her back.

We were like those Russian Matroshka dolls, but reversed. Leroy was the big one, Kayley the middle one, curled up against him, I was the little one, curled up against her, the most remote and distant. But glad to be allowed to be part of them.

For a moment, the only sound was our breathing, slowly coming into synch.

“That,” Leroy said finally, his voice was practically glowing, “was fucking incredible. It was transcendant. I really think the three of us just connected on a transcendent level. It was amazing.”

Kayley and I mumbled agreement, both of us, in our own ways blasted into oblivion and barely comprehending the experience.

“Incredible,” I mumbled, exhausted and unstrung. That was the word for it.

I felt Kayley move, shifting position, and Leroy’s answering move, pulling her more tightly towards him, as she snuggled.

“So what do we do now?” she asked. She sounded so tired. I understood the feeling. I had never felt so emotionally and physically exhausted.

“Now,” Leroy said confidently. He always knew what to do or say. “We relax and enjoy the feeling. We let go.”

That’s how we fell asleep.

&&&

I jerked awake in the middle of the night to the bed shaking, and the sounds of frantic fucking. Kayley was on her back, her legs wrapped around Leroy’s hips as he plunged into her like a jackhammer.

“Fuck it like you own it,” she groaned fiercely, over and over again, as he plowed her furrow hard.

As he pounded her into the bed, her arms would fly back. One of them kept hitting me. Was that what had woken me? That and the moaning and the grunting and the slapping bodies and the bed shaking.

“You want a real cock!” Leroy demanded.

“Fucking right I do,” she grunted back. “Fuck me. You own me, so fuck me.”

“Take it bitch,” he said.

“Your bitch!” she whispered. “I’m your bitch. I’m taking what you give me. All of it.”

“My bitch.”

She seemed to goad him on. They talked trash to each other, but whenever she went really raunchy it seemed to trigger him, pushing him to fuck her ferociously for up to a dozen or more savage pounding strokes before he slowed.

She was drenched in sweat, they both were, his forehead dripped onto her, their bodies ached of exhaustion, of strain and being pushed past limits. But Kayley’s eyes were firey and focused. Leroy bared his teeth as he fucked, ramming his cock with punishing force, making her grunt each time he bottomed out in her.

“I love your big cock,” she grunted. “Fuck me with it. Own me with it.”

“What about Sam,” he teased. “What about his cock?”

“I want your cock,” she spat. “Man cock, not some cuck dink.”

“Sam’s not-little cock? You don’t want his little dink?”

“Sam’s not small, but fuck it. I don’t care,” she whispered. “He’s a cuck now. His cock doesn’t matter.”

“What about his feelings?”

“Fuck his feelings, they’re as worthless as his cock.”

“You chose me,” he said. “You fucking begged me to take you from him.”

“Fucking right I did,” she snarled. “Now I’m begging you to fuck me.”

“I love you begging for my cock.”

“You like me begging for your cock,” she grunted. “Make me beg. I’m yours, make me beg.”

“You fucking whore,” he snarled, “you need cock. You love to spread your legs.”

“I am. I’m a whore, and I love spreading for you. I’m a whore for your cock.”

“Say it.”

“I need your big cock,” she said. “I need you to fuck me with it. I need to feel it.”

“What about Sam’s cock,” he grunted. “Do you feel that?:

He fucked her hard and steady for a long minute before she responded.

“Not like yours. He’s not big enough. Fuck Sam,” she said, “my cunt is yours now. I’m yours now. I want your big cock.”

“But Sam’s cock is ‘adequate’,” he teased her, there was a weird resentment in his voice, a fixation.

“Fuck that, and fuck adequate. If Sam was a man...,” she swore, “if his cock was adequate, he’d be fucking me right now. But he’s not, and it isn’t. So now he’s just a cuck and I belong to you.”

“What if he begs to fuck you,” Leroy whispered hungrily. “Would you fuck him if he begged? From now on, you should make him beg.”

“No!”

“No?”

“I’m not his any more,” she whispered. “Not after tonight....What he wants doesn’t matter. I don’t care if he begs me. He can go fuck himself.”

She looked up at him, there was something cold and ruthless in her look. Something angry born of exhaustion and frustration and submission. Her breath was uneven, the words bitten out in little gasps, but there was no mistaking the clarity or harshness in her foice

“If he wants to ... fuck me... he can beg you... I’ll do it then... That’s what you want... for him... to beg you to le him... fuck me... .Well Fuck him... He’ll have to... beg you... for my pussy...”

The word, this total redefinition of our relationship was like a sexual lightning bolt, it felt like I was being turned inside out. The sensation in my cock was electrical, savage, it felt like it was being skinned alive.

“Jesus!” Leroy swore suddenly, as if shocked. His expression shifted rapidly, for an instant, he seemed startled, and then immensely pleased, but just as quickly, it was replaced by a kind of startled ecstasy, as if his orgasm had come over him suddenly.

His mouth opened but no words came out, he thrust convulsively, breaking his own rhythm. I could almost see the lightning creeping up his spine. The energy stiffening his body.

“Fuck, fuck you. Come! Come for me you fucking whore,” he spat out, the words strained. They seemed to galvanize Kayley, that or the wild convulsive thrusting, the way his cock was swelling up inside her. As he barreled towards orgasm, I could see her being swept up and swept along.

My hand tightened around my cock, watching them, and my masturbation became furious. It felt like I was being caught up in a tidal wave of sexual energy shame and humiliation. Their bodies smashed together again and again, making loud wet smacking noises.

Suddenly, I was ejaculating, coming without permission, I couldn’t help it, the sexual energy was overwhelming. The backwash of their orgasms picked me up and flung me, my ejaculation so intense it was almost painful. I held back my cry in my throat, holding my hand over my cock head to catch and conceal the semen.

When it was over, Leroy laid flat and boneless on top of Kayley, panting like a dog. I could see, even in the darkness, a sheen of sweat all over him.

“Fuck,” he mumbled. Kayley lay crushed beneath him, sprawled out like a rag doll, struggling to breath under his weight. My transgression went unnoticed, it hadn’t mattered at all, in the fury of their orgasms.

After a moment, he rolled off her, stretching out. There was no cuddling, no holding. He just rolled onto his back, arms and legs loose. A minute or two later, he was snoring. Kayley was awake longer, albeit utterly exhausted, I could tell from her breathing, although she remained motionless and limp. I wanted to speak to her, to touch her, but it was as if I wasn’t even there. She didn’t even acknowledge my presence. Her breathing slowed, and I could tell she had drifted off.

I laid there, with my hand full of cold semen, dripping my own cum over my limp, useless genitals, overwhelmed again by the intensity I had witnessed. It almost felt like I’d watched a battle going on, although it wasn’t clear who had won. No, that wasn’t right. Leroy always won.

Leroy and Kayley sprawled out bonelessly in post-coital bliss, leaving me to contort myself to remain on the bed. But I couldn’t sleep, instead, I lay awake replaying the events of the night’s first sexual adventure, and now this one. I was intensely excited, but despite quiet frantic jerking, my limp penis remained unresponsive. I was well aware that my masturbation was prohibited, but I couldn’t help it, even as I was aware that my further effort to masturbate was a failure.

Although they had not rejected me on this round, my presence had felt useless. I’d had no purpose, they hadn’t even acknowledge me. They’d been completely consumed by their fucking, and it hadn’t seemed to matter to them whether I’d been there or not. Had they even noticed me? Were they aware I’d woken and watched and listened? Or had some of it been deliberately directed at me? Or had they just not cared at all whether I slept or woke, or whether I’d listened?

When had they started? I’d been unconscious. There must have been waking, one then the other. Quiet foreplay. I imagined Kayley, waking next to him, hand casually close to his naked cock. How many times had she done that with me? It was a favourite trick. Had she done it that night at Leroy’s? She denied it, but ...

I imagined her laying in bed with me and Leroy, toying with his, feeling it quicken, becoming aroused herself. Then, carefully sucking his cock, waiting for his eyes to open. Waiting for him to watch her and eventually take command. By the time his cock was ready, she would have been completely wet. Had I woken at the beginning, or had they built up to that intensity?

The exchanges between them were shocking, it had been as if they were fighting, some contest of wills too subtle for me to grasp. Leroy’s words came back to me, the rules he had given me. Kayley off limits. Give up control Surrender my sexuality.

But that was just role play. Right? Or was it just role play. Had we slipped across some boundary? Are these the rules of my life going forward? Maybe I wasn’t giving up enough? Would Leroy demand more concessions? What more? And would I? I pondered, but there are no answers in the dark night of the soul.

Eventually, I left the bed and retreated to the couch in the living room, where I drifted off to sleep.

&&&

I woke up for the second time in the middle of the night to find Kayley kneeling beside the couch, kissing me. She grinned and held her finger to her lips, motioning silence. I laid back, as she leaned over me, her hair brushing my face, as we traded sweet kisses, sometimes passionate, sometimes endearing. Her eyes were warm and loving.

Eventually, she made her way down my chest until she took my hard cock in her mouth, and went to work. I looked down at her, as she glanced up, our gazes met. Her eyes were merry and mischievous, and she slid all the way down my shaft. She teased my balls with one hand and other hand, palm flat, fingers splayed out, slid all over my stomach and chest.

To my shame, I didn’t last long. Five minutes, tops. Suddenly, I was coming like a rocket going off. I gritted my teeth, my muscles going rigid, my hips lifting way up off the couch. My bady wanted to thrash as she swallowed spurt after spurt of semen, and I gripped the arm of my couch with everything I had. A shout, a bellow of ecstasy tried to force it’s away out, and I clamped down on it with absolute intensity, struggling to be quiet.

After, I collapsed, drenched in sweat, boneless and sated. Kayley climbed onto the couch, cuddling against me. I turned on my side, as she snuggled her ass into my hips, her back into my chest, using my forearm as a pillow. I threw an arm protectively around her, and she caught it, kissing my palm. With her fngernail, she began drawing lines in my poem. As I drifted off to sleep, I understood what the lines represented - they were letters. L... O... V... E... U...

&&&

I don’t know how long I slept, only to gradually wake to the sound of loud cries from the bedroom. Kayley was no longer snuggled up to me on the couch, and for a moment, I wondered where she’d gone, whether she would return.

Then the loud cries filtered into my awareness. The sound of flesh on flesh, a steady relentless slapping.

“Oh my god,” Kayley screamed. “Fuck me! Fuck me hard, I need that cock in me!”

The flesh slapping sound was relentless. Kayley was being fucked hard. There was the sound of a loud slap, a cry of pleasure and surprise.

“Beg for it,” came Leroy’s voice.

“Please!” Kayley’s voice is almost frantic with desire.

“Who are you?” Leroy’s voice snarled.

“I’m nobody,” she gasped. “I’m yours. I’m your whore.”

“Who owns you?” he demanded.

“You do!” she cried out, rising towards orgasm. “You own me!”

“Believe it, bitch!” he commanded.

“Oh god!” Kayley whined. “Oh my god!”

“Yes!”

Shame washed over me, as I laid there listening to this superior man take my girlfriend for his own, reducing her to a willing possession. And yet, my cock was rampant once again. Almost against my own will, I was drawn, getting up from the couch, and walking to the bedroom doorway.

I stopped there in the doorway, naked, urgently hard, confused, as if waiting for some instruction. I reached down, holding my pathetic erection.

Leroy was fucking her doggy style, pounding her savagely from behind, to her desperate grunts and moans. Her face was in the pillows, turned away from me. Her arms were flung out.

Was he fucking her ass? No, not yet.

Leroy glanced at me, his look dropped for a second to register the erection in my hand. For a second, he had a twisted grin, and then he looked away, back to Kayley, seeming to ignore me completely after that.

I don’t know whether it was for my benefit, but he turned Kayley’s body away from me slightly. From this altered angle, I had an amazing view as his massive cock thrust relentlessy into her, his thick shaft disappearing again and again into her stretched, vanquished cunt. I could see her ass cheek ripple with each thrust, her belly and ribs heave as each breath matched the rhythm of his fucking. I could even see her toes flex as he fucked her, the interplay of muscles in her thighs and calves. As his cock rammed her brutally again and again, her whole body shook and reacted, the shockwave of each lunge going through her.

The only thing I couldn’t see was her face, it made it strange. The disembodied frantic voice, constantly grunting, moaning, begging and pleading for him to fuck her, the body shaking like rag doll with each thrust, both seemed Kayley and disconnected from her. It was as if he’d completely fucked out her identity entirely and reduced her to an object. A willing, eager, submissive, twitching object.

I became aware that my masturbation, a violation of the rules, had rapidly become frantic. Suddenly, helplessly, I was coming, struggling to stand, biting down on any sound, as lightning surged all the way up my spine and my cock seemed to explode. I stood paralyzed haplessly jerking, as I spurted and spurted.

My arousal was in overdrive, I seemed to have lost all self control. I stood there in the doorway, having spurted all over the carpet. Neither of them acknowledged my emission. They just kept on fucking.

I felt weak and uncertain. I leaned on the doorway for support, holding my dripping, rapidly deflating penis. I wasn’t sure what to do now? Retreat.

But I couldn’t. Although Kayley was angled away from me and couldn’t see me, I had a perfect view of her pussy as Leroy thrust into it. I could see his shaft, a gleaming, shining python, drenched with her pussy’s lubrication, disappearing into her now swollen and puffy pubes.

As if for my view the strokes become steadily longer, slower. The massive thick shaft fascinates me, it’s like a steel beam, a steam piston, smoothly invading her again and again, disappearing each time up to the hilt into her buckling, heaving body. Every time a thrust bottoms out in her, her back arches, her head lifts, she whimpers with pleasure. Again and again, he thrusted, bottomed in her, she would heave and whimper.

Kayley was no longer a person. She’d become an adjunct to the fucking machine that is his cock, overpowered by it, unresisting, yielding, opened, her existence redefined by the powerful erection that invades her, her identity abandoned to ceaseless motion of his relentless penetration. She’s gone, her only purpose, her only reason is to serve his cock.

From Kayley came a symphony, a load torrent of grunts and groans, of obscenities.

“Who owns you?” he demands.

“You do,” she replied, the sound was small and exhausted. He’s made the demand over and over, her answers are automatic, rote but deeply felt. “You own my cunt, You own me. You conquered me with your big cock, so you own me.”

“You like me owning you?”

“Fuck yes!” she moans.

“Take me!”

“Conquer me!”

“You broke me, I’m broken on your cock.”

Finally, he comes with a roar. Kayley pathetically begging him to shoot his load, to claim her once again. To fill her body with his seed, so that she’s occupied territory. I didn’t see him ejaculate, his cock is buried deep inside her as she begged for every drop of his semen. But there was no doubt.

If she wasn’t on birth control, she’d be pregnant by him, I think. The thought makes my cock swell.

Completely used, utterly spent, Kayley lays face down, sprawled out like a rag doll, a pupped with all its strings cut. She moans and sighs, but mostly she pants like a dog, rasping for breath. Her ass is gorgeous, her body is gorgeous. In the faint light from the window, she almost glistens. A layer of sweat. She’s totally exhausted, he’s worn her out. He wins again.

Leroy glances at me, he smiles, as if he’s on the verge of laughing. But then his gaze sweeps away, as if I barely registered at all. He flops down on Kayley, pressing her into the mattress. She gives a ‘whoof’ as the air is forced out of her.

He moves, she curls into him. I listen to her breathing deepen and become regular as she goes to sleep. I know after that pounding, that she won’t be coming to visit me in the night, and won’t be cuddling with me on the couch.

I feel like an idiot standing there in the doorway. More than that, I feel like a creep. I go back to the couch. From the bedroom, my former bedroom, comes the sound of faint snoring. I feel ashamed, like I shouldn’t even have been watching them this time. And embarrassed, and humiliated, and even a little sick to my stomach.

I have this absolute certainty that she went back to him from the couch, because I’d been so utterly unsatisfying when she’d come to me. I hadn’t been able to give her what she wanted or needed, so after letting me drift off, she’d gone back to him, to real satisfaction. And he’d fucked her the way she wanted, the way she needed. He’d fucked her to the point of exhaustion, wrung her out body and soul like a wet rag.

Unlike the other times tonight, that hadn’t been for us. That had been for her. I hadn’t even been meant to watch.

And despite all the roiling emotions, the terrors of inadequacy, the guilt and confusion, my cock was irresistably hard. I masturbated on the couch, coming all over my hand.

Then I laid down and tried to sleep. I think I dreamed, the dreams were all sex and humiliation, desire and failure.

&&&

It was morning when I woke. I could tell by the light of dawn streaming through the window. From the cries coming from the bedroom, I could tell that Leroy is fucking Kayley again. The man is a machine, utterly unstoppable. I wondered if he’d simply fucked her all night. It felt like it.

My cock was rigid once again, triggered by the sound of them. But the rest of me was bone weary. I felt exhausted, as if I’d run some kind of marathon.

Once again, compelled by the sound of their bodies slapping, by Kaley’s cries of ecstasy, I wend to my bedroom, to stand in the doorway, watching their naked bodies go at it.

This was the fourth time I’d woken up to Leroy fucking my girl.

Kayley’s head turned towards me, our eyes made contact, her mouth opened to speak. Then Leroy grabbed her hair, turning her head back to look at him. His mouth descended on hers, her jaws parting, as he claimed her with his tongue. The kiss rolled on and on.

Finally, it broke. Leroy arched his back, shoulders flexing, he thrust hard, spilling moans from Kayley’s helpless lips. His face turned to me.

“Hey sport!” he said cheerfully. “We didn’t wake you, did we? Don’t mind us. Tell you what, I’m going to be finished soon. Why don’t you head to the kitchen and get started on breakfast.”

He grinned at me, and then turned back to Kayley. Her head had tilted to me while Leroy was speaking, but anything she might have said is swept away with his kiss and the savage thrust of his cock into her willing body.

I realized I’d been dismissed.

I remained a moment, my erection in my hand, and then embarrassed, as if I no longer had the right to watch, I retreated. I’d been given a task, it seemed, another humiliation.

Still listening to them, they were so noisy it was impossible not to. There was something disorienting and surreal about it. Was this the new normal? The memories of the night-time sex, both of him taking her in those intervals after we’d gone to sleep, and her cuddling on the couch with me, had they happened? In the light of the morning, they seemed savage and unreal. I had no doubt that it had happened, but how real had it been? How real the word? It was just sex talk, right?

I went to the kitchen. With each slap, with each grunt or sigh or groan, with each harsh word from Leroy and broken pleading from Kayley, I could perfectly visualize exactly what they were doing. It was overpowering.

Holding hard onto the kitchen counter, I masturbated furiously, more ashamed of myself with each stroke. My mind was awash with the sounds of their fucking, knowing what was going on, but words and images from the whole previous night boiled through me, almost climbing over each other for attention, overwhelming me. But it worked. I ejaculated all over the kitchen floor, bent over, gasping for breath. But at least now the relentless images and memories, the sounds and sexual intensity had faded. I’d found the clarity to do what I’d been told.

Washed and wiped my hands, and then, naked and pathetically limp, I set about making breakfast. I couldn’t compete with Leroy, I decided. The best thing to do was to stay basic - bacon, eggs, toast, I sliced up a tomato.

The sound of fucking had reached a crescendo and ceased. So he was human after all. They remained in the bedroom, whispering as I worked.

I was just setting the table as Leroy and Kayley came out of the bedroom, sweaty, disheveled, but satisfied. She smiled at me. Shyly I smiled back. Leroy came half way out, looked at me, and went back to the bedroom, returning wearing boxer shorts. Kayley and I glanced at each other. She shrugged.

Leroy sat, Kayley followed him. I noticed he adjusted her chair so that she sat nearer to him, their knees touching.

“So what have we got?” Leroy asked, as I deposited the plates and sat down. He eyed my breakfast critically. There was an overwhelming sense of normality. Just three people sitting down for breakfast together.

“Not bad,” he conceded. “But wait, don’t touch anything.”

He got up, went into the kitchen and poked around in the fridge for a moment. “Kayley,” he called, “where do you keep the spices and seasonings.”

“Second cabinet from the stove,” she said. We looked at each other, and she adjusted her chair to be more central.

Leroy pulled a bowl from the dishes, did something that clattered, and then came bustling out with a couple of condiments and spices, some lettuce, a jar of mayo and the bowl, now with green mush in it. He grabbed Kayley’s plate, moving swiftly and methodically, laying lettuce on the toast, smearing a thin film of mayo, then condiments and spices, then the bacon, another layer of mayo smeared lettuce and the other toast on top. All this within seconds.

“Ideally,” he said as he worked, “we’d use cream cheese, the good kind, and maybe a different mix. But you know, you use what you got. The trick is to always go light. That’s what a lot of restaurants don’t get. Food is a balancing act, you always want to be delicate.”

He passed Kayley back her plate. “Eat up,” he told her.

He looked up at me. “Sam. Your plate?”

I handed my breakfast over, and watched as he efficiently and without any apparent thought or effort, turned my breakfast into some kind of fancy European sandwich.

“Oh shit!” Kayley said, chewing. “This is really good, Sam.”

Leroy smiled, handing me back my sandwhich and going to work on his breakfast plate. Reluctantly, I picked it up and bit in. Leroy paused to watch me eat. It was good, it was really fucking good. I nodded. He grinned at me, and then tucked in.

“Wow,” he said, “that was a fucking night or what? Your girl wore me out, Sam, I swear my cock is raw.”

He paused. “Or should I say ‘my girl’ now.”

He laughed.

“Just kidding. It’s over, we’re finished, and frankly after that intensity, it’s a relief to get back to normal. Kayley’s all yours, Sam. You too are made for each other.”

“Yeah,” Kaylay said. Under the table where Leroy couldn’t see, her hand found my knee. Not sexy, but protectively. “I’m all his, and he’s all mine.”

Somehow, that broke the tension, that had started to build, and we all relaxed into small talk for a moment, talking about our plans for the day. To our relief, Leroy seemed to have things on the go, so he had no inclination to stick around.

“Honestly,” he said, “I wasn’t even planning to stay the night. But there’s something wonderful about you two. It was an amazing night. We accomplished so much.”

He paused.

“So, Sam,” he said, staring directly at me, “you are officially a cuckold now. Definite. Past the point of no return. How do you feel about that?”

Caught by surprise, I was momentarily speechless.

“Uhm... Okay?” I mumbled. “It was... uhh... it was a lot to take in.”

He nodded carefully, searching my face.

“All right,” he said. “Let me ask you: Was it sexy? Were you aroused? Did you come hard?”

I blushed hard.

“Oh yes. Definitely. It was uhm... volcanic. I just felt... It was intense! I came really hard, every time, even... Even, you know, not actually... just touching.”

Leroy nodded.

“It’s a psychological eroticsm, much more than physical,” he said. “It’s an incredibly intense eroticism. Very powerful stuff.”

He reached across the table.

“Sam,” he said, “take my hand. I’m going to ask you a question. I want you to answer as honestly as you can.”

I nodded and took his hand.

“All right.”

“Sam,” Leroy asked, “are you okay?”

Kayley was looking back and forth between us.

I blinked, and thought hard.

“I don’t know,” I said finally. “I think so.”

He nodded.

“Sam,” he said, “what you’ve gone through is an extremely emotionally and sexually powerful experience, and you’re still processing it. I’m going to tell you this. You’re doing fine, and you’re going to be okay. Trust me.”

“All right.”

“You and me,” he said, making a gesture. “We’re going to get together this week, all right? We’re going to go and do guy stuff, we’re going to have some beers, we’re going to talk it out. I’m going to help you process it, so you feel okay, so you feel good.”

Kayley watched us.

“All right,” I said.

He smiled and reached across, and clapped me on the shoulder.

“Got your back, buddy,” he said. “Brothers!”

“Okay,” Kayley said dryly. “While you’ve got all this male bonding going on, I’m going to shower and get dressed.”

She pushed herself up from the table to head to the bathroom. As she passed, Leroy caught her, wrapping his hands around her naked thigh. He pulled her in for a kiss. My heart skipped a beat, and my cock hardened under the table, as she melted into the kiss, rubbing against him. I saw his hand move up her thigh. Her whole body jolted as his fingers slid up inside her.

“I thought,” she said, her voice sultry, but I could sense an undercurrent of something else, “that we weren’t playing cuckold any more?”

His fingers were still inside her.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I just love your pussy. I’ll play with it every chance I get.”

Her expression lightened mischievously.

“You’re bad,” she teased, and moved to go. But he held her.

“Hey,” he said indicating me, “Sam needs some love too.”

“Oh right,” she smiled and turned, bending forward over the table towards me. I could clearly see between her legs, Leroy’s fingers deep in her. As she leaned towards me, she trembled, and I knew his thumb had penetrated her ass.

I raised myself up from the table, moving my face towards hers.

“My love,” she whispered, her expression flickered as Leroy moved his fingers, but her lips pursed.

“Sweetheart,” I whispered. We kissed, lips pressing together briefly. Then she was pulled away.

“Okay,” Leroy grinned, releasing her pussy. “Now go get yourself cleaned up, dirty girl.”

She punched him lightly and scampered off, the bathroom door closing behind her. Leroy stretched and relaxed.

“That was my big surprise,” he said, nodding towards the bathroom.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I knew you were into it, Sam, although it’s a journey for you. You want it, but you have to come to terms with it,” Leroy said. “I understand.”

He looked at me.

“But Kayley?” He lifted his eyebrows. “Holy fuck. She took to it like a duck to water. She loved it. You got doubts, second thoughts, I respect that. But she just went for it, committed totaly, no looking back. She’s fucking into it,” he told me. “She’s crazy into it.”

“What?” I asked.

“You saw her, you herd her. It wasn’t a role play. You can’t fake it like she did. It was genuine. She’s into it,” he leaned forward, almost whispering. “She was crazy into it. Submitting to a bull. Cucking you, especially cucking you, the whole cuckold thing. She didn’t hold back at all. I had to struggle to keep up, she fucking took it and ran with it, man. She wouldn’t stop pushing. I had to rein her in or she would have gone a lot harder on you.”

“I was ready to quit the role play when we finished last night,” he said. “You saw that. ‘It’s over. Come sleep with us, Sam.’ That was me. She wouldn’t stop, even in the middle of the night. I woke up with her mouth on my cock, and I could see she’s still in the mode. Twice! And again this morning. She wouldn’t let the role play go! I had to talk to her while you were in the kitchen, to get her to ease up.”

“Kayley?” I asked.

“Did you know?” he asked with apparent sincerity. “Did you know how much she was into it? This much? It’s real for her.”

“Uhm...” I said, confused. “No. We just kind of started.”

“The flirting with strange men,” he said reflectively. “Fucking random guys in bars. I guess it adds up in hindsight. She was working towards it. But fuck, last night... holy shit! All the way, man, all the way to the end. No hesitation. No looking back. No second guessing. The minute we started, she went total nuclear.”

I was trying to go over everything, thinking about all the games we’d played, the encounters with Leroy and Derek. Was there something? Maybe?

“She never talked to you about it? Cuckolding?”

“No!”

He leaned back.

“Hmmm,” he said. “She wasn’t ready to talk to you about it then. Interesting. Maybe she’s still not ready. There’s something going on there with her? But fuck, I guarantee you, she’s crazy for it. After last night, I know it... And you know it too.”

“I uhhh...” I began. “I don’t know what to say.”

He made a dismissive gesture.

“Don’t say anything,” he said. “Just let her feel her way. Whatever is going on with her, when she wants to talk about it, she will. In the meantime, just let her follow her urge.”

“You and I can talk about it when we get together,” Leroy promised.

Kayley came out of the shower, naked, towelling her hair.

“You guys talking about me?” she asked, heading into the bedroom.

“We’re talking about all sorts of things, Princess,” Leroy called to her, as she vanished into the bedroom. He looked at me, and shook his head.

“Just kind of talking about things,” I said. “Not about you.”

Leroy nodded.

“Likely story,” Kayley called from the bedroom. “Hey Leroy, you want me to bring your clothes out?”

“Nah,” he laughed. “I’ll go get them myself.”

“I’ll bring them out,” she said.

He nodded meaningfully at me.

“We’ll talk,” he said softly.

“Yes,” I agreed.

&&&

“He’s gone, finally,” Kayley sighed heavily, she plopped into the loveseat next to me.

It’s funny, we have a good sized couch you can stretch out on. But when we’re alone together, we always gravitate to the loveseat to cuddle.

“You know, it’s like he’s exhausting. When he’s around, he’s magnetic, charismatic, he just draws you in. But when he finally leaves. It’s a relief.”

“Well,” I said diplomatically, “one of you got worn out last night. But yeah, you’re right. He soaks up a lot of energy.”

“So,” Kayley said thoughtfully, “are you going to put on clothes?”

I shrugged.

“Eventually.”

She eyed me speculatively, the corner of her mouth quirked upwards a bit.

“You know,” she said. “If you’re feeling submissive, I have a ball gag you could wear. A couple of options actually. Red and black, and lipstick to go with both. You could take your pick.”

Embarrassingly, my cock stirred. Kayley noted it and casually wrapped her hand around it. It was kind of fucked up, I was getting constant erections, recovering within minutes. But actual fucking was over in minutes. I was too hyper-stimulated.

“I dunno,” I said. “The one without teeth marks. But ... I’m not really feeling subbish. Just relaxed and low key. It’s like you were saying, I feel drained.”

She cuddled up against me, her hand on my half-hard cock. Her body felt good against mine, not in a sexual, but in a deeply affectionate way. I find I’m happiest when we’re touching, even if it’s just holding hands.

I took a deep breath and let it out.

“We had a conversation,” she said, “after fucking this morning, while you were making breakfast.”

My expression didn’t change, but I could feel my heart freezing.

She sighed.

“I think we’ll need to talk more about what went on with him, things we liked, things we didn’t, what worked, stuff like that... But at least he seemed open.”

“Good to know,” I said. I wasn’t nearly so organized. I think the experience was too overwhelming, too out there for me to have any coherent thoughts about what I’d liked or didn’t like.

“I have some important questions for you,” she said. “He wanted me to ask. But I want to know too.”

I nodded.

“Okay,” I said, “shoot. I’ll try my best.”

“Did you enjoy it?” she said. “Did you love it?”

I flashed on Leroy’s words while she was in the shower. Was she asking for me? Or was she asking for her? Did she really want to know how I felt? Or did she want an answer that would make her feel happy?

I examined my conflicted feelings.

“I definitely reacted, sexually,” I said carefully. “I was incredibly turned on, I mean it was crazy how hot it was. And even when I was just jerking off, the orgasms were fucking intense. I felt like a bystander or... A helper... for a lot of it, but most of the time, it was so hot, that didn’t matter.”

I stared at the ceiling.

“It was like ... being in an earthquake. The whole world is shaking, and even if you’re just there, you’re in it.”

She was watching me carefully. She’d been incredibly into it, Leroy had said, had committed totally. That was definitely true, she’d been more vocal than she’d ever been with me. There’d been moments, watching her, when she’d been completely abandoned, in complete surrender.

“You were ethereally beautiful when Leroy was fucking you, there had been an amazing visual energy, a radiance coming off you, a sheer beauty and perfection that left me breathless. I could watch you take a cock forever. You were just so wild, your pleasure and your enthusiasm, it took my breath away. You were amazing, louder and wilder than I’d ever seen you. I loved that.”

She smiled.

But there had been the denial of intimacy that I hungered for, that was a part of our relationship. As much as I’d longed to touch her, to feel her, to be in her, that had been denied. Instead, another had touched her, felt her, entered her. Following behind that had been feelings of loneliness, of inadequacy, of emasculation. Did I need to tell her that? Did I need to talk about that with her? Would it spoil the happiness of it, for her?

The experience had been... bittersweet.

“You looked like you were really into it yourself,” I said.

She looked away and laughed.

“Role play.”

“Intense role play,” I said. “There were moments...”

“It felt real,” she finished. “And intense. Yeah. The sex was fucking real. But...”

Her voice trailed off.

Kayley had had the greatest sex of her life, from a man whose cock was dramatically bigger than mine, who was far more talented bed in every way.

“Well,” she laughed, “I enjoyed myself. But this is about you.”

She loved me, I knew that, but she craved him. She would keep on craving him, no matter what. I had to accept the fact that I was second best to the love of my life. She needed Leroy to make her happy.

“You can tell by the number of times I got off, just by watching.” I counted up. “I think I came five or six times in all, including on the couch. Thank you for that one by the way.”

“You’re welcome. So you liked it?”

“Loved it,” I smiled at her, making sure to bury all my insecurities. This wasn’t about my insecurities. This was about her excitement and happiness, and I wasn’t going to spoil that by laying my emotional garbage on her.

“What were the best parts?” she asked. “Worst parts?”

“I honestly don’t know what to say to that,” I said. “It was overwhelming.”

“That thing in the parkade,” she said. “That shocked me. That he would do that to you. That you would do it. That you were so hard then.”

“That was fucked up,” I agreed quickly, not wanting to really talk about it.

“He wants to do it again,” she said. “Not a regular threesome like we had before. The cuckold thing.”

Translation: Kayley wanted to do it again. Leroy hadn’t said anything to me about doing it again. He seemed to want an ... assessment, first. He seemed to want to be careful. But Kayley had jumped in with both feet, I’d seen it myself, and Leroy had admitted it.

She wanted it. She just didn’t want to push me into it, if I wasn’t sure.

I wasn’t at all sure about it. But I was always sure about her. If this was what she needed...

“Sure,” I said. “I can get behind that.”

“You don’t seem eager?” she probed.

“I’m recovering from the experience,” I said. “It was incredible, but exhausting. What’s the time frame.”

“Leroy suggested a couple of weeks?”

Translation: Kayley was suggesting a couple of weeks.

Impulsively, I turned and kissed her passionately, just to let her know I loved her unconditionally. These games weren’t necessary. If this is what she wanted... I was in. As for doubts and second thoughts, reservations and lingering shame. I’d talk that over with Leroy. No need to dump this bullshit on her.

“That sounds terrific,” I said, when the kiss ended.

We both looked down. Somehow along the way, my cock was fully hard all over again.

“Well,” she said, “look at that! I guess you really are into it.”

Convincing me? Or convincing herself?

I shrugged mentally. Maybe I was! Who knew for sure? My head was a little bit messed up. Or maybe it was just the lingering hyper-arousal. Or maybe it was simply the fact that the woman I loved more than anything in the world had my cock in her hand.

“You know what,” she said, stroking my cock in both hands. “He had an ask. I think he wanted it to be an order, but fuck that, it’s a request.”

“Oh?”

“He asked me not to allow you to fuck for twenty four hours after he left. He made me promise.”

“When did he leave?” I asked casually.

“Ten Thirty Seven exactly,” she said, giving herself away. “I checked the clock.”

“What do you think of that?” she asked.

Translation: What did she want me to think of that? Was this from her, or from Leroy. I thought they might have talked about it. Maybe. But I had the sense that, given just how much and how obviously, she’d been into it maybe she didn’t quite want to let it go. Maybe some kind of private experimenting, just the two of us, without his overbearing presence? Or just climbing down gradually?

My cock, traitor, throbbed hard in her hand.

“Wow,” I said, my heart racing, my stomach was doing flip flops. I could see the excitement and enthusiasm in her eyes, the joyfulness that seemed to radiate off her. She was luminous.

She was definitely into it, I decided. Playful.

Twenty-four hours? I moaned mentally. The enforced chastity was frustrating, and exciting, and terrifying, all three at once. But it was only a day.

“Well, you just said you promised,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, not looking at me. She was stroking me, harder than ever.

“I wouldn’t want you to break a promise,” I told her.

She looked up at me. Definitely playful, her eyes were merry.

“You didn’t promise anything?” she asked thoughtfully. “While you were talking when I was in the shower? There were no commitments?”

“Nope,” I said. “But if you promised...”

She looked down at my cock, stroking it, then up at me. She snuggled harder, keeping a good grip on it. There was something kittenish.

“The promise was just no fucking. That’s all. That leaves all kinds of loopholes,” she said. “Oral sex, for instance. All kinds of oral sex!”

I nodded.

“And teasing, and stroking, fondling, licking, cupping, caressing, full body massage,” there was a hungry cheerfulness in your voice. “I could deep throat, suck and lick and swallow, bring you to the peak over and over. We could edge. You could spend the whole day going down on my beaten up pussy the way I love... and it’s really beaten up! Fuck, but he pounded me! It needs some TLC! So much TLC!”

She leaned forward and kissed me. I grinned, relaxing. Whether we were just fooling around, or extending the cuckolding, she was talking fun.

“And we can take showers together,” she said. “Proper showers, like we should have been doing all along.”

Her head dropped. I felt her lips on the lip of my cock.

She raised up her head to look directly at me.

“I’m talking anal sex, dummy!”

“I got that,” I said, “euphemism. I know what that is!”

“Good!” She smiled brightly, and dived like a bird of prey. Suddenly, the head of my cock was in her mouth, and it was breathlessly glorious. There was a moment, when the shock of it almost made me explode, and then it passed and I was still hard.

I threw my head back and laughed out loud from sheer happiness. Sure the cuckolding thing was fucked up and bizarre. But so what? Wherever she wanted to go, I’d happily follow her. We loved each other more than anything and nothing could change that. And when you love someone like that, nothing else matters.

We lasted a little over nine hours before we broke the promise. But it was an amazing fun nine hours. And nine more hours of amazing fun after.

Catfish Chronicles - Ch. 03 Caught

“Thailand,” I announce, “has ruined me. Totally ruined me. I can never have Thai food again, not unless I come back here!”

“That’s a long way for Take-Out,” he agrees.

Better-Kate’s adventures are half travelogue now. Maybe more than half. There are still exotic dance performances, or performances I’ve seen. I describe watching a live sex show with a statuesque woman and an extraordinarily athletic and well hung dwarf.

There are assignations with wealthy Filipino businessmen and Generals, invitations to high (but not highest) society events and private parties, private shows where sometimes I’m the performer, and sometimes the audience, but it’s always exciting and transgressive. Better-Kate is sexually unconquerable and utterly fearless, free with her body in a way that transcends morals.

But there’s more. I describe for him the sunrise over the Manilla skyline, the beaches of Luzon, extremes of wealth and poverty. There’s an encounter with a monkey-like tarsier. A game of strip poke with billionaires where I clean them out, and finally in frustration, they simply pay me to take off my clothes. Flying over the mountains in a tiny plane.

Eventually, Better-Kate moves on, briefly stopping in Singapore. Then to Thailand and descriptions of jungles and ancient Buddhist temples, the night life of Bangkok, rude American tourists, ladyboys, the beauty of the Thai people, the exquisite food.

I always wanted to travel. And as I researched, scouring the internet and travel books, looking at pictures and videos, and putting myself in the middle of it, embroidering detail after detail, imagining taste and texture, heat and the sweat of my skin under clothes, the sounds of insects or street life, the smells... In a way, I’m there with him. Telling him, sharing it with him makes it vivid for me. The lies make it real.

&&&

I went on a date. My life didn’t stop when Better-Kate came along. I still went out with friends, I went on dates.

He was all right. His name was Tom. He worked at a law firm doing tax cases. He was sincere and mildly funny. He clings to his sense of humor, because he did tax cases, and he thought it kept him from turning into a drone.

The date went well, we did all the usual things, dinner and drinks. The bar was too loud, so I invited him back to my place, where we made out on the couch and then took it into the bedroom.

The sex was perfectly acceptable.

In my mind, as we laid together, I reconfigured him into a taut bodied young German, not a trace of fat on his rigid, rippled frame. A casual tourist, a backpacker, in Bangkok that Better-Kate connects with, who after incandescent, wildly athletic sex, talks about mountain climbing and his ambition to make an assault on Mount Everest.

We saw each other a couple of times. But after that, the mild chemistry just sputtered out.

I didn’t miss him.

&&&

We discussed whether I should get nipple piercings, going back and forth over the subject.

In her lines of work, Better-Kate should get breast implants. And honestly, I’m mildly intrigued by them.

On one of my visits to a bar, a stripper allowed me to fondle hers. There was something intriguing about their soft rigidity, the yielding firmness. There was a sense of presence there, of confidence or assertiveness that surprised me. I understood a little better why some women got them and why they liked them.

I shared these thoughts with Mike. Better-Kate feels more thoughtful than I am. She was more observant, she paid closer attention to the world, and gave it more reflection.

In a weird way, I feel more shallow. But then again she’s off traveling the world, seeing new places and new faces. Real life is more humdrum, full of consistency and repetition.

Better-Kate has thought about breast implants, she shared with Mike. Maybe someday. But for now, she likes her body natural. Mike concurs, he liked her body too.

The nipple piercings we discussed at more length. I’m actually intrigued by the thought of getting them for real. The idea of going to work, of going through the monotony of life, with a secret under my clothes, that’s exciting to me. I think that they’d look good. Mike agrees.

I almost do it. But then I chicken out. Because I always chicken out.

Better-Kate tells Mike she changed her mind, for now.

&&&

Dubai, I talk about sandstorms. The awful unbearable heat. The incredible wealth and opulence, and the hidden but pervasive near slavery. reveal that the Burq Khalifa, the tallest building in the world, is not connected to water and sewer, and so every morning at five am, dozens of trucks line up to cart away sewage and deliver for showers and baths.

I tell him about straddling a perfumed Sheikh in his limousine on a crowded street, the windows blacked of course. Coarse hands on my body, a mixture of repugnance and excitement.

I’ve been in a limousine in real life, at least, for my high school graduation, a bunch of us in over-ruffled dresses, drinking non-alcoholic wine, giggling about the future.

I’d have rather had the Sheikh.

&&&

“This woman, she’s dressed like a nun, except that it’s a fetish nun. Her habit and wimple is red latex, skin tight, strategically exposed in places. She’s got piercings and little bells hanging from chains on the piercings. And there’s a Dominatrix with what looks like a shock wand, and she’s touching the nun with it to make the bells ring.”

“That’s pretty freaky,” Mike responds.

I’m describing a night at a fetish club in Berlin, high on MDMA, and the gorgeous kaleidoscope of bodies of every size and shape covered in latex, leather and costumes so extreme as to be ludicrous.

“Now the next one up on stage, the next few, men and women. They’re not dressed nearly as wildly as that. But they’re wearing these metal plates over strategic parts of their body, like their breasts or crotch. The Dominatrix, she takes this industrial grinder, and jams it into their crotches.”

“Holy shit,” Mike texts.

“The shower of sparks is amazing, it just lights up the whole stage. It reaches ten feet in the air. The sub is shaking and moaning loudly. You can hear him over the sound of the grinder. He’s pretending to have an orgasm. Or maybe he’s actually having one, I wouldn’t be surprised. After, the Dom walks around the stage waving this piece of industrial machinery over her head, and then the next one comes forward.”

I pause.

“Did you get the pictures I sent you.”

“Oh yes, amazing. Did you take them?”

“LOL. No, I would have been afraid to. There was a photographer there. He posted them online.”

“What were you wearing?”

“I was pretty conservative for that crowd. Topless. I wore a Catwoman mask, my black PVC thigh highs, and a strap-on with a twelve inch black dildo.”

“I think I can see you in some of the pictures, in the background.”

Or a woman that can pass for me. I’ve sent him pictures now and then, some quite explicit ones, depending on my levels of excitement or adventurousness. I’ve actually bought lingerie just for some pictures, or ventured to some locations. My boldest picture was in a run down toilet stall, giving a fake blow job to a very realist dildo, pretending it was an imaginary stranger.

Other pictures from exotic locations, I stole from the internet and painstakingly learned to Photoshop myself into them.

The conversation turns to strap-ons, and I describe the night, embroidering details as always, and ramming transvestites in the basement of the club.

“I thought I was freaky! That was a whole other level.”

And then later.

“I should be back in a couple of weeks. Do you want to get together?”

Oh so casually. But I’ve shocked myself. Where had that come from? My heart starts to race, my stomach flips with excitement, with terror and eagerness, even though I know what the answer will be.

“Sure.”

The answer was just as casual, but I’m imagining his shock, the sudden instant surge of his erection. The wild, eager, heart stopping enthusiasm and elation on his side. Or am I just imagining it.

“Cool,” I type. “I’ll let you know.”

What did I just do?

&&&

Given our strange relationship, choosing what to wear was a challenge.

All afternoon I debated. Wear something normal? After all the stories I’d told him? Fetish clubs in Germany, orgies in Amsterdam, dancing my way through Southeast Asia? I’d sent him pictures of my vagina.

Technically, they could have been anyone’s vagina, and I almost used some I’d found on the internet, but in the end, I’d opted for authenticity. After all, it wasn’t as if my face was in my more explicit pictures.

The only option was to go big, and by that, I meant slutty sex goddess. At first, I opted to wear the same outfit, or lack of outfit, as I’d worn on our first encounter. Sexy, cheap, nostalgic.

Yeah, wearing it around the apartment or on the way to my car in the parkade was one thing. Out in public where people would see? Nope.

So I opted for a trench coat over it - that was what I’d worn on the way to meet Jay. A different trench coat. But I couldn’t help the feeling of deja vu.

I tried on the thigh high fetish boots and walked around experimentally. No way. They’d never been really comfortable, and each time I’d worn them, I’d gotten less willing. Instead, I opted for some very nice red level calf length boots with slightly less torturous heels.

Naked, I checked them out in the mirror. Not bad. I tried with the miniskirt, turning this way and that, and sucking in my belly. Without the vinyl boots going all the way up my thighs, there was something missing - that was such an expanse of bare flesh from calf to miniskirt. I added fishnet patterned stay ups. It worked with the miniskirt.

I tried on the bustier? I needed a little more. I had a fishnet top that would go well with the stay up stockings. I tried that. Nice, but it clashed with the bustier, I was ‘overdressed slutty.’ Tried it without the bustier, too much nipple action. Pasties? That was stupid. I tried a bunch of different tops, tank tops, tube tops, sequined tops, plunging necklines, really tight showing the outline of breasts and nipples, or loose and deep so you could look down my cleavage and maybe when I moved, catch a glimpse of nipple.

In the end, I chickened out and went with a plunging red tank top, with a loose fishnet over it. It was still embarrassing to be seen in public with it, but I’d wear the trench coat.

I stared at the full length mirror, boots and stay-ups, miniskirt, tank top, lots of skin. I sighed, somehow, I felt a little awkward, like a little girl dressing in grown-up clothes.

Better-Kate would have worn this so much better. Better-Kate would have just worn whatever she wanted without a thought, no second guessing, and she would have been stunning.

&&&

That afternoon he was already waiting for me when my cab arrived at Barleys, a bar on the edge of the seedy side of town. The autumn air was cool, but the patio section was still open, and he was sitting by the railing under an umbrella.

I smiled and waved back as I got out of the cab. But my stomach was doing flip flops, my heart was racing.

I’d planned an exit from the cab, the folds of the trench coat parting as I swung my leg out, the red boot and length of stocking all the way up to my thigh momentarily on display. But I forgot all that. Instead it felt like I stumbled out, gracelessly, like a clod.

It was night and day between how I actually moved, and the flamboyant grace and poise that Better-Kate radiated effortlessly.

Still, I managed to get up the stairs and into a chair opposite him, without embarrassing myself. I was excited but terrified, not of him, but of making a mess of it. I was aroused, but intimidated. I wanted to just run away. This whole thing was such a mistake, I needed to go back to text messages and emails and occasional phone calls, exotic stories and carefully staged pictures from the safety of my apartment. Right now, he was altogether too real, too three dimensional.

He was just sitting opposite me, blushing slightly.

I should say something. I smiled and unconsciously licked my lips, tasting the gloss.

“So here we are?” I offered.

Mentally, I kicked myself for being so lame.

“Here we are,” he agreed.

Oh god, after all those online exchanges, we had nothing to talk about in real life!

“Nice outfit.”

“Thanks,” I said, clutching the trench coat, it was practically buttoned up to my neck. I crossed my legs in a non-Femme Fatale way, which drew his attention to my legs and made me blush. Why? I’d wanted him to see my legs as I was riding over in the cab. I should unbutton the coat.. But I couldn’t, I was suddenly too chickenshit. Or I’d been chickenshit all along.

The waitress came over, and I chatted with a her about selections until I ordered a Shiraze red wine. He was having a beer.

“It’s on me,” he said quickly, before she left. Nervous, he was nervous. His movements a little too quick. He kept glancing at my legs, and when he looked at me, I could tell he was mentally trying to see through the trench coat. Definitely nervous.

Well, that made two of us.

Oddly, talking to the waitress, the three of us interacting, had helped me regain some self possession. I undid a button from the trench coat, just one, but it was a start. I re-crossed my legs, again in a non-femme fatale way, but he watched anyway.

We chatted, at first about the weather, and then about the city. I pretended not to have been here for a while. I asked him about his job and his interests. The waitress brought our drinks, and with the wine, I was almost starting to relax.

Then he asked about Thailand. My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I was frozen, not sure what to say. Then, suddenly, I had the weirdest deja vu, it was like I was twelve and in elementary school, the teacher calling on me out of the blue, and this weird elation when I realized that I absolutely had the right answer, the bestest answer!

I can do this, I thought, as I smiled and lied, visualizing photographs in my mind of an old abandoned temple up the river and embroidering details of the journey, the call of birds, the insects the suffocating heat and humidity and the decaying grandeur of the ancient stones.

In the back of my mind I made up an impromptu tryst with an androgynous but swarthy Thai tour guide, a quick unforgettable encounter up against a stone wall, surrounded by vines and parrot calls. Force of habit. I didn’t tell him that part of it though.

Suddenly, I was Better-Kate, or at least I’d slipped into playing her, had grabbed onto her confidence and easy sexuality. I undid more buttons, leaned forward, shifted casually in my chair. His eyes glittered as I exposed more. Another glass of wine and he watched like a hawk as I touched lips to glass and sipped.

There were more questions, more stories, we laughed and chatted. He told his own stories, none so adventurous as mine, but these were heartfelt and genuine. His were true, and they were sweet.

I leaned back and as he tried not to look at my cleavage, I let the tip of my boot accidentally brush against his calf.

“You used to work around here?” he asked. The trench coat was completely unbuttoned and open, still hanging from my shoulders because I was chicken, but still exhibitionistic. The waitress when she came back with the third glass had looked me up and down.

Every time I shifted in my seat, Mike glanced at my legs, trying to see up my skirt. I liked that. I let the miniskirt ride up so that he could see the smooth thighs above the stocking, and then pulled it down.

I turned, looking over my shoulder, feeling the sway of my breast. It’s amazing how vividly aware you are of your own body when you know someone else is watching, drinking it in. Especially when you know how exciting it is for them, and you want it to be.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I did.”

I remembered my lunch with the hooker and her pimp, sorry, ‘boyfriend.' His hand on my knee, the invitation I'd bailed on. Chickenshit-Kate.

“We used to all eat together at Sammy’s Burgers,” I said. “Slow nights, or just taking a break with the girls. We’d all laugh together.”

I turned back.

“Is Sammy’s still there?”

“Yes.”

“Good burgers,” I told him. “All the girls thought so. Home made, you know. Nothing like it.”

“We can check it out, if you’re hungry,” he offered.

I shrugged.

“Maybe later.”

“Where did you used to work out of?”

Trick question? Was he suspicious? No, just asking. Besides, I knew this one.

“Different hotels,” I replied. “The Stock, the Regency. My favourite was the Fairmont, that used to be high class, and you know, even run down, it had a mystique.”

“The Georgia?”

I that was the closest one to us, just down the street. The cab had gone right past it.

“That one too.”

I smiled.

“How much did you charge?”

“That would be telling,” I teased, smiling at him over my wine glass. I slouched back a little, and his eyes darted to my breasts.

I should have gone with a push up bra, or maybe the bustier. Or the tight number with the transparent panel. Real-Kate couldn’t help second guessing everything to death!

I pushed her down, and brought up Better-Kate to give him a smokey look, “Asking for any particular reason?”

“Just curious,” he blushed deeply.

“What do you think? What’s the going rate these days?” I asked.

“I don’t know. A hundred?” Which was actually the going rate. I wanted to tease and ask how he knew. Maybe I could get another deep blush. But I decided not to.

“A hundred?” I let my half empty wine glass twirl slightly on my fingertips. “Surely not.”

“A hundred and twenty?”

I rolled my eyes, and took another sip to cover my excitement. I couldn’t believe it. It was happening. I’d been trying to think how to broach the subject, trying to figure out how to move us from here to the next step. And here it was, I couldn’t believe how simple it was. Every date should be like this - just make an offer.

“A hundred and fifty?”

I finished my glass and set it down on the table, crossing and uncrossing my legs in the Femme Fatale way. I smiled at him and said one word.

“Sold.”

&&&

“Cool!”

He sounded so excited and relived at once, it was kind of sweet. We’d already had sex, and since then, I’d filled him up with a hundred stories of raunchy adventures. I couldn’t imagine why he might have doubted we were going to fuck.

Hell, I wanted to fuck. Sure, I’d struggled with cold feet. But seriously, it had been in my mind since I’d agreed to meet again. And at some point, after the first glass of Shiraze, I’d firmed up the decision to climb up and down him like he was made of ladders. The only challenge was how to get there.

“Money up front,” I said. My nervousness had evaporated, I was playing a role, and I wanted to play it to the hilt.

“Here?”

“Sure,” I said confidently. “Put it on the table.”

He opened his wallet and laid out the bills. I made a show of counting it and slipped it into the trench coat pocket. There were a few other people at tables now. Had they noticed? Were they wondering? Making assumptions?

Mike paid our bill, the Waitress giving me side eyes at the way I was dressed. I smiled back, wishing I could have counted the cash in front of her. We stood together. I left the trench coat unbuttoned, aware of male glances sliding off me. My nipples were hard, my breasts swayed with each move. The miniskirt had ridden up just enough that the tops of stockings and a little bit more showed.

“So,” I asked, as we walked by patrons, “where are we going to go? Your place.”

“Georgia. I rented a room. It was the closest. A short walk.”

I laughed. Perfect.

“Oh my, you were pretty sure of yourself, weren’t you?”

Even without looking, I could tell he was blushing, and I had this weird flood of affection for him.

“I was hoping.”

“Well I hope you didn’t go for their hourly rate,” I said.

“No, I paid for a whole night there,” he said, almost apologetically. “I figured... you know.”

I patted his hand.

“Good boy.”

&&&

I’d never been inside the Georgia, or any of the downtown hotels that catered to indigents and prostitutes. I’d known about the Fairmont and its faded grandeur, because of a newspaper article in the Arts & Culture section. But if the Georgia had ever been classy, there was no sign of it.

The lobby was stripped of all furniture but an old wooden bench and a broken pay phone. You could tell it had once been expansive and maybe even classy, but a crude retrofitted wall had been constructed, with cheap doorways, all the walls covered with too many coats of cheap paint. One of the doors said “Restaurant.” The whole place had that musty dusty heaviness that you get sometime with decaying buildings, a place that’s had it’s time long ago, and is just patiently marking time until the wrecking ball comes.

The front desk was enclosed in a glass partition, or perhaps thick plexiglass judging by the scratches. Behind it there was a fat old man in a sweat stained shirt and muttonchop sideburns, watching a small television. He looked up at us.

I smiled and nodded at the old man as if I came here regularly. He looked me up and down with a kind of practiced appreciation, and nodded back. Mike waved his key, and the man pressed a hidden button. The metal door buzzed and we went through.

“Just so you know,” I said in the elevator, “I wanted to wear the exact outfit I was wearing when we met. But a heel broke.”

“You look good.”

“Thanks. I am wearing the same underwear.”

“I don’t remember you wearing underwear.”

I smiled.

“Exactly.”

I wasn’t looking directly at him, but I was sure he blushed. My smile stretched into a grin, and I took his hand in mine.

Upstairs it was as seedy as you would expect, the carpet worn through, the walls and fixtures covered with multiple coats of paint. Our room was a bed, a bathroom, a single dresser-table and a chair. The musty odor was even stronger. How many people had fucked on that bed?

I heard a noise.

“Listen,” I held a hand up, motioning silence, listening hard at the wall next to the door.

As we listened, we could just barely here the rhythmic sound of springs, a series of feminine grunts, and then very clearly, the a woman’s voice. “Oh god, oh yes, fuck me, now, now, now!”

I grinned.

“Someone’s having fun,” I whispered, as if they could hear us and I didn’t want to interrupt them. I was glad of the distraction, I had this hesitancy, it seemed that each step left me uncertain. Here we were in the room, now what? Sure, sex, but how do you get there?

I let the trench coat slide off my shoulders as he stepped towards me. He wrapped one hand around my waist, as I caught the other one and guided it to my breast feeling his fingers splay to cup it. In my heels we were the same height, I pressed my lips to his.

The kiss felt... right. His lips were softer than I expected, almost tentative. We hadn’t kissed at all that first time. His hand slid down to my bare skin and then slid back up under my tank top, pushing it upwards. The intimacy of the touch gave me this little wet shiver and I felt my heart give a little bump. We kissed harder, more passionately. His lips parted, and my tongue flickered in, lightly touching the tip of his.

His head dipped, then he was nibbling at my earlobe. I turned my head slightly, to give him better access, enjoying the way his tongue darted just below. I arched my neck, smiling with pleasure, feeling his body pressing against me as his kisses followed one after the other, down my throat, along my shoulder, making me shiver with pleasure. I loved the feel of his hands on my bare skin, the way he cupped my breast.

He went lower, bending to wear my tube top had been pushed up, sliding over it to take my nipple into his mouth. I moaned slightly, and slid my fingers through his hair at the back of his head, pushing him harder onto my rigid nipple.

“Oh yes,” I whispered, “suck harder.”

I moaned again as his cheeks caved and I could feel the wet suction, making my nipple throb and tingle.

I was going to get my nipples pierced, I decided. Fuck Real-Kate and her chickenshit ways. I was going to get it done, even if Better-Kate had to drag Real-Kate kicking and screaming.

Disappointingly, he left my nipple. For a second, he lightly kissed the other, and went lower. Oh my, I thought, where is this going?

Then he was kneeling in front of my, how hands, palms flat moving slowly from thighs, to belly to breast, a sensual exploration that had me purring like a kitten. I pulled my miniskirt up to my waist and leaned back against the dresser, parting my legs and bending my knees to give him better access. I was wet with anticipation and excitement, panting slightly, almost on the edge of trembling. I knew what he wanted, and I wanted him to have it. I ran my fingers through this hair, but he needed no guidance.

“Oh my!” I whispered suddenly, my eyes opening

Oh what was that? His tongue unerringly found my clit, a single wet press, a hint of motion, and lifted, leaving nothing but lingering shock and his warm breath. I caught my breath. It was delicious.

He reached around behind my thighs, his arms snaking forward, fingers reaching in from each side to part my lips, spreading them from my clit. I shivered at the intimate exposure. His tongue darted in again, touching, teasing, never lingering.

“Oh my!” I said more forcefully. “Oh my! You are good!”

My clit felt like it was radiating sheer pleasure, every touch and lash of his tongue sent a shiver through me. I’d had men go down on me, but... oh wow... never like this. Mostly it had just been lapping away, a dog-like persistence until I was massaged into orgasm.

But this, this was heaven. This was ballet, my hips twitched to the touches of his tongue, it was nowhere and everywhere, triggering waves of sensation, never quite the same, but each delightful.

“Fuck!” I said. “Where did you learn this?”

He lifted his head, to speak, and almost desperately, I shoved his face back between his legs, grinding my mound against his face.

“Never mind,” I said quickly. “Tell me later. Right now, just keep on doing this. Oh wow!”

I spread my legs a little wider, leaning back and reaching down to press fingers and pull against my pubic mound, exposing my clit to him that much more. His tongue slithered down between my lips, and then back again, making the insides of my thighs tremble.

I knew where he’d learned it! Of course, of course, I thought, floating on his flickering tongue. I’d taught him. I'd told him exactly how to do it.

I’d laid it out, explaining, describing, fantasizing an oral sex inspired by my own masturbation laced with pornography, erotica and my own imagination fabricating endless detail.

The bastard had been taking notes all along. The fucker. The delicious, delirious fucker.

“Oh my god,” I cried out, and jammed his face against my mound, grinding for a moment, before releasing him to let his lips and tongue dance and tease. I could feel his hot moist breath down my thighs, my lips open, my vagina dilating. I wished he’d stick a finger, two fingers up inside me, that would be delirious.

He did something with his tongue, I couldn’t visualize just what, but it was wet and muscular and slithered like an eel in exactly the right way.

“Yes, yes, yes!” I cried. “Exactly that, do that, do that.”

Suddenly, as the sensation repeated again and again I could feel the pleasure, the sensation coalescing into a blinding white ball between my legs, lighting crawling up my spine. I grabbed his head with both hands, my thighs both rigid and trembling like jelly, spasming open and then clamping around him, opening again. I threw my head back, my body going stiff, and just cried out with ecstasy, and just came, and came.

It faded, leaving me breathless, and panting, little spots across my vision. Suddenly, I felt drenched with sweat, and weak as a kitten, my muscles like water.

Mike rose from between my legs, arms around me, as I sat with my ass on the dresser, it was all that was holding me up. He said something, I didn’t register it.

“Okay,” I breathed. “Okay, you just earned a refund. Oh, I’m taking that home with me.”

“It was good?” he asked.

I grinned, cute little attention whore that he was. He played my pussy like a harp, and now he was begging for affirmation? I kissed him.

“I can live with it.”

I plucked at his shirt.

“You’re really overdressed,” I whispered, undoing a button. I reached down with one hand, feeling him rock hard in his pants, fingers tracing the outlines of a cock I remembered so well.

“You’re hardly dressed at all.”

That made me giggle. I pulled off my fishnet and tank top, it was already pushed up over my breasts to my armpits. I discarded it on the floor. He stared at my breasts, not just stared, worshiped, transfixed. They hypnotized him, it was if they were miraculous. I loved it. I arched my back, thrusting them forward, wanting him to stare and stare, drinking up his arousal and attention.

“Aren’t they just great!” I exulted.

I reached out to his shirt, half unbuttoned and pressed my palms against his bare flesh, sliding them across, feeling his pectorals and nipples. He was hastily undoing the rest of the buttons and pulling the shirt tails out. My hands drifted lower, pulling at his belt.

I slipped off the dresser, my legs still wobbly. Oh man that had been good, I was still a little shocked by how good he’d been.

I shoved my hand into his loosened pants feeling my way across his boxers. Frustrated, I pulled back and reached again, this time fingertips gliding down bare skin thick with wiry hair. My hand curled around his bare erection and I felt it throbbing the tip already wet and slick, the feel of it, the texture, the hardness, my own boldness thrilled me.

“Oh hello there!” I whispered, delighted. “I remember this.”

Mike pulled my miniskirt down my hips. I let it fall. We stumbled towards the bed as he shrugged out of his shirt and kicked off his shoes. His pants fell clunking around his ankles, weighted down by wallet and phone and belt, while his boxers were twisted around his thighs. I kept my fingers wrapped around his cock, I didn’t want to let it go.

I was almost crazed with sexual excitement, I couldn’t think of anything else. I wanted him so badly. I wanted to feel him in me, I wanted him looking at me, touching me. I felt radiant, as if I was glowing, incandescent with erotic fire.

As we approached the bed, he turned me around nibbling at the back of my neck, his hands reaching around cupping my breasts, making me purr like a cat. I loved the way he touched me, I wanted him to keep touching me, exploring me forever. I took one of his hands, and slid it down my body, between my legs.

“Feel this,” I husked, pressing his hand against my mound, fingers parting my lips. “I’m so wet, so fucking wet!”

Gently, he pushed me on my back. I took the cue, bending forward, climbing onto the bed, my knees at the lip, going down to my elbows as he gripped my hips. I could feel him moving behind me, almost delaying, hands lifting. I pushed my ass back towards him.

“Just a minute,” he gasped. I could feel him kicking off his boxers and pants, his hand returning to my pass, pressing down to steady himself. My thighs backed against his, I could feel his erection beneath us. Steadying on one elbow, I reached for it, holding it for a second.

“Give it to me,” I moaned.

“Spread wider,” he husked, pushing down. My knees went wider on the bed, lowering.

Then suddenly, I felt him at my lips, a moment of probing, finding me, sliding against my clit, and then up to my entry.

Then a wonderful deep thrust! I gasped and arched my back to accept it deeper.

“Oh yes!” I cried out.

His hands had locked on my hips, holding me in place, as he started to pound with powerful thrusts. Slightly off balance on only one elbow, my face hit the bed for an instant until I could get both elbows, my thighs spreading wider, feeling him deeper. I arched my back, mewing with pleasure. I made guttural noises of sheer pleasure, loving the feel of his hands, the tension that radiated off him, the cock hard and hot and wildly rigid pistoning rapidly in me. I felt like a rag doll on his cock, my body flung this way and that with each thrust, sensitive to every movement, the swing of my breasts, the flex of thighs and elbow and back, the toss of my hair. With him behind me, invisible, it felt almost like I was in my own world, alone and experiencing a sexual earthquake.

Wild intense thrusting gave way to more measured strokes, steadily increasing in speed and intensity, the strokes shortening with intensity. His hands on my hips were like iron, fingers digging into my flesh. He loosed me, reaching out to grab my shoulder and pull me harder onto his thrusting erection. His free hand sliding down my sweat drenched back.

I flashed on our previous fuck, the way he’d gripped my hips and thrust into me from behind, the sensations and memory so vivid that the two experiences seemed to merge together, bringing a renewed visceral intensity. Had the last few months happened? Mike’s cock rigid and pumping seemed so intense, so real, so permanent and immediate. All I knew was that I wanted it, I wanted it forever, even inside me now it wasn’t enough.

“More,” I screamed. “More cock! Harder! Fuck me harder!”

This seemed to set him off, his grip on my shoulder past my neck tightening. His other hand dug into my ass, it was as if he was physically pulling me back onto his cock with each forward thrust. My ass smacked against his hips with a series of rapid wet slapping sounds, almost stinging as if he was spanking me. Animalistic grunts poured out from behind me, becoming deeper and coarser.

It was too intense, my second orgasm felt like it poured over me, like a flood, an intense wave and release. I cried out, my body going stiff. My face hit the bed, back arching and I slid forward stiffening, slipping from his grip. There was an almost painful combination of regret and relief as I felt his cock slipping out of me, it was too much, too intense, and yet not enough, I didn’t want to let it go.

I felt him climbing onto the bed on top of me, his weight settling over me like a flesh blanket, hairy and sweaty and welcome. I reveled in it, wanting to pull him further over me. I could feel his erection against my ass cheek, ready and waiting.

Mike let me catch my breath. I twisted under him, and he rolled off, the two of us, side by side in bed.

I loved looking at him, his plain unassuming face, bursting with humanity. I reached out to stroke his arm, drawing fingertips from there to hairy chest. Hair on his arms, his chest, wiry and undisciplined. He’d be hopeless as a man-scaping case, I thought. But then, that was him all over, a little thick, a little heavy, muscles like slabs covered with a layer of fat. His body was a million miles away from the gym sculpted men I’d dated, their body hair carefully pruned, sprayed, body-washed and exfoliated.

There was something so viscerally authentic to him that overcame his apparent ordinariness. I couldn’t stop looking at him. I wanted to touch him, and keep touching him all over, to feel him on my fingertips and palms. I wanted to turn him over to look at his ass, to explore every inch of him. I wanted to lick him like an ice cream cone, every bit of him.

“Pretty intense, uh?” he was breathless. His eyes were luminous, staring at me. I grabbed his hand, and drew it to my breast.

“Oh yeah, just feel that,” I replied. “My heart is just pounding.”

His eyes shifted down from my gaze to my breasts. I lifted one knee, exposing myself, letting him look, wanting him to look, to see me. I wanted to feel his gaze, the lust and fascination in it.

My hand slid down towards his erection. I felt slick rubber. Glancing down, I saw a condom. Right, I thought. I’d felt it back when I’d reached under on the bed, but it had been so quick, and I’d been so impassioned, I hadn’t really registered it.

I toyed with his erection, letting my fingers crawl down its length, until my palm was splayed, cradling full hair testicles.

“I didn’t even notice you put it on,” I said.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“You’re clean right?” I asked, plucking at the base of the rubber, rolling it back a little. “I want to feel you. The real you. I want to feel this naked.”

“You sure?”

I’d gone on birth control for a month just for this meeting, just in case.

“Oh yes,” I whispered. I pushed him onto his back and rose up on one elbow, pulling on the condom, stretching the rubber out as it clung to his erection. It came off with a tiny wet noise, and then his raw cock was in my hand, slimy with condom sweat, but full and glorious, and mine. I wrapped my fingers around his cock, feeling it throb, feeling possessive.

I’d felt this way before, I remembered, our first time. A moment, a feeling where I hadn’t just held it, but I wanted it, I wanted to possess it, own it. A feeling like I’d taken it for my own, it belonged to me now. Mine, all mine!

It was such a strange sensation. I couldn’t ever remember feeling this possessive about any of my other lovers’ cocks. They’d always firmly belonged on their men, I’d had no urge to claim, no sense of wanting to own.

I stared at it, my hand sliding up and down, fascinated in this way, acutely conscious of how unique this fascination was, and wondering why it was so. It didn’t matter, I just wanted it.

I dipped my head over it, taking his glans in my mouth. I tasted cock sweat and smeared pre-cum and the residue of sour latex, and licked the prepuce, triggering a shudder through his body. I loved the response, if not the taste.

“Ready to go,” I asked.

I laid back, pulling his cock towards me, his body floating after. I got under him, spreading my legs, pulling my knees back up, holding him in both hands as he floated above me. I loved looking up at him, loved him hovering above me. I looked into his face as he stared down at me, and let my gaze drift down the length of him, drinking him in.

“Wait,” I whispered. “My boots.”

They’d been sexy. But my feet were starting to sweat, which was less than sexy. And I was afraid of the heels tearing the sheets.

“Take them off for me,” I husked, holding my legs straight up in the hair.

“Sure,” he leaned back on his haunches, his erection standing up proudly. Tentatively, he ran his hands down my left boot, found the zipper at the top of the calf and pulled it back to my ankle, pulling the boot off. He kissed my calf, and then repeated on the other one. The boots clumped on the side of the bed.

“The stockings?” he asked.

“Sure,” I replied.

“I kind of like them actually,” he said.

“Then we’ll leave them on.”

He leaned forward, sweeping over me. I felt the bed shift with his weight, the depressions as his palms pressed down on either side of me. The way he loomed over me, his erection eager and dangling below us, excited me.

I pulled my legs higher, knees bent, spread wide for him. I could feel my lips wide, practically gaping for him. This time, I wanted to see him, I wanted to watch his cock slide into me, as if I was watching a porn film, I wanted to see as well as feel him entering. I guided him down, rubbing the head of his cock deliciously against my clit, feeling the shape of him stroking up along my pubic mound, and then down, finding the wetness, the dripping folds, my entrance.

“Slow this time,” I whispered. “I want to feel it this time, I want to savour it.”

“I’ll try,” he whispered above me, looking down as well.

“This is the first time for us,” I whispered. “Skin to skin, bare. I want to memorize this, this intimacy.”

The head of his cock pressed between my lips, opening me. I arched my back as it paused, sliding just a little further onto it.

“Yes,” he whispered. “You feel so good. So good.”

I relaxed, the arch disappearing, my knees going a little higher. He slid slowly into me with exquisite sweetness as I reveled in his progress inch by inch, until his hairy crotch was pressed flat against me, grinding against my mound, flattening my clit hood, rubbing against my clit with intimate tension. It felt so vivid, I almost felt as if I could count each curling pubic hair.

He began to pull back with exquisite slowness, I hooked my thighs around him, heels almost touching as they pressed into his ass.

“Don’t go too far,” I giggled. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

“Oh don’t worry,” he assured me, “I’m coming right back.”

His head dipped to kiss me. As we broke the kiss, his head and shoulders lifted, I felt his hips move as he kept his promise to return, sliding deep within me. I pressed my heels into his ass, to encourage him deeper, and reached up with my arms to draw him down, until our sweat covered bodies were sliding together.

We fucked like that, with me pinned like a butterfly under him, beautiful wings spread gloriously wide, penetrated deep. Long slow thrusts succeeded each other, punctuated by kisses, my hands up and down his body, feeling him, exploring him. My hips shifted, knees and legs bending and spreading, changing angles with each stroke.

We climbed into frantic hard pounding as one or the other of us neared orgasm, and then changed pace, pushing back the climax in favour of sensual exploration. I’d come twice, but I wanted more now, I wanted the intimacy of his body, the feel of his cock, I wanted to prolong it, spread it out, immerse myself in it. To treat it like wine and sip it slowly, savouring each taste, each mouthful, the intimacy of each thrust inside me, the feeling of him so deep.

The feeling felt mutual, it felt like he was drinking me in as much as I drank him, and that excited me. I reached up, ran my hands all over his body, drew him close and kissed him. I wanted to be drunk by him. I wanted him drunk on me, intoxicated. I wanted him to have me, to drown in me with an intensity that surprised me. I felt it, and felt it feeding my own fascination.

As our bodies moved against each other, our eyes met, and I remembered the first encounter, the way I’d wanted him to come into me from behind so that I didn’t have to look at him. That thought felt so alien, the first fuck almost unreal, a kind of crude sketch of genuine intensity.

But if that was hollow and superficial, it felt as if every other fuck in my life was nothing, the other men, the blow jobs, the cocks between my legs, the hollow paceless orgasms that seemed no more consequential than a breeze blowing through an empty room.

It felt like I was finally having sex, and it was glorious!

And it wasn’t enough. I wanted more of him, I wanted him everywhere. He needed two cocks, or three, he needed six hands, all of them touching me.

I pulled him down and thrust my tongue in his mouth, wrapping my arms and legs around him as tightly as I could. In this position, his cock wasn’t deep enough, even grinding together.

“Let’s change,” I whispered. “I want to go on top.”

“Okay.”

We rolled, and then I was straddling him, looking down. One of my stockings was gone and the other was down to my knee, so much for stay ups. I drew my knees together, lifting my hips above him. He held my thighs as I hovered over his erection, guiding it into place and relaxing. Moaning, I sank down on him, a sensation so different from being entered. I let my weight settle, sinking deep, pushing him up inside.

I leaned forward a bit, intimately aware of how the motion made my breasts sway, and vividly aware and enjoying the way his eyes tracked that motion.

I looked down at him, and drew his hands up until they were cupping my breasts, remembering how he’d clutched them our first time, his fingers like vises, digging in, leaving bruises.

I stared at his eyes, his pupils dilated, the sheen of sweat on his forehead. I felt the motion of his cock stiff and curving inside me as I rocked on it, the feel of the worn hotel sheets against my knees and toes. Putting my palm flat against his chest, I wallowed in the texture of his skin, the curling hairs mashed flat, the sweat, the firmness of muscle beneath the skin, the bone beneath that, the faintest throb of a heartbeat. Our breaths came in tandem, rasping and measured. Sweat trickled down my spine, dried on my forearms. I could smell him, and us, the rich scent of our bodies and breath, of our sweat and exertions and arousal.

It was all so intensely vivid in a way I’d never experience. I could practically count his pores, and they delighted me, every bit of him delighted me.

Why?

I had spent so many weeks and months, telling stories, researching and seeking out details to make it sound real, embroidering, searching imagining and manufacturing cascade of images, scents, sounds, touches, describing them, making them vivid to make them real. And now, here, beyond fantasy, actually doing it, it carried over into a sort of sensual awareness, a hyper awareness, a vividness that translated into hungry intensity.

Leaning over, I pushed my breasts against his hand as I ground my hip in a circle, feeling him move inside me. I splayed another palm on his chest, exploring him.

“The moment I saw you,” I whispered. “Out there in the hallway of that hotel, I wanted you. I forgot everything else. I just wanted you. From the very first moment, I knew I had to fuck you.”

Mike’s eyes widened, he almost seemed to glow. His hips seemed to lift and I could feel his curving erection stiffen inside me.

“Really,” he gasped.

“Oh yes,” I lied, not really knowing why I was lying, but needing him to hear it, to feel it. I needed him to believe I'd wanted him so badly then, because I wanted him so badly now. I wanted him badly forever, I wanted to spend the rest of my life in this moment with him.

I leaned forward, planting elbows on his chest, bending to kiss him deeply, even as my hips lifted until barely more than the head of his cock remained between my lips.

Then I slammed down wildly and rode him, picking up the pace steadily. My fingernails raked down his chest again and again, leaving red scratches that excited him even more. I remembered my bruises from the last time, the bruises I would have from his grip, and now I was leaving my own marks on him, my own legacy on his body. It excited me wildly.

It was another claim, another possession, and the more of him I had, the more I wanted. I wanted to swallow him down every inch, and I drove my hips down harder and harder again and again. Lifting high until he was barely in and then crashing down all the way with wild abandon.

His hands gripped my breasts so tight the fingers sank in and I loved it. He’d switch his hands to my hips, and I’d put them back. I touched him, explored him, running hands along his arms. Once, he fell out, because of my hunger to kiss him deeply. He held his cock steady, so I could push myself onto it. The hunger for each other kept on building.

Then his hips lifted, for an instant, my knees were off the bed, I swayed. His hands shifted to a death grip on my thighs, holding me in place, pulling me further down onto him. I swore I could feel his cock pulsing inside me, swelling. His body was rigid, sweat breaking out, flushed and radiating heat, his face a mask of strain. Again, his hips lifted me up, but this time I was ready, rising up with him even higher, feeling him slide from me, and than grinding down as hard as I could.

Mike was approaching orgasm. I could see it in his face like an oncoming train, huge and relentless and unstoppable. It excited me, I wanted him to come more than anything. I needed him to explode, to see his face, to watch him go white light and his mind explode to shards of pleasure.

“Come on, baby,” I grunted. But he was beyond hearing me. Instead, I ground on top of him, lifting and sinking, faster and faster, leaning forward, his death grip on my hips holding me in place as he writhed and surged under me. I grabbed my own breasts, squeezing them, pulling so hard on my nipples it was almost painful.

Then I felt him surge up inside me, I swear I could feel him ejaculating up inside me, a sensation I’d never felt with any other man, a sensation I would never have believed. But I was feeling it. Under me, his body seemed to radiate with tension, going explosively rigid, I wave of body heat bursting from him.

I ground my clit hard against him, feeling him so deep, pushing my long delayed orgasm, until I could feel it rolling over me. Lightning crawled up my spine, and I pushed and arched convulsively on him, even as he spurted inside me, hitting my peak even as he passed his, fucking myself to bliss as his semen seeped down between us.

Then I collapsed on top of him, unable to do more than pant. At that angle, his cock was barely half in me. I felt a sense of deprivation as his erection weakened and it fell out, but I was too weak and exhausted to do anything about it.

For long moments, we didn’t do anything but pant breathlessly. My heart was racing, and I could feel his thudding away. He lifted arms to hold me, but we were both so sweat drenched that they just slid.

Finally, when I could breathe, I rolled off him, and we cuddled together. My hand slid down, wrapping around his cock, now deflated, slimy with our juices, and still I felt a surge of possessiveness.

“Wow,” he said finally.

“Yep,” I replied. “You definitely earned that refund. Hell, I should pay you, you're worth it.”

“That was great.”

I squeezed his cock. No life there, not yet. I still liked holding it. I was definitely possessive.

“Just so you know,” I teased. “This is mine now. I’m taking it with me. We’ll travel the world together. You can do what you want. We’ll send you postcards.”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “It’s kind of attached.”

“Really?” I said. “That’s such a shame. I guess I’ll have to come back and visit it. Lots.”

“What about me?”

I pretended to think about it.

“I guess you’re okay too.”

He laughed.

“I have to say,” he said, “the first time I met you, that was the wildest, craziest sex of my life.”

Ditto, I thought, and smiled.

“But this,” he finished. “This drives a truck through that. This was mind blowing. This was amazing. Thank you so much.”

I put on a pretend frown.

“What?” I asked. “You think we’re finished. You paid for the whole night, remember?”

“What about my refund?”

“Well, if I’m paying you,” I teased, “then I’m definitely going to get my moneys worth. We’re just getting started.”

I spread my legs and guided his hand to my soaking crotch.

“Down boy,” I joked. “You’ve got work to do. Round two, coming up. Get that tongue in gear.”

And damn, if he didn’t do it. I was thrilled. Men never went down after they came, but he didn’t even hesitate. Even wet as I was, even dripping semen, albeit his own semen, his head bobbed enthusiastically between my thighs.

Pounded as I was, I thought I might not feel anything, but his lips and tongue were fresh and inventive as before, laying in a soft bed was a lot more comfortable, and soon enough I was screaming and pulling out his hair.

Then I returned the favor without a ravenous possessive enthusiasm, and when he was fully at attention, round two. And later on that night, round three.

&&&

Much later, I cuddled up against him as he slept, and I watched the sky lighten with dawn. I was thinking about what to do next.

I wanted to tell him the truth. To say “My name is Kate, I work at an entry level position as a clerk at a bank, I live in an apartment and watch Netflix. The most exciting thing I do in real life is order a frappuchino at Starbucks. The version of me that you think you know, I made it all up, I made her up.”

Except I couldn’t imagine saying it. The Kate that existed in his mind, Better-Kate, was so much more exciting, so much more vivid, more full of life than my drab existence. How could he ever trade that in? What would he think of me, if he knew every single thing I'd ever told him was a lie?

But for better or worse, I should. I needed to come clean, start over.

I didn’t want to.

The thing was, I loved Better-Kate. I loved the idea of her, the adventurous free spirit. I loved researching for her, studying art history, talking to prostitutes and dancers and street performers, seeking out pictures and details of places I’d never been, and making them come alive. Fantasizing trysts and adventures.

This night, wasn’t me. This was Better-Kate.

This was me playing the role of Better-Kate, as I’d played her through emails and texts and whispered telephone conversations. I reveled in her, wallowed in her confidence and wanton sensuousness, this was just another performance, slipping her on like an identity, inhabiting her personality.

And it was the best night of my life, the boldest night, the bravest. It was the best sex I’d ever had, wild, traumatic, addictive life changing sex.

Give that up? Let that go?

I didn’t want to let her go.

And really, she was the only Kate he knew. Whatever we did, whatever we had, she was the center. If I gave her up, there wouldn’t be an us. Just two strangers in awkward wreckage of lies, there wasn’t any possibility of a future. We could only exist together through the lie of Better-Kate.

I remembered from my research the story of an Indonesian monkey trap. It was simple, leave a glass bottle out in the jungle with a piece of fruit inside. The monkey comes along, sees the fruit and easily reaches inside to get the fruit. But once the fruit is in his fist, it’s too big to get through the neck of the bottle. It could free itself easily, by releasing the fruit. It wants the fruit too badly to let go, and so it’s trapped unwilling to surrender its desire. Suddenly, I understood how the monkey felt.

I couldn’t stop being Better-Kate, I couldn’t let her go. Instead, I’d go back and live my boring life, and she’d travel the world having adventures, and every now and then, she’d come back here, drawn back to Mike, and they’d get together and have amazing sex. They’d fall in love.

They’d already fallen in love, I admitted. But Better-Kate could only ever be a passing visitor in his life. Mike and Better-Kate’s relationship would continue, deepening, becoming more intimate, a thing of longing and hunger and moments of exquisite satisfaction.

I thought of Jay and how I’d been catfished, how hurt and humiliated I’d been. How devastating it had been to find that the person I’d thought I’d known, that I’d lusted for was a lie.

I watched Mike sleeping beside me, and yes, I’d fallen in love. I wanted to cherish and protect him. I could never hurt him, the way Jay had hurt me. I couldn’t bear the thought of him humiliated and devastated by the discovery that the amazing woman he loved was just a lie told by a mousy bank clerk.

He could never be allowed to meet the real me.

I was the catfish now.

And the catfish was caught, hooked on her own lies.

April 22, 2025 - Kayley, Sam and Others

Hello, I thought I'd just bounce some things around.

I'm very pleased to announce that I've completed a major Kayley solo piece. I'm very happy with it. 18,000 words. I try to post in increments of about 10,000 words. The only downside is that it's set much further in Kayley and Sam's journey, so like Kayley vs BBC, it will be a while before I can share it.

I find that my process on this is a quilter. I'm not quite starting at the beginning and working my way to the end... although I was doing that for the first five chapters. I'm kind of jumping around.

For instance, I get the idea for a notion for Kayley to have sex with a Dwarf, or a BBC, that feels cool, I write it, even though it's much further. I'm balancing writing the continuous near future - I have several of those chapters ready to go. And then I bounce around.

I suppose I'm giving away little spoilers. You don't mind? Not so much spoilers as teasers. I have all kinds of wicked things in mind. Leroy takes Sam to a strip club where they meet a stripper named Blaze Midnight, who will do anything. Leroy takes (or believes he takes) Kayley's anal virginity twice.

The first cuckolding session will be eventually be followed by a second session, which will be even more insane. You'll love it, or you'll hate it, or you'll be traumatized and never eat soup in a restaurant again.

A little further on, Kayley goes for a ride in a cab. And some remote cucking. And just fun stuff.

Oh also, Kayley, by complete coincidence, meets Blaze Midnight, and the two are instant friends and just go wild together.

Leroy pushes Kayley into entering a wet T-shirt contest, she ends up having the time of her life, and meets another contestant with breast implants, who is very enthusiastic.

Leroy is very dark, what he does to them is manipulative, and where he wants to take them is dark. But often, dark plans are dressed up in bright colours. So Kayley and Sam will find themselves enjoying Leroy's adventures, perhaps more than Leroy wants them to.

And having adventures of their own. Fundamentally, Kayley and Sam are bright characters, and I want to show them having positive growing experiences, and to have them draw strength and courage from their love for each other.

And I keep having fun ideas for Kayley and Sam and Leroy. I create a character, and somehow, they want to go off on their own.

&&&

I'm not sure if I should offer this, but if anyone has a suggestion for a Kayley / Sam / Leroy adventure, sure throw it at me, and if it gives me tingles, I'll try and write it if I can make it fit.

Small caveat here - I'm not asking or inviting suggestions on the story Arc. I know exactly where all this is going, I know the major plot points, and where it all ends up. I'm pretty wedded to it.

But if you have a specific scene in mind that you'd like to see? Sure.

&&&

While I'm here, I may as well take the bull by the horns.

After part three of the Cuckolding, there will be certain chapters with homoerotic content. I'll warn so you can skip over. And if I'm putting chapters up every two weeks, it shouldn't be much more than a speed bump.

What it comes down to is this: Leroy is pure predator.

I don't think that's a spoiler any more.

He's a highly manipulative, sociopathic gaslighter, and he's set his sights on Kayley and Sam. In order to completely use Kayley as a chew toy, he needs to do something about Sam.

So part of his campaign is to consistently and relentlessly emasculate Sam, both personally and sexually, pushing him into and keeping him in a subordinate role. So without spoilers, that amounts to a degree of dark homoerotic content.

Leroy's sexuality is basically that of the old Romans. In Leroy's world, sex is basically who is doing, and who is getting done. Leroy is pathological about always being the do-er.

I honestly don't know how far I will take it. But Sam will face danger.

&&&

On other matters, there's one more chapter for Catfish Chronicles, coming up on Friday. Then the story will be done.

Or will it? I have some ideas of where the story might go. Actually, I have a lot of writing bits, so I have a good start going if I want to. My reservation is that I would be putting Kate through hell, and I kind of like her.

&&&

I am also thinking of continuing Lizabet. There's something intriguing about her combination of innocence, brilliance and ravenously naive sexual appetite.

I have a few other ideas or stories I may play with. I may put some of these ideas forward, to see if people are interested or turned on by them.

Oh, and apparently, commissions are a thing. I haven't written to a commission. But if anyone is interested, I'll at least discuss it.

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 17, The Cuckolding, Sam Surrenders

CUCKOLDING!!! PART TWO OF FOUR

SAM

THE CUCKOLDING!!! PART TWO

They kissed deeply, I saw his lips on hers, pressing her back, her opening to his tongue. The kiss went on, punctuated only by soft moans as he explored her naked body.

She broke the kiss, moving away ever so slightly, and smiled.

“I think it’s time,” she said, “to reveal that great big beautiful cock.”

He chuckled, turning her around, so that her ass was nestled in his hips. She smiled wantonly, grinding into his cock, bending forward a little as he cupped her breasts.

“Do the honours?” he told her.

“I’d love to.”

Kayley turned back to face him. She paused for a moment, just looking at him, then she tenderly ran her hands through his hair, and stepped in to kiss him, a gesture so sweet it broke my heart. Those were the worst parts, not the lust and hunger, but the moments of casual tenderness, the unguarded look that spoke affection, the gentle caress, the touches that seemed so natural and loving.

She stepped back, taking one hand, and undoing a cuff. As she did so, Leroy looked directly into the smartphone, directly at me, controlled, confident, triumphant. It was beyond gloating. As Kayley undid his other cuff and unbuttoned his shirt, he simply looked like a man enjoying what was his all along.

Kayley slid his shirt off reverently, there was something almost profound about the unforced, worshipful way she undressed him.

She knelt automatically for his pants. Of course she would, and she brought the same reverence to undoing his belt, unbuttoning, unzipping, to sliding down the legs. He stepped out gracefully as she knelt, Leroy’s cock full and rigid in front of her.

Kayley reached out carefully, taking his cock in her hand, and gently kissed the tip. Then gracefully, she bent her head, pressing it briefly to her forehead. For a moment, it was almost as if she prayed to it.

Then he took her hand, and raised her to her feet. Looking reverently at him, she backed into the bed, crawling backwards, until she lay on her back in the center, legs spread, propped up on her elbows, waiting for him.

I realized I’d been holding my breath.

“Fucking exquisite,” Leroy breathed. “Just fucking exquisite.”

“And yours...” she whispered.

Leroy stepped forward, kneeling on the end of the bed. In the video image, his cock was massive, a conquering juggernaut, waiting to claim its tribute.

“Mine,” he whispered.

He stared for a moment, breathing her in, clearly thinking about his next move.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered Kayley, despite his desire there was nothing urgent or frantic in his voice. Her eyes never leaving him, she complied, her thighs parting smoothly.

“Wider, as wide as you can. Bring your knees up, feet straight, like you were in ballet. Lift... Perfect!”

Leroy turned to look directly into the video.

“Sam,” he said. “I want you to zoom in on Kayley’s pussy. Get real close up.”

I turned the smart phone’s camera on Kayley’s vagina to maximum zoom. It filled the screen.

Leroy moved forward, until he knelt between her legs, looking down on her like some benign God surveying its followers. Kayley looked up at him with a half smile that spoke of expectancy.

He glanced at me, not so much me personally, I’d become irrelevant. But rather, at the phone I was holding, the video recording him. I had the sense he was seeing himself, somehow, on the video.

“This,” Leroy narrated, “is an exquisite pussy. It’s fucking perfect, inside and out, and I know, because I’ve been inside. Just look at it. Smooth as silk, perfectly shaved, not a stray hair, no blemishes, balanced pubes, lips made for fingering. And that clit? Gorgeous!”

Leroy’s finger moved into frame, pulling back the clit hood.

“There it is,” he whispered, “Kayley’s perfect little clitoris, her sweet little bump. Isn’t it lovely.”

The finger gently prodded it. Kayley gasped, her hips rocked, and the image moved in frame.

“And so very responsive. You treat this little button right, you can make her do anything. It’s not just the clit, she’s so responsive. Watch.”

The finger moved down almost to her anus, and teased her lips apart gently, from the bottom, working its way up, in little side to side motions. Kayley gasped and rocked.

“Look at that,” Leroy said, “she opens right up, her lips just part. Can you see the shine? She’s wet.”

Leroy’s finger slid down between the lips, coming away slick.

“She’s so wet. She’s dripping. She’s excited. You can tell, you know, when a woman is really wet. They walk a little different, their hips move a little more. Their bodies are lubricating and all they want is something sliding up. They need it. They give off these little signals.”

“The minute I saw her today, I knew she was wet. She was hopping, moving. And all day long, it’s been getting worse and worse. She’d just been getting wetter and wetter, as we come closer and closer. She wants this so badly. It’s all she can think about right now. How much she needs a cock. How much she needs to be filled. And she doesn’t just need to be filled, she needs to be owned by a cock.”

“Owned,” Kayley’s voice came. Heavy with lust.

“By a big cock,” Leroy said.

“A big hard cock,” Kayley murmured.

“Now,” Leroy continued, “here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to put my cock right up against those beautiful pussy lips, and I’m going to slide it in. I’m going to go so fucking slow, a millimeter at a time, because I want to feel every bit of her. I want her to feel it, every single degree, as she’s conquered.”

“This is the conquest of Kayley,” Leroy whispered. “This is her surrender. This is more important more pivotal, more significant than even losing her virginity. After this, she won’t even be the same person.”

He glanced at me. “So I want you to keep that video steady, and record every millimeter, every fraction of an inch, as she gives herself up to me.”

“And Kayley,” Leroy addressed her, “when it happens, you’ll know. I want you to describe everything. I want you to describe every sensation, I want you to describe your feelings, I want every detail as you feel your body surrendering to me, as you feel me taking possession of you, until you’re my property. Can you do that.”

“Yes... sir,” she whispered.

Her thighs trembled, swinging a little, her pussy lips parted an infinitesimal bit wider. It was almost unnoticeable, but the video caught it. And so did Leroy.

He laughed, pure joy and power. “You’re so ready.”

Leroy moved closer, his cock approaching. She watched it, with a tight, fascinated ghost of a smile.

I could only stare in horrified enthrallment, the video zooming in as Leroy’s swollen cockhead moved closer and closer to my love’s exquisite pussy. Three inches now. An inch. Half an inch.

As gently, and powerfully, as a rocket descending, the round tip of his cock head landed on her exquisitely shaped pussy lips. The lips parted, almost as if embracing the head of his cock, the pink folds on either side pressing, almost creeping around the head, enfolding it. The corona, the smooth curve and arch was still outside her lips, visible and lowly pulsing. But the tip, the urethra and its bead of precum was now hidden.

I was breathless again, totally consumed by what I was seeing. Leroy’s willpower was incredible, to hold it there on her, the slightest twitch from entering.

Kayley sighed, staring.

“I can feel it,” she said, “against me, ready. I can feel my lips against it.”

Leroy looked at her.

“Still time to change your mind,” he teased, his grin malicious.

Slowly, Kayley lifted her eyes from the cock head half enfolded in her pussy lips, to meet Leroy’s gaze.

“Fuck changing my mind,” she grinned, teeth bared, her eyes flashing.

“You sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Riveted, I watched and recorded the interplay. I had been completely forgotten. The world had been forgotten. Their universe was reduced to them. Her, spread, open, ready, and him demanding, driving. His cock, her cunt, and a relentless gravity between them.

“The consequences?”

“Fuck consequences,” she said.

Leroy laughed.

Then Kayley gasped, her eyes widening. She looked down, seeing his cock head advance, pushing her lips slow wider, the folds creeping over his glans as he opened her.

He moved so slowly, she had time to gasp three times, staring wide eyed all the while.

“Uhh-huh! Uhh-huh! Uhh-huh!”

Then the head of his big cock was inside her, the curving arch just barely covered by her pussy lips. He stopped.

“Holy shit,” Kayley whispered, there was a wondering breathless quality to her words, she couldn’t take her eyes away. “I can feel it.”

She licked her lips.

“I mean,” she said, her voice gasping slightly, “I can really feel it. I can feel the contour perfectly, the underside, the curve, the crest. It’s just inside, and I can feel its shape intimately, every detail. The texture and smoothness. I can feel the heat of it, the pulse. I can feel it oozing precum...”

Her head arched back and her eyelids fluttered as if in some kind of religious trance.

“Holy fuck,” she whispered. “It’s amazing, I’ve never ... It’s... It’s...”

“Most of the nerve endings are close to the front,” Leroy said softly. “When you’re ready...”

At the sound of his voice, Kayley looked up at him, eyes wide. Her gaze running down the shaft of his cock, and then slowly up from his crotch, up his belly, his chest, his neck and chin, until she was looking directly into his eyes, her mouth was open, her features slack, in a kind of awe.

She nodded.

“Do it,” she said. An instant later, her eyelids fluttered and she gasped loudly, her thighs parting wider.

Shifting the video back to her pussy, I zoomed. Leroy was slowly pushing his cock deep, curve of the head was no longer outlined by her lips, he’d slid further into her. Kayley was gasping again, now the shaft was almost half an inch inside her.

Again, I was astonished at Leroy’s iron control, to thrust into her so slowly, to make her feel every fraction of an inch as he claimed deeper and deeper. I was stunned, her pussy had been pristine, a delicate thing of soft lips. Now it was distorted, the shape of her pussy had been deformed by the thick cock opening her. The narrow band of her vagina was now forced wide, her exquisite lips stretched tight around the shaft that violated her. And the deeper he went, with ever millimeter, with every passing inch, he sank deeper, deformed her body, reshaped her around his cock.

“Oh god, Leroy,” she gasped. “I can feel it. I can feel you stretching me apart, opening me, bit by bit, the further you go.” She threw back her head, her eyes closing. “It feels incredible. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I can feel everything, I can feel you in me shaping me around your cock as it goes in.”

On some level, I knew this was just sex, and to some degree, every cock reshaped a cunt as it entered, that large men, many men, fists and childbirth could re-size a woman down there, remake her from what she had been to someone else.

I had never witnessed the process so intimately, from so close, I had never seen the image in zoom on video, or seen it happen so slowly and meticulously. I had never thought to imagine how profound that transformation must be.

“Oh god, Leroy,” she panted. “This is different. This feels so different. This feels consequential. It’s not just fucking, this is more profound. It’s on deeper levels, more levels.”

His cock was literally reshaping her vagina, remaking her, not in his image, but as an object for his pleasure. Leroy was literally changing her body, changing the shape of her pussy, with nothing more than his will and his cock. She’d been petite, tight and narrow, now she was being opened. There was nothing of her choice in this, he was doing it, his body reshaping hers to its will.

He was doing it slowly, deliberately, making sure that she felt everything, every stretch of tissues, every defeat of her body, each loosening and surrender of vaginal wall and muscle as it gave way to the invader now claiming it. Thrusting so slowly, he was making her feel him, feel him as a pervasive presence slowly occupying her body, stretching and opening her, making her focus on it in a way she never had before, with an acute awareness. Suddenly I understood her fixation on conquest, invasion and surrender, when she talked of sex. Every time she spread her legs for a man, she submitted to conquest.

“...I want it, I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. I need it. I can’t explain. It’s like a compulsion, an irresistible compulsion, a drive. It scares me, but I can’t resist it. I don’t want to resist it.”

For the sheer size and brutality of his cock, for the psychological preparation, and now for the glacial but relentless pace of his invasion and shaping of her body, was a conquest like no other, deeper, more profound, of meticulous awareness. Her defeat was more profound, her surrender more total, her relinquishment more absolute than it had ever been.

In that moment, she knew her body belonged to his cock, not just to be possessed, but to be remade. It was a vivid, visceral awareness that she would never be able to escape.

“I can feel your cock in me. I can feel what’s happening. You’re taking possession, you’re taking ownership of me, of who I am, what I am. I won’t be me any more. My body won't be mine. I’ll be yours, your property, I will belong completely to you.”

His massive cock continued its slow patient occupation of her helpless body. Her pussy continued to deform as I watched, spread and reshaped. Already half the shaft had disappeared inside her and still its relentless progress went on. She was impaled on his cock, her hips and pussy, fixed in place, pinned under him. But the rest of her body was frantic, her breathing came in rapid spurts, her head turning side to side, eyelids fluttering, mouth yawning. Arms and legs shivered with tremors. Her chest rose and fell. He muscles, twitched, went taut with the strain of her his slow intrusion and occupation. I watched her grit her teeth, features drawn, the tendons of her neck rigid with tension.

Leroy stared down at her like a she was an insect. His eyes were cold, his face beaded with sweat, intent on his task. There was no compassion, no mercy, only the meticulous drive to overcome and subdue. To bend and then break her on his erection.

“When I finish, you will belong to me,” he rumbled. You won’t be a person, you’ll be my property. And you will love it.”

The video recorded it all, every helpless gasp and grunt, every twitch, every bead of sweat, barred teeth or fluttering eyelid.

Was this willing surrender, I wondered, with her body in seeming rebellion, fighting a futile, doomed reflexive battle that it’s owner had already relinquished. Because despite the tension and trembling, Kayley gave herself to him, her gaze shifting constantly from his face to the invading battering ram that was his cock. Despite being despoiled, she only spread her legs wider.

As he passed three quarters way of his cock’s brutal violation of her most sacred temple, she only whispered, “Do it! Take it! Take it all!”

“Yes,” he told her.

Finally, he was all the way. His balls swing against her ass, his pubic bone ground into hers, pushing her down further and deeper into the bed, relentlessly driving for those last millimeters of penetration. As he bottomed out in her, she released a load moan, a deep sound of submission and surrender, of abandonment.

That was when he bent down over her. She looked up as he brought his face to hers. There was no love or kindness in his expression. He was the conqueror, marching past wrecked walls and ruined defenses of a broken city, indifferent to the destruction and the defeat, but simply striding past to the very heart of his prize, to take a throne, and pronounce his dominion.

That was how he kissed her, without a shred of mercy, as her new ruler.

In turn, she surrendered to the kiss, accepted her defeat and subjugation to his will.

“It’s done,” Kayley finally gasped, as he released her. “Is it done? Have you taken everything?"

“No,” he told her. “It will be done, when you come."

His cock was already pulling back, still slow, but smoother and faster.

A ghost of a smile passed under her, her chest twitched, as if she’d wanted to laugh but lacked the strength or will.

“It won’t take long,” she whispered, as he reached his apogee, and began to drive in and out of her conquered pussy with cruel determination.

It took only three powerful strokes of his cock to make her come.

As he bottomed out for the third time, Kayley’s back arched, her body going stiff and rigid, her arms flung out, her head twisted from side to side, reflexively she wrapped her legs around his hips, then flung them open. An animal howl tore its way out of her.

He pulled back and plunged in, her body rose and fell, she gasped for breath, her mouth making guttural noises. She started to squirt, pulsing waves of liquid gushing uncontrollably as he bottomed out in her again, and again withdrew. Her orgasm ran on and on as he pulled back once more, and drove savagely in so hard it seemed he wanted to punish her, break her in half. She howled, her body spastic, squirting wildly, as he bottomed in her. Then she went limp, only able to pant in helpless exhaustion.

His cock deep in her, Leroy looked down, surveying his prize, her body plundered, pillaged, looted. He smiled deeply, swollen with triumph, his cock pulsing in her despoiled womb, awaiting the command for further destruction.

Finally, after he’d caught his breath, Leroy, without taking his cock from her, still hovering over her prostrate body, suspending himself on his arms, turned to me and the video. He smiled, looking directly at me.

“It’s done,” he said. “She’s not yours any more. You've lost. I’ve taken her. I’ve made her mine. She’s my property now, Sam. From now on, she belongs to me.”

Kayley laughed, a giggle that shifted to a peal of musical laughter. Leroy and I stared at her as she stretched, exhausted but languorous. Although his expression went rigid, I got a flash of anger and resentment at her laugh.

Luxuriously, with an incredible smile of joy and satiation, she reached up, to throw her arms across Leroy’s shoulders.

“To think I ever hesitated,” she drawled. “You were right. You were always right. I should have surrendered completely to you, the first time you fucked me and never looked back. My whole life, my purpose was to be here, on the end of your cock, your property.”

Mollified, whatever it was that had flashed through Leroy evaporated. Instead, he grinned in renewed triumph.

“Fucking right,” he grunted. “Absolutely fucking right. You’re mine now, whore.”

“Oh god,” her sigh was long and exhausted. Her eyes opened, she looked up at the ceiling. Staring into oblivion.

“It’s done,” she said. “It’s over. I can feel it all the way down to my core. I’m different now, I’m owned, completely and totally owned, a possession, a piece of property, an object.”

She turned, and looked me right in the eye.

“I’m Leroy’s.”

She reached up, pulling him down. He kissed her, not as a conqueror, but simply hungry. She kissed him back, “I’m a whore now. Your whore. You own me.”

She paused.

“What will you do with me?”

Leroy laughed humourlessly.

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you!” He began to fuck her exhausted body with brutish, pounding thrusts. Helpless, Kayley could only cry out in ecstasy submitting to his body and his will, each more unappeasable than the other.

As I watched, overpowered by what I’d seen, as he fucked her, I felt something happening to me. I felt an unearthly sensation, that left me feeling both urgent and weak. It was the strangest thing I’d ever experienced. It almost felt like I was coming, it was a sensation like orgasm or ejaculation, but where that climbed rapidly to a peak and fell away, this felt diffuse, and unfocused. Like I was coming and yet not coming. Like maybe the beginning of an orgasm, the early stages. I glanced down, my cock was rising and falling, and ropes of semen were oozing or leaking from it with each rise. My legs were shaking, the muscles weak, like my blood sugar was dropping away. Unlike an orgasm, it went on, instead of coming to a peak, it dragged on and on.

I had this feeling that if I touched my cock, just grabbed myself hard, or simply touched it, or even just rubbed it against something, this strange urgency would cascade up rapidly and I’d come so hard.

But I caught Leroy looking at me with a strange glee, as if my state amused him, and I didn’t dare touch it. Instead, I remained caught in this weird state of soft ecstasy for what seemed like over a minute with no reprieve, as my cock swung on its own and leaked away my semen like slow runs of snot.

“Good boy,” Leroy told me, his cock buried in Kayley, as he thrust into her with deep, powerful strokes that moved her body. “That’s you now. That’s how you do it now.”

Do what? What was he talking about. Not masturbating? Leaking like a drippy faucet? Was there something I was missing? I felt weak and vague, my semen dribbling down my thigh. I knelt on the bed, letting my weight settle, the phone wavering and descending as I rested.

Whatever was happening to me, Kayley didn’t seem to notice, instead, she stared up at the man owning her with his cock, as gasping in time as he pumped relentlessly into her, her thighs swinging wide with each thrust. Leroy’s attention had shifted back to her, dismissing me. But now he glanced again, his expression stern.

“Video, Sam! Why are you even here!” he snapped. “Get back to it.”

Trembling, trying to hold my wrists steady, I turned the smart phone, bracing it against my wet thigh, catching a longer shot of Leroy and Kayley entwined. Leroy’s powerful body stretched across the frame as his lithe muscles flexed, as hard and inexorable as a machine, driving his cock again and again into Kayley’s pliant body, pounding her.

She could only yield under him, gasping for breath, her legs rising into the air, sometimes to wrap around him, or kick futilely. Her gaze looking up at him, was a swirl of lust and desire and surrender, her expression one of quivering submission.

“Oh fuck! Oh shit! Oh god!” she moaned. There were no more sentences, she was no longer capable of them. Just random words, bubbling out of her, as her Master erased her with his cock, leaving nothing but wanton flesh, with no other purpose or desire except to receive his cock. I was astonished at how completely she’d surrendered, how thoroughly he had unmade her.

She almost wasn’t Kayley any more, or not the woman I knew. It was hard to describe or explain, it was her body, her voice. But it was like she’d let go as his cock had taken her, like she’d been a knot that unraveled. It fascinated and almost frightened me. I’d never seen her like this.

I brought the smart phone up, zooming on her face. It was vacant, gasping, glistening with sweat, her jaw opened, lips moving. Her eyes were wide, then blinking, staring up at Leroy, but in an empty way that made me wonder if she was seeing him. But she didn’t look anywhere else but at him. She didn’t even seem to notice me. Leroy was the only thing in her world.

Her arms twisted, they rose up to him, fell away. She brought her knees up, but without coordination, one knee moving higher, the calf extending then falling back. She twisted under him, but whether to escape or embrace his cock more deeply, I couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter, nothing she did mattered, she was pinned under him, held in place by his driving cock, and the wet surging it made as it slid into her.

Her back arched, her jaw stretched wider, her sounds bubbled, sometimes words, sometimes incoherent fragments. “Oh! Oh! Fuck! Fuck me! Oh sh– Oh ga– Fu—”

Kayley was helplessly barreling to another orgasm, he’d been pushing her there, and now it was catching. Sweat broke out on her skin, she seemed to become almost luminous, her random movements faster and more uncontrolled, the muscles in her face and body growing strained. I zoomed the smart phone on her face wanting to catch her coming, to see her in the full intensity.

My cock was hard and urgent, despite the strange dribbling sensation, the erection had never gone away. Instead, it was harder than ever, hanging in the air. The need to touch it, to rub it was almost insane. I struggled to focus on my mission, to record Kayley as she came.

“Ohh,” her jaw distended, her eyes went sightless. “Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhh!!! OHHHHH!!!” Then it hit, she screamed, her body going rigid, her legs thrashed, locking tightly around Leroy as he plunged in, then flinging open as if a spring had gone off. Her belly, rose up as he withdrew, her cunt literally following his cock, then she fell heavily, like a puppet with its strings cut. His cock speared deep, impaling her again, bottoming out and forcing her down into the bed, and she screamed breathlessly. He held her there pinned, as the orgasm rolled over her.

Then she lay boneless and gasping. Leroy laughed and thrust into her, each lunge making her jerk mindlessly, but he was just playing with her.

“That loosened you up,” he told her. Her eyes focused on his words. “I can feel you down there, it’s like my cock is floating in you.”

“Oh fuck,” she gasped, exhausted. “Give me a minute, let me catch my breath.”

“How does it feel,” he asked her, “being owned for real? Becoming my property.”

Kayley laughed again, eyes wide.

“It feels fucking great,” she said. “I should never have waited.”

She grunted, as he thrust hard into her, her back arching.

“Oh fuck, you’re so hard,” she gasped.

“You like getting that big cock?”

“Oh yeah,” she moaned. “I love the way you fuck me with your big hard cock.”

“Better than Sam?”

“You fuck me so good.”

“You love big cock, don’t you?”

Thrust. Deep moan.

“Oh fuck yes!”

“That’s so much better than Sam’s little dick,” he told her.

I blushed.

“Sam’s not little,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

I could see Leroy scowling slightly, he started fucking harder to punish her.

“I’m bigger,” he grunted, thrusting hard into her, pushing her down. He locked his elbows under her knees, pulling them up so her toes pointed into the air, so he could ram deep like a runaway piston. “Isn’t that right.”

“Oh fuck yes,” she said, folded almost in half, her cunt wide open. “Oh fuck, you’re so much bigger.”

“I fuck you better,” he said.

“Yes! You’re fucking me so good right now,” she groaned.

“Sam’s dick is small and useless,” he insisted.

“It’s not small,” she gritted.

He slammed hard into her, his cock a swollen steel bar. Caught as she was, there was no escape as his battering ram of a cock pulverized her insides.

“So what is he then?” Leroy demanded, thrusting fast and hard. “Average? Ordinary? Adequate?”

“Oh! Oh! Oh fuck!” Kayley was almost screaming, she looked like she could barely think. “Adequate! He’s adequate!”

Leroy sneered.

“Adequate.”

Thrust.

“What about me?”

“Oh god,” she whimpered. “You’re so much more. So much bigger, harder, better. You’re my owner.”

Placated, he grinned. His mouth descended on hers, in a rough kiss, as his body froze, holding her contorted, his cock buried to the hilt in her. Then he released her, and she literally flopped under him, gasping for breath, panting heavily.

“Don’t you fucking forget it, whore,” he told her.

Leroy looked over at me. He winked.

“We’ll edit this part out later,” he said.

Kayley just lay there panting, Leroy’s cock still buried in her, though inches of shaft were visible. Some movement caught her eye, and she looked over at me, as if noticing me, or at least becoming aware of my presence. But it was just a passing thing, she seemed to forget me almost immediately. Or dismissed me.

“Please,” she begged him. “Just le me catch my breath.”

I let the video pan over their bodies, her feminine, soft, full of endless curves, pink and luscious, sprawled limp and boneless under him. Leroy full of tension, his muscles lean and taut. Even their breathing, both of them panting, was different. His breaths were masculine, demanding, hers were soft, almost supplicating. He hovered over her like some great predator. A spider with a willing fly.

Between their legs there was a clear space, as their bodies heaved gently. I zoomed in, focusing on Leroy’s long thick glistening shaft, shining with Kayley’s lubrication, between them. From the immoveable way it held, bobbing smoothly up and down, I knew it was still buried in her mound, perhaps the head, perhaps inches of it. But he was anchored in her, she was still a submissive captive to it.

“I’m in charge,” he told her. But he pulled his cock all the way out. I almost expected a plopping sound, but the only noise was a kind of deep sigh from Kayley as it left her body, whether in relief or longing, I couldn’t tell. The video was still zoomed between them, and Leroy’s cock, as it lifted from her, slowly looming over her belly, slick and shining and actually running and dripping from her lubrication was magnificent.

The shaft bent as it hung curving towards her belly, like a tiger bending over prey, the sight made my breath catch in my throat. It was beautiful, pure and full of masculine potency and dominance.

It took a moment for me to realize he’d lost some of his erection during his exertions and wasn’t fully hard.

“But sure thing, Princess,” he said. “We’ll rest.”

But he didn’t rest. Instead, he sat back on his haunches, and reached for her arm, pulling her around and over towards him. Kayley moaned, twisting towards him to cooperate as he hauled her into a new position, until she was completely turned around

Leroy grabbed a handful of her hair, as her body sprawled out like a lizard, legs splayed, one calf bent, feet flat and extended. In this position, her back was to me. I lowered the video between her legs, somewhere between knees and calves, zooming in on her fucked out, swollen red pussy, shining with sweat and lubrication, a dark emptiness between her wide parted lips.

I pulled back, panning over her gorgeous backside, against the curves of muscle and flesh, that formed her calves, thighs, back and shoulders, all of it glistening and beautiful. Sometimes, a woman is just exquisite from behind, not just her ass, but the whole symphony of her.

“Sam!” Leroy called. “Stop fucking around. Over here.”

He was holding a fistful of Kayley’s hair on top of her head, lifting her head up. She didn’t seem to be in any discomfort, so she must have been lifting on her own, with Leroy only controlling her. She was propped up on one elbow.

“Over here,” Leroy said again, and gestured to a spot on the bed. I moved towards them, now just a couple of feet from where he knelt, and she waited. His half-hard cock was inches from her face, still massive and predatory, like a lazy python waiting to rouse. I captured them both on video in that position, as if she was crawling to worship his cock. Kayley was looking up, eyes full of lust and worship, jaw hanging, her tongue just over her lips

“You got to catch this,” he said, “this is going to be so good, so momentous. I took her cunt, now she gives this.”

He looked down.

“You want to suck that cock,” he whispered, “don’t you, bitch?”

“Yesssss,” she drawled, her jaw working slowly. Her eyes were fixed on the cock head, hanging in front of and above her.

“Yeah,” he said. “You want to kiss it, you want to lick it, you want it sliding between your lips, down your throat.”

Kayley moaned. “I need it.”

“Fucking right you need it. Look at it,” he said. “Just look at it. Worship it. That’s your fucking god. My cock is your god.”

“Your Cock is my God,” she agreed, staring blearily. Visible only to the video, she shook her head slightly, the corner of her mouth quirking.

Using his grip on her hair, he moved her in. I could see clearly, there was no weight. He wasn’t lifting her by her hair, she was suspending herself on her hands and elbows, making herself weightless so that his grip could simply guide her.

As she approached his cock, her eyes closed, her mouth opened wide.

Nothing.

Kayley’s eyes opened. Leroy barked a short laugh and slapped the side of her face with his near-hard erection. Kayley’s mouth opened wider, and Leroy amused himself, slapping the other side of her face with it, rubbing it against her cheeks, laying it against her forehead. Kayley simply waited submissively.

Finally, Leroy grew bored.

“Open wide,” he said. “Wide as you can. I want to see how deep I can get it without touching you.”

Still held in place by his grip on the hair on top of his head, Kayley tried to look directly up at him, her eyes almost crossing. She opened her mouth, stretching her jaw wider than I’d ever seen.

Grinning, Leroy slid forth, his cock head entering the open tunnel of her mouth.

“That’s good,” he said. “Keep your tongue still. I can feel your breath all around my cock head, and nothing else.”

He seemed wildly elated by this new game, sliding further and further, another inch.

“There,” he said. Kayley’s eyes closed, and her lips sealed round his cock head. As I watched, I could see her jaw work, and her cheeks rhythmically contract as she began to bob her head. I watched fascinated, recording the video. How many blow jobs had she given me? I’d never seen it from this angle. Now that he was no longer teasing, she seemed beatific with a cock in her mouth, relaxing into it, almost trancelike.

“That’s it, Princess,” Leroy whispered. “Suck that cock.”

But she almost seemed not to hear him at all, focused as she was on the erection in her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered signaling some internal bliss. Leroy looked down, watching her for a moment, then looked over at me, to make sure I was recording it all.

“That’s the best thing about a blow job video,” Leroy confided to me. “The face is in it. All those fuckers taking pictures and videos, so fucking careful to crop their heads out, or wear a mask, or have their face away.”

“But there’s honesty, in a cock sucking video. It’s not about compromise or playing cute, it's boldness and surrender,” he said. “You do it, record it, the bitch's face is right there, her identity is there. Point of no return, baby. You can never deny it. It’s who you are. A cocksucker.”

He looked down at Kayley. His cock seemed harder in here mouth, the erection having grown. Spittles of drool worked their way down the corner of her mouth and coated her chin. Her trance-like state had deepened.

Leroy grabbed her forearm, pulling it up. At first, Kayley didn’t seem to understand what he was doing, and floundered, but he kept lifting. She realized he was turning her over, and went with it, flipping her slowly until she was on her back.

Instinctively, her legs spread, as her knees rose, her feet flat on the bed, her hips rocked wantonly. Her head tilted back, lifting her shoulders, her back arched, her body curved up like a bow, as she reached over her head, back for Leroy’s cock. There was a sensuous grace to it, like a cat stretching, mixed with a bottomless erotic hunger. Over and over, I was left breathless by how fucking beautiful she was, how sensual she was in her arousal.

As her hand wrapped around his cock, he leaned forward, reaching out to stroke and cup her breasts. Her legs kicked slowly as her hips rolled. They were like something out of the Kama Sutra, a tableau of perfect sexual communion.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she,” Leroy said, his hands sliding over her body. “She’s my property. Make sure you get every inch of her on video. I want it all, my new spread.”

Bracing on one hand at her side, he reached further down, between her legs, stroking her clit. Kayley gasped. Reflexively, her thighs bent and knees lifted to give him more access to her. As his fingers slid between her pussy lips, she reached up with her other hand, gently pulling his cock towards her. She took the head in her mouth, drawing her hands up and down the length of the shaft as if playing it like an instrument. Kayley moaned around the cockhead, her body writhing under his touch.

Transfixed I recorded it all, moving slowly around the bed, to get different angles, sometimes pulling back, sometimes zooming in.

Leroy reared up, his hips moved backwards, the cockhead leaving her lips almost with a pop. Kayley gasped, worming her way closer to him and reaching for it with a giggle. Leroy caught her arms by the wrists, and for a moment, they play struggled. Kayley laughed delightedly, lifting her head, lunging backwards for the cock that remained out of reach. Arching her back, mouth wide open, her tongue flicked out, reaching for it, but falling an inch short before she fell back.

“That’s enough,” he told her. “I want you to lick my balls. Do you want to do that?”

“Okay,” Kayley giggled, signaling delight. She stuck her tongue out. “Give me those big, beautiful balls. Dangle them, so I can lick em!”

He moved to straddle her, his balls swinging above her face. Kayley reached up again and again, lashing his balls with her tongue, kissing his scrotum, suckling the hairy skin of his sack gently in her mouth with evident pleasure. Leroy let them dangle over her, stroking his cock. I’m not sure what his intention was, but Kayley enjoyed this. As she laid on her back, licking his balls, her legs parted, and her hands crept down to her pussy, touching herself, working her clit.

“You like that?” he demanded. Kayley squealed lightly, her legs kicking gently, as he lapped. I recorded it on video, unable to tell whether he was pleased or disappointed with this expression of submission. I couldn’t tell him that it was something that she actually enjoyed and had done many times, it was one of her things. I thought though, that if he’d known, it might have been different for him. Perhaps still doing it, but with a different approach.

It’s not satisfying subjugation, if they’re giggling with delight. But perhaps I was wrong, he groaned with satisfaction.

“You’re such a good little slut,” he said, leaning forward a little to catch her hands as she tried to play with herself. Eventually, he caught and held her wrists, eventually wrapping her hands around his cock, so she willingly stroked him. He simply let her lap at his scrotum from underneath, watching as her hips rocked back and forth and her legs kick gently.

After a while, he was satisfied. He moved back, Kayley’ briefly pushed up, sticking her tongue out to try one more lick, before falling back. Leroy grabbed a small cushion that had fallen off the edge of the bed. Once again, he reached for her hair, grabbing it and pulling for real this time.

“Ow!” Kayley complained, lifting up, “Cut it out! What do you want?”

“Stop whining,” he told her, “put this under your shoulders.”

“What are you doing?” she demanded, as he manhandled her into place. For an instant, I thought maybe I should do something. But Leroy’s rules were in my mind, and before I could decide, he’d mostly had her where he wanted.

“There,” he said. “Just relax like that.”

“Like this?” she asked. The cushion was under her shoulder blades, elevating them, and making her breasts spring forward dramatically. Its support extended up, tapering under her neck as it reached the base of her skull so her head was tilted way back.

“There we go,” Leroy said. “Beautiful!"

Leroy slid his hand around her throat, squeezing gently. Watching this, I felt a shiver of nervousness, unsure of what he intended. He smiled and there was something dark in it, as he ran his hand up and down her throat, enjoying the sense of power in that moment.

Kayley was absolutely still, waiting, looking up at him. She was like a rabbit, frozen under the shadow of a hawk. His hand slid down her throat, across her front, to cup her breast. His fingers closed around her nipple, stroking it. Both of us relaxed.

“Do you know,” Leroy asked, his voice deceptively mild, “what throat fucking is?”

Kayley shifted position slightly, looking up at him. Residual tension remained, but this felt more like uncertainty, an open uncertainty.

“Yes...” she said tentatively. One knee bent up, wobbling uncertainly. “I... think so?”

The way she was posed on the bed, shoulders elevated, head bent back, I was pretty sure what he was thinking, I concentrated on the video recording, keeping them both in frame, wondering what would come next. In that position, Kayley was gorgeous, the lifted shoulders and tilted head made her look glorious, as if she was about to take flight like a bird, somehow.

“Ever have it done to you?” he asked, curious. Almost toying with her.

“No,” she admitted.

“Virgin,” he said, silkily. He glanced at me, his expression buoyant. “That’s intriguing, maybe you need your boundaries stretched a little.”

She didn’t reply, she just licked her lips, watching him nervously. I zoomed in on her face. Cautious, uncertain, but not afraid.

“Would you like me to throat fuck you?” he asked, his voice was almost predatory.

Kayley swallowed, blinking rapidly.

“If that’s what you want?”

Leroy laughed.

“Good answer,” he told her. His hand, moved from her breast, back to her throat, fingers trailing lightly back and forth along her trachea. Kayley shivered, her whole body shivered, and she swallowed again, visibly. I panned down, her nipples were rigid, her legs spread unconsciously, knees bent, an unconscious mixture of arousal and trepidation.

“It is what I want,” he told her. “We’re going to do it.”

“Okay,” Kayley said quietly. She couldn’t quite control her unease. “Have you done it?”

Leroy laughed, surprising us. “Back when,” he said, “I was well known for it. It was my specialty. It’s okay, Princess, Daddy’s going to take good care of you.”

That seemed to offer some relief. “Okay,” she said again, her voice a little stronger. Her head tilted, she actually nodded.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re a natural cocksucker, and you take a real hard face fucking. You’ll love this. Or I’ll teach you to love it. But I’ll go slow, okay, for your first time. I’ll make sure that you can handle what you can take.”

Kayley nodded again, more confidently. “You’re in charge.”

“Fucking right,” he said, “try to enjoy it, bitch. I intend to.”

I had the momentary sense that he was doing this to humiliate her, to show her his power over her. But if so, it was pointless. Her surrender was complete, she was incapable of humiliation, his power over her was absolute, her will utterly abandoned to his. Kayley was already totally dominated and accepting whatever he wished. The only question was hurting her, and I didn’t want that.

On the video, she swallowed heavily again, looking up at his cock, looming over her. It was still massive, but not entirely erect. You could see the descending curve of it. As we watched, it pulsed, the head swelling.

Whatever happened, I promised myself, muscles tensing, if what he wanted to do hurt her, I’d stop it. This was a role play, that’s all. There were limits.

“Open your mouth wide,” he ordered.

She opened as wide as she could, closing her eyes. Her knees flexed, I could see her hands forming into fists.

“Hands behind your back,” he told her. “Clasp them together, behind the small of your back. Let your weight on them. You keep them there, no matter what. Understand? You submit, you do it completely. I don’t want them waving, so you hold them.”

Kayley nodded, her breathing was picking up. But she put her hands under her as directed, elevating her hips slightly. Now her body was like a bow, her shoulders and hips lifted, her back curved, her head way back.

Leroy stroked her throat, almost like he was petting a cat.

“Good bitch,” he said. “I knew you’d be a natural.”

He took his cock and used its head to trace the outline of her lips. She took a deep breath.

“It’s easier to take a throat fucking than a face fucking,” he said. “Did you know that? Your trachea is straightened out, you don’t have to do anything, it just slides right down, like a cunt. It’s like sword swallowing. Once you get used to it, you’ll want to do it all the time. It’ll be like having another cunt. You’ll come to love it, getting throat fucked.”

“Some women,” he said, “don’t like it, they think it’s degrading. But isn’t that the point?”

He smiled, withdrawing his cock. He took his hand off her throat. Kayley closed her mouth, swallowed three times, sucking her cheeks in, took a big deep breath, and opened her jaws as wide as she could.

Leroy waved and pointed to where I should be. I trained the video on her face, angling along the line of her breasts a few feet higher. The line of her jaw was incredibly well defined, the shape of her lips, stretched into a thin ‘O’, her perfect teeth visible, the rest of her face, nose, cheekbones, eyes and brow distorted by perspective. Above her, facing towards the lips, was Leroy’s massive ram, the head dark and swollen with lust, the slit of the urethra shining as glistening precum oozed forth slowly.

As I watched, the head of his cock passed between her lips without ever quite touching. It moved smoothly deeper. Kayley was surrendering completely to his cock, to her first genuine throat fuck. It was an incredible sight that made my cock throb wildly as it swung up and down.

“There you go, bitch,” he whispered. “You’re doing fine. Just keep taking it.”

The head or sides must have finally reached her gullet, because just then, she seemed to gag. Her body shook, convulsing slightly, and her shoulders worked. If she hadn’t had her hands clasped behind her back, she would have flung them.

Quickly, Leroy seized her throat in a warning grip.

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s all right. Keep still. Don’t move.”

Kayley went still, feeling his hand on her throat. Her lungs worked erratically, her head moved just slightly from side to side. I noticed her toes curling with stress, as her ankles pressed together. Oddly, her gag reflex didn’t seem to be erupting. The cock remained inches into her mouth, her jaws distended, lips not touching the shaft they were around. Her breath rushed back and forth around the shaft.

“Don’t move,” Leroy warned. “Keep still. It’s going to be all right, just focus on breathing. Breathe in and out. Don’t panic, just nice slow breaths. Take it easy, concentrate on breathing through your nose. It’s not pressing the soft palate, so you’re not having a normal gag, but you’ll feel resistance.”

Kayley obeyed his instructions, her nostrils flaring, she seemed to slowly, if not relax, then lose the state of high tension. Her ankles no longer pressed together, she straightened one leg. Leroy loosened but did not release his grip on her neck. Slowly, he began to move his hand back and forth, as if massaging her throat.

“Just relax,” he ordered. “You don’t have to hold your jaw so stiff, let your lips close around it.”

She obeyed, and on video close up, her lips slowly sealed around the shaft. It was an exquisite sight.

“I’m going to shove my cock all the way down your throat,” he said. “But I’ll start slow so you can get used to it. Going to warn you, you’re going to choke, so you need to breathe as I pull back, concentrate on that.”

Kayley made an acknowledging noise in her throat. Her eyes were still tightly wedged shut. Was she flushed, her face seemed red. He continued to gently massage her throat, hand moving back and forth from the nape of her neck to the underside of her throat.

“My cock is thicker than your throat, so you’re going to feel it. Your lucky, I’m a little bit soft, so it won’t be as bad, you’ll feel some give, but I’ll get harder. Your throat will expand, it won’t hurt you. You might be a little hoarse after.”

“As I fuck, you’ll feel the peristaltic motion of your throat muscles, the swallowing motion. When I fuck in, it’ll go with that motion. When I fuck out, you’ll feel it go against. Some girls like it, some don’t. I don’t care which you are. You won’t vomit. Your eyes will water like crazy, I don’t know why, that just happens.”

He paused. I was impressed by his near clinical level of detail, he really knew about this. Where had he picked it up?

“Understand?”

She made another throat noise in acknowledgment. Her eyes opened wide, darted around. She shut them tight again, squinting. I noticed beads of sweat on her forehead. He curled his hand loosely around her throat, just under her jaw.

“This is going to happen,” he said, “no matter how you feel about it, or whether you want it. It’s going to happen whether you like it or not. It’s going to happen, because I want it, and I’m in charge. I’m showing you, I own you, and I can do what I want.”

Acknowledgment noise.

“Here we go,” he said. His hips moved forward smoothly. He wasn’t fast, but he didn’t use the glacial slowness of his first penetration. It was just a smooth movement forward. It seemed to me that it was a straighter, more precise movement, as if he was trying to follow a line.

His shaft sank between her lips, her nostrils flared one more time, and then her breathing cut off. The shaft sank deeper and deeper. Leroy hissed with pleasure, looking down at the hand on her throat. It sank all the way down until her chin was against his pubic bone and his scrotum draped over her face.

“Fucking beautiful,” he moaned. “Virgin throat, I could feel it against my hand.”

“Keep the phone focused on her throat, you’re going to want to catch it bulging as I fuck her,” he ordered. He grinned at me. “I wonder how long my girl can hold her breath? Let’s find out.”

He held a hand against her head, his other one remaining on her throat. Kayley did her best to remain still. After fifteen seconds, she began to squirm a little. Five more, and the motions were pronounced, her shoulders started to swing from side to side, her legs kicked. Leroy laughed.

“Not bad. I can feel her muscles working, trying to swallow. It’s amazing,” he said. “I don’t want to push her though. Let’s give her a little relief.”

He pulled back his cock until the head was barely in her mouth. She drew great heaving breaths, her nostrils flaring, her mouth stretched wide to allow air to whistle past Leroy’s member. He allowed her three desperate breaths, and then began to slide in again. This time, Kayley’s lips sealed around his shaft and he moved smoothly down her throat.

“Are you getting this, Sam!” I was. As his cock bottomed out, as his scrotum covered her face, I saw her throat visibly swell and bulge. It was amazing to see, and on my phone’s video screen, the effect was magnified by the zoom, until it was astonishing. Kayley’s body reshaped again by Leroy’s cock, stretched and filled and modified by his hardness.

Leroy left it there for five or ten seconds, making sure the video caught it all, then he pulled back. As amazingly as it appeared, the bulge disappeared. He pulled all the way back allowing Kayley to take a single desperate breath, and then plunged in again. Again, her throat bulged. I was fascinated by this transformation, the way her throat expanded with each thrust, as they slowly came faster.

As Leroy’s throat pumping slowly quickened, the time, for her to breath diminished, she squirmed, striving for oxygen, her gasps for air were quick and raspy, timing themselves to his movement. She struck her legs out straight, then bent her knees, her hips lifted up, as she struggled. Leroy was consumed with fucking her throat, his face a mask of pleasure.

Then I noticed Kayley’s hands were no longer pinned, she’d reached around to her front, stroking her pussy. Her knees pulled back, almost all the way to her breasts and with both hands, she gripped herself, working frantically, almost slapping her pussy with each deep thrust. Arrested by this new development, I watched in amazement. She was trying to masturbate while being throat fucked.

I moved across the bed, until I was beneath her. Going down on my elbows, I held the smart phone and zoomed in, seeing her hips rocking wildly with each thrust swelling her throat. Her fingers had worked their way in and pulled her wide open so that I could see her wet pink walls oozing with juices, and her thumbs seemed to beat around her clit. Kayley was getting off, the gyrations of her hips building steadily in intensity.

Abruptly, Leroy reached down, and pulled one of her arms away, until he was holding the wrist in the air above him. It came easily, but when he reached for the other arm, she fought, struggling to keep her fingers in her pussy. But there was no winning against him, and soon both wrists were pinned together in one hand, while he fucked her throat, and her legs kicked and rubbed together.

“No coming without permission,” he almost shouted gleefully. His throat fucking slowed, he gave her longer spells to breath. Her body relaxed, going limp. He thrust down her throat a few times, unhurried, but with absolutely no resistance, simply affirming his victory.

Leroy’s cock, as he pulled it from her mouth and it trailed across her face was the wettest, slimiest I’d ever seen anything, white saliva foam was smeared across it, and drool sheets oozed from it. Beneath him, Kayley simply panted like a dog.

“Holy fuck!” she said. I zoomed in on her expression, wide eyed and blasted. “Holy fuck!” she said again, staring past me, breathing heavily.

“I’m so fucking hard from that right now,” Leroy announced, “I could pound six inch nails through a two by four. Time to finish.”

The Catfish Chronicles - Ch 02 Hooked

Over the next few days, I tried my best not to think of that evening. When you have an epic streak of bad judgment like that, you don’t want to dwell on it. Any part of the night felt simply embarrassing, whether it was the ludicrous exercise in dressing up, falling for Jay’s bullshit, that painfully awkward fight, waking up a total stranger mistakenly, or getting fucked like a cheap hooker by another total stranger... I mean, there’s no part of that I could come off looking good to myself. It was a blundering car crash of a night, best forgotten.

Some parts were hard to forget, like the finger bruises on my breasts and hips, the delicious achiness in my thighs and pussy. Badges of my serious lapse of judgment, albeit a sexually intense lapse.

Jay texted to apologize. In a calmer state, and wanting to put the matter in the past, I accepted his apology, was cordial but polite, and ended the relationship.

The trench coat never came up. He didn’t mention it, and I didn’t want to give him a hold over me, some basis for continuing contact, by mentioning it.

I think he floated the possibility of continuing, with the promise of his honesty. Whatever we had, it had been real and exciting in a sense, and perhaps, with the air cleared, there might be a chance?

But really, I just didn’t want to. Honestly, the whole thing had been a humiliation. I was done with being humiliated. It stung.

But you know how it is, after a while, even a sting fades. The thing with Jay, that kind of still hurt. I’d been played for a fool, and you can’t ever forgive someone who makes you feel stupid.

But the encounter with Mike, the House Detective, that was a little different. I’d had agency, I’d made choices, bad ones, been in control of the situation, sort of, and the sex, as cheap and sleazy and empty as it had been, had also been intense and... genuine?

I found myself reliving the experience, revisiting, especially alone at night with a vibrator. I embroidered the encounter, wrote new dialogue, revised the scenario. Sometimes handcuffs were involved, or a genuine arrest. Sometimes Mike was putty in my hands, and I was a femme fatale in some black and white film noir, effortlessly deflecting an interrogation with poise and raw sexuality.

I guess, yes, I am a little pervy. We all are, alone at night with our vibrators.

We were complete and utter strangers to each other, with absolutely nothing in common, and apart from our flash point of lust, no chemistry whatsoever. I couldn’t see any reason for us ever to even talk to each other, nothing about him that could ever interest me, no place he’d even possibly fit into my life.

I was sure he viewed me as a cheap hooker who he’d been lucky to evade without long term consequences. I had no intention of ever going near that hotel again. So really, there was no reason for either of us to ever want to, or even to imagine wanting to, get in contact again. Apart from the memory of the sex, of course. But obviously, that’s not enough.

So of course I got back in touch with him again.

&&&

It wasn’t as if I just woke up and decided to do it. I didn’t wildly fling myself into a thing. Everyone in my circle considered me the least reckless person they knew.

Good old Kate. Dependable Kate. Careful Kate. Kate was the woman you called when you needed someone to come and pick you up. The one who ended up designated driver. Kate who always drove the speed limit. Kate who worked at a sensible job at the bank. Kate who dated men as stable and reliable as she was. As dull as she was.

I think that had been the appeal of Jay. Our cyber-romance through texts and emails was actually adventurous. We talked about travel, about art, about life. There had been an excitement to Jay that hadn’t been there with most of the men in my life.

Because it had been cyber, Jay had been safe... I’d taken no risks at all. Right up until it blew up in my face.

The fling with Mike, the Hotel Detective, had been so left field, so out there for me. Some weird combination of recklessness and frustration, embarrassment and tension, and just a sudden impulsive need to play a role, be someone different.

The sex had been volcanic.

No lie. Mike had been the greatest sex of my life.

Which is kind of embarrassing to admit, because it had basically been a quicky. The greatest sex of your life was a quicky with a security guard who mistook you for a hooker. God, that was pathetic.

But there it was, it had been genuinely, wildly hot.

It’s hard to let something like that go.

And there was something else, something hard to explain. Mike had seen a different side of me. A side that didn’t really exist. There was in his mind, in his memory, a Kate that was a million miles from who I was. Maybe a cheap out of control hooker, but it was still a vivid picture of a totally different Kate. Maybe I just wanted a glimpse of that women, the woman in his mind’s eye.

After about a week, I contacted the hotel

&&&.

“Hello, my name is Kate. I stayed at your hotel a few weeks ago, and while we were there, the Hotel Detective, I think his name was Mike, he was so wonderfully helpful with a problem we had. I’m just following up from the trip. I was wondering if you could put me through.”

“Hotel Detective?”

“Yes. I think his name was Mike.”

“You mean security, Mike Polonia?”

“Yes, that’s him. Could you put me through.”

“I’m afraid Mike’s not on shift tonight.”

“Perhaps his voice mail?”

“Staff Security don’t have individual voicemails I’m afraid.”

“Oh, well, perhaps his email.”

“We don’t give out staff email, I’m sorry. But if you send an email to our general inquiries, I’ll make sure to forward it to Mike.”

“That would be wonderful! Thank you.”

&&&

“Hello Mike. This is Kate. I hope that you remember me. I just wanted to thank you for what you did to me during my brief visit to your hotel. Unfortunately, I will not be visiting again in the foreseeable future. But I wanted to express my appreciation for all your help. Keep in touch. Kate.”

I stared at the first email of my new gmail account. A gmail account I’d created expressly for this email. My heart was pounding.

It had been just like this when I’d phoned the hotel, terrifying. It had been a relief to be told that he was out, I thought if they’d put me through, I might have simply hung up out of sheer embarrassment. As it was, I’d been able to fake my way, voice casual, hands shaking, kicking myself at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

Now here I was emailing him directly, sort of. I stared at the email, changed “to me” to “for me.” It was originally “for me.” But it had been exciting to write it the other way. It had made me wet.

Which was sort of pathetic. Sensible, dull Kate, getting horny over a slightly risque reference.

Still, other people would see this. “For me” was better.

There was a moment’s reservation. What was I doing? How would he react. He was going to get a mash letter from the crazy hooker who’d gone up and down the hotel kicking doors and harassing guests, and then fucked him to get out of a trespass notice? Men like bold women, they don’t like batshit insane ones. A message from me would not be a welcome thing. He’d think I was stalking him.

He’d probably just take one look and delete. Or maybe send a polite reply and hope I’d go away forever.

I really shouldn’t.

But I did. I pressed send. Then I went to work at the bank, and spent the rest of the day thinking about what a mistake it was.

That evening, I got a message back.

“From Mike Polonia,

Dear Kate. Thank you for your kind words. At the Imperial, we do our best to provide first class service to clients and visitors. We were happy to service you. Mike.

PS: If you need to contact me directly, this is my personal email....”

I had to smile. He’d ‘serviced’ me, all right. Bold of him to put that in the email, I felt relieved, my contact hadn’t been unwelcome. He didn’t see me as some weird, crazy, stalker slut who would make his life hell. Or maybe he did, but he was trying to divert me down a path that wouldn’t get him fired? No, he could have just ignored the whole thing.

I had his private email, which was both exciting and terrifying. We were communicating directly.

I waited a day, stewing over it, before I wrote back.

“Hello Mike. I’m glad you are willing to talk to me. I can’t imagine what sort of impression you had of me, or of my stability. I’m not crazy, really. That night was a very bad night for me, and it could have been worse, except for you. I want to thank you for your patience and your sympathy. I would look forward to corresponding with you, if you are interested.”

I looked it over. I liked it. A very nice letter, not too personal, didn’t give too much away. Perfectly ‘business formal’ just like the correspondence I did for the Bank.

I chewed my lip, and added. “Oh, and by the way, the sex was amazing. Thank you for that!”

I hit send.

&&&

“I have a confession to make,” I typed.

“Oh?” he texted back.

After a careful volley of emails back and forth, feeling each other out, checking for signs of insanity or instability, we’d gotten comfortable enough to embark on a live text session. I’d spoofed my phone, so he couldn’t track me.

For our first text session, I was in bed, propped up against pillows, wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and big pink slippers with lizard toes - don’t ask, it was a gift.

“You were right.” My heart skipped a beat, my stomach felt light. I felt this sense of wild excitement, almost elation at what I was going to type next. “I was hooking. The guy was a John.”

“Not really surprised.” He texted back.

“You didn’t believe me?” I smiled, playing at mock outrage.

“The way you were dressed, you looked like you were working the street down at Orion.”

I’d heard of that, Orion was part of the local red light district. Quickly, I looked it up. Orion and Mulvey, they were cross streets.

“Yes.” I typed. “I was. That’s where he picked me up, at Orion and Mulvey, I usually worked there. I guess he thought I looked hot.”

“You definitely looked hot.”

I smiled.

“Thank you.”

“If he picked you up, how come your car was in the hotel parkade?”

Fuck! My smile vanished. I was having fun playing sexy, and now I was getting cross examined. I thought fast.

“He picked me up earlier, that’s when we made the appointment... the date. Earlier on the street. I drove there myself later.”

Don’t ask any more questions, I thought at him.

“So what went wrong? What happened?”

I smiled again. Okay, this was going where it wanted. I was prepared.

“The Trick, I think his name was Jay. Seemed like a nice guy, flashed a lot of money. I thought this would be a good time. Spend the night, make some cash. Have some real fun, you know. I was in the mood.”

Okay, establish horny hooker mentality.

“I get to the Hotel and I walk in the room, and he’s wearing nothing but a bathrobe. And he’s got a micro-penis!”

“No!”

“Yes! I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was as thick as my little finger, and half as long, and he’s already playing with it. There’s no hair down there, and I don’t think it’s because he shaves. He didn’t even have balls, just this pair of little reddish warts. I’ve never seen anything like it!”

I grinned wickedly. Fuck you, Jay.

“And then it starts to leak, and I thought he was peeing, right there in the open on the hotel carpet. But he was coming. It was just like water, like he was peeing.”

“And that’s it,” I conclude. “He says thank you for coming, and shoves me out. I couldn’t believe it. This asshole trick has me drive all across town and miss out on business, just so he can ejaculate his micropenis right in front of me the minute I walk through the door.”

Fuck you some more, Jay. I grinned wickedly. If only that story could somehow get out.

“Did he pay you at least?”

“No!” I typed. “He stiffed me, and not in the good way. I got nothing. I think I left my coat behind. I was just so thrown, I forgot all about it. All I could think was what an asshole.”

“Definitely an asshole!”

“Thanks. I was so stunned, I didn’t know what to do. I just started walking away. Then I got mad and came back. The rest you caught on camera.”

“I’m surprised you weren’t angrier, when I met up with you.”

I thought about that. I should have been angrier, yes.

“I was embarrassed to have ended up knocking on the wrong door. Poor guy, it wasn’t his fault. He must have thought I was crazy. I probably woke him up. I just thought, well that’s fucked, I should just get out of here. If you hadn’t shown up, I would have just slunk away.”

“Chalked it up to experience.”

“Another one for the books. I could write a book with all the crazy stuff I’ve seen.”

Wait! Where had that come from? What if he asked. This was the only story I had prepared.

Mike was the only outrageous sex I’d ever had.

“I’m sorry I caught you, it sounds like it would have sorted itself out. I didn’t need to do anything.”

I smiled and leaned back against my pillows. This was a more enjoyable subject.

“I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry at all, not even a little bit,” I typed boldly. I felt this tiny little wet squeeze. Time for sexy talk.

Maybe I should send him a present? Maybe a sexy selfie? No. Not yet. The idea of taking a picture of myself felt exciting, but too dangerous. Maybe something without a face? I blushed at the thought.

“That was pretty wild.” He texted.

“You mean you don’t fuck wayward hookers in your offices all the time? Catch and release? I would have thought that was a perk of the job.” I grinned at my cleverness.

“God no! I would get fired on the spot. You’re my first.”

“A virgin! I must be irresistible!”

“It was amazing,” he texted. “Just amazing. It was the hottest fuck of my life.”

Oh yes, I grinned. Keep on. I wanted more.

Compliment my sexual majesty, oh worshipful man!

“It was straight out of a porno, but better!”

“It was hot,” I texted. I wanted to type dirty. “Very hot. I really needed a good hard fuck after that experience, and you came through. I loved getting plowed by that big hard cock of yours. I was so ready.”

“How come?” he texted. “I always thought hookers didn’t really enjoy sex. They faked it, you know. You were on fire.”

“All real,” I texted back, feeling like a sex goddess. “Some of us love our work.”

“I’d love to do it again.”

Here it comes. That was more than I wanted.

“Sorry,” I texted. “I’m back in Chicago. But the next time I’m out your way...”

“You’re not from here?”

“No,” I typed. “I was just in town for a few days to party. I was just doing a little adventuring on the side.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” I texted. “You were the highlight of the trip! You rocked my world! I had bruises!”

“Sorry.”

“Loved them!” I thought a little. “What about your palm? Did I leave teeth marks?”

“Badge of honor.”

“I love it!” I giggled a little. “Tell me: What went through your mind when I walked my fingers up your trouser...”

&&&

The text session was fun, sexy but disappointingly not nearly as explicit as it could have been. But heavy on the flirting, which was fine, since I’d established boundaries. Pretending to live in another city meant that sex, casual hookups were out of the question. But he’d hung in there anyway, probably hoping for future visits.

We talked about pictures. He asked. I invited him to send a dick pic. He was shy. He asked some questions I had to dodge, mostly about the hooker lifestyle. After we wrapped up, I signed off, reached for my vibrator, had a delicious, tidy little orgasm and slept like a baby.

The next day, I flew through work with a smile on my face.

&&&

Over the next few sessions, I broadened my character. I wasn’t just a street hooker, I was an escort too, and an exotic dancer, and a burlesque performer. A free spirit who loved sex and adventure.

I was also an Arts History major, I threw that in because it seemed like a free spirit sort of thing. My real degree was Commerce, which had lead me to a position with the bank.

It was a little bit of a mistake, because it turned out he was very fond of art, and knowledgeable, so I had to dodge around the subject a bit, but he didn’t seem to notice. What was the harm in a little fib like that?

He’d claimed to be a ‘Hotel Detective’ rather than just another security guard.

We all told lies.

And I loved to travel! Something my chosen vocation in the sex industry allowed me to do. I hadn’t ever actually been anywhere in real life. But this other Kate, this ‘Better-Kate’ I was pretending to be, she strode the world.

The problem was, I didn’t know anything about art history, or art. Or the difference between a stripper and a burlesque artist, or an escort and a streetwalker.

I had vague ideas. You see this stuff on television. But how accurate was any of that?

I needed to do homework.

&&&

“How much do you charge?” My mouth was dry, but at least my voice hadn’t cracked.

I’d driven around Orion a couple of times. The hooker had shaggy red hair, that looked a little like Natasha Lyonne, and a black leather jacket festooned with chains. She’d smiled at me as I drove past. I figured I could talk to her without getting stabbed.

“Excuse me?” Her brow furrowed, she looked confused, bent down to look at me, as I sat in my car.

I hadn’t taken hookers to be so polite.

“How much do you charge?” I asked, blushing deeply. “Is it by the hour? Half hour? By the act? Is that personal?”

She stared at me.

“Do you want to...?”

“Oh,” I said. “No. Not at all. I just I want to know?”

“Are you a cop? Is this a cop thing?”

“No.” I blushed a little. I didn’t want her to get hostile. “I’m not a cop.”

“Are you a reporter?” Her brow furrowed. “A missionary? A social worker?”

“No, none of this. I’m just an ordinary girl. I work at a bank.”

“Are you thinking of hooking.”

“No.”

“Why are you asking?”

“I just need to know. It’s kind of complicated, it’s a personal thing."

She didn’t look convinced. She was kind of starting to look a little hostile.

“I just want to ask a few questions. I’ll pay!”

The hooker waved, I couldn’t see where. But then a man joined her.

“Is that your pimp?” I asked.

“Fuck you,” she said. “He’s my boyfriend.”

She turned to him. “She wants to ask questions. She’ll pay.”

“How much?” he asked.

“What’s the going rate to ask questions?” I was floundering. This had all been such a mistake.

“Why do you want to ask questions?” he asked. “What questions?”

“It’s sort of complicated. It’s hard to explain. Look, I’ll just go.”

“No,” he put his hand on the car door. I felt a surge of panic. “You’ll pay. Fine, let’s go somewhere and talk.”

Where? I was starting to get scared. But before I could say anything, he pointed at a burger place across the street.

“We’ll go over there. We can talk. We’ll have lunch, on you.”

Public place, okay. That was safe enough. Assuming that lunch on me wasn’t a weird hooker euphemism.

It was kind of complicated to explain things to them. Perhaps not so much complicated, as kind of silly. They were bemused. But we warmed up, and so I heard about prices, which really amounted to what you could get, which amounted to what street you worked, what time of day, what acts were involved. And from there it drifted into other aspects of life, a practical matter of fact tutorial, that included complaining about ill fitting boots, or runs in stockings.

Then, as the conversation turned to threesomes and exotic arrangements, I felt a hand on my thigh, and got cold feet.

On the way home, I stopped at the bookstore and bought “Art History for Dummies.” I had homework to do.

&&&

“So the girlfriend experience...” Mike was saying, “is you just go over and hang out and pretend to be a girlfriend and have sex.”

“And watch television together, and talk. Girlfriend things,” I concluded.

“It’s weird.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “I mean, I like Online Escort work, the money, I can’t argue with that. But it’s so much it’s own world. There are boards, you get reviews. But I don’t know. Girlfriend experience, sure, there’s money in it... but it’s just weird and kind of boring. I want a sense of adventure, not scary adventure, but it’s like a real experience, and I think that’s almost the opposite. Am I weird?”

“It sounds like you almost prefer walking the streets.”

“Sometimes, yes. There’s excitement to it.”

“Are you still online as an Escort?”

Ohh. Probing.

“Not right now. I go up now and then, but I’m kind of past that. I’m dancing these days. I have a tour through the Midwest.”

“There are tours?”

“Well, I call it a tour. I have a list of cities and clubs, I figure spend a week here, a week there.”

“Sounds rough.”

“Actually, I’m looking forward to it. The pole doesn’t wait.”

The only thing I knew about stripper poles was from watching Youtube videos, which featured quite a lot of fails. Poles falling over, strippers landing on their heads. Seriously, I was horrified. It amazed me that health and safety weren’t all over this thing.

But I had a flyer from a strip mall that said “Housewives, learn to pole dance for your husband - first lesson free!”

And I had googled a list of strip clubs with reviews across three states. No interior photos, for obvious reasons. But I could improvise.

&&&

“Are you awake?” My voice was hushed, brimming with excitement.

“Yeah,” he didn’t sound sleepy or anything. His voice was eager. I loved the way his voice seemed to light up when I called him. He was always excited when I texted or wrote or called, enthralled to hear about my wild, fearless life. I fed off that.

“I’m in a hotel room bathroom,” I whispered. I was in my own bathroom, because I thought the acoustics would lend credence to the story. “You will never guess who is sleeping in the next room! Then I told him...”

“No!” His astonishment thrilled me.

“Yes. Totally. He just pounded me, now he’s sleeping it off. I had to sneak in here and tell you about it.”

“What’s he like,” Mike whispered, he didn’t have to, but he’d fallen into the spirit. “Is he big, you know... there.”

“Huge, but not super hard. If he’d been hard, like you, like an iron bar, big as he was it might have hurt. But it was sort of like a really rigid loofah, so it filled, but sort of fit. Not circumcised. Really big head, kind of round, like a mushroom.”

“Wow.”

“Oh and insatiable. I thought I had an appetite. But he wore me out. He just wouldn’t stop. He kept going and going, and every now and then he’d flip me over, or change positions.”

“That’s intense.”

“Oh my god, I came so many times. It was incredible. And he’s huge. He’s what? Seven feet? He has to be seven feet tall. Everything looks like a toy next to him. He would pick me up like a doll. You know, when I was under him, and he was on top, my legs were spread so wide I felt like a wishbone. I looked up, and there’s just this expanse of chest. I’m eye level with his nipples. He was so huge, he would have just crushed me. But he’s holding himself up on his elbows as he thrusts into me, and the whole bed is shaking. I look on either side, and his biceps, his biceps! They’re thicker than my thighs!”

“That’s amazing.”

“It was surreal. It was like being with a giant. What am I saying, he was a giant. Hold on...”

I texted a picture of my bared breasts, glistening wetly, nipples rigid. I’d used a spray bottle on them earlier, fooling around until I had just the right look.

“This is me,” I whispered. “I’m still just drenched with sweat, head to toe.”

“Wow. I’m surprised you aren’t going back for seconds.”

“He’s sleeping right now, or yes, I’d be riding that pony. But he snores.”

“He snores?”

“Like a room full of chain saws, it’s unbelievable. Can you hear him?”

“No.”

“Good. Okay. Well, it’s amazing. Like no way am I going to sleep next to that. So I decided to come in here and tell you all about it.”

“Tell me,” Mike said. “I want every detail!”

“Okay, so here’s what happened...”

&&&

There was a strange kind of satisfaction, manufacturing a fictional encounter with a famous celebrity athlete. I just added detail after detail, the taste of sweat on his skin, the way his tongue filled my mouth, the taste of his nipples. I gave vivid descriptions of his erection and scrotum, his manner of love making.

There was a kind of creative thrill to making up the story and sharing it that made it almost real. For Mike it was real, I could hear him almost panting as I described each moment, knew he was stroking his cock.

I was wet too, excited, touching myself, fully aroused, but swept up in the creativity of the moment. I was too caught up in the artistry of storytelling to allow an orgasm. That would come later, as I relived the conversation, some alchemy of the story, its vividness, and Mike’s infectious arousal allowing me to reach several different kinds of satisfaction at once.

Instead, I closed my eyes visualizing everything, from his fingernails to the furniture of the hotel room, the feel of sweat drenched sheets against my back, the way his long frame sprawled across the bed, the feet hanging off, and just let the words flow, making up new details, my voice rising and falling with enthusiasm, as if it had really happened.

It wasn’t entirely spontaneous, of course. I’d done my homework, found which teams played where, who the superstars were. Checked out photos. I’d let my imagination work, constructing a fantasy, adding detail and texture to the scenario. I needed to be accurate, in case he checked and I was caught out in a lie. Some details, of course, I could make up without fear of contradiction, such as genital descriptions or declarations of performance.

But even with all that, talking to him, sexting, sharing, the whole thing came alive in my mind, details piled up and spilled from my lips, and I loved every minute of it.

&&&

I was completely caught up in creating this strange fictional other life for myself, another identity that I had taken to calling Better-Kate, who sprang into existence in the gap between Mike and myself.

Better-Kate was a meticulous creation. I couldn’t just lie, she had to feel real. Mike had to feel she was real.

As Better-Kate danced her way through clubs, I took pole dancing classes to get a feel for the experience - after only four classes, I quit, my muscles aching - pole dancing is hard! But I switched to pilates, to make sure I had the right muscle tone for pictures.

I attended strip clubs a couple of times, not often, to watch the dancers, the interplay and dynamics of girls and audience. I found seats at the back, rebuffed any men who came close, but bought drinks for dancers willing to sit and chat and listen to stories. I’m sure they were puzzled by why I was there. I’m equally sure that if I’d told them they would have been bemused, or perhaps amused, but I didn’t share.

I practiced routines at home, to get a feel for them.

I even signed up for an Amateur Stripper Contest, backing out at the last minute. Because obviously, Real-Kate was kind of a chickenshit.

Management was understanding, I think it happened a lot, and offered me complimentary drinks if I wanted to watch my competitors and perhaps screw up my courage.

But I only fled.

I looked up maps and googled street views, consulted Wikipedia and Youtube. Not just to make the illusions perfect, but to cast myself in them. To close my eyes and imagine I was actually there, struggling to envision the taste and texture, the sound of glasses clinking, and voices talking, the lingering smell of tobacco in the air, the weariness of ill fitting heels, the coolness of metal pole or the wear of the dance floor.

It was almost as if the adventures and exploits of Better-Kate was an erotic novel that I was writing, pouring research and creativity and passion into it, for an audience of one person. One person who didn’t know it was a novel, one person for whom Better-Kate was a living, breathing, larger than life, woman.

She was real for Mike, and so in a strange way, she’d become real for me.

She was this other, better version of me, living a life, enjoying a life in full glorious, saturated color, high definition, in 3D, while the real me just plodded along in my boring, old colourless, small-screen existence.

But Better-Kate was real. She had been real in that hotel security office, she’d come to life there.

I both wanted it and feared it. She fascinated me. I researched every possible aspect intensely, to bring her vividly to life, I loved her intensity, her passion. I bought lingerie for pictures of her, bought selfie sticks and tripods, studied art and porn to create stunning pictures. I photo-shopped her.

And yet, when the hooker and her boyfriend propositioned me, I’d fled. When the Amateur stripper night had come along, I’d chickened out. I wore lingerie and took pictures. I dressed up in sexy outfits but I never wore it outdoors, I was careful as to which pictures showed my face.

My actual sex life was dull, with dates carefully screened through a circle of friends, and encounters that were almost perfunctory and lifeless.

Real life is scary, and bruising, and we’re all kinds of small things in it, constantly second guessing ourselves. I had a job, an apartment, a car, a bank account, a network of friends. But we’re all sort of on the knife edge. Lose your job in a heartbeat, can’t pay the rent, can’t pay the phone, suddenly you’re homeless, you fall through the cracks and then what? That’s scary.

Playing pretend hooker was one thing. But there were women out there, desperate, impoverished, selling themselves and not enjoying it, just surviving and hanging on by their fingernails, with no prospects and no safety. Fantasy was one thing, but reality was precarious and vicious.

Better-Kate was all about adventures, but adventures went wrong all the time. Screw up, and Real-Kate’s life could all come tumbling down. I loved Better-Kate, but I couldn’t risk being her. Real-Kate played it safe.

I could just bring her to life for Mike, my unwitting audience, inhabit her, play her, be her. Then put her away.

&&&

I almost got caught.

I was out bar hopping with some women from work, I looked up, and there was Mike, on the other side, sitting with a group of men. His gaze passed over our group without a flicker of recognition.

My blood froze and my heart started pounding. I wanted to angle my chair so that my back was to him. But at the same time I was afraid to, what if he had spotted me and was coming over. I turned away as much as I dared, and took out my compact, pretending to examine my make up while angling the mirror to see his side of the bar.

Why should he recognize me? The one encounter I’d been dressed like a hooker with heavy make up.

Still nothing. If he saw me, if he recognized me, our whole intricately detailed sex life would collapse like a house of sticks. I would be exposed and embarrassed. I wasn’t ready for that.

“Kate?” my friend Amber said. “You look pale. Are you all right?”

I smiled falsely.

“Just tired I guess.”

After an excruciating twenty minutes, I made my excuses and left. I’d become too obsessed and worried about Mike’s presence and the risk of exposure to relax. Instead, my tension had slowly ratcheted up.

As I made my escape, Mike didn’t even look in my direction.

My secret was safe.

Although, I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about that.

I’d been right there in front of him, after all.

&&&

I was more careful after that.

The thing was, I really liked Mike. When I wasn’t telling him outrageous sex stories, we talked. We talked about everything.

We talked art, and I told him about my visits to the Louvre and other galleries, he was genuinely knowledgeable about stuff I faked my way through, and I genuinely loved listening to him. I’d make notes about artists or schools he mentioned and looked them up.

We talked cooking, I gave him tips, I told him about foreign cuisines. We talked about life and dream. He wasn’t just a security guard at a hotel, he was working towards a Masters degree.

We told each other jokes, and after a while, we had private jokes and references we shared between us - or that he shared with Better-Kate.

It was simple to get him to talk about his personal life, the places he went, the things he did, his friends, his schedule. He had no idea that I was lying to him, so no idea that any question had an agenda. He had no secrets from me. I could have gotten his pin numbers, if I tried hard enough.

I knew exactly where he lived, I visited his apartment building one day when he was at work, and stood outside his door. It wasn’t stalker-ish, I told myself, there was absolutely nothing creepy about it. Just curious.

I did feel a little guilty sometimes. The thing was, I really liked him. I liked him a lot. And if I made up an entire world for him, an entire identity, a set of adventures and sexcapades? Where was the harm in that? I knew for a fact that he’d jerked off to Better-Kate, a lot. I had a special file of pictures. So clearly, he was enjoying. He was definitely enjoying, and I was enjoying him enjoying.

Where was the harm? His life was just better for having Better-Kate as his online/text/cyber friend. No harm at all.

I just felt a little squidgy sometimes, digging into his personal life, so that I could ensure we didn’t actually run into each other in the real world, and bring it all crashing down. But it was for his own good.

Sometimes, when I knew exactly where he was, at work or particularly someplace else, I’d visit some haunt of his, some place he liked to hang out. I’d sit in a corner of a gaming café, drinking a cup of tea and imagine him in the little group the next table over, animated and excited over their board game.

Or going to an art-house cinema, and watching some foreign movie he’d watched, sitting in the back row, wondering where he’d sat and if he’d been with anyone.

It wasn’t creepy at all. I wasn’t a stalker. I just liked him, there was affection, and I enjoyed him talking about the life he lived, even if it was modest compared to my stories. I guess the impulse that lead me to research my stories, also sort of extended to him.

It made me feel closer to him.

&&&

“Fire?” Mike said.

“It was pretty safe,” I said. “Or at least, I think it was. Over here people smoke in bars, there are all sorts of flammables everywhere. Even whisky, brandy, hard drinks they’ll go up like candles. So doing a fire act on stage, no big deal. I did make sure a fire extinguisher was close by.”

“I can’t believe it. They let you do it?”

“In the Philippines? You’d be amazed at what they let you do. I couldn’t do something like this over in North America,” I agreed. “They’d shut you right down. Fire codes and everything, right? But in Manilla, it’s like a different world for stripping.”

“How so?”

“Less formula I think,” I said thoughtfully. “Back home, it’s almost ritualistic, it’s all about the pole. Here it’s a lot more open, a lot more diverse. It’s more... I don’t know if ‘respected’ is the right word, but the attitude is definitely different. Legitimate, maybe. Legitimate entertainment. It’s more about being an entertainer, putting on a show. It’s more wide open to do things. I really like it, it gives me a lot more freedom.”

I’d done my homework. One of the strippers I’d chatted with at a bar had talked about dancing in Asia, and I’d picked up on that, followed up by reading online about the Manilla bar scene in obscure corners of the internet.

After the close call, I’d ghosted Mike for a couple of weeks, replying only once or twice perfunctorily. I decided to move Better-Kate out of the country for bold new adventures, just to be safe.

At the same time, I’d gone back through our correspondence and texts to get a sense of Mike’s haunts. There wasn’t much, our exchanges were our own little world between us.

I resolved to subtly dig a little bit, nothing intrusive, but just to be encouraging about hearing about some of his daily life, what he did, where he hung out.

“I never thought about it,” he said. “I suppose I just assumed it was the same everywhere.”

“It’s not even the same back home,” I told him. “We have stripping, and we have burlesque.”

“They’re not the same?”

“Oh shame on you!” I laughed. “Don’t ever let a burlesque dancer hear that, they’ll spank you, and not in a good way. It used to be the same, but they’ve gone off in different directions. I think they split in the sixties or seventies.”

I made a mental note to look up the history of Burlesque.

“You do both.”

“I’m multi-faceted,” I told him. “But in their own way, they’re both very narrow. Out here... it’s more like dancing, genuine exotic dancing. There’s no rules, you can do so much more. There’s so much more freedom. I love it.”

I paused.

“Although now that I think about it, I think I probably have more freedom and opportunity than a lot of local dancers. I’m North American, I think that by definition, that makes me exotic around here, almost a celebrity, which is weird.”

“But a fire act,” he asked, “how did you come up with that?”

“It wasn’t that hard. Back in junior high, I used to do ballet with scarves.”

“Aren’t scarves flammable?”

“Funny guy. Yes they are, but part of the routine was swinging around these tennis balls in stockings.”

This was true, I’d actually done this back in school, it had been a fad that lasted all of a couple of months for us. But years later, on Youtube, I could see that some women or girls had stuck with it, gaily dancing with ribbons and streamers, leaving audiences mildly entertained and mostly befuddled.

“The fire,” I said. “I used to hang with buskers during the summers off when I was studying at University.”

I needed to correct that.

“I was busking. Juggling, devil sticks, dancing - pop ‘n lock, breaking, whatever got a crowd. I picked up some fire tricks. It’s not hard when you know what you’re doing.”

I’d actually chatted with a busker who had done a fire act, part of my inspiration

“I saw a street performer blowing fire the other day, like a dragon. He juggled these flaming sticks.”

“Cool!” I said. My stomach fluttered a little, and I had a cold shiver. It was probably the same guy.

For a moment, I had a Sixth Sense moment - that scene at the end of some old movie, where the guy figures something out, and all the pieces we’ve been seeing through the whole thing suddenly fall together. I was afraid for a moment that Mike would have that, that suddenly, he’d see all the connections and sources behind all the stories I’d told and realize it was all a con.

“There’s a lot of that,” I said lamely.

“I’d worry about being burned. After all you’re dancing nude.”

Back on track.

“I’ll tell you a secret. I wear flesh colored gloves, just in case I have to grab it. I can snuff a fireball in my hand. And I smear on this fire resistant gel, like a body lotion, it makes my skin shine, so bonus. And sometimes I put a little food coloring in, to add a little extra. But you know what I have to be really careful of?”

“What?”

“My hair,” I said. “That’s the big worry, burning my hair.”

“Like Michael Jackson.”

“Yeah, I don’t put flammable gunk in my hair, but still...”

And in my mind’s eye, in his mind’s eye, I step out onto a Dancer’s stage in Manila, nude but for heels and those flesh colored gloves. I stand tall and straight, my breasts are magnificent, my nipples rigid, my skin glistens. I dance confident and commanding, my body bending back and forth. Effortlessly, with perfect control, I wield two flaming sticks like a burlesque dancer’s boa, reversing the teasing. Then I swing two fireballs around and around, the crowd gasping as I step in and out, bringing gasps and applause. Finally, on my knees, I throw my head back and breath a column of flame, as the audience roars and there’s a standing ovation. I am magnificent.

And afterwards, I get into my bathrobe, and my oversized slippers with their lizard toes, and listen to a little music, sipping a glass of boxed wine, back in my humdrum life.

I feel weirdly satisfied. Sometimes it’s not even sexual, although I do masturbate constantly to the stories I tell him. Sometimes while I tell them to him, but as often before or after. It pleases me to know that he believes them, that there’s this wilder, free-er, bolder version of me in his head.

Time to go to bed.

Long day at the bank tomorrow.

The Catfish Chronicles - Ch 01 - Exposed

“You’re married,” I asked, my heart was dropping through my stomach. This awful, horrible sinking feeling. I felt adrift, unmoored, like I’d been sitting on top of a house of cards tumbling down.

I climbed off him, standing, wobbling on black thigh high fetish boots, I’d bought specially four our rendez vous. I pushed my spandex miniskirt as low as it would go, which wasn’t much, regretting not wearing panties.

“No!” Jay said. His face was smeared with my glossy red lipstick. “I’m not married.”

“Bullshit!” I snapped. I was angry, this beautiful sexy fantasy, had gone tits up, and now I was stuffing mine back into a tiny bustier, while his exposed cock wilted.

“How did you know?” he asked, his face a mask of panic, as he was pulling up his trousers.

And just like that, it got worse. I could have been wrong, I wanted to be wrong. I wanted him to deny and explain and we could get back on track. I’d apologize for my psychotic episode, and then we’d carry on.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Come on, it’s not a big deal. Look, it’s complicated.”

I wasn’t buying it. Mainly, I was kicking myself. Months of flirting and sexting, long distance calls, heartfelt conversations, phone sex, opening up to each other.

“Not a big deal?” I snapped. “But you never mentioned it? You wear a frigging wedding ring.”

Unconsciously he moved his hand to cover it, feeling it’s absence.

“Tan line, Jay!” I snapped. “I can see the tan line. If you’ve got a tan line for your wedding ring, that tells me you’re pretty committed.”

“All right,” he admitted. “But it’s complicated. It has nothing to do with this...”

Sure, it’s always complicated.

I felt stupid, which was what made me angry. If I’d have known, maybe it would have been different. I’m not a slut or anything. But peoples lives are complicated, and maybe it would have been all right, maybe it would have been normal, or acceptable. Maybe the marriage was dead and I wouldn’t have been treading. Or maybe I’d be up for a little fling that harmed no one. But he hadn’t told me.

I’d been looking forward to him coming to town for weeks, we’d been talking about it, planning it. I’d shopped carefully, building my outfit, building towards this night. The thigh high fetish boots, all shiny and black had been the final touch. I’d showed up at his hotel door, looking like a hooker, looking like sex incarnate. When he opened it, when we finally met in person, I could see the wonderful astonishment on his face, the way his heart skipped a beat, his jaw dropped.

We’d made it to the couch, kissing passionately. I’d straddled him, miniskirt up around my hips, his cock out, our bare genitals lightly brushing each other, his hands on my boobs...and I’d noticed the tan line.

I wouldn’t have even noticed, but I’d read about it the day before at the stylist, tips on spotting a married player. And the bottom dropped out of my world.

Played for a fool.

That’s what hurts.

You think you’ve got something, something real, a connection. Then you realize, you were just stupid. He played you because you were stupid. He played you because he thought you were stupid. And you fell for it.

How do you trust someone after that?

“Look,” he said desperately, “it’s not a big deal. We’re not really together. And it’s far away. Come on, we’ve had all this... we have a connection. Real chemistry.”

How do you fuck someone who thinks you’re stupid?

“Jay,” I said, “if that’s your name -”

“It is!”

“You catfished me. I’m sorry, we’re done.”

I was trembling, shaking with humiliation and embarrassment. I could still feel wetness between my legs, the sense of lightness and excitement I’d had riding the elevator, walking down the hall. But now it had turned wrong, and I had this weight in my stomach. Shame. I was blushing, my face was hot.

With as much dignity as I could muster, I turned around, grabbed my purse and walked out the door.

“Goodbye Jay,” I said frostily, with as much dignity as I could muster, “it wasn’t fun.”

The door closed, I was in the hallway.

It was over.

I sighed. I still felt stupid and angry. I pulled my smartphone out of my purse and I deleted his contact. Another tap on the screen, months of increasingly hot text messages vanished out of the world. Fuck him.

I felt a little better. I stalked down the hotel hallway, the high heels of the fetish boots giving my stride a slightly martial quality, like I was marching instead of walking. Stomping. How do hookers walk sexy in these things? Whatever. Fuck Jay.

He didn’t even have the decency to come after me. The phone didn’t ring, no texts appeared, he didn’t follow me out into the hallway, didn’t try to explain or beg or apologise. Fuck him.

At the Elevator, I turned around and marched back angrily. Suddenly, I was standing in front of his hotel door again. Was he watching me through the peephole? Should I knock. I didn’t want to see him, but I sort of wanted to see him. It didn’t feel right like this, there should be something more. But here I was dressed like a hooker, standing in front of the door of a man who had played me, angry and horny and without any idea of what to do.

“You’re an asshole!” I shouted at the door.

No response. I kicked it a couple of times.

“Fuck you,” I shouted. “Just fuck you, okay.”

Then I marched off. Did I feel any better? Maybe. Sort of.

No one was in the hallway, or the elevator. I punched parkade level. Hopefully no one would get on and I’d avoid further humiliation. I fished my compact from my purse, to check my make up, and used a wet wipe to clean up a lipstick smear.

Go home, throw all this hooker looking crap into the rubbish. No, burn it! How? I’d figure that out. Get a box of wine, drink the whole thing and just blot this stupid night out.

The doors opened onto the parkade. And a cold breeze swept around me, up under my skirt, across bare midriff and shoulders, hardening my nipples and tickling, and I realized, I’d been wearing my good trenchcoat. After all, I wouldn’t drive through the city looking like a hooker. I’d forgotten it up there.

I’d have to go back and get it. My face reddened and went hot. Fuck!

Back into the elevator, back to the floor, march down the hallway. Should I knock? Fuck that. There was no way out of this without looking stupid. I didn’t want to look like I’d come crawling back.

I kicked at the door. No response. I kicked harder.

“Hey asshole,” I yelled at the door. “I want my coat back.”

Nothing. I waited, counting off fifteen seconds.

“Hey!” I kicked the door again.

He was ignoring me. The fucking coward! God, I was so stupid, I should have known he was a cowardly passive aggressive weasel from the start. I should have known.

I kicked it hard, leaving scuff marks.

“Hey,” I yelled loudly. “Stop being a dick. I want my coat. Just give it to me, so I can fuck off out of here.”

No response.

“You coward! You passive aggressive dick! Give me back my fucking coat.”

The door swung open.

A complete stranger looked out at me. Some fat middle aged guy with a comb-over and an undershirt loosely tucked in his pants, bare feet.

For a moment, we stared at each other with mute incomprehension.

This wasn’t Jay. Had Jay invited him over after I left? Were they together? Where was Jay? Was this a gay thing? Then it hit me.

“Oh,” I said weakly. “Wrong room.”

“Right,” said the man.

“Yeah,” I said, I could feel myself shrinking by the moment, folding in on myself, a bigger and bigger idiot. “Yeah. My ... uh... my boyfriend, he left. I left I mean. I left my coat in his room... just now, not like yesterday, but you know, just a moment ago and I wanted to get it...”

He was staring, but not in a good way.

“We kind of had an argument. So I forgot.”

“It’s not here.”

“I can see that. Sorry... did I wake you?”

The door slammed shut. The number was right. The floor was wrong. What floor was Jay on? I couldn’t remember.

I pulled my phone out to check the text message with his room number.

Deleted.

Of course.

This night just kept getting better and better.

That was an expensive coat. I’d paid top dollar for it, and it was practically new.

Fuck me.

Time to quit while I was ahead. Go home. Maybe Jay would text me and we’d make arrangements to have it returned. Or maybe he’d leave it behind, and I could get it from the hotel. But mainly, go home, forget this whole Catfish episode never happened.

As I approached the elevator again, the door opened. A heavy-set, middle-aged, balding man stepped out. He flashed a badge.

“Hotel Detective,” he said. “Ma’am I’d like you to come with me.”

Fuck me.

***

This was my first visit to the security office. I wasn’t thrilled. I kept tugging at my spandex miniskirt and wishing I’d worn panties, even a thong. We were on the third floor, which seemed to be the service floor - it had that unfinished utilitarian look, laundry carts along the sides of the hallways waiting to go into action, light fixtures without their plastic sheaths.

Security was a windowless room. On one wall a bank of monitors showed shifting displays of the lobby, of hallways with people waking down them, of the parkade. Not a lot of empty hallways.

“Not a lot of empty hallways,” I said conversationally.

He looked up from a form he was filling out beside me, I noticed he let his eyes travel across my body like I was oiled head to toe, before he looked me in the face. Well, why not, I sighed mentally, I was dressed the part.

“Motion sensors,” he said. “The security cameras cycle through on a random program, but if there’s motion, that activates them. Mostly it’s just people going to and from their rooms.”

Oh right. Or demented hookers going from floor to floor, kicking doors and screaming at guests. I was grateful he left that part out.

So there was a video record of my humiliation.

This just got better and better.

“I’m not a hooker,” I said.

He gave me another sliding look, from kinky fetish heels, to latex thigh high boots, all the way up again.

“I know what it looks like. But I’m not a hooker. Really.”

“Okay,” he said. I could tell he didn’t believe me. “Ma’am, I don’t really care. I’m just doing my job.”

“No really. I was seeing this guy.”

“Uh huh.”

“And we were having this thing, this really intense thing. So I dressed up. But then I found out he catfished me and I got mad...”

“Catfished?” Careful, neutral, indifferent.

“Never mind.”

I sighed. I could see it now. Crazed hooker harasses guests. The police would haul me away. I’d be stuck in jail overnight with real hookers. Then I’d be in front of some Judge who wouldn’t believe me. Jay would be back wherever he’d come from, I couldn’t even contact him to get him to explain. And he probably wouldn’t even admit anything even if I could contact him, because that would screw up his marriage. My picture would be in the papers, probably with video stills of me kicking down a door. The hotel would sue me. I’d lose my job.

Fuck me.

How do real hookers get out of these things? Promise of sex? I eyed the Hotel Detective speculatively. His name tag read ‘Mark.” Would that work? Maybe I should? He’d probably say no.

What a life. Fuck me.

“So when do the police come?”

“Police?” he looked up more quickly this time.

Sure, I thought. Police.

“To take me to the station, and process my charge.”

“You’re not under arrest.”

“I’m not?”

“No,” he said, “I just fill out a trespass notice barring you from the premises, take your picture for future reference, and escort you from the building. That’s all. Then I go to the rooms you harassed, and fill out incident reports.”

“Oh!”

Suddenly, this sense of relief flushed through me. I could literally feel tension washing out of me. I felt lighter, suddenly happier. I looked at Mark with a warmer light.

“If you try to return, we’ll call the police.”

“I don’t plan on coming back here for the rest of my life,” I said sincerely.

“No problem then.”

“I’m parked here.”

“I just escort you from the building, if your car is in the parkade, you’ll have to get someone to come get it for you. Or it will be towed.”

“Oh,” that wasn’t so great. But still, a lot better off. But then again, I was going to have my picture taken, and I’d be in their files as crazy hooker girl, and they’d probably keep the footage of me kicking doors. So that kind of sucked.

Then an idea crept back in my mind, one that had emerged in fear and futility when I’d been scared and thought I was going to jail. It had felt stupid and desperate. But now that the stakes were lower... it almost seemed plausible.

I looked him over. Not bad looking, not great. Ordinary, attentive. One of these regular, unexceptional men, but not bad. Maybe I could flirt my way out. I smiled at him, not huge, that would be fake. But just a little smile. Parted my knees an inch or two. Leaned forward a little closer to him.

“Mark,” I said. “Do we have to do all this. I’ve had a really shitty night, my boyfriend turned out to be married. I promise you, I never want to come here again. Let’s just let me get my car and go home.”

“I’d like to do that,” he said. “But I have to follow policy.”

He wouldn’t look at me.

“Really? I just want to go home and forget this all ever happened.”

“We’ll wrap up the paperwork and have you on your way.”

I leaned in a little further, just emphasizing my cleavage. Okay, maybe flirting wasn’t enough. How much further? A blow job? Blow jobs were almost casual, I’d done them in high school and university, I’d done them just to get out of boring dates, or on drunken impulse. Quick, simple, done. Nothing really, for all that men were so wild about them. Barely more than a handshake to a stranger.

And with embarrassment, I remembered how I’d been willing, even wildly eager to do so much more to a different stranger who had turned out to be a total asshole.

The more I thought about it, it just seemed that this was the quickest way out.

Why not.

I leaned a little further. Scooted my chair closer to his, moving to the edge of my seat. Our knees touched.

“We don’t really need paperwork, do we?” I husked.

He coloured slightly, not quite willing to look at me.

“It’s the job.”

“Really?” I whispered. “Can’t we just work it out?”

I put two fingertips on his knee, moving forward a bit, the insides of our knees brushing against each other. He stopped writing, frozen.

Carefully, watching him, I walked my two fingers up his thigh, smiling gently at him, marching them slowly towards his crotch. Unsteadily, he reached down to stop me, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let me catch his hand and guide it between the inside of my thighs, where I laid it against the vinyl of my fetish boot. I allowed my legs to part slowly, opening.

It was as if he was hypnotized, unable to move, letting me take command. I liked the feeling, it was empowering. I let my fingers walk step by step across his upper thigh, down towards his crotch pressing at the folds of fabric, where I could feel his cock swelling rapidly.

I felt his hand moving along the inside of the boot, the pressure on my clad thigh giving way to the touch of skin on skin. I felt a tingle of excitement, and eased my ass forward just a little more on the chair, opening as it did.

My hand cupped his crotch, I could feel his cock, like a live thing, swelling and stiffening as it fought against his underwear, to rise up. I helped guide it to its new position. It felt thick. I could feel it hardening more and more with each passing moment as a squeezed it gently.

His fingers touched my lips, bringing a little gasp from me. His eyes widened a little at the touch, the unexpected softness of my folds. My secret was out, no panties, I was completely accessible to him. I could feel him tremble with excitement, feel his blush, his sensual arousal and it excited me too. I could feel my lips part, the wetness coming back, as he probed gently, as his fingertips fluttered between my legs.

With my free hand, I pulled at my bustier, exposing my nipples. He was utterly fascinated, enraptured. I had completely captured him. There was a sensation of elation, of arousal.

“Let’s just forget the paperwork,” I whispered, squeezing his cock. “The picture, the notice, all of it. I promise I won’t come back, ever. Just let it go... and I’ll make it worth it. Deal?”

“Deal,” his voice husked, as his fingertips stroked my clit, slid down between but not quite inside my lips. His hand was shaking.

“Okay,”

Victory. A weird little victory, but yes, there was this tiny feeling of triumph, of validation, of being in some weird way, in control.

“I have to lock the door,” he rasped.

“Okay.”

He stood up rapidly, too rapidly, slightly awkwardly, as his erection tented his trousers. I moved back in my chair to let him past, feeling him brush against my knees. He locked the door with clumsy, frantic motions, and then came back with that weird trying to be casual but also too hasty way that men have when they’re super-horney, almost falling over themselves.

“Let’s do a blow job, okay?” I offered. I didn’t especially want him in me after all. I hoped he didn’t want more. But I wanted to get it out there, set the terms of engagement. “You’ll love it.”

“All right.”

Good, acceptance.

He leaned back against his desk. I reached out, to undo his belt. Men’s belts are tricky, they’re always so tightly cinched and folded into loops. As I worked it, he reached down and finished undoing it with trembling hands. I unzipped him, and a second later, he was pushing his pants and boxers down his thighs. I barely had a sense of pinstriped boxers and pink cock peeking out, before it was down, and then his full erection was springing out, and hot and throbbing in my hand.

I leaned forward in the chair, but my fetish heels made the position awkward, so I slid forward, down to one knee in front of him, looking for a comfortable posture. I steadied myself, one hand against his thigh, the other wrapped around his cock, and hoped he wouldn’t notice my awkwardness.

“You’re going to love this,” I whispered up at him, mostly to distract him.

His cock was thick, extraordinarily thick, my fingers barely wrapped around it, but oddly, the head was small and circumcized, a small cap on a wide shaft, that arched slightly. For some reason, it made me think of a musical instrument, a horn.

I thought suddenly that was where the word horney came from, because of cocks like this that looked like horns. I almost wanted to press my lips to it and try to blow air down the urethra. What sound would that make? But I thought it might hurt him.

Instead, I pressed my lips against the head, already glistening with precum, and let them spread, enfolding the glans and widening to encompass the first inches of the shaft.

He groaned, and I felt this wave of pleasure and weakness ripple through his body, his struggle to hold himself up as he leaned back against the desk. I glanced up at him, with his cock in my mouth, making brief I contact. I could taste the saltiness of his precum, and rolled my tongue around the glans, making him shiver and gasp again. I loved the feel of his responses, the transparency of them, the way I could make his whole body react with just a movement of my lips, a dart of a tongue this way or that.

I kept my hand on his shaft, stroking back and forth, wary of him reaching down and trying to push my head further down. My jaws were distended with just couple of inches, and there was no way I could take that thick monster deeper without gagging. Instead, I teased the head, lifting my mouth around it, then clamping down, lapping or stroking with my tongue, trying to time it with the movement of my hand. When I felt I had my balance all right, I dared to released his thigh and cradle and tease his balls with my freed hand.

My blow jobs had always been hasty things, preludes to real sex, or warm ups, or just drunken encounters, or casual ‘finish this and go away’ things. But oddly, here in the moment, there was something exciting about it. Maybe it was his responsiveness, the way his body shivered and quaked with every touch, as if I was plucking a musical instrument, the sense of power it gave me. Maybe it was the transgressiveness of it all, the naughtiness, the fact that he thought I was some hooker. I felt a kind of wild weightlessness, an elation, an erotic charge, that left me wet. I could feel my clit throb, my lips art and dilate, could feel the arousal in my own body.

I expected him to come right away, prepared to seal my lips around, and swallow. But he didn’t, and after moments, I didn’t want him to come. When his quaking grew too intense, I’d squeeze the base of his cock tightly, pulling his balls, lifting my mouth and breathing hotly, as the desperate spasms eased off from the edge of ejaculation. It had become exciting, and I didn’t want to let him go just yet, denying his orgasm was another frisson of power of excitement.

I wobbled on one knee, and grabbed his thigh to steady myself, covering it by letting my palm slide up his shirt, across his hairy belly, making it sensuous. Just slightly off balance my mouth slid down just a little too far on his shaft, I felt a slight tickle that could become a gag, and pushed off, lifting until my lips wrapped tighly around his head. There was another fleeting taste of pre-cum. The thick curving shaft throbbed hot and urgent in my hand.

Suddenly, I wanted it. I wanted it in me. I wanted to feel the head of his cock between my legs. I wanted the thickness in me. I had these image flashes of his hands on my breasts, wrapping my thighs around that thick muscular ass. I wanted to be fucked good and hard, real, raw passionate, uninhibited sex. No romance, no excitement, no dancing around, none of the bullshit, just fucking.

I lifted my mouth off his cock, still maintaining my death grip on his shaft.

“Are you ready to fuck?” I asked huskily, as if that had been the plan all along.

“Oh yeah,” he grunted.

I thought of something.

“Do you have a condom?” I asked.

“No,” do you.

I felt a tiny wince.

“In my purse,” I said.

Terrific. Now he’d be absolutely sure I was a hooker. Who else carries condoms in their purse. But at the same time, I didn’t care, because I just wanted that cock. As he turned to grab my purse from the desk and hand it to me, I slid my mouth over his cock quickly, one more time, lashing the head with my tongue and feeling a gratifying shiver of weakness run through him.

My hands shook slightly, as I fished through my purse from a kneeling position, found a condom, tore it open and wrapped him. In the sheen of the latex, it was oddly disappointing, muted, and I had this weird fleeting regret at covering its beauty. I’d never thought of a cock as beautiful before, it had just never occurred to me to think that way, and the notion suprised me.

There was an awkward moment as I climbed to my feet, pushing my miniskirt up, and we shifted positions around, pushing papers and phone back to the other side of the desk. Then my ass was perching rough against the desk, propping myself up on elbows. I lifted my knees up. He was between my legs, one hand on his cock, attention fixed on it, the other on my hip. I wanted it so bad, I could taste it. With one hand, I reached down, brushing fingertips against his erection, drawing it to me, spreading my lips apart as I felt the touch of his head.

Then he plunged into me, the girth and thickness spreading me open wide as it surged in. I gasped loudly in sheer pleasure at feeling him, feeling the thickness of his shaft, its throbbing rigity, the way it curved up inside me as it thrust and filed me.

I wanted to savour the feeling of him inside me, wanted to drench myself in the sensation of being filled so completely. But he didn’t wait, as soon as he bottomed in me, his cock pressing deep, his balls and pubes slapping against me, he pulled back and thrust had again, drawing another gasp from me.

He fucked hard and relentless, holding me pinned like a butterly on the desk. I wrapped my legs around his ass again and again, and he’d buck, fucking himself free, my shiny black boots and heels kicking wildly in ecstasy. My back arched to meet each thrust, trying to work him a little deeper with each lunge, to be opened by a little more girth. His hands were like vises against my hips holding them in place as he fucked with everything he had.

I gasped and grunted, our bodies smashing together again and again. I could feel sweat breaking out all over my body, smell the sex in the air, I could hear the sound of his cock plunging into my drenched pussy, and over it, the sound of our breathing, our gasping, my heartbeat. I wanted it all, and I wanted more. Fucking filled my mind, it was everything, I couldn’t think, it was all there was, and I wanted more. I arched my back, pressing my breasts together, offering them up again and again. Finally, I reached down and grabbed his hands rom my hips, wrapping my legs tight around him, I pulled his hands to my breasts, feeling their hot weight, the pressure as his fingers clenched squeezing them tightly. My boots kicked again as I ground my clit against his body.

The hands on my breasts, the almost painful clenching was ecstatic, but my hips were too free. There wasn’t the intensity of pounding, even as I tried to hold him in place. Above me, his sweat dripped from his brow, his face was contorted. He saw me and yet didn’t see me, wrapped in his own sexual haze. I had an impulse, I didn’t want to look at his face.

“Turn me over,” I said. “I want to be fucked bent over the desk.”

Hands off my breasts. Cock pulled out, there was a feeling of absence, of loss. I wanted to reach down, grab it, yank it back where it belonged. We parted, again awkwardly and hastily. For a second, I was off the desk, and standing, his hands guiding unnecessarily. Then I was bending forward onto my elbows, arching my back. I could feel his vise grip hands on my hips, on my ass. I pushed back, seeking him.

His cock couldn’t find me. It thrust against my thigh, my belly. I moaned with frustration, suddenly worried that we couldn’t do it in this position, that it wouldn’t work. He pushed down on my ass, trying to change the angle. I understood, spreading my legs wider, to lower. As my legs spread, I could feel my lips parting, opening in wet anticipation. Almost there, I could feel the head of his cock seeking purchase. I bent my knees a little.

“Yes!” I shouted in joy, as his thick cock rammed up in me in one wild thrust, mine once again, back where it belonged. Again, I wanted to savour it, but again he thrust relentlessly. In this angle, in this position, I could push into him with ever arch of my back, every thrust of his hips, and the feeling was glorious. It was as if with ever thrust, his cock reared out deliciously inside of me, sending wave after wave of ecstacy.

“Not so loud,” he grunted. I had half awareness, that we were in the the maintenance floor, in a security office. Who knew who was passing by outside, what they might think, who they might tell, or who might have keys to walk in on us. Part of me didn’t care at all, just cared about this cock rearing up in me with every thrust, the rapid waves. Part of me knew we were transgressing, breaking rules, and that made it wilder, more intense, as if we were racing against some enemy. And some part understood it would be bad.

“I’ll try,” I grunted. “But it’s just so good.”

Stroke his ego, I thought. But I struggled to stifle my moans. He leaned over me. I could feel his weight on my back as he pushed up into me. His vise-grip hands found my breasts again, the almost painful grips bringing hisses of pressure. Pinned now to the desk by his weight, pulled into position, my legs felt like jelly. Only the rampant thrusting of his cock hold me up and in place. Then I felt it.

“Oh god,” I tried to whisper. “Oh god, it’s close, it’s coming, I can feel it building.”

“Just do it quietly.”

“I’ll try!”

My orgasm felt like a boulder rolling down a hill, it felt huge and unstoppable, an immense force coming over me. In my mind’s eye, I visualized myself tied down at the base of the hill, spread eagled wide, my pussy elevated and centered to meet this overpowering, onrushing force.

Then it hit. My body went white, I could feel my muscles going stiff and spastic, I was hot and cold, I couldn’t breathe. I could feel a hand clamped across my mouth, stifling an unending scream, and pressed both of my hands against it, pushing hard, sealing it tighter. I sucked air through my nostrils, but there wasn’t enough of it. Black spots, swirled around the edge of my vision, the scream flattening against his palm.

Then it was over. I tore the palm from my mouth, clutching his hand in mind, sucking in great lung fulls of air. His relentless thrusting paused, and finally, my trembling body, sweat drenched, shaking like a leaf, all my muscles turned to water, could just enjoy the feel of his cock inside me, my possession, my property. Mine, I thought with aimless delirium, I should keep it, he just walks around with it, he could never appreciate it like I do.

“Holy shit,” I grunted softly.

“You okay?”

“Oh yeah, that was just intense,” I replied, I was still panting, and lightheaded.

Gently, he began to move inside me, it first just a little, but each movement became more pronounced, the rocking became thrusting, this time even fiercer and more urgent. Again, I felt the waves of pleasure from his cock rearing up savagely within me, full of fury and wildness. His hands moved from my breasts to my shoulders to my hips and back, always seeking purchase, exploring, pushing my now boneless form onto his manhood.

The orgasm had left me feeling like jelly, but now I felt it starting up again, building. The boneless lassitude giving it a new feeling, a sense of the dam having broken, and pleasure building in new easier ways. By contrast, I felt the urgency in the way his body crashed against mine, the fierceness and rigidity of his touch. I realized he was trying to reach his own orgasm, trying to come, or simply finally driving towards it. Perhaps not struggling, but now on some kind of threshold, he’d become the boulder rolling down the hill towards shattering impact.

The feeling of it, my boneless, jelly bliss, and the wildness of his fucking, the decay of his rigid control as the energy spilled and the arousal crept up his spine set me off again, in a faster, more fluid orgasm. My legs kicked, pushing all my weight onto his cock. I grabbed one of his hands, biting into the meat of his palm to suppress another scream. This one was like floating, breathless, free fall. And then I could breath again.

But the feeling, the come down didn’t quite happen, there was no trough, just a valley, because now he was fucking with everything he had his cock pistoning rapidly inside me, shaking me, my whole body almost flopping. I was no longer standing bent over the desk, my legs had failed completely, and his hands gripped my hips holding me in place as he thrust with every inch of power in hims, and my weight fell onto his cock.

Then he went rigid, his breath coming in a strained whine. Even without looking, I could feel the tension boiling through his whole body, every fibre of his being taut and singing. I could imagine his cock swelling inside me, bursting like a balloon. I tried to focus on it, to feel how rigid it was to feel it throb extra hard, extra large. His agonized straining, the hiss of air escaping lasted for seconds.

Then he sucked in a huge breath of air and went limp. Lterally limp. He practically dropped on top of me. I could feel his hot breath panting against my ear. Feel his sweat drenched shirt against my back. He didn’t crush me, he must have held himself up on his elbows. But I could still feel weight, the presence of him, as the orgasm released him, leaving him wet and vulnerable.

Oddly, I liked it. Perhaps I shouldn’t have. Objectively, here was a sweat drenched, trembling stranger, a complete stranger who’d used my body like a rag doll, and was now laying on top of me, trying to catch his breath, his cock slowly deflating but still in me. But there was a strange feeling of intimacy in our mutual orgasms, in our mutual exhaustion.

Finally, after a few minutes, I grew restless. It was time to ruin the moment.

“I guess we have a deal,” I whispered under him.

He stiffened, not in a good way, but just in the manner of someone pulling himself together.

“Yeah,” he said.

He got off me, standing up to pull up his boxers and his pants. Turning around, and pushing my miniskirt down, smoothing it, I only had the briefest glimpse of him tidying himself. For a moment, I was seized with a weird longing. I wanted his cock in my hand again, even soft, even wet. I wanted to hold it, maybe put it in my mouth, to experience it in this state. But he was doing up his belt, and the fugitive impulse passed unfulfilled. I tucked my breasts into my bustier, they were tender, I wondered if they might bruise. I felt achey all over but in a good way.

In my thigh high fetish boots my feet were sweaty, and the heels felt awkward. I longed to just take them off and walk barefoot. That’s the thing with fetishy stuff, it looks hot, but underneath its awkward and sweaty. I couldn’t though. If it was just the hotel, I’d have taken them off. But I wasn’t walking barefoot in the parkade.

Besides, what would he say or think? I had an image to uphold. I certainly couldn’t ruin it now that I’d burned it into his brain.

“I promise,” I said, “I won’t ever come back here.”

“Good.” But I think there was a little regret about that. I think that there’s an inevitable sadness in a really great spontaneous fuck, that you’ll never see them again, never revisit that pleasure.

Or maybe exhaustion. Now that our coupling was over, I was sure some part of him was wondering how much of a pain in the ass I might turn out to be, what sort of trouble I could end up making.

Now that it was over, we were both strangers again, not really wanting anything to do with each other, each full of potential risks and headaches.

I watched as he ran the forms through the shredder.

“What about the guests, incident reports? You mentioned that.”

“I’ll take care of it. I’ll write something up.”

“And the video?”

“Deleted automatically after twenty-four hours, unless there’s a reason to keep it. There won’t be a reason.”

“Okay.”

He sounded tired now.

“Listen,” I asked. “Could you walk me to the Parkade? I just need to get to my car, and then I’m gone.”

He stared at me for a second, and I could tell he didn’t want to. He just wanted it all to be over, to move on. But he didn’t have it in him to say no. Honestly, I didn’t really want to ask, but I just felt so wobbly from the fucking, and the boots were uncomfortable. I felt worn out, and even if neither of us really wanted to be around the other, I didn’t quite want to be alone.

We didn’t talk much as he guided me to the elevator and walked me through the parkade. I suppose we said something, but words were purely perfunctory. I thought about my trenchcoat, but I didn’t mention it, we were miles past it. My flare up with Jay felt like it belonged on another world, kicking the strangers door was an awkward encounter on some other day.

I got in my car and drove home and flopped on the couch with a glass of wine. Sometime later, I took a shower, went to bed and fell right asleep.

The end...

***

Lizabet - A short

The Psychology building was deserted as she walked down the hall. Normally, that made her a little nervous. She was so used to seeing people going back and forth, that those rare occasions when it was momentarily empty it seemed unnatural. But this time, it was almost reassuring. The subliminal fear that some maniac might burst out of a hidden corner and attack her, was overwhelmed by the relief that there was no one to cast eyes upon her, to see her blush and lower her face, to wonder what she was doing, and where she was going and what for?

She proceeded to the smaller hallway, the one with the interview rooms. She counted down the numbers, her heart pounding louder as the number climbed. Room 104. She could hardly breath. Her mouth was dry.

She stood in front of it for a moment, debating whether to just turn around and walk away. Or run, some part of her screamed. What are you doing? You’ll go to hell for this! Run! Abandon this sinful foolishness.

She didn’t move. As strong as the voices screaming in her head, the compulsion, the need was greater. Go away? Go back to what? If she ran now, she’d just be in front of another Room 104 sooner or later, in minutes, hours, days, weeks. It didn’t matter. She’d be in front of a Room 104.

And run away every time? No.

Those other doors, those Room 104's. They were unknown, probably more dangerous, more desperate. She’d be sloppier, or reckless, or desperate. Stupid. Stupid was bad.

At least this door was the right kind of unknown. She knew what would be on the other side, an interview room, chair, table, lights, a two way mirror. A small, clean room on in the Psychology building on the University Campus. She’d used these rooms for interviews herself.

So she knew the room, that was something. She even knew who was waiting for her, somewhat. She knew what he did, or some of it.

She just didn’t know what would happen in there, or what would be done to her. But she was willing.

She raised a hand and knocked on the door. Nothing. No response.

After counting to ten, she tried the doorknob.

Unlocked.

Her breath almost whooshed out of her.

She opened the door, her heartrate racing all over again.

The room was empty. There wasn’t even a table. Just a chair. All the track lights had been shifted to center on one spot. Did she have the wrong room? The mirror was dark. Perhaps they were behind the mirror?

“Hello?” she ventured softly. She found herself trembling. What if there was no one? What if this was all a joke. Even the idea of it burned with humiliation. Was she being mocked, was this some cruel trick to make her look foolish and weak.

“Lock the door. Step into the light, on the mark please,” a voice said. It was slightly electronically distorted, giving it a neutral, alien quality.

She looked at the light. There was an x marked with tape on the floor.

“It’s happening,” she thought. “It’s happening.” Suddenly, she felt giddy, almost weightless. Her body felt awkward, uncoordinated. She shut the door, fumbled with the lock, her fingers couldn’t seem to work, it but then finally the lever turned, the bolt clicked. It had taken too long, they must think she’s a fool. She was having trouble catching her breath. She tried to step into the light, but it turned out to be a half leap, half stumble. She overshot it by half a step, and looking down, had to back up to it. She felt like an idiot.

Deep breath, she thought. Take a deep breath.

“Do you have a phone or any electronic devices on your body?”

“No.”

“You realize that if you do, this is over immediately.”

She didn’t know that actually. She didn’t know what to expect or think. But it wasn’t a question, she realized.

“I don’t... I didn’t bring my phone. I didn’t even bring my purse.”

“We will see,” the voice said. It paused.

“We want you to understand, this room is soundproofed. No one can hear you. The door is now locked, you can’t unlock it. It is Friday, the building will be empty until Tuesday. You cannot escape. No one will rescue you. You are completely in our power. We can do whatever we want with you.”

Her woman’s part suddenly clenched, spasming with an intensity that startled her, and she went hot all over. A thrill ran up her spine.

“I understand,” she said.

“It’s happening!” went through her mind, with an emotion that felt like high pitched glee, full of intensity and weightlessness. “It’s happening!!!”

Her heart began to pound. She tried to speak again, couldn’t. Swallowed twice and wet her lips.

“What... What are you going to do to me?”

The voice waited, the seconds passing unbearably.

“Right now?” The voice said finally. “Nothing. We’re going to ask you questions. You will answer. You will not argue. You will obey. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

She felt a sense of deflation, the heady, intoxicating, terrifying sequences of possibilities evaporating.

“We don’t have any patience,” the voice said. “No second chances. If you annoy us, we can just walk away. You’ll be trapped in a locked room for three days. You’ll have to shit and piss in a corner. You’ll have no food or water, but you’ll survive. When they come, they won’t even find fingerprints, or any explanation as to how you ended up here. Do you want that?”

“No.”

“If you resist us, we can come into the room. We promise, you won’t like that.”

“No,” she agreed, a little frightened, despite herself.

“If you anger....”

The voice cut off. But she could imagine. Three days to make her disappear. To remove all traces from this room, anywhere else.

“I understand,” she said quickly. They weren’t like that, she told herself. That wasn’t what they did. She hoped that she hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

“Good,” the voice said. “How did you find us?”

“There was a girl, a fellow student, Barb. I didn’t know her well. Different department, I guess I didn’t know her at all, not really. Someone you see around, maybe you hear their name, recognise their face. She is quite beautiful. Confident. I heard a rumour, that she was doing ... sexual things. Depraved sexual things. I was curious, I paid attention. She... maintained her life. But deeper, there was the sexual things, all kinds of things. A second life that barely touched, full of... “ she struggled for the word, “sex things.”

“And...”

“I investigated. I found that Barb’s... other life... was controlled. As if she had pimps. But not pimps for money... “

She looked up into the lights, blinking. She was saying it all wrong. The delicious wantonness, the promiscuity, the casualness of Barb’s sexual adventures, at parties, in bars, hotel rooms, strip clubs, all of it elusive and vague but always to enticing, she’d found only ghosts of rumours, most of them not connecting to Barb at all, but locker room talk of sluttish wanton-ness, framed as male triumphs. A story from residence by three guys about tag teaming a girl in a men’s toilet in some dive bar, things like that.

With insight or epiphany, she’d connected the stories, or pieces of stories or rumours of stories to Barb, wondering if perhaps she was merely projecting, creating a fantasy.

But then, online, following up on clues had taken her to certain message boards, hidden sites, mostly male vulgarity, but recurrently, traces of anonymous men, offering women for any depraved act, all inquiries considered, no matter how depraved. The anonymous men resolved to an anonymous man, perhaps no more than two, under different email addresses. The women they offered up with such consistency could only be a single woman, who she decided had to be Barb.

Not quite whoring, she was not merely offered for sex to whoever paid. It went beyond that, it was not about money, it was about sex. Barb on a sexual odyssey, a carnal journey, a descent into sleaze and degradation, of pure sluttish, wanton, uninhibited depravity, a total absolute sex slave.

She’d unravelled this with an obsessed fascination, coming to conclusions that left her breathless. Even thinking about made her tremble with need and excitement.

How could anyone find this and not want it.

Barb had two associates. Colin and Ted. She suspected them. She’d approached Colin, and he’d rebuffed her, startled and quite intimidated. Had she been wrong about everything?

Then she’d tried the email.

And almost wet herself when a response came back within a minute. So sudden and unexpected it almost felt like being struck, as if the breath had been pushed out of her.

In that moment, she’d almost been frightened off. Almost deleted the email, shut down her computer, and fled, looking over her shoulder.

Instead, after a frantic twenty minutes of terror and soul searching, she had replied.

She suspected that she had surprised him... them? They probably hadn’t expected another applicant. Perhaps they weren’t interested? Whatever was going on, Barb seemed the center of the constellation, the blazing star of whatever drama. They were used to invitations, Barb to be urinated upon in a child’s waiting pool by a dozen men, Barb to satisfy a black man for a crowd of Asian men, Barb drenched in semen, or milk or chocolate sauce, Barb in a box with holes, Barb... But another woman? An applicant? That’s not what they’d been trolling for.

But there had been a short exchange, and it had lead to her invitation here, under strict conditions, for what she now realized, with a tinge of disappointment, was practically a job interview.

Not a grand, sensual adventure. Just an interview....

She stared up into the lights. She couldn’t see past them. She couldn’t see the mirror, or anything outside the circle of lights, it was just darkness out there. She knew it was a psychological tactic. Like a police interrogation. She shivered.

“It was ... sex things,” she finished lamely, “all kinds of sex things.”

“And that’s what you want from us?” the voice asked. “Sex things.”

She felt herself blushing. She looked away from where she knew the mirror was in the darkness. Looked down at her feet. Butterflies were surging in her stomach. She licked her lips, unable to answer.

Silence. Whoever was behind the voice was waiting.

She was here! She thought, that should be answer enough.

Finally, the voice spoke.

“Take off your clothes. All of them. When you are done, place them next to the door beside the mirror and then return to the mark.”

She nodded.

“How do you want me to take them off? Should I go slow?” she wondered if she was being ordered to strip, as opposed to undress. She had no idea how to do that. Some sort of dancing as she was undressing. She wasn’t sure she was coordinated enough.

“Just take them off,” the voice said irritably. “Put them next to the door. Go back to your mark.”

She shivered, a little intimidated.

“Yes Sir,” she said.

She pulled off her sweater, and started unbuttoning her blouse. He fingers fumbled with the buttons, embarrassing her. Then she undid her jeans, and unzipped them. She was struck by a moment of indecision. She should take off her runners first. Hastily she bent down, pulling the laces. But one of them pulled wrong and it collapsed into a knot. Blushing, she shoved the runner off with her other toe, wobbling.

Okay, now the jeans, or should she take off her socks first? What about her blouse, she’d started on that. And if she took off the blouse, what about her bra? Now, or after her jeans? She felt a little uncertain about the bra, about them seeing her naked breasts, but they had made no exceptions, and they’d been unequivocal about the finality of their demands. Best not to chance it. With one sock off, she rolled down her jeans and stepped out of them, then took off her blouse, and unhooked her bra. As her bra floated loose on her shoulders, she realized she still had one sock on. For a fleeting second, the idea floated that they might just walk away in disgust at her ineptitude.

The sock came off. Then the panties. Her hands shook. Her woman parts exposed, the thick thatch of pubic hair. The traitorous part, that even now clenched, that announced its wetness, that throbbed and sent shivers. She lacked the courage to look at where the mirror was, staring at the floor as she worked them down her hips.

The clothes were piled into an untidy bundle, and she quickly deposited them at the door next to the mirror, locating it by feel against the wall. Her pupils were narrowed from the bright light, and she couldn’t see at all. She stepped back, finding her mark and managing not to stumble over it this time.

“Put your arms down,” the voice said.

She’d been covering her breasts with her hands, unconsciously. With an effort, she forced them to her sides.

“Yes Sir,” she whispered.

“You are naked for a reason,” the voice said. “Don’t try to cover yourself.”

She nodded.

“Yes Sir,” she agreed.

Despite that, the urge was almost irresistable. It was as if her hands had a will of their own, an innate desire to place themselves over her pubic region, to cover her nipples. She placed them firmly against her hips.

“Feet a little further apart.”

She spread.

“A little further.”

Spread more, until they were just over shoulder width, wondering how much wider, almost excited to find out, but worrying about balance.

“Good.” The voice said. “Stay like that. Relax.”

She wasn’t sure she could relax. She balanced awkwardly on her heels.

“Do you understand, we are going to fuck you.”

Her heart sped up, smashing against her ribs. Her breath caught in her throat, she had to force herself to breathe. Her skin tingled. Her girl part clenched and she swore she became wetter, slicker.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“We’ll make you fuck our friends.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll give you to complete strangers to fuck.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll suck cock whenever we tell you to, anytime, anywhere.”

“Yes,” she breathed. It was unbearable. She was almost aching with need.

“Ever been fucked up the ass?”

“No.”

“We will do that too. We’ll do whatever we want with your body.”

“Yes.”

She struggled to keep her expression neutral, to be poised. But inside she was elated. It’s happening, she told herself over and over, it’s really happening, unimagined and unimaginable carnal possibilities were blossoming in her mind, each one erupting before being replaced, too many to count, too many to conceive. Her woman bump between her legs was throbbing, her body felt more alive than it ever had.

The voice was silent.

“Good,” it said finally. “Tell me about you. Where are you from?”

“Gambia,” she said, “in West Africa, near Senegal.”

“Interesting. You speak English very well.

“Thank you,” she replied politely.

“Is that your original language?”

“English and Mandinka. I speak French too, from Senegal next door, German, a bit of Portugese... some Chinese, though that’s hard. And some of the African languages from home, I can get by in Wolof.”

Her heart rate slowed. This was a little disappointing. She wanted them to get back to the sex things, to tell her what they wanted to do with her, what they would make her do.

“That’s very impressive,” the voice said. It actually sounded impressed, and a little surprised. “Is Gambia a Christian country?”

“Muslim,” she said. “I’m muslim. But Gambia was ruled by England, it was part of the slave trade back then.”

She was fascinated by the slave trade, it sparked feelings in her. There was something about the utter degradation and despair of the slaves. To be abducted, chained, packed like sardines on those tiny boats, to be taken away from everyone and everything you’d ever known, and to be utterly helpless in a strange and alien land, the property of strangers, at the mercy of their every whim.

It was monstrous of course, utterly monstrous and horrific. She knew it was an utter nightmare where millions had died, and millions more had suffered horribly. It was a centuries long holocaust of human suffering almost unrivalled in history. In that respect, it was fascinating, as historical atrocities always were, the contemplation of the worst in humanity.

But there was something else, something that deeply shamed her. Contemplation of the slave trade, reading about it, sometimes sparked vague fantasies, daydreams. Sometimes she imagined herself in chains, sometimes laying in the cargo of a slave ship, the press of humanity, the helplessness.

She wanted the voice to ask about the slave trade, or about slavery, or sex slavery, or anything like that. She wanted to hear it said out loud in words that weren’t in her head. To be told, or asked, or made to speak.

“What are you doing over here?” the voice asked.

Her heart fell a little.

“I have a Scholarship, advanced degree program,” she replied.

There were more questions, and little by little it started to feel like a job interview. A naked job interview under harsh blinding floodlights. She still trembled, her skin still tingled, there were goosebumps and nervous tremors. But question after question as in some sort of job interview. She didn’t want to stand here and ask questions.

Why didn’t they use her?

They said they were going to fuck her. They promised.

“Tell me about your sex life.”

That question came suddenly out of the blue. She coughed a little. Glanced down at her bare feet with embarrassment.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Tell me the first time you had sex? How old were you? How did it happen?”

“I’ve never had sex,” she said.

There was a moment of silence. Surprise?

“You’re a virgin?”

She nodded.

“Never sucked a cock?”

Shook her head.

“Handjob?”

“Done anything? Kissed a boy?”

Shook her head.

“But you’re here, naked, that’s your choice. No one forced you.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She shrugged.

“I need to be.”

The voice paused, clearly unsure where to go next.

“What have you done? There must be something. You’re here after all. Do you like porn?”

“I’ve looked at it,” she admitted. “Not much. But I know what a man’s part looks like, and how people do it, sort of. I don’t watch it for long, I just look and then I stop.”

“Cock.”

“What?

“You said ‘man’s part,’ that’s a cock.”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“The man’s part.”

“No. Cock. Say ‘cock.’”

“Oh.”

“Say it. Say ‘cock.’”

She licked her lips, her skin flushing warm. She mouthed the word, but it didn’t come. She tried again, forcing air through. “Cock.”

“Why don’t you look at porn?”

“I do,” she replied. “Just not... Just, I can’t look at it much, it’s wrong. So I look and then I stop.”

Again, a moment of silence. She felt a moment of irrational dread, that the voice was dissatisfied. That it would tell her to put on her clothes and leave, that somehow she’d failed a test.

“Do you masturbate?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She lifted her shoulders, and dropped them. She thought about lying briefly. But maybe they’d be able to tell. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s wrong.”

“But here you are, naked. Being recorded. And you’ve asked us to do things to you.”

There wasn’t a question there, it seemed to her. But she decided to be safe. “Yes.”

“What do you think we’ll do to you?”

She shrugged, that was it wasn’t it, that wet, bottomless, writhing pit of possibility.

“Whatever you want,” she said. “I guess.”

“We might do anything,” the voice said.

“Yes.”

“Things you might not want. We might not give you a choice.”

She shrugged and gave a small nod. Somehow, she was terrified by the uncertainty, that she might be asked to leave, that she might be kept.

“We’ll use you like a slut,” the voice said, “you understand? We’ll fuck you. We’ll do anything we want. We’ll share you. Sluts fuck everyone. They suck cock, they take it up the ass. All kinds of things.”

“Yes.”

“Do you understand what that means?”

“I’ve seen porn,” she insisted.

The voice paused.

“Why don’t you masturbate?”

“It’s wrong,” she’d answered that before.

“So what?”

“I can’t!” she snapped, and then bit her lip with embarrassment.

“You can’t touch yourself?” the voice asked.

“Yes. No. Not there. Not for pleasure,” she replied. “I can’t do it for myself.”

“You can’t do it for yourself...” the voice said. “But you want to.”

She couldn’t speak it. She looked down and nodded slightly.

“Have you ever had an orgasm?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve read about them though.”

“You can’t masturbate for yourself. You want us to do it for you?”

A shiver of relief slipped through her.

“Yes.”

“My sister, my older sister, she did it. She couldn’t help it. She got caught, and they watched her, and caught her again. My father beat her, but it didn’t stop. So finally, they took her to a medicine woman, deep in country. They were gone three days.”

“When they came back, she had been fixed. She was very sick, and she bled. It got infected, and smelled bad. I remember the smell of the old bandages that went in the trash. My sister was different after that, not happy, sad. But my father didn’t have to beat her. My mother thought she was better.”

“My mother showed me the parts on her that they cut off. She pulled on my lips below, on my woman parts, and she pinched me there, it hurt, and she said if I was bad, they would cut it off.”

“Did they?”

“No. I heard them talking about it though, when I was a few years older. It was expensive, and my father didn’t want to, he didn’t think I needed it. My mother thought I should, or it would be hard to find a husband. But I was a good girl, so they didn’t bother. I wasn’t like my sister.”

“You didn’t masturbate?”

“No.”

“You didn’t even touch yourself?”

“No.”

“You’re over here now,” the voice said. “Did you try to masturbate when you were here?”

She blushed deeply, feeling a wave of shame.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“But it didn’t work?”

She nodded.

“I see.”

The voice was silent for long moments.

“You realize,” the voice said, “if you go forward, there’s no turning back. You can’t back out of it. We won’t allow you to back out of it. You’ll no longer have any choice. We won’t allow it. We will choose. Just us. We’ll do whatever we want. You’ll do whatever we want. You won’t be allowed to say no.”

She shivered, it didn’t go away, it built and spread until her whole body was trembling.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “I understand.”

“We will make you do things,” the voice continued, “give us things, just to make sure you’ve got no choice. We’ll take pictures, for example. And video. We are recording you right now. We’ll do whatever we want with it.”

She nodded quietly, shivering. It was what she wanted, not to have that choice, to be free. Not to always be forced to be a good girl, a moral girl, never being able to even touch herself, or look at porn for more than a moment, or to have the freedom that everyone else enjoyed. She could never choose that, not as long as she had the choice. Taking away the choice, taking it irrevocably, was what she wanted. Needed. Craved.

“Hands above your head,” the voice said.

She obeyed.

“Turn around slowly.”

She turned around, hands over her head until the voice ordered her to stop, facing the way she was

“Bend forward, hands on your knees. Arch your back.”

She obeyed

“Twerk.”

“What?”

“The move,” the voice ordered. “Twerk.”

She remained still.

“I don’t know how,” she admitted.

“All right,” the voice conceded. “Bring the chair forward, sit in it.”

She did as she was told, dragging the chair a few feet forward. She sat primly, knees together, hands on knees.

“Put your heels on the edge of the chair, spread your legs.”

She obeyed.

“Wider.”

She felt her lips part as she spread her thighs open. She felt breathless, struggling not to pant. Her skin tingled, her nipples were so hard they ached. She could feel the wetness between her lips, so thick it felt like she was dripping. She could feel the light on her skin.

She knew she was exposing herself, exposing her most private place, a place she hardly dared even acknowledge on her body, barely named, a place of shame, of fleeting touch only for the most necessary purposes.

A camera was recording it. A complete stranger was looking at her there. Was looking at her pussy lips parting, was seeing how wanton and sluttish she was, was making her do it. She had no volition, it was not her choice. She had surrendered, and been ordered, it was irrevocable and out of her control.

The excitement of the moment almost laid her light headed.

“Pink,” the voice said. For a second she was confused, she had no idea what it was talking about.

“You’re wet,” it accused.

“Yes,” she confessed.

“Reach down with both your hands, I want to you to pull your lips wide open. I want to see how pink you are.”

Under the careful neutrality of the voice, there was something hungry for her degradation, for her use and abasement. There was a hidden lust to defile her, that excited her immeasurably.

She reached down, grasping each labia in a way she’d never done before, reveling in the uncharted territory, in the newness of her touch of herself. She pulled, feeling the walls of her vagina parting as the labia stretched apart, the clitoris exposed. She could feel the wetness running down her insides, she could feel the touch of light on her private place. The knowledge that they were video recording this wanton exposure only excited her more. She pulled tighter, stretching the labia, pushing the clit to prominence, staring down at this part of her body as if she’d never seen it, had never really acknowledged its existence. And truth, she hadn’t. It was brand new to her.

“Close your eyes,” the voice ordered.

Something new was coming. Reluctantly, she closed them. She hadn’t finished staring at her pink clitoris. She wanted them to make her stare at it for hours, to watch it now that it was exposed, to revel in its unassuming mystery.

"Touch it," the voice ordered.

"What?" she asked, genuinely confused, her eyes scrunched tight.

"Touch your clitoris."

Yes! Yes! Yes! Her heart leaped. Then: No!

"I can't," she told the voice.

"Why not?" the voice demanded.

"Because it's wrong," she said.

"Touch it," the voice snapped. "That's an order."

Obediently she brought her finger to it, touched it and moved away. Her heart sang with excitement.

"What did you just do?" the voice sounded annoyed.

"I touched it."

"You will touch it again, but this time, do not take your finger away. You will keep your finger there and make a circle around it, again and again, keep making circles, until we tell you to stop."

The horrible wrongness of it took her breath away. She remembered her sister, and then afterwards, the stinking bandages from between her legs. But she had no choice. She could not do it, but she could not disobey. She said a small prayer, hoping God would understand, and did as she was told.

Once she started, she found herself gasping. The sensations were indescribable. Truly, this was sinful. But so breathlessly delicious. Truly these were evil men she had fallen before, to force her to do this.

She shifted in her chair, it was not comfortable for what they were making her do.

"Keep going," the voice demanded.

She nodded.

"May I ask a request," she breathed.

"What is it?"

"May I open my eyes?" For perhaps the first time in her life, a genuine sexual fantasy was running through her mind.

They had come into the room while her eyes were closed. They were silently watching her touch her woman part. Their man parts were out, and when they were ready, they would take her and do evil things. She had studied enough texts to know the mechanics, man parts would wiggle up into the lady parts somehow, it was kind of vague. But that didn't matter, it would happen.

"Go ahead," the voice said. Her heart almost exploded. She would open her eyes and see live man parts!

Her eyes opened. She was alone in the room. It was disappointing, but the sensations emanating between her legs were overpowering.

She stared at the black mirror.

"May I make another request?" she asked.

"Go ahead," the voice said.

"May I look at it?" she asked.

"Yes."

She continued to stare at the mirror, making circles. The sensations were becoming stronger. With each circle, she found herself gasping a little more. She was going faster now.

"You're not looking."

"I can't."

"I order you to look at your pussy while you play with it," the voice said.

She nodded, ashamed, but helpless. There was no choice but to do as she was told.

She looked down. The sight was astonishing, she was so wet! So pink! Her clitoris was shamefully swollen and visible, she had never seen it like that. Her fingertips teased and teased.

Then all of a sudden, it felt like God reached in and seized her. She could not breath, her heart raced, her muscles stiffened, but her legs kicked out straight. For a moment, she was certain God was striking her dead for her sinfulness. Then in the next instant, she was certain that they had somehow wired the chair to electrocute her so that she could not bother them again. She wailed helplessly. Her body convulsed. From between her legs came a jet of clear liquid spurting almost to the mirror.

Then it passed and she was weak and trembling. She tried to keep making circles as they'd told her. But her muscles did not work.

She blushed. Had she had some kind of seizure? She knew of epilepsy. Strokes. Some kind of neural dysfunction. Perhaps a brain tumour. She would have to go to the hospital, get tested. Her heart fell. This was awful, to be afflicted suddenly, just as things had been going so well.

"I am sorry," she said. She was almost heartbroken. So close, and now this? Truly god was punishing her, this sudden affliction, so near to achieving her desire, it could only be judgment.

"Do you know what just happened to you?" the voice asked.

She nodded. Quickly, she went through the list of causes and effects, until she identified the most likely candidate.

"Brain tumour."

"No."

"No?"

"That was an orgasm."

She thought about it. It wasn't at all what she'd thought an orgasm would be. It was nothing like what her sister had seemed to experience before she was fixed. The literature was quite vague, but the few romance novels she had read suggested something more flowery and less... explosive. She wasn't going to rule out a brain tumour just yet. But she wanted to be polite.

"Oh," she replied. She stared at the liquid smear across the floor that had discharged from her body. That was concerning.

"Do you want more?"

"More what?" she hoped that they would say Orgasms. She wasn't sure that was really what it was. And if it was, it was sinful so she would have to say no. But she hoped they would insist.

"Never mind. We want you to touch yourself again. This time, you must go as slow as possible, until it happens again. Then you will put on your clothes and go home."

"Yes."

"You will tell no one about this," the voice said. "Or about us."

So there were definitely two of them at least. A thrill ran through her - maybe more than two!

"Yes."

"You will shave off all the hair between your legs."

"Yes."

She wasn't sure how to manage that. That seemed like excessive touching and that was forbidden. But then, it was an order. She resolved to try her best.

"We will contact you with further orders."

She almost wanted to shout for joy. Whatever test this was. Whatever interview or audition this had been, she had passed? They had accepted her. They would do all the things they promised to her.

She still had some small hope they would do them all right now. But she was patient, she could wait.

"Start touching yourself," the voice ordered. "Legs up on the chair, open wide. Touch your clit."

It was all she could do to maintain a neutral expression, and not grin, as she obeyed.

"And look at it, as you touch it. You need to watch it, to make sure you are doing it right."

There was a shiver of fear. Was there a wrong way to do it? What if she displeased them. She hoped that they would correct her if she made any mistakes.

But these misgivings faded away, as she stared at her swollen pink clitoris and dripping labia, and made circles of delight.

******

"Jesus," Ted said. "Jesus Christ, she was asking for it. She was spreading her pussy for us. We should have just walked in there and fucked her and popped those cherries."

“What if something went wrong?” Colin asked.

"So what, she was fucking gagging for it. We could have done anything to her. Fucking anything," Ted sneered.

"And then what?" Colin replied.

"And then what?" Ted was incredulous. "Dude, we could have had black virgin pussy tonight. You heard her. Virgin pussy! And virgin ass. We could have spent the whole night popping cherries. She doesn’t even know who we are."

"We could have fucking done anything, kidnapped her, chained her up in a basement somewhere..." Ted continued.

"Do you have a basement?" Colin asked.

"No, but that’s not the point. There were no limits. No matter what we did... we could have done it. No limits dude."

“She tracked us down twice,” Colin pointed out. “Once in person, once online.”

“Yeah, so...” Ted replied.

Colin rolled his eyes slightly, and grunted.

“I’ve heard of this one. She’s fucking smart. The word is she’s Nobel prize material. She’s special. We need to be careful, Colin said.

"Careful? Fuck, we’re just going to walk away? Man, if we were going to do that, you should have just let me pop her cherry, she was fucking begging for it."

"We’re not going to walk away," Colin told him. "I’m not going to walk away. But I want to do this carefully."

"Imagine, a fucking Nobel Prize candidate," Colin continued, "and if we do this right, she’ll spend the rest of her life on her knees in basements sucking cocks for a living."

"Bro, you can be fucking chilling," Ted said quietly.

"Thanks.

"No seriously, you’re fucking evil."

"Is that a problem?" Colin asked.

"I’m just impressed."

****

POSTSCRIPT: A long while ago, I wrote these stories about a girl named Barb, who fell under the control of two jerks at University, Colin and Ted, who made her do all sorts of sleazy and depraved things.

They thought they were in control, except that Barb was using them for her own perverse desires, pretending to be a sex slave, but rather contemptuous of them. As it turned out, they knew or realized Barb was using them, and used that to control her. In the end they won over Barb... Or so they thought. But once Barb was 'fully enslaved' she became voracious and demanding in her depravity, to the point that they were spending all their time and energy coming up with scenarios to humiliate and degrade her. So who really was in charge?

I was playing with the idea of Topping from the Bottom. The idea that the submissive was actually in control, and in a pain-in-the-Ass sort of way. And playing with who was really in control. Barb, Colin and Ted were all awful people, and it was fun.

Maybe I'll dig up those old stories and try and fix them up.

Anyway, as I was writing this and playing things out, it was like a background character in a Barb story noticed... And that lead to this story.

That can happen. You're writing a story, and you introduce this little throwaway character for a scene, or write them into a background. Then for some reason, they kind of become interesting to you, and you end up doing more with them.

In Kayley and Sam, in the dream sequence, there's a character named Mandeep - total throwaway, except I realized he'd shown up a couple of times before without really being named or described. He came out, did his scene with Kayley, and I fell in love... sort of.

Mandeep, for the record, is a tenured professor of Ancient Literature at a University, who also has a secret sideline (which is also the source of his money) as the foremost Tamil pornography writer, working heavily with S&M themes. Nominally quite pleasant, he conceals a deep hatred for white women, particularly young ones, and a talent for psychic deconstruction and destruction. Let's just say that through the course of Mandeep's career, he has met several brilliant young women who would have become Doctors and Lawyers, Engineers, Artists and Models, but who found themselves diverted into lives in the gutter, turning tricks and giving blow jobs. He's a monster. And I so absolutely want to write about him again. He may get involved with Kayley and Sam, or end up in his own story. It will be dark, nasty and psychological.

But sorry about the distraction. We're speaking of this story, and Lizbet, who was a supporting character in a scene, who somehow takes on a life of her own, to the point I wrote this for her.

Lizbet is a brilliant young woman, speaks a half dozen languages, advanced scholarships, genuinely a future Nobel Prize winner. But she's also incredibly traumatized and repressed, she's boiling with potent frustrated sexual desire that she can't ever act on. She wants it all so badly she can taste it, but her repression and upbringing means that she can't even look at porn for more than an instant. So when she notices Barb's antics and figures out what's going on, she suddenly sees a way...

Compared to her, Colin and Ted are about as smart as tree frogs. But they offer something. A pathway to sexual freedom, a work around for her repression.

I liked the idea of a sub who was just so much more brilliant and capable than her doms, that they had to struggle just to keep up.

Ultimately, I never did anything more with Lizbet. Maybe I should. She was a really interesting character study, and while Barb was just depraved, Lizbet's adventures of liberation through submission might be exciting.

Maybe partly, because she was too good for Colin and Ted, and I didn't really want them to put her where they wanted her to end up - all her limitless potential destroyed, and end up sucking cocks in basements for money.

Oddly, that might be the fate that Lizbet prefers. All her work and brilliance, never amounts to anything but work and hardship and unforgiving duty for her. It's a life that gives her no pleasure. A life of carnality, submission, degradations and orgasms might draw her.

Anyway, I found the old file mixed in with some other junk, so I thought I'd put it up. Maybe people might enjoy it. Maybe I'll come back to her again, someday.

POST-POSTCRIPT - This Friday or Saturday, the second of the three parts of THE CUCKOLDING comes out. Kayley gets officially penetrated and becomes property of her bull, Sam videos his emasculation, the loving couple must struggle with the fact that the sex is very real... the rest might be too.

Kayley and Sam - Random Update

KAYLEY MEETS THE BIG BLACK COCK

Well, I just wrote an 18,000 word chapter, describing Kayley's encounter with the biggest, blackest, cock ever. Mainly, what's important, is the 'bigginess.'

I kind of mock the blackness part, just because it's so fetishized. In the Chapter, the characters play with the fetish nature of it, recognizing that it is a fetish.

The BIGNESS on the other hand is taken very seriously.

It was a lot of fun. The only downside, is that it's probably at least twenty chapters ahead or more. It finishes with the culminating incident that triggers Kayley's collapse and her crisis with Sam, which will be the major turning point, and start the third act of the series.

So I have a lot of intermediate chapters - written, have written, sketched out or contemplated, that I'll need to get to.

And I've got some "out-there" stuff. I've got a scene where Kayley has sex with a Dwarf who has a bondage fetish (it's semi-autobiographical) and I want to work it in somewhere..

Oh well, I promise you, Kayley vs the BBC will be fucking amazing when you read it. EPIC!!!

In terms of process, it's actually derived from Chapters 6, 7 and 8. Kayley's Dream / Nightmare sequence.

Basically, what happened is that I had a really dark idea - a launching point where after the second encounter with Leroy, instead of going home, she's forced to hang around the bar as things go steadily off the rails for her.

I'm a little bit of a sucker for nightmare outcomes - I have a few scenarios for Kayley and Sam, futures where things go very badly for them. Anyway, this felt really visceral, so I just had to write it. And because it was good writing and I'm lazy, I just called it an actual nightmare and stuck it in.

But then someone suggested to me that maybe it shouldn't be a nightmare, but glimpses of her future, a kind of prophetic dream.

That appealed to me. For one thing, I really loved the character of Mandeep, the incredibly toxic Tamil, and I'd dearly love to use him again.

But the more I thought about it, the more interesting it became. The nightmare is in many ways a speedrun for Kayley's decline and a story arc. Leroy is a world class gaslighter and manipulator, Kayley is steadily emotionally battered, she's forced to limits and a crisis with Sam.

So based on that, I'm treating it as a distorted prophetic and mining it. Every now and then, something will happen, or a character will appear that invokes or reflects the dream, and she'll have a huge sense of deja vu. She won't remember. She'll just have this feeling she's met this person, or she's been here. When and if she does remember, it'll be too late to save herself.

It'll never be exactly like it was in the dream, but you'll recognize it.

So anyway, far far in the future, Kayley will meet a mild, middle aged black man with a gynormous cock. Whether she does anything, or what she does, you'll have to wait for. I do promise, she'll be a smartass.

By the way, I'm going to drop a peeve. What's with all these writers and their insanely detailed stats.

I take my leaf from Bridget Jones Diary. In it, we read that Bridget worries about her weight, dwells on her cup size, her looks, smokes too many cigarettes, etc. etc.

Except... we never actually find out what Bridget's weight, cup size, looks, cigs habit actually are. Bridget never bothers to tell us.

This is brilliant, because all of us worry about our weight, our looks, our habits. By not telling us, the emaciated supermodel who is feeling guilty about that extra carrot stick, and the three hundred pound say at home, can project themselves. I like that. I like just letting the audience or the reader fill it in.

So anyway, I'm not going to give stats for Kayley or Sam. Here's as close as I'll ever get.

Kayley is not a natural redhead, she's a bottle redhead. That's why she started shaving her pussy, so that no one would know the carpet doesn't match the drapes. She doesn't really hide it around her friends, but if strangers ask if she's a natural redhead she lies.

She's pretty, in a girl next door sort of way. Good looking, but not supermodel good. A bit athletic and compact. Her breasts are real, very clearly real, since they're nowhere near big enough to be fake. That said, she's happy with them. So is Sam. You'll never know her cup size.

She's relatively short, both Sam and Leroy are significantly taller than her. When she's in a clinch, she's looking up, they're looking down. You won't know exactly how tall, or what her measurements are. As I said, more athletic than curvey.

Sam is taller than Leroy by a few inches, by the way. But more slender in build. Still, if it came down to a knock down drag out, it would be hard to predict now which one would walk away.

Leroy is at least a decade older than Sam and Kayley, maybe more. Every brag that Leroy makes is absolutely true. But there's more to it.

Below the waist, they're both at the high end of average, or slightly above, and about the same size. Leroy has a slight edge, but if Sam was super-excited and Leroy was just hard... As far as Kayley is concerned, she can't really distinguish which is bigger when they're inside her. She can distinguish them by shape in her (the girl is very vaginally aware). She generally gives the edge to Leroy if she's kneeling in front of them.

Leroy is convinced he's bigger, because he's a narcissist, Sam is convinced he's much smaller because Leroy's fucking his head. Kayley doesn't see a difference and doesn't really understand why they do, she thinks they're playing.

However, Leroy is a grower, while Sam is a shower, so when they're not in action, Sam is dramatically larger. This is why Leroy will put on boxers rather than just walk around naked with them. He doesn't want Sam's junk showing his up.

As to the rest - fill it in yourself. But if you send me a description, I'll say you're wrong. I have my own filled in ideas.

Oh, and what is it with all these ridiculous proportions. I read about E-cup breasts, and 12 or 14 inch black cocks.

Look, show me a 14 inch cock, and the next thing you know, I'm digging a moat, erecting a guard tower, laying out barb wire, because that thing is not getting near me.

It's ridiculous. I've only seen a few giant cocks in my life, they're not common, and they're not 12 or 14. I've seen 8s and 9s, and a 10 once. All of them verging on too big. You just can't do as much with them. And when they're really big, the tend to be spongy. I've seen that. Ron Jeremy, who was enormous in his day, his girlfriends described it as like a loofah, large, erect but spongy. That seems consistent. I suppose its possible to be super-large and super-hard. But...

Anyway, so when I describe the BBC, I'm not going to give measurements. If I write about someone with a big cock, no measurements. You get told they're big, get told how it feels and how people reacts. That works for me.

***

I smirked.

“Except for your hideous deformity.”

For a moment, he looked startled, and I realized that for a second he thought I was referring to the scar on his hip. I was wondered what the hell had happened. Then he realized what I was talking about and laughed.

“Seriously,” I asked him, with a straight face. “Who walks around with an aircraft carrier between your legs.”

I paused thoughtfully.

“Do your neighbors get any sleep at all, with all the fighter jets taking off and landing on that thing?”

He laughed some more.

“The women,” he said, “they forget to complain when they see it.”

And not a few men, I thought.

“I’m not surprised,” I said. I reached down to take it in my hand. Fuck it was big, it just shocked me all over every time I touched or looked at it. “They probably start thinking about where they parked their SUV. Or their bullet train.”

“You’re a crazy white girl,” he said....

“The craziest,” I said.

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 14, Fun with Ball Gags

KAYLEY'S BACK FROM LUNCH, SHOWING SAM HER NEW PRESENTS, ONE OF ONE

SAM POV

“A ball gag!” I held up the red latex ball. “Matching ones. How thoughtful! His and hers, do you think? Or could he just not decide?”

“I think it’s the thought that counts,” Kayley said. We were sitting on the love seat facing each other, her legs over my lap.

“I can imagine those thoughts,” I said. “I think our new friend might be a bit kinky?”

“You think?” she giggled. Her knees flexed on my lap, as she shifted position.

“Well,” I said, “it’s a lovely ‘getting to know you’ better gift. We should get him a ‘thank you card’ - let’s go down to the ball-gag section at Hallmark and pick out something nice.”

I eyed her.

“I do like the necklace,” I said. “Did he pick that out too?”

“Half and half,” she told me. “He helped me pick it out. And he helped me put it on.”

I nodded.

“It was actually quite sexy,” Kayley said. He stood right behind me, really close, and I mean really close.”

“How close?”

“Let’s just say being able to tell whether someone is circumcized or not sort of close. I lifted up my hair like this...” She demonstrated, placing her hands sensually behind her ears and moving up, letting her hair lift and cascade. “And then he clasped it at the back of my neck. It was quite sensuous.”

“You did this in public?” I demanded. “You slut!”

I stared at the red ball gag, dangling from the strap in my hand.

“How about this?” I asked. “Did he try it on you?”

Kayley rolled her eyes.

“That? That would have been a bit much,” she said.

“If he had,” I asked. “Would you have let him?”

Kayley shrugged.

“I don’t know. I mean, out on the street, no way. But inside the store, somewhat private... maybe. I don’t think they let customers try out the merchandise though,” she said. “You’d have to buy first.”

I nodded.

“That makes sense. So what was it like?” I asked. “Looking at all those sex toys with Leroy.”

“Weird,” she said thoughtfully. “I mean, there was a lot of kinky stuff there, I’m just browsing and looking at things. It was erotic. Sensual, but in a weird flirty way?”

“Didn’t grab you? Cop a feel?”

“Not out in the middle of the store. He flirted, but we’d agreed on limits. He promised not to try to fuck me, and he kept that promise.”

“I don’t know that I would,” I said, “in his pace.”

Kayley was just so damned hot. She really had her nipple action going on today, they were actually pushing visibly through her bra. I thought her little excursion this afternoon must have really turned her on.

“He told me stuff. A story about the Texas Trojan.”

“He was on a football team?” I asked. “Or was he talking condoms.”

“No,” Kayley said. “Apparently, there’s a fetish club down in Houston, and they have this fucking machine that uses a horse shaped dildo.”

“Horse shaped? Weird.”

“Horse cock shaped,” she corrected.

“That’s even weirder.”

“There was an entire display of animal-themed dildos. Bizarre. Anyway, they built a an aluminum frame horse effigy around it, so women climb up under it and...”

“That’s demented.”

It was so crazy, I had to look it up. She played with her phone a little, and handed it to me. “Here. It’s for real. There’s an actual video clip.”

Sure enough, there it was, on the small screen. The caption ‘Texas Trojan’ and then multiple shots of what looked like a stylized horse shape, caught in mid-rear, with its forehooves arching, made with whitish silver tubing, with lights and tubes and wires running through it. In the aft part, back from the horse itself, was what looked like some sort of motor attached to a rotary wheel and a shaft, and on the end of the shaft in the right place between the horse’s hips... I video clip played. A woman with large and improbably firm breasts got on a bench under it at the right spot and ...”

“Oh my!” I said.

“The nostrils blowing smoke and the eyes lighting up?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“Apparently, there’s an operator who controls the depth, angle, speed for the experience. And if the woman orgasms, the horse lights up, and a smoke machine discharges,” she told me.

I nodded.

“Apparently,” she said, “it’s quite popular. There are a lot of volunteers. And they have different models. A Bull version. A dragon. A giraffe...”

“A giraffe?”

“I don’t get that either,” she said. “I mean a lion or a rhino, that would sort of make sense. But who fetishizes a giraffe?”

“Leroy’s been there?” I asked.

“He claims that he just heard of it. But honestly, it sounded so bizarre I just thought he was making shit up. So I researched a little.”

“Hmmm,” I said. I handed the phone back to her. “That is so... weird.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Anyway, that–”

“The boutique,” I thought out loud. “I think we may have been there a while back. Is that the place with the peep show area?”

She nodded.

“Way in the back, yes.”

“Did he try and talk you into going there?” I asked.

“Nn– No,” she said. “He was very well behaved. Besides,” she continued, “I knew better than to let him talk me into that. But he didn’t try. Or he didn’t try hard.”

“He didn’t try at all?” I asked. “Or he didn’t try hard?”

“He didn’t try very hard,” she said mischievously. “But I think we both would have been disappointed if he didn’t at least try.”

She was playing with me, I thought. Teasing me with the thought of the booths. I almost wished he’d taken her in, just so I could hear the story.

I smiled, switching hands and holding the ball between two fingers.

“I suppose so,” I said. “I’m glad you didn’t go in.”

She didn’t reply, watching as I held up the the new toy. “I do like the ball-gag. Still, it seems a bit of a reckless purchase. We have no idea whether it would fit?”

I lifted it, and held it out to her casually.

“What do you think?” I asked. “Or does the store have an exchange policy?”

I moved it closer, for her to look at.

“He said he had a pretty good eye.”

It was just an inch or two away from her chin.

“I should hope so,” I said. “Still you have to be careful.”

Gently, I touched it to her lips.

“Mmm?’ she said questioningly. I pressed it a little harder, silencing her. I let my fingers rotate a little, as it smeared against her lipstick. Her eyes crossed as she tried to stare at the red ball pressing against her lips.

“You’re right,” I said, “it does match your lipstick.”

My cock was hardening. Her nipples, even through her blouse were prominent.

I held it against her lips, patiently. Her eyes looked down at it, then directly at me. I smiled, waiting. Her lips opened wider, I could feel the ball against her bare teeth. Her eyes looked down again.

Come on, I thought. Come on. I didn’t push it or try to force, I just held it there against her lips and teeth, waiting to see what she would do. Accept it? Or reject it?

Her breathing quickened slightly.

I felt her jaw part against the rubber surface even before I saw the motion. Her tongue slid out, pushing against the rubber ball, a sensation different from the pressure against her teeth. I let her tongue push back a little. Her lips were still pressed against it.

Slowly I felt the pressure of her tongue moving it, lashing the ball, first left and right, then up and down, then a casual circular motion. Her eyes shifted to me, looking mischievous. As her jaw widened, and her mouth opened.

When her mouth had opened sufficiently, her jaw parted, I felt her tongue retreat. Gently, I pushed the ball until it slid smoothly between her lips, coming to rest on the on the bed of her tongue, filling her mouth perfectly. I let the straps fall, and leaned back to admire the effect.

My cock was absolutely hard. I felt this wild breathless excitement that went beyond just sex or arousal, the thrill of doing something naughty. Or nasty. She blinked, her eyes shining, holding the ball in her mouth. I was being dangerous, a little unpredictable, and it turned her on.

“You’re right,” I said. “It fits! He does have a good eye. Don’t you think?”

She stared at me.

“Oh,” I said, fake-apologetically, “you can’t talk with your mouth full! Usually, it’s my cock. But honestly, I’m kind of liking this.”

She blinked, breathing deeply.

“You know,” I said, “you’re wonderfully articulate and verbal. It’s practically your superpower. It’s kind of amazing to see you silenced like this. It’s like the ball-gag is kryptonite, it takes your power away.”

I ran my hand along her knee on my lap, and then slid it up her skirt. Odd, I could have sworn she’d put on slacks this morning. I pushed the random thought away. I let my fingers dance along her bare thighs, tickling slightly, making her squirm.

“We’ve taken away your power of speech,” I said. “You can’t communicate. You can’t ask or demand, request, complain. You can’t do anything. I imagine you must feel very helpless right at this moment.

I grinned mischievously.

“Why I could do anything,” I said. “And you couldn’t say ‘No!’”

I slid my hand down her bunched up skirt, but just before I slipped under, I reached up and tweaked one of those swollen nipples. Her eyelids fluttered, she gasped around the gag, and moaned, throwing her head back. She was performing of course, the reaction was exaggerated. Her nipples were sensitive, but not that sensitive. Nevertheless, I enjoyed it immensely.

“What does Moore say,” I said, “that old English gentleman? Silence is consent? Well, I guess this means your consent has been determined. I could do anything with you...”

I smiled.

“Or to you.”

Her eyes widened.

Amused, I pushed one knee off of me, so her foot was on the floor. The other, I lifted as I changed position, sitting upright, pushing it back until I could ease her leg on the other side of her body. Now I was between her spread legs, one on the floor, the other against the back of the love seat, her skirt hunched up so far along her thighs I could see her red lace panties. She allowed me to move her body around like a doll.

“Well,” I said, pushing my fingers up the center line of those panties, pushing gently inwards to make a camel toe, “now I’m sure Leroy has behaved himself, or you wouldn’t have panties on at all!”

She blushed then, breathing quickly around the ball gag. I was liking this new toy! For a moment, I concentrated on the camel toe I’d made, pushing the fabric deeper, drawing my finger up to rub the lace against her clit.

Kayley simply watched, her eyes wide and lustful, leaning back as I posed her and played with her. Although her arms were free, they hung limp at her sides. The straps of her ball gag hung down on either side.

“I think,” I said, “you’re enjoying this too much. Let’s try something else.”

I reached up and tweaked her nipple, squeezing it. Her back arched and she squeaked around the ball gag, again that exaggerated reaction. I lifted my other hand, taking both and tweaking them, as she writhed and gasped.

“I think this is much more fun,” I told her. Puffing a little, she nodded slightly.

I began to unbutton her blouse, one button at a time, after which I’d give a nipple a random tweak or stroke her red lace camel toe, or simply caress her cheek or her inner thigh. Then I’d do another button. Soon, her front was open. I pulled the blouse from her skirt, leaving her wonderfully disheveled.

“Oh my,” I said, “down to your bra? I’m afraid you look quite slutty, my dear. That body...” I reached forward laying my hands on her shoulders, working my fingers under her bra straps, “... that body is just begging to be used. You don’t mind? No? No objections? Then I’ll proceed.”

My fingers under her bra straps, I lifted my hands slightly, curling my fingers so the straps were pulled tight, lifting her cups. Very slowly my fingertips descended down to the tops of her breasts, lifting and opening her bra, pulling the tops of the cups away from her pert mammaries. She sighed loudly through the gag.

I ignored her, pulling the cups further out, the straps now digging sight into her shoulders, as I slid my hands along the under curve of her breasts, and then up towards her nipples, until I had them trapped between my fingers, rubbing them gently. Kayley’s eyelids fluttered, and she arched her back, throwing her head back in surrender.

“Oh,” I said, “I think these are very sensitive! Let’s see them!”

Her bra clasped at the front, so with a simple motion, the hook came free and I opened her cups with the same sensual anticipation that I used to spread her legs. Her perfect pert breasts were finally exposed. They were breathtaking. Her nipples were swollen, almost dark.

I teased one, feeling her body shake at the touch, her spine twist, listening to a sudden intake of breath around the gag. Interesting, I teased them both, alternating touches. Maybe she wasn’t exaggerating.

“Wow!” I said. “Your nipples are really sensitive today.” I wondered why? “Some hormonal thing, I suppose. Where are you in your cycle?”

Her eyes drifted down to stare at her erect swollen nipples. I pinched one, and she jolted.

“Since they’re so swollen and sensitive,” I told her, “we should really be careful with them. I’d hate for you to think of me as the sort of cad who would take advantage of them.”

She lifted her head, our eyes met. I smiled gently. Then I flicked her other nipple, jolting her again. I grinned.

“Oh, who am I kidding?” I said cheerfully. “We both know I’m going to torture the fuck out of these nipples.”

“You know, I’ve heard it’s possible to have an orgasm solely through intense nipple stimulation.”

She shook her head frantically, eyes wide, making squealing noises. But notably, she didn’t lift her arms.

“Shall we find out?”

Urgent head shaking, the loose straps flew. Wide eyes. Pleading look.

“Excellent,” I said. “I’m glad we agree!”

A muffled wailing around the gag.

I pushed at her knee, preparing to get up, and paused.

“Kayley,” I said sweetly, “I just have to go and get a few things. Before I do, I think I should establish a few rules. You’ve been very good, but let’s make it official: The ball gag stays in. You can turn your head, but that’s it. You don’t move your arms, unless I tell you. In fact, you don’t move your body at all, unless I move it for you. Understand? If you move without permission, then I will tie you up. And I will punish you.”

She nodded at me.

I smiled.

“Good,” I told her. “Now of course you are free to ask, to request, to suggest or communicate, to let me know how you’re doing, or whether you want something or need something, or anything like that... Oh wait! No you can’t! You’re gagged! Well, never mind.”

She squinted at me and tried to look angry. I laughed and kissed her on the forehead. I leaned back a little, played with her breasts, drawing my fingertips lightly around them, feeling their shape, cupping them in my palms. She has such perfect breasts. Everything about her is perfect. After a moment, my fingers found her nipples, stroking them gently, working to a firm grip. I looked her in the eyes.

“Ready?” I asked.

There was the faintest nod, her eyes closed. I released her nipples and got off the couch. Kayley’s eyes went wild, there was garbled protest around the gag. I couldn’t make out what it was, but I had the general sentiment. She was complaining. Women and their nipples - torture, don’t torture, they’re never happy, I thought.

I wandered into the bedroom, picked up a few things. Wandered into the kitchen, checked the fridge. Grabbed a large and small plastic container, and came back. As I walked around the apartment, her head tracked me, eyes silently following my every footstep and movement. Her body, as ordered, remained perfectly limp, sprawled doll-like exactly as I’d left it.

I grinned and waved.

The ball gag looked good. No matter where I was in the apartment, no matter what angle I viewed or glimpsed her from, far or close, the distended jaws and shiny latex ball looked incredibly sexy.

I sat down with her, laying the container on an end table. Her eyes tracked it, but the lid was on, so she couldn’t see inside. I knew she was mad curious. She was flushed, her cheeks were red, it was extending down to the tops of her breasts. She was really aroused.

“Miss me?” I said cheerfully. She just stared at me, wide eyed and blinking, helpless.

I checked her panties. Her camel toe had faded, the fabric had slowly pulled back into shape. But I was gratified to see a narrow, wet, wine red, stain running up and down the center.

“Oh my,” I said, prodding it and feeling the slickness. “Is someone wet? Someone is definitely wet.”

I drew my fingertip back and forth, making her moan slightly. “Let me help you with that,” I told her, restoring the camel toe to its former glory, working the thin band of fabric so deep into her pussy that half her pubes on either side were exposed, and her clitoris was a bump on the tight stretched fabric.

I smiled.

“So you’re probably wondering what I’ve got here, waiting for you?”

I opened the lid, and took out a little jar, like a lipstick bottle, with a little paint brush in the lid. Her eyes widened and she shook her head slightly, making an “Eek!” noise around the ball gag. The straps waved a little when she shook her head.

“Oh,” I said, putting the jar down. “Silly me. Look at you. I forgot to buckle in your gag. Gosh. Shall we take care of it.”

A very slight nod.

“All right,” I said. “I want you to put your hair up. Just the way you did for him.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

I made a magical gesture. “I hereby decree your arms are compelled to lift your hair.”

Her eyes on me, she slowly raised her arms, bringing her fingertips sensuously to her nape. Her hands slid around behind her neck, the play of muscles revealing that her fingers were lacing. She lifted up, her hair rising and cascading around her, exposing and baring her neck. The gesture was effortlessly and breathtakingly sensual.

I leaned forward taking the two straps in my hands. I brought my face close to hers, looking deep into her eyes. My lips pursed, and our faces touched. I felt my lips press against the latex ball protruding from here mouth. It was weird, and a little sexy, and off putting.

I backed away a little.

“You know,” I said, “one thing I don’t like about the ball-gag is that it keeps me from kissing you properly.”

Here jaws opened wider, I pulled the gag from her lips. Our heads moved together, and we kissed, tenderly and passionately. And there was a moment, after the kiss ended, that I had an impulse to stop messing with the ball, toss it in the corner, and just make love.

But as the kiss ended and we moved apart, her jaw dropped and her mouth opened wide in naked invitation. So I slipped the ball back in. Her jaws closed on it. Her eyes sparkled at me. If you can smile around a ball gag, she was in it. I grabbed the straps again, and bent them around her neck, fastening them, as we stared into each other’s eyes.

“Looser shake,” I told her. “Tighter, nod.”

She nodded. I tightened.

Nodded again.

Another notch. The straps were so tight they cut into her cheeks, changing the shape of her face. The ball was set a little further back, her lips were more emphasized around the ball. I leaned back, a little, and stared.

Her brow furrowed a little.

“Oh it’s nothing,” I said. “I just, I’ve never seen you like this. It makes you look different. Beautiful, in a mysterious, exotic way.”

She tilted her chin and blinked.

“I’d love to take pictures,” I said. “I think they’d be amazing. But I think they’d distract us from the flow. Besides, you’d probably mess around, cross your eyes and things, and we’d get completely distracted.”

Kayley darted her eyes to a corner of the ceiling, and snorted.

“Yeah,” I said. “I know you, and more importantly. I know us. We’ll do pictures another time....”

I paused, and put on a very serious expression.

“Unless... The ball gag is a rental? Are there late return fees? Damage deposit?”

She snorted hard, squinting, struggling to giggle around the ball gag. For a moment, she squirmed. Then tried to glare.

“Yeah,” I said. “You know you had that coming. We both know you were going to cross your eyes the minute I tried to take a picture.”

Innocent look. Yeah, I knew that look, I wasn’t fooled. I reached into the container. And brought out the little black bottle. I read the label out loud.

“Exotic warming gel, safe for application on shin. Causing mild irritation and stimulation, pins and needles sensation, heat, increased topical blood flow, mild swelling and hyper-sensitivity. Warning, use in moderation, no internal use, do not use on genitalia, avoid contact with eyes.”

Her eyes were growing larger, she shrank back into the love seat, not that there was any place to retreat to.

I grinned.

“We’ve tried this once or twice,” I said. “Remember? It’s really strong!”

She shook her head slowly, eyebrows lifted high, eyes wide. A perfect pleading look.

“Your nipples are really sensitive today. I think we could have an interesting result. What do you think?”

The pleading expression doubled.

“I think so too.”

I paused.

“You know, I’m loving this ball-gag. You are so agreeable. We really are on the same page.”

Glare. Her brow furrowed, eyes flashed and promised revenge.

Casually, I put it back in the container, her expression changed to obvious relief. It was thrilling to see how emotive she was with just her eyes and eyebrows, with tiny tilts of her head.

“Not just yet,” I patted her knee, and teased the cameltoe, touching her clit and making her squirm. I reached into the container, feeling around. She watched with deep suspicion. I pulled out... A lipstick! She looked intrigued, a little nervous.

“Same shade as your ball gag,” I told her. “Just to touch up your lips and make them pop around the gag. I want you to look your sexiest for what’s coming.”

I uncapped the lipstick, reached out and applied carefully. I’d applied lipstick to her before, as part of some intimate moments, so I’d had a little practice. Still, it was tricky to do it around a ball gag. She held absolutely still for me, pursing her lips as much as she could. I wiped a little smudge off near one of the straps, and another smudge from the ball. I leaned back and paused, to admire her. With matching red lipstick, the ball gag really looked sweet.

“Fuck,” I said breathlessly, “you are so beautiful.”

I reached into the container again. She watched curiously, a bit warily.

“Ta da!” I pulled out a magic bullet. A tiny little cylinder just big enough for a battery and a vibrating unit. There was a stud on one end for four settings - low, medium, high and intermittent. “Wow,” I said. “I’m going to use this on you... but not just yet. I need somewhere to but it... I know...”

I pulled the fabric of her panties from between her now sopping wet pussy lips. I pulling the panties tight, I wrapped the bullet in the narrow strip of lace, and then twisted it around, again and again, pulling her panties tighter and tighter. I could see the waistband pulled down and tight, digging into the skin of her hips, pulling tight up her ass cheeks. I kept twisting making it secure, pushing it down between her lips just in front of her entrance. It was almost buried between her pussy lips, the panties distorted tight, her clit pushing against the taut fabric.

I looked up at Kayley, she was watching me carefully, her nostrils flaring. Smiling, I reached down and pressed the stud. Low. Her body jerked, hips lifting, she gasped. I pressed again. Medium. She shivered and whined through the gag. High. She threw her head back.

Intermittent. It stopped, her head lifted. Then it jolted, she gasped. Hips lifting, tried to suck in a breath and glared.

“I think this one is just right,” I told her. “Now to business...”

Once again, the little black bottle came out. This time, despite her trepidation and head shaking, it stayed out. I unscrewed the cap and took out the little brush. Again, she tried to sink into her side of the love seat.

I smiled at her.

“I’m going to enjoy this so much!” I told her. She whimpered urgently through her gag.

I reached over and painted a little half circle on her left nipple. She whined and squirmed, but not enough to avoid my touch. I ignored her, and dipped the brush, making a cross on her other nipple. A high pitched noise came through the ball gag.

“Oh don’t be such a baby,” I said. “We’ve used this before. You’re not feeling anything yet. All your feeling is the sensation of liquid. We both know it takes a minute or so to really work. But when it does...”

I braced myself to lift up, and kissed her on the forehead. I hovered for a second my face above hers, looking into her begging desperate eyes.

“When it does... wow!”

I sat back, and continued to paint her nipples, ignoring her increasingly desperate squirming. It was beginning to work, I decided. Her nipples, if anything, were growing harder and more swollen. Her hips worked back and forth, partly from the sensation of fire and stinging on her nipples, and partly from the bullet going off randomly between her pussy lips.

“Poor girl,” I said. “You deserve some relief.”

I reached in, and took out one of those tiny little lady scissors. Honestly, I have no idea what possible use they could be. But they were in Kayley’s kit, and they seemed appropriate. She stared, wonderingly, but between the distractions of the bullet and the stinging heat in her nipples, she was having more and more trouble focusing.

I brought the scissors down to her panties. This was the toughest part. Her panties had been twisted and twisted so tight that they were completely distorted, the fabric stretched, digging into her hips and thighs. Very very carefully, I hooked the tip of the scissors against her the fabric near her clit, making a small hole. I widened and stretched it until I had a hole in the fabric all around her clitoris, leaving that little nub bare. I put my thumb to my mouth, moistening the tip with my tongue and used it to wet her clitoris.

Her hips lifted. Sadly, it probably wasn’t from my touch. Her body was in constant motion now, writhing back and forth, her hips rolling. She made little whining sounds through the gag, throwing her shoulders back, her breasts heaving. I could see by the way her eyes darted frantically from one nipple to the other that the gel was doing its work, the sensation must be indescribable. While she was distracted, I palmed my next item from the container. She didn’t notice.

I snapped my fingers in her face to get her attention, twice.

“Kayley! Kayley! Come back to me!”

Her eyes focused on me. Her writhing didn’t stop, but it slowed, the intensity diminishing. Good, I had her attention.

“Kayley, I just realized, we’re a little bit into fetish play. I think before we go too much further, we establish a safe word, just to make sure that everything is good. Something simple, that you can easily remember and tap out, if you need to.”

She nodded. There was a sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her muscles where taut and trembling. I noticed a trickle of drool down one side of her cheek, near the strap of the ball gag. I picked up a tissue and wiped it.

I looked her directly in the eye, and said “Your safe word is ‘Piano-Cucumber-Apostrophe-Kleenex.”

She froze in shock, staring at me. Through the ball gag, she made a noise, that could possibly have been, “What the fuck? You asshole!”

But there was just a glint of humour in her eyes. So maybe she wouldn’t kill me. Her arms remained at her sides, palms turned up, inert. It was time.

“Anyway,” I said cheerfully, “if you need a break, you just tap it out with morse code, and we’ll stop. And just to be sure, I’m going to show you. It’s just a simple sequence of dots and dashes....”

Her eyes drifted down to my hand, where I held a very powerful little vibrator. I turned it on high. Kayley’s eyes bulged, she screamed through the gag, and then squealed. Her whole body shook and jumped like a fish caught on a hook. She squirmed desperately. Through the gag came a series of sounds that could have been ferocious threats for revenge, please for mercy, random begging, hysterical laughter and anything in between.

I paid no attention to the screams, I just began to tap out her safe word in morse code on her clit with the tip of a very intense vibrator.

Actually, full disclosure, I didn’t know morse code. But then, she didn’t know it either, so it worked out. Instead, I just did tapped out jingle bells. I thought she’d appreciate a cheerful bouncy christmas song.

Her hips lifted, shook bounced. Her whole body was in squirming motion, her eyes were darting around wildly, spittle flew and dripped from around where the straps were fastened. Kayley threw her head back struggling to breathe, the sounds coming from around her gag were indescribable.

“Kayley,” I called. “Kayley...”

I paused in the dot and dash torture of her clitoris. She looked at me, desperately, eyes wide, focusing for a moment I did my best to look innocent.

“How many Q’s in cucumber?” I asked.

Her eyes went wide. I could see exactly what was going through her mind. ‘You giant fucking asshole!’ She sucked in a giant breath, her nostrils flaring. Her brow furrowed. Her body convulsed. Uneven rasping sounds forced their way past the gag. She was laughing. I pressed the toy hard against her clitoris, and she exploded. Literally, her hips leaped a foot off the loveseat as her legs stiffened and kicked. Her arms flailed. Her back arched and flexed and she literally screamed through the bag. A torrent ran down her thighs as she squirted around the bullet pressing against her vaginal entrance. I was momentarily glad the panties what was left of them, blocked the flow or she would have hit me like a firehose.

The thrashing crested, several surges gushed. Finally, she collapsed boneless. I moved forward over her. Kissing her forehead. Her eyes were bleary, she looked very disoriented. She was panting, but her breathing was normal, snot dribbled from one nostril. Her body was heavily flushed. I wondered if I should take the gag off.

“You okay, babe,” I whispered.

She nodded woozily. She mumbled through the gag, it sounded like ‘You complete and utter bastard!’

“Want to quit now?” I asked. “I’m not finished. But if you are, I can take the gag off.”

She stared at me, focusing, and then deliberately looked down and to the left. I looked down. Her arms were limp again, palms upturned. Her fingers were curled into a fist, all except for the middle finger which was extended.

I smiled and almost laughed. Her eyes were mischievous, doubtless plotting revenge. I nodded.

“I’m not finished,” I said, “but I do think you need a breather.”

I reached into the container, and popped the lid of a smaller container within. I held up an ice cube. Her eyes widened, staring at it, but there was no trepidation. I popped it in my mouth for a moment, to make sure it was coated with saliva, and then, holding it carefully in my fingers, brought it to her nipple, making cold wet circles around it, before going to the next.

Kayley sighed deeply, her eyelids fluttering, her eyes rolled up into her head. She squirmed, but not in a desperate way.

“Feel good?” I asked.

She moaned, shifting position. I held the ice cube above her, squeezing it in my fist letting cold drops fall across her shoulders, belly and thighs. She gasped, her body flexing with each cold drop. I went back to icing her nipples.

Her hips jerked, she squinted, brows furrowed, meeting my eyes and looking down.

“Right,” I said. “‘The bullet. Too much?”

Nod.

“I think it’s served it’s purpose.” I pressed the stud to render it inert, and then unwound it from her panties, now loose, torn, stretched and soaked.

I sucked air through my teeth.

“Sorry babe,” I told her. “I think I ruined another pair of panties for you. Sorry.”

She glared. Then pointedly stared down at her nipples.

“Right.”

I took another ice cube and went back to stroking each nipple alternately, covering them with films of ice water, that dribbled slowly down her breasts in winding trails, catching the light. I wondered, as I played with each nipple, at the way the drops slid down, turning this way or that. Her skin was perfect, the curve of each breast magnificent, so why the unpredictable path across her skin?

When her nipples were thoroughy drenched, I reached into the container, and pulled out a package of alcohol wet naps, tearing it open. Carefully, I dabbed at her nipples, gingerly wiping away the gel, and using the ice cube to cool the tender flesh. She mewed now and then through the ball gag, but simply relaxed and watched. An occasional tremor went through her.

Finally, I put the gear away, her nipples were still swollen and puffy. I judged they’d be really sensitive, but perhaps not in a good way.

I took a moment to stare at her. For a moment, we just watched each other. Her hair was plastered, she was covered with sweat. Her eyes had that luminous post orgasmic quality. Her face was both familiar and exotic with the ball gag, drawn, stretched, exhausted. Snot covered her upper lip, and the sides of her mouth and chin trickled drool. I had never seen her quite like this, but she was unspeakably beautiful, so beautiful it made my heart want to stop. She was always unspeakably beautiful, no matter where she was, no matter what she was doing, there was always a moment when I would find myself transfixed.

I let it stretch out, just enjoying the moment.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” I said finally.

She gave another faint nod, and rolled her eyes slightly. The meaning was clear. ‘About time!’

I looked up at the ceiling wistfully.

“I suppose a blow job is out of the question?”

Her body lurched, her sides heaved, as she snorted and tried to laugh through the gag. I watched carefully, attentive so that she didn’t choke or anything. She lifted her right arm, and waggled a finger at me.

“Okay,” I said. “No more jokes while you’re in a ball gag. I’m starting to wonder if that’s a good idea.”

I stroked her breasts, careful to stay clear of her nipples, letting my fingers run down her belly. I drew my hands along her thighs up to her knees, and then back down. Her panties were so wrecked they were no barrier at all. I simply pushed the loose fabric away to massage her pussy. It was soaked, the flesh slick and slippery from her inner thighs to her pubic mound. I parted her lips, she was unbelievably wet and loose, two fingers slipped in with no resistance at all.

Her hips rolled in response, just a bit, but it was there. I was pleased, she was still into it.

I started to tease her, toying with her, slowly building up arousal. She relaxed, moaning. Her arms remained hanging, her legs limp. I was impressed by her dedication. but her fingers clenched and unclenched, and her toes flexed. She moaned softy as I played with her. Her body moved slowly.

“I think you’re ready,” I said softly. “I’m going to bend you over the love seat. I want your head resting on the back, and your knees on the edge of the seat. Can you move?”

She nodded, and lifted a hand. I took it, helping her stand for a moment, and turning her to face the love seat. She eased into position, knee first one knee on the edge of the love seat, then the other. Kayley placed her hands on the back of the love seat, and as I held and guided her, she bent forward, easing down onto the padded back until her face was resting easily. Her breasts swayed free beneath her. I fondled them, careful when stroking her nipples. Her ass was sticking out. Oh my god, that magnificent ass. I drew my finger down her tailbone, teasing her asshold, finding her pussy. If anything she was even more wet and open.

“Are we good?” I asked. “Comfortable?”

She couldn’t really nod in that position, but she mumbled an assent. I spread her knees a little further apart. Her lips were parted, and I could see a trickle of lubrication working its way down her lips, collecting at her clit hood, making it glisten. A silvery viscous droplet began to form.

“Hands behind your back,” I ordered. Obediently, she complied. I reached into the container, once again, this time bringing out a rubber cord and loosely tied her wrist together.

I stepped up behind her, feeling my hard cock against her pussy lips, pressing my hips into her ass. I couldn’t help it, the urge was irresistable. I slid my cock into her pussy, sliding smoothly back and forth. She was as wet and open as I’d ever felt her. She moaned softly through the gag, savouring the feel of my cock in her.

But not yet. I pulled out, hearing her small muffled protest. I bent over her, for a second, my weight on her back.

“Kayley,” I whispered in her ear, “I’m going to torture you for a while. Is that okay?”

She mumbled assent.

I ran my fingernails down her spine from the back of her neck to her tailbone, scratching lightly, her back arched and flexed in response. I did that a few times, spreading until her back was covered with light red scratched. She purred through her gag like a kitten.

I did the same with the insides of her thighs, leaving red lines. I cupped her pussy in my hand, feeling how sodden it was. Her panties hung loose on her, the fabric stretched. Ruined. I’d forgotten to take them off of her when I was positioning her. Oh well. I grabbed the fabric of the gusset firmly and yanked, ripping them off her body. She squealed.

I slapped her ass to surprise her, producing another muffled squeal and a jerk, and then slipped two fingers into her pussy, as I played with her clit with my thumb.

Slapping her ass again, I reached for the vibrator, She squealed as I teased her with it, stroking her clit, drawing it along her lips, probing her asshole and back again, until I felt her pussy spasm. I slid the vibrator in, fucking her with it smoothly, until her whole body was moving in time with it, back and forth.

Then I pulled it out and shoved it up her ass, provoking a violent squeal. As her asshole tried to push the vibrator out, I shoved my thumb int her pussy, and used my fingers to slap her clit lightly. This produced a series of squeals and increasingly desperate motions as she simultaneously tried to escape and get me deeper. Finally, she took a deep desperate breath and shrieked: “NNNNmmmggkfffgssmN!!!”

I stopped and leaned over her, letting my weight rest on her back, driving the vibrator deeper up her ass.

“I think someone is asking to be fucked,” I whispered in her ear.

“Nnmm!” she said through the gag. “Nnn! Mmk! Gnfgnnk!!! Mnnmssmrrktgg!!!”

I slid the vibrator out of her ass, listening to her low moan. Her arms twisted, pulling against her bonds. Her fingers clenched into fists. Was that a middle finger? I almost laughed as I turned the vibrator off and put it away. I retrieved my last item, a condom.

As I rolled it on, I told her. “I want you to know, I’m going to fuck you with a condom. Is that okay?”

“Nnmg?” She shifted, trying to turn to look at me. But of course, knees spread wide and balance as she was, with her face down and hands tied behind her back, there was nothing she could do.

“You’ve been such a whore lately, fucking all those men, I just feel safer.”

“Nmrrgknn,” she replied. I wasn’t sure what that meant. I ignored her and lined my cock up with her pussy. Even through the condom, I could feel the pressure of her lips, her entry at the tip of my head. She felt it too, moving her hips back. But I moved with her. My hands slid down across her ass, finding their place on sides of her hips. I noted thin red lines in her flesh where the panties bands had been drawn tight. I suppressed the urge to kiss them better.

“You know,” I said, “even with a ball gag, you’re really mouthy.”

I rammmed my cock in, hard and sudden, giving her my full length, pulling her savagely back as I thrust. The sound of her ass colliding with my hips was shockingly loud, louder than the times I’d slapped her ass. I actually felt a stinging sensation in my around my cock as we collided. Kayley grunted loudly through the gag. But I’d only begun, holding her hips like she was a fleshlight, I fucked hard and furiously. Her whole body was rocking, I could sense her breasts swinging wildly. Her shoulders worked, pulling hard at the binding around her wrist, her hands clenching and unclenching. Each rapid ferocious thrust brought a grunt or cry, but I was pounding her so hard and fast that they all began to run together into an incoherent howl around the gag.

“You like that?” I yelled. “You like that hard cock slamming your pussy? How does it feel?”

But she could only howl as I continued to fuck her savagely, pumping into her with everything I had. The only sounds were her howling, my panting, and the constant slapping of my hips against her ass.

Suddenly, I stopped.

Kayley whimpered through the gag.

I pulled my cock out slowly, and positioned myself against her asshole. I didn’t need lubricant, the condom was shining and literally dripping from the her own copious lubrication. Hell, she was so wet and glistening that her pussy had literally dripped. I could feel her wetness on my balls, and the insides of her thighs, and I was sure there was a puddle under us.

She felt my cock at her asshole, the steel grip on her hips holding her in place, and through the gag made a wailing noise that I accepted as her surrender, even as I pushed my way into her. If there was any resistance it melted away, and I watched my shaft sink deeper and deeper into her asshole, until her sphincter was distended and crowned with the ring of my pubic hair.

Her calves lifted, and from the corner of my eye I could see her ankles straighten, her goes curl and flex. She tried to lift her head but couldn’t. Her shoulders rocked. This was the only movement of hers that I allowed, as I held her impaled on my cock.

Slowly, I pulled back, accompanied by the sound of her long expectant moan, and drove back in, to her whimper. With her pussy, sometimes I liked to shock her, entering hard and fast and fucking frantically when she was dripping wet. But for her ass, I always entered slowly, and brought her along carefully. Partly it was because her asshole was so tight and delicious, I couldn’t help but want to savour it. Entering her ass was like shoving your way into a tight soft fist, like descending into a bath of sensation. You couldn’t help but want to soak in it. But part of it, was the delicacy of her body, I wanted her to feel and savour it too. I wanted her to have it so she could handle it. So entering her ass, taking her this way, was alway about going slow, acclimating her.

She gave a low, mumbling happy moan as I slid my cock back and forth inside her ass. I adjusted my angle, and was rewarded with a pleasurable mumble. There, that was the spot. I started to pick up speed, bringing more force and intensity. She sighed, her grunts and moans through the gag coming more and more quickly. I slapped her ass to get her attention, and then started to fuck hard, listening carefully as she built and built.

Finally, the moans became howls around the gag, I could feel her ass moving of its own accord and tightened my grip, locking her in place. I started to pound with a series of precise, brutal thrusts. And that did it. Her sphincter locked tight around my cock, she moaned around the gag, deep and low, sounding almost like a cow lowing. I sank all the way in, despite her resistance, and held there, as the orgasm rolled over her.

Fascinated, I watched the muscles of her back shifting under her skin, tiny beads of sweat appeared across her skin like a miracle. I looked down at her wrists tied behind her back, her hands opened, and here fingers fluttered like birds about to take flight. It was beautiful. There was a deep breath and another long, cowlike moan, with just a ripple of satisfaction in a rolling ‘rrr.’

I waited a moment until the orgasm passed through here, leaving her relaxed. As the sphincter released me, I pulled out, and shucked the condom. My cock was hard as a lead pipe. I let it drop down to her pussy, and slid in smoothly, feeling her intake of breath.

She felt incredibly wet, I slid in her frictionlessly, filling her, feeling her all around me. She was so loose and wet it was heavenly. Sometimes it felt like every time I entered Kayley, it was fresh and new, it was bliss and nirvana. Being in her, feeling her around me, was distilled happiness.

I started to fuck her, happily, joyously. Feeling her body respond, vividly aware of every twitch of her muscles, every movement of back and hips, the way she flexed. I could hear her breathing, I listened to the grunts and gasps and moans of her body. But this time, my awareness of her body inside and out extended to a rivetting fact. She was my captive. Her body was held prisoner, shaped to my will, gagged, wrist bound, bent over in place, spread open, she was completely helpless, and completely subject to my whim. It was miraculous.

Every thrust into her brought helpless reaction, I drank it all in, I drank her, filled her, fucked her, and with each stroke, my power over her increased, and I poured it into her pleasure, building and building. I felt bouyant, something like sheer joy as I fucked her, her sexual pleasure, the ecstasy of her total surrender and submission lifting me up. I was fucking savagely, my hips a blur, the loveseat was actually rocking. I grabbed the bindings holding her wrists, to keep control. We were both roaring, me with incoherent growling, her with frenzied squeals and moans through her gag. I could feel lightning dance around my hips, curling up my spine, what felt like an explosion building in my penis. And as if she sensed my orgasm, she released a fresh wave of wetness, her pussy spasmed.

Then we were coming, our orgasms simultaneous, and so hard and ferocious that I could only hold onto her, for fear of simply being picked up and flung across the room. She went stiff, her muscles to rigid that for an instant, she was sculture, made of marble.

Suddenly, it was over. I was standing there, feeling myself draining into her. Kayley was panting and moaning. I could feel her pussy clenching and unclenching. For all I could tell, she was still coming. I gave myself a moment or two to recover.

After that, I untied her wrists. Weakly, she brought them around, grabbing the back of the love seat. Her body sagged, and my cock slipped from her. I could feel actual dripping, her pussy was so wet. She moaned through the gag.

I grabbed a cloth and made my way to the back of the love seat, kneeling beside her. Undoing the straps, I pulled the gag gently from her mouth, carefully wiping away the snot and drool from her lips and chin. The straps hand left angry red marks on either side of her face. I hoped that they’d fade quickly. It might be hard to explain in public.

I pressed my forehead against hers. She was so wet all over, even her forehead was drenched. She panted, breathing deeply, trying to catch her breath.

Finally, she was recovered enough to speak.

“I hate you, she said. I hate your guts,” she took a breath. “Also, I love you more than anything in the world.” Breath. “I want a divorce, right now.” Breath. “Don’t ever leave me, or I’ll hunt you down.” Breath. “Evil. You’re the most evil man I’ve ever met.” Breath. “You’re out of your fucking mind, you realize that.” Breath. Giggle. “You made me laugh all the way through, who the hell does that?”

Lifting her head, we pressed her lips to each other.

“You...” she whispered. “You... you... There are no words for you.”

I crossed back around to the front of the love seat, sat down and pulled her onto me. She curled up on my body like a kitten, wrapping her arms around me. Her body was like a sweaty post-orgasmic furnace.

“I’m serious,” she said, “never do that to me again.” Breath. “I almost died laughing. How can you be so funny and make me come so hard.” Breath. “Pictures.”

“It’s all right, babe,” I said, “I have you. You’re safe.”

“Yeah, I know.” She snuggled against my chest. “You are sooooo evil. How did you come up with that? How long? Where did you get it?”

I shrugged.

“Improvised,” I said. “Just spur of the moment. I threw it together, really.”

She thought about it.

“Sooooooo evil!” she said finally. “I’d tell on you, but then all the girls would want you to do it to them, and I’m not sharing.”

I held her, stroking her body softly, letting her come down.

She lifted her head and waggled her jaw back and forth.

“Ow,” she said.

“Hurts?”

“No,” she said, “but I can feel it, like, in my jaw, the muscles or bone. It feels weird. Maybe it was too big? Or had it too long? Feels funny.”

I nodded. She liked to process new experiences afterwards, reliving them, examining them.

“Thoughts on the ball gag?”

“Hmm,” she pondered. “Not sure. It was okay. Not sure I liked it. Hot at first, but after a while it was just... there’s this stupid thing in my mouth getting in the way.”

“Uncomfortable?”“

“Some,” she reflected. “But not that bad, not unbearable. I wasn’t gagging or nauseous or anything.”

She shrugged.

“How about you?”

I thought about it.

“Fun at the start. Great fun for teasing you,” I said. “Sometimes it was so hard to keep a straight face. Some of your looks... You were so expressive, it was amazing. And strangely beautiful, there was an unearthly quality. The jaw open like that, the ball gag like a third eye or something, the way the tight straps cut into your cheeks. It changed your whole face. It made you gorgeous, but alien and exotic. We really should do pictures sometime, you’d make a great ball-gag model.”

“Hmmm,” I could tell she was curious. “Next time, for sure, pictures will be part of it. I won’t cross my eyes... much.”

My chest shook a little from a suppressed chuckle, and I caught her secret smile.

“I dunno,” she said. “Okay, but not really that great.”

“I get it,” I said. “I think a blindfold would be better.”

“Ooh!” she whispered. “Yes! Let’s do that instead. S&M looks great, but...”

She gave my pectoral a quick kiss and laid her head against it.

“Nipples?” I asked.

She paused.

“Don’t touch them.”

“Got it.”

“Like don’t ever touch them. Nothing ever touches them. I’m going to sleep hanging upside down like a bat from now on. When I die, you bury me topless, and you leave extra space in the coffin lid, so it doesn’t touch them.”

I nodded.

“Got it.”

“It was...” she paused, “way too much, and simultaneously, not enough. I can’t put it any other way. But now... wow, they’re so achy and tingly it’s crazy.”

“We’ve got some sunburn ointment,” I said. “A topical anaesthetic.”

She nodded.

“That would be good,” she said, “but that would mean letting you go, and I’m not ready for that yet.”

“No worries,” I replied.

“The ice cubes were a nice touch,” she said. “Oh they were soooo nice. Do we still have them?”

“We have lots.”

“Good. How long was the gel on?”

“Recommended maximum time was twenty to twenty-five minutes. I made sure not to go past fifteen.”

She shuddered.

“I wouldn’t have made twenty.”

She yawned.

“Sam?”

“Yes, babe?”

“I’m going to go to sleep now.”

“Okay.”

“I mean,” she said, “not going to bed. I’m going to sleep. Right here, on top of you. This is nice. I want this. So I’m going to sleep now, don’t move okay. Stay right here.”

I stroked her hair. My butt was on the wet spot from her squirt. I didn’t care. I wouldn’t move for anything in the world.

“You got it, babe,” I told her.

“Don’t touch my nipples while I’m sleeping. Okay?” she whispered. “Or I’ll have to kill you.”

She yawned, against my chest.

“Sam?” her voice was fading.

“Babe?”

“You know, I love you so much. You know that, right?” The words were almost trailing off, another yawn slipped in.

“I do,” I whispered. “I love you too.”

She snored. She hadn’t been joking. I stared up at the ceiling, carefully wrapped my arms around her to hold her safe, and drowsed off a bit myself.

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 16, The Cuckolding, Kayley Chooses Leroy

THE CUCKOLDING!!! PART ONE OF FOUR

SAM POV

“THE CUCKOLDING!!! Da Dah Dahhhhhhh!”

As we walked back to the car, Leroy beside us, Kayley under my arm. Once again, I found myself unsure.

There had been the uncontrollable white hot arousal when I’d sat in the toilet stall, breathlessly listening to each word that dripped through my phone, feeling a surge of excitement every time a photo jumped up on my screen. The intensity of it hit me like a freight train, a big sexual wallop that overwhelmed me, not just the images and words but what it all represented, the acts that I thought were taking place. I wasn’t lying to Kayley when I said my ejaculation practically punched through the door. I’d actually spattered the door, it had been that intense.

Then after, finding it had all been an act? I felt like I should have been humiliated, and I was. But both Kayley and Leroy were so careful to try to reassure me. And they did take a lot of the sting out of it. But there wasn’t any way it wasn’t awkward.

I mean, why had I even even agreed to go to the bathroom in the first place? I should have refused. Why had I sat there and done nothing but listen to them talk and look at pictures? I should have gone back out there. Instead, I’d jerked off.

So... maybe, even if I didn’t want to admit it, maybe it was in me?

Maybe I was into it?

It was a weird thing to contemplate. We have all these expectations, these ideas of who we are. Who we are supposed to be.

Someone like in the stories and articles that Leroy had sent us, someone sitting there, pulling on his dick, watching while someone else had sex with his wife, that didn’t feel like me.

Except. Maybe it was me, after all? Maybe I was into it more than I realized? I enjoyed watching Kayley flirt with other men. I’d been excited and encouraging when she’d had sex in the bar with strange men. Hell, I’d pushed her to do it, not hard, but I had pushed. I had to admit it.

I’d been fascinated and aroused watching Leroy fuck Kayley during our extended threesome. Every time he fucked her, I had been fascinated and aroused.

I’d even helped him, fucking on command while he fingered her like a musical instrument, and then fingering her during that epic blow job at his apartment. I'd been like some sort of sex-assistant.

I didn’t even know why I’d done that.

And now this?

So maybe it was in me. Second banana? Second rater? Second place in my own life? A cuck getting off as my girl fucks someone else?

As we approached, I unlocked the car doors. Kayley broke away, heading for the passenger side.

A thought flickered through my head so quickly I almost didn’t catch it, except for the way it made my cock tingle.

I had to say it.

“So,” I said, hesitantly, “given we’re doing this, should you get in front with me? Or would you like to ride in the back with Leroy?"

Both of them stopped. Kaley looked surprised.

Leroy looked wary but intrigued. He watched us both, waiting.

She looked from me to Leroy, chewing her lip thoughtfully. Abruptly, she made a decision.

“I’ll ride in the back,” she announced, heading for the rear passenger door. My stomach did a flip flop, but I could feel my cock swelling. I felt weird, like I had both won and lost at the same time.

Leroy smiled at me, as he got into the rear drivers side. As he slid in, Kayley gave a small happy squeal that speared through me like a tiny bolt of lightning. Excitement and trepidation. Winning and losing.

He’s coming home with us, I thought, and he’s going to fuck her right in front of me, in my bed, while I stand there and do nothing. He fucks her better, she likes it more from him. And she’s going to love it. I wanted it, but it terrified me.

I am a condemned man, chauffeur for my own emasculation.

I got in the car, started up, and pulled out.

I glanced in the rear view mirror, seeing Kayley and Leroy holding hands, smiling at each other. He bent his head, so she could whisper. I looked away.

We made small talk off and on, along the way. Mostly Leroy and Kayley, I was distracted by thoughts about what was going to happen, and the need to focus on the road. I had to be careful not to look in the rearview mirror. But I could imagine them making out right now in the back seat.

“We’re not making out, by the way,” Leroy said.

Motherfucker! The wheel jerked in my hand, I glanced in the rearview, they were both sitting quietly, separately.

“And that’s why,” Leroy said. “I know this is tough on you, Sam.”

“I’m fine,” I said too quickly.

“I was tempted,” he said. “But I didn’t want to distract you and cause an accident.”

“I’m okay,” I said quickly. He was too fucking nice, it would be better if I didn't like him so much. I bit my lip, feeling stubborn. “I don’t mind. If you’d like, I can pull over for a minute, or a few minutes if it will make you feel safer.”

“That’s all right,” Leroy said.

“No,” I insisted, staring straight ahead. “It’s fine.”

I pulled into a parking lane, and eased into a spot. I moved the stick into parking gear, and then as an afterthought, I turned off the lights and killed the engine. My heart was starting to race.

What the fuck was I doing? Was I trying to prove something to myself? To them?

“There,” I said, tersely. “See. You can go ahead. I don't mind.”

For a few seconds, there was nothing. Then I heard it. A soft sigh. The rustle of of clothing. The smack of lips. Masculine breath. There was a tiny squeak of pleasure. The sound of weight shifting against the back seats.

I could feel sweat along the back of my neck.

It went on. It wasn’t as loud as I expected or sweaty, or as passionate. It just continued, these soft occasional tiny sounds.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it any more. I looked in the rearview mirror. They were exchanging gentle intimate kisses. Sometimes brief and teasing, sometimes exploring, sometimes longing. They weren’t leaning into each other, or embracing. Rather, they were just touching, slow and gentle.

“I think that’s enough,” Leroy said softly. He looked towards me. I shifted my eyes from the mirror, staring straight ahead.

“Okay,” Kayley said.

“You know,” Leroy said. “I think you should be up front the rest of the way.”

“That’s a good idea,” she agreed.

She stepped out of the car, and then opened the front passenger and slid in beside me. I turned my head to look at her. She was grinning.

“Hey you!” she said. “Miss me?”

“Tons,” I replied.

“Then c’mere,” she reached out, pulling me towards her and kissed me passionately. It was a devouring kiss that went on and on. As we melted into each other, her hand slid down my shirt, into my trousers, feeling my erection.

She smiled, as we parted, her hand still in my underwear, wrapped around my cock.

“Just checking,” she grinned.

As I put the car in gear and drove, her hand withdrew from my trousers. She sat more or less normally, but she still kept a hand on my thigh or my hip as we drove. I relaxed, taking one hand off the wheel. It drifted down near my stick shift. As she stared out through the windshield, Kayley’s digits crept into my palm, and our hands joined lightly, fingers intertwining.

I glanced at her, to see her smiling and happy, and couldn’t help but smile myself. From the corner of my eye as I drove, I noticed her turning her head to look at me. Once or twice, we looked at each other at the same time, eyes just a little brighter.

We’d be in the moment together, the two of us, Leroy forgotten, where we were going next, what we were going to do, all that forgotten. It was just me and Kayley, in this timeless instinct, happy together. I could have driven all night like that.

But the apartment building wasn’t far away. I pulled into the parkade, heading for our spot. After we parked, Kayley leaned over and gave me a quick, curiously chaste, kiss on the cheek.

“Showtime!" she whispered so quietly that only I heard.

I turned to kiss her on the lips, but she was already pulling away, getting out on the passenger side, on the same side Leroy was exiting from behind. As she closed her door, he loomed from behind her. She turned around, and he took her in his arms, kissing her passionately, as she returned his embrace. From the other side of the car, I watched my love make out with another man. As their lips parted, Leroy looked directly at me.

“She’s mine now, Sam,” Leroy told me.

The way Kayley was hanging off him, her arms around his neck, her head pressed against his chest, looking at me, made that perfectly clear.

“Until I give her back.”

There was something gloating in the way he said it, that sent chills running down my spine.

“If I give her back,” he said. Then he laughed.

“It will be okay, Sam,” Kayley assured me. “You’ll see.”

But it was hard to feel comfort with those assurances the way she was plastered all over Leroy.

“Guys,” I said, “I have to admit, I’m really nervous about this.”

Leroy looked at me, calm, commanding, completely in charge. He was so collected it was unreal, while I felt like a trembling basket case. I felt weak and inadequate. What the fuck was I doing, handing my girlfriend over. The prospect was terrifying.

Except, maybe, I thought, with despair, it was too late. Maybe I’d already handed her over, back in the restaurant, or at Leroy’s place, or maybe just that first night when I’d ordered her to take off her panties and go to him. It’s a complete mind fuck to realize that maybe, just maybe, it was game over from the first minute. Right out the starting gate, he’d won and I’d lost, I’d given the game away. And it had just taken all this time to get here, to get to the point of no more pretending, it would be official.

“That’s all right, Sam,” he said. “It’s normal to feel that way. You’ll accept it.”

I was trying not to tremble.

“I don’t know.”

Kayley looked up at him questioningly. He glanced down, meeting her eyes.

“Then let’s test it, Sam,” Leroy said. “Are you hard?”

“What?” The question had thrown me. My nervousness, my emotions were so overwrought it was hard to think straight.

“Are you hard?” Leroy repeated patiently. He was looking at me, but Kayley was watching him intensely. “Nerves is one thing, everyone has them. But if you’re hard, you’re into it. It’s something you want. And if not...”

He shrugged.

Kayley turned her head to look at me, not speaking, watching neutrally.

Was I hard? Sort of. I mean, I was keyed up. Kayley had fondled me for half the drive. But I realized that my trepidation and nervousness had stolen my hardness. Without Kayley’s stimulation, I was at best, half mast. More. I could feel my cock full. But I didn’t think I was hard. Or was I.

“No,” I said. “I’m not hard. Not really. I don’t think so.”

Kayley was staring directly at my crotch. My stomach did flip flops. My knees were shaking. I could feel my cock growing rigid under her careful neutral stare.

“Show us,” Leroy said calmly.

“What?”

“Take it out and show us,” he ordered. “If it’s hard, we’ll know. If it’s not, we’ll say fuck it. We’ll go dancing or something, or we’ll do something else. We’ll go to the bar and pour shots into you until your agitation goes away and we're all friends again.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Take it out, Sam,” Kayley said quietly.

“Take it out.”

Out here, in the parkade? Out in the open?

“What?” I said. “Here? This is a public place. I could get arrested.”

“There’s no one here, Sam,” Leroy said. “Just us. Show it to us.”

For some reason, the thought of indecent exposure, exposing myself in public like some raincoat pervert, being scrutinized, was doing strange things to my body. Adrenalin was surging through me, fight or flight reflexes kicking in. I felt light, even strong, but also weak. I could feel myself surging, my cock stiffening rapidly. It was hard to think. I felt trapped.

“But... what about security cameras?”

Leroy sighed noisily.

“Sam,” he said, in a flat tone that brooked no opposition, “stop screwing around and show it to us.”

The command was a further humiliation, a further terror. With no way out, I unzipped and unbuttoned, and lowered my jeans.

My erection sprung rampant, fully engorged.

Leroy and Kayley stared at it, as I stood there helplessly, like an idiot with my dick out. Kayley looked up at Leroy. He glanced down and nodded slightly. Then he sighed.

“Okay, Sam,” Leroy said. “Put it away, and follow us.”

Arm in arm, they turned, dismissing me, and began walking to the elevator. I could hear them whisper to each other. I stood there a moment longer, a loser with a useless erection on display. Then I pulled up my pants and scampered after them breathlessly.

In the elevator, I was red faced and panting, from exertion or embarrassment, I wasn’t sure which. Leroy and Kayley stood in the center of the elevator, his arm draped around her shoulders, her leaning into them. Their body language made it very clear that they were together. I wedged myself into a corner and tried not to cringe.

The elevator stopped. Someone got on, a middle aged man. He glanced at Leroy and Kayley, they nodded pleasantly at him and made room. He glanced at me and dismissed me immediately. After three floors, he got off.

“Sam,” Leroy said, after he left and the elevator kept ticking off, “I’m sorry I had to do that to you. You understand, don’t you?”

He wasn’t looking at me. I wasn’t in his line of sight, nor hers. He was speaking to empty air.

I blushed, new waves of embarrassment, washing over me. I was psychologically cornered. What could I say?

“Yeah. I understand,” I said.

“Good,” he seemed to hug Kayley closer, and she seemed to nestle, both excluding me.

Then, he looked down at Kayley, her face turned up to his. They kissed in the elevator, right in front of me. The kiss was intimate, warm and passionate. There wasn’t anything fiery though. It was the sort of kiss a man gives his girl, because she belongs to him, and they both know it.

I could feel my treacherous cock stiffening.

I followed them down the hallway to our apartment. They remained together, I trailed along behind. Leroy separated from her long enough for her to get the keys and open the door. They kissed again, this time Kayley initiated it, her hands moved over his body, it was hungry. They smiled, looking at each other.

The door swung open, and Leroy followed her through.

I approached. Leroy held the door open for me, hand on the inside doorknob.

“Come in, Sam,” he said.

Jesus, the world had turned upside down. He was inviting me into my own apartment?

I passed under his gaze, he shut the door and locked it. Leroy took off his coat and looked around expansively.

“So this,” he announced, “is Chez Kayley.”

Not ‘Chez Sam and Kayley. Not Chez Kayley and Sam. Nothing like that. It was an obvious and deliberate omission, we all knew it. But it made me feel that much smaller.

“I like it,” Leroy announced, taking Kayley into his arms and kissing her. “It’s very you.”

The kiss went on and on, as I stood there uselessly. Part of my agony now was uncertainty. I knew and understood why we were here. I knew what was going to happen. But getting there, getting through the next few seconds, the next few minutes was a yawning void of uncertainty.

“So,” Kayley whispered, to him, finally breaking the kiss. She leaned against his chest. “You’re the... expert. How do we do this?”

She didn’t acknowledge me at all, it was entirely between her and Leroy.

“Slowly,” Leroy said. “And carefully.”

He turned to me then.

“Sam,” he said, “you need to take off all your clothes.”

He glanced around the room, and then pointed.

“And then sit there.”

“Uh... why?” I asked.

“Kayley and I are going to sit on the love seat, and we’re going to make out. Petting, kissing, stroking. We’re going to do that for a while, until we’re all comfortable, then we’re going to go into the bedroom and Kayley and I will undress.”

“Oh.” It actually sounded like a good plan, slow foreplay before moving. There was just something I didn’t understand.

“I get that,” I said. “I even like it. It feels ...”

Careful? I thought. Respectful? It was weird to think in term of being respectfully cuckolded.

“...all right. But, why do I have to be naked for it?”

“Because you need to make yourself vulnerable,” he said. “You need to make yourself helpless and passive. Give up this armour of masculinity. Your clothes are a shell. You’re going to move beyond that.”

“So, basically,” I said, “if I’m naked I’ll be too intimidated to make trouble?”

Kayley was watching thoughtfully, Leroy’s arm still surrounding her. Leroy sighed.

“I don’t want to intimidate you, Sam. That’s the furthest thing from what I want to do. In this context, intimidation would be toxic. It would be abusive. I don’t want to do that to you, Sam. I like you, and I want this to be a growing experience for you.”

“Being a cuck, Sam,” he said, “is about embracing your weakness. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, or afraid of in weakness. But we all are. We’re weak, and we’re terrified of showing it, we spend our lives lying to ourselves, denying, tying ourselves up in knots.”

I wasn’t sure what that had to do with me being naked in our living room while he made out with my girl on the couch. He must have seen the look in my eye. He tried again.

“Our clothes, sometimes they’re a statement we make. Sometimes they’re like armour, protecting us. Sometimes, they’re what we hide behind. Nudity is when we’re most honest, most vulnerable, most ourselves. Clothing is a shield. You need to let that go. Don’t hide from yourself. You’re going to watch us, you’re going to enjoy it, you’ll be hard. Accept that, don’t try to hide it from yourself or us.”

I could see his point, and it was persuasive, or almost so. Vulnerability, honesty, emotional journey.

Or maybe it was just about emasculating the cuck. Or pre-emasculation. Enforcing a preliminary humiliation and submission. I was starting to sweat.

“Sam,” Kayley said quietly, from inside Leroy’s arms, her voice neutral. “Just do what you’re told. That’s why you’re here: To do what you’re told.”

I froze for a second, and then started undressing. It had come from Kayley, and I couldn't defy that. She’d made her point, it was Leroy’s show. Maybe he was serious about everything he said, like he was the cuckold shaman. Or maybe it was about fucking me over. But we were here, there wasn’t anything to do but go through it.

For just a microsecond though, I wondered, which side she was on.

“Sit down, Sam,” Leroy said. He guided Kayley to the love seat, but instead of sitting down with her, he pulled up another kitchen chair and sat facing me. I sat covering my genitals with my hands.

He looked down.

“Don’t do that,” he said gently. “Take your hand away.”

Slowly, I took my hands away. I was hard, wildly hard. Beads of precum had already formed on my cock, oozing down its length.

“I can’t help it,” I said. It was just an extremely sexually charged situation. I couldn’t stop it.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said gently. “And I don’t want you to hide it. That’s your body, your emotions being honest. It’s a good thing.”

I nodded. Maybe he was right about nudity and emotional vulnerability. I felt really fucking vulnerable.

“Now Sam,” Leroy said, “I need to go over some ground rules with you, so you understand your role and your place. I’m going to tell them to you, and you’re going to repeat them back to me, and most important, you need to accept each one in your heart. Are you okay so far?”

“Yeah,” I guess.

“All right, First Rule - You are not in control. You are not in control of anything. Not even your own body. You give up control completely.”

“Okay, right. First rule.”

“Repeat it, Sam,” he said patiently.

“Uhm... I’m not in control. Not of anything. I give up.”

“Repeat it exactly the way I said it,” he insisted.

I swallowed.

“First rule - I am not in control. I am not in control of anything, not even my body. I give up control completely.”

Leroy smiled.

“Okay, that was the tough one. It’ll get easier. Second rule - nudity. You are to be naked, you are not to wear clothes until it is over and you are expressly given permission. Until you are expressly given permission to wear clothes, you will follow this rule.”

I nodded.

“Second rule - nudity. I am to be naked, I am not to wear clothes until it is over and you give express permission. Until you give permission to wear something, I will obey this rule.”

“Good,” Leroy said. “Third rule - Kayley is absolutely off limits to you. You do not touch her without my permission. You do not interact with her in any way, don't look her in the eye, don't even speak to her, or to ask her permission to speak to her.”

That one felt extreme. I glanced at Kayley.

“Don’t look at her,” Leroy said. “Look at me.”

I felt like a kid caught sneaking a cookie.

 “I’m not making shit up. There’s a reason for each one of these rules, and you’ll come to understand and appreciate that. As we go along, we may soften them. But in the meantime, you have to accept them, and accept them as hard rules.”

I nodded and took a deep breath.

“Third rule - Kayley is off limits to me. I do not touch her in any way. I don't even look her in the eye. I do not interact with her in any way. Not even to speak to her. I do not even ask her for permission to speak.”

I exhaled.

“Good, Sam,” Leroy said. “You’re doing great. Now, I know that feels really scary. The bottomless pit opening up under you, am I right? I’m going to make it a easier for you. You will be able to interact with her, but only as I tell you. You will be able to touch and talk to her, I’m going to give you permission, but only when and in the way of my permission. When I say, you can. If I don’t say, you can’t.”

He paused.

What if Kayley talked to me? Was I allowed to answer? Should I ask? It felt like I should be able to, but what if I asked he said no? Would asking too many questions make me seem combative? I decided to just shut my mouth.

“I’m not some Nazi or crazy asshole, Sam,” he said, “we’re doing this for you and for Kayley. This is for you. It’s not about hurting you, it’s about guiding you. That’s all I want to do, guide you through this. I’ll take care of you and make sure you’re safe and protected every step of the way. Will you accept my guidance, Sam? Will you put yourself in my hands?”

He held out his two hands, palms up. The symbolism was obvious.

“Yes,” I said, “I accept your guidance.”

“Do you have faith in me?”

“I have faith in you?”

He smiled. He looked at his palms. I got the message. I put my hands in his.

“I have faith.”

“Good,” he told me. “Now it gets easier. Fourth Rule - you obey me, absolutely, willingly, eagerly. No holding back. You commit to absolute positive obedience.”

I nodded.

“I ... Fourth Rule - I obey you, absolutely, willingly, eagerly. No holding back. I commit to absolute positive obedience.”

Jesus Christ, I thought, it sounds just like some sort of cult thing.

“Sounds like some sort of cult oath,” Leroy said, and he laughed. “Don’t worry. You’ll understand. I’m not going to demand blood sacrifice or anything crazy.”

Deja fucking vu, I thought, unnerved. But it was oddly reassuring. He seemed to match my own thoughts, it was an assurance that the weirdness wouldn’t get extreme. We were both grounded.

“Final Rule - You surrender your sex. You don’t come without permission. You don’t masturbate without permission. If you have sexual activity with us, it is only with permission and completely in terms of the permission. This is very important.”

My heart skipped beats.

“Final Rule,” I stumbled awkwardly. “I surrender my sex. I don’t come without permission. I don’t masturbate without permission. Any sex is only with permission, and in terms of the permission. This is very important.”

He nodded, pleased.

“Can I ask some questions.”

He smiled. “Sure thing, buddy! I’m here for you.”

“Well, sexual activity... like kissing, is kissing included.”

“Any sort of sexual activity - kissing, touching, fondling, licking. Absolutely. You make no choices, you take no action. You act as directed.”

“Uhm... okay,” I said nervously. “This is a little embarrassing...”

“Hey,” he said, “it’s cool.”

“What if I come... anyway?”

He laughed, and I blushed red hot.

“You mean premature ejaculation?” he asked. “Things like that?”

I nodded.

“Refer to rule number one - you gave up control. That includes control over your own body. If your body wants to prematurely ejaculate, just let it happen. No guilt. You’re not allowed to make it happen, you can’t masturbate. But if it spontaneously happens... my advice is enjoy!”

That helped, but I was still uncertain.

“But what if it happens when you are telling me to do something...”

Leroy laughed gently, he put his hand on my shoulder. “Buddy, this is an experience. Not a game. I’m not scoring you. You’re not going to lose points. If you blow while I’m telling you to do something, it’s not a crime. I’ll understand. It’ll be okay. If that happens, what it tells me is that you were in a good place, and it was working for you. And that’s great.”

He glanced at Kayley on the love seat, who had been watching with fascination, and then got a strange expression on his face. He made an incomprehensible gesture, and motioned me closer.

“I shouldn’t tell you this, it spoils things,” he said. “But I like you. So here goes. The usual cuck thing, is that the Bull takes the Hottie, and the Cuck sits in the Cuck chair in the bedroom and watches and jerks off. That’s not going to be you.”

He paused.

“Kayley and I,” he said, “we really care for you. You’re important to both of us. We want this to be good for you. So we are going to care for you, you’re going to participate. It’s going to be an amazing experience for you. All I want, is that you trust us.”

I felt a flash of, not quite annoyance, but unease. He was talking like he and Kayley were the couple. It felt like some kind of power play or head game. But I’d be an ass if I jumped on that, so I let it go.

“Okay,” I said.

He waved me even closer.

“This first thing we’re doing, making out on the loveseat, while you sit there? That’s for you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course. Anyone can see how wrought up you are, how tense and scared. We’re not going to start by fucking in front of you. That could be fucking traumatic. I want you to get off, not get scar tissue. We’re not even going to start undressed in front of you.”

“But you’ve done that.”

I mean, I'd listened to him fuck her at the bar. We'd had a threesome at the bar, and at the Thai restaurant, and we'd all been naked at his place.

“We both know this is different.”

“Yeah.” It was. But there was a niggling thought. “You’re not naked, but I’m naked?”

“Embracing your vulnerability, your helplessness, your inadequacy, physically and emotionally,” he said. “We’ve been through that part.”

Yes, he had been. I nodded acceptance. He continued.

“So we’re going to take it really slow and ease into it, we’re going to perform for you, and for each other. Nothing happens until we’re ready. And your job is going to be to just sit there and relax and let yourself go. You’re going to watch, and you’ll start to realize that you don’t have to do anything, that there’s no demands, that you can just enjoy.”

He paused.

“When you give her up,” he said, “when I take ownership of Kayley from you, you’re going to be good with it, you’re going to be very comfortable, you’re going to feel liberated and more sexually excited and fulfilled than you’ve ever been in your life.”

He must have caught the look in my eyes. He grinned and punched my shoulder.

“Temporarily, Buddy!” he said. “Temporarily! This is an experience, remember. An experience, not a lifetime commitment. She goes back to you afterwards.”

He paused and grinned devilishly.

“Unless I decide to keep her,” he whispered.

I barked a nervous, automatic laugh. He laughed with me and punched me on the shoulder.

“There you go,” he said. “You’re going to love this so much!”

“I hope so,” I said.

“I know Kayley will,” he assured me. And just like that, insecurity wormed through me all over again.

He settled back into the loveseat, lifting an arm towards her. Kayley slid up against him. They kissed.

“Ready to play,” he whispered to her.

“I was born ready.”

He nodded, and looked over at me.

“Take out your phone, Sam,” Leroy ordered. “You’re going to record us making out, and you’re going to record me fucking her.”

He looked at Kayley.

“Are you okay with that?” he asked.

“As long as it’s Sam’s phone,” she said. “We keep it. No copy for you, sorry.”

“I’m not making any claim,” he said, “the video is for you guys. You and Sam.”

She stared, warily, and nodded.. “Okay then.”

Leroy nodded to me. I went to my pants and retrieved the phone, checking it. “It’s fully charged,” I said.

“Good video?”

“Yeah,” I said. “State of the art.”

“Roll em,” he said, and with that he turned and kissed Kayley.

The kiss was surprisingly gentle at first, even exploratory. They looked in each other’s eyes, their bodies together but not pushing. As if by shared instinct, their lips touched, parted, and touched again.

Kayley smiled. It was a an honest, unconscious smile, one of simple enjoyment. She leaned to kiss him with genuine affection. Instead of leaning into it, he let it come to him, let her press her lips to his, the affectionate kiss breaking into a dozen little tiny kisses all over his lips.

He stroked her hair, and she beamed, as he twisted a lock of it around his finger. He bent towards her, but this time, kissed her cheek. She giggled happily, as he worked little wet kisses up to her earlobe. Placing a hand flat on his chest, she waited for him to leave off, and when he pulled back, she was there waiting for him. They pressed their lips hard together, and this time, they lingered, their heads moving slightly.

They smiled at each other then, looking into each other’s eyes. Kayley moved to kiss him, but he caught her face with one hand, cupping her cheek. She went still, as he moved in. This kiss was long and sensuous, I saw their jaws move, and knew their mouths had opened for it, ever so slightly

She seemed to retreat, straightening up, looking him up and down. His hand fell on her knee. They both looked at it. Deliberately, his hand moved up her thigh, reaching the skirt of her dress and hiking it up further. She grinned, lifting up her arms and pressing them against his chest. Again, they kissed. Her arms wound around his neck. He reached behind and unzipped her dress. When they parted, finally, their mouths were open, they were panting slightly. Their eyes were luminous.

The dress was loose on her shoulder. She looked down at it. Casually, Leroy bent forward, placing a hand on her shoulder, tugging the material, until it exposed bare flesh. He moved further towards her, as she leaned back, her legs parting. As he licked her bared shoulder, she sighed a little.

“How did I end up fucking you, Kayley?” he asked, nuzzling her. He lifted his head, to look into her eyes, and give a flick of a nod towards me. “Just to get it down for posterity.”

She followed it, until she was looking directly at me. Was there mild surprise? Had she forgotten I was here. She smiled warmly.

“Well,” she said, staring into the video. “You hit on me. But it was Sam that told me to take off my panties and go to you. Five minutes later..”

Leroy looked directly into the camera. I blushed with embarrassment and sudden humiliation.

“I’d say that was a pretty good start,” he said. “But we played around a few times, feeling each other out. You and I got together a few times. Then you brought Sam in. I really liked you and Sam, so when you guys wanted to try this... I said sure.”

That wasn’t how it happened at all! Should I say something? I felt I should. Kayley looked at Leroy, but she didn’t say anything. But then he just went on.

“We’ve fucked. But this is going to be the first official cuckolding,” Leroy announced. “The real thing. They’re taking the big plunge. Crossing the Rubicon here.”

“You’re making it dramatic,” I said.

A harsh look flashed across Leroy’s face, he held up a finger to me. Then he visibly relaxed himself.

“Well,” Leroy smiled and replied, “it kind of is. Fucking can be casual. Threesomes casual. But Cuckolding, there’s something really fundamental and powerful it engages. Lot of energy there, sexual energy, psychic energy, emotional energy.”

He looked into the camera.

“Hey Sam,” he said, “give me the phone, I want to introduce you.”

“Okay,” I said, and handed it over. He held it up, filming me. I felt a bit nervous.

“Hello,” Leroy said, “I’d like to introduce you to our new Cuck-in-Waiting, Sam. Sam, wave and say hello.”

I waved.

“Hello,” I said.

“Sam here is the husband of the beautiful Kayley, who I will be taking possession of, through this official cuckolding.”

“Official?” I asked.

“Official in the sense of deliberation,” Leroy explained. Again, I sensed a flash of annoyance. “It’s not like there’s a registry for cuckolds. Maybe there should be. But the point is, we’re going to do certain things we agree on, and these things will have meaning and significance that we are all agreed on”

“Okay,” I said. “I just didn’t hear it explained like that.”

“That’s okay,” he said patiently. “I’m going to start again.”

“Okay.”

“Sam,” he said. “You’ve got a girlfriend, a wife. Kayley. She’s gorgeous by the way. We’re going to be seeing a lot more of her.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Kayley said. Leroy swung the phone towards her, on the other side of the love seat, leaning back with with folded arms. She waved. “Hi!”

The phone swung back towards me.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “She’s yours. I’m going to fuck her. Then she’s not yours any more. She’ll belong to me. When I fuck her, all your rights to her end. Finished. Done. I’ll own her. And you, Sam, you’re just going to watch it happen. You’re going to stand there, or sit there and let it happen, and do nothing. Because you won’t be a man any more. You’ll be a cuck.”

He paused.

“How do you feel about that?” he asked.

“I’m not really comfortable,” I said.

“Neither am I,” Kayley said.

Leroy looked over the camera phone. He put it down.

“Guys,” he said, “it’s role play. It’s not real. It’s not permanent. It’s a role play session. Relax.”

I felt stupid. “Right, right, sorry!”

“No worries, we’ll start again.”

He cleared his throat.

“Sam,” he said, “you want this. You want me to fuck your wife, to take ownership of her. You know that when that happens lose your rights to her.”

“Yes?” I wasn’t sure I’d known that. That felt extreme. But this was role play. So... “I guess.”

“You want me to make you a cuck.”

“Yes?”

“That’s why we are here. Because you brought us here.”

I nodded. It felt that it was more complex, but that he wasn’t technically wrong.

“You liked the idea of other men taking your wife,” he said. “Fucking her when you can’t.”

I blushed, trying to collect my thoughts. That wasn’t right. It was, but it wasn’t.

“Try me instead,” Kayley sighed, saving me from having to answer. I felt weak with relief. Leroy turned the phone towards her.

I wasn’t sure how I would have answered that question. The answer had been yes, obviously, I liked other men taking her. But I was afraid of how far into yes I would have to go, the murky territory of why, what made me like it, what excited me about it.

My own inadequacy? I had never thought of it that way, until now. But suddenly, it was there, real or not, casting a shadow that I was nervous about facing.

“Role play, right?” Kayley asked.

Leroy nodded, holding the phone up, recording her.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“Kayley, you’re married to Sam, right.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been fucking other men, letting them fuck your pussy, sucking their cocks...”

Her eyes narrowed, her body language shifted, becoming careful. I wondered why?

“Yes. I’ve been with a couple of men, you and Derek. Sam knew, he was there.”

“Been with?”

“I had sex. I fucked them. They put their cocks in my pussy and fucked me. I put their cocks in my mouth.” She smiled then, but it was an odd half smile, as if there was a secret. “I liked strange men’s cocks in my mouth. Men I didn't know.”

“You let them come in you,” he said. “Your pussy, and your mouth. Bare.”

“I let you. You did.”

“And Sam knew?”

Again, a flicker of caution.

“He knew,” she said. “He was there every time.... He encouraged me to, he dared me, he practically ordered me to fuck strange men I’d just met. You, Derek, Keith...”

“You’re not getting enough in your marriage?” he asked. “Sam’s not getting the job done?”

“Sam’s fine,” she said flatly. “Fuck off. Don’t do that.”

“Let me put it another way,” he said. “You and Sam have been experimenting. Right?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s not enough.”

“No.”

“So you’re going to take this step? You’re going to cuckold Sam.”

“Yes.”

“And you know what it will mean? For you? For Sam?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She stared at the phone for a long moment.

“Because Sam wants it,” she said finally. “And because I need it.”

“Tell me what you need.”

“I need to be taken. I need to be owned. I need to be conquered. I need someone to take me, to make me property, to define me and my existence in terms of his ownership. I love Sam, but he doesn’t do that for me, he can’t.”

“You know that when I fuck you,” he said, “Sam’s rights will end.”

“He’ll be a cuck,” she said, matter of factly. “Yes. Our relationship will be redefined. I accept that. It’s the price for what I need.”

“How do you think he’ll feel about it.”

She shrugged.

“He knows what it means,” she said. “He’s nervous, but he’s letting it happen. So I guess he wants it.”

Kayley waved her hand.

“It doesn’t matter.”

She paused.

“Why doesn’t it matter?” Leroy smiled, he was enjoying himself.

“Once it happens,” Kayley said, “it won’t matter what he thinks. He’ll be irrelevant. It will just be what it is. No one will care how he feels. He knows that too. He’s still letting it happen.”

Chills ran up and down my spine. I had to keep reminding myself, it’s only a role play.

“And it happens tonight,” Leroy said. “Soon.”

“I can hardly wait,” she said.

“How do you feel?”

“Wet. I’m really fucking wet.”

“How do you think Sam feels?”

She laughed.

“I don’t have to think,” she said. “I know how he feels. He’s really fucking hard.”

She laughed again.

“Not that he’s going to do anything with it, except jerk off, while he watches me get taken away from him.”

“Fuck,” Leroy said. “That was great! You’re really good.”

“Role play,” she smirked.

He turned the smartphone camera back to me.

“Tell me you accept that you’re going to be a cuck.”

As Leroy looked away from her, she winked at me. Her hand in her lap turned, and she gave me a subtle thumbs up. She mouthed words, ‘It will be okay.’ I nodded.

“I accept that I will become a cuck,” I said to the camera.

I held up my hands, accepting the inevitability of it.

“I know it’s going to happen,” I admitted.

“Good boy.”

He handed the smartphone back to me.

“Okay,” he said, “from here on in, you’re recording. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what to shoot, and how.”

“What was all that?” I demanded.

He looked at me. “Foreplay. Role play. Warm up.”

I felt like an idiot.

“I’ll do better,” I promised him.

He beamed at me. “You’re going to do fine,” he assured me. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He paused.

“And Sam...”

“Yes?”

“From this point on,” Leroy said, “shut the fuck up. No questions. No comments. I’ve explained the rules, you know your role. I’m being very kind to you. But if you fuck around, I’ll make you sit out here on a chair in the living room, and you can just listen while I take your girl from you. And I won’t give her back, then.”

He paused.

“Kayley?” Leroy invited her to speak.

“Shut up and do as your told, Sam,” she said flatly, her expression calm and matter of fact. “You’re the one that wants this. Play your damned role, and stop being a whiny bitch.”

Her blunt, passionless words sent a hot flush all the way through me. There wasn’t any of the warmth we normally shared. I felt weak and trapped, yet my cock felt like it was swelling, growing painfully harder. My heart raced.

Cornered, I could only nod weakly.

“Do you understand?” Leroy demanded. The two of them were staring at me. I could only look down at their feet.

“Yes, Sir,” as much as I hated it, my voice had turned into a whimper.

“All right,” Leroy said enthusiastically. “Roll em.”

He turned to Kayley, who was regarding him with a knowing, speculative, smile. She tugged at the shoulder of her black and white dress, exposing bare skin.

“Where were we?” Leroy asked.

“I was doing this,” Kayley whispered, and she leaned forward, open mouthed, to kiss Leroy, moaning softly in her throat, as her hand slid down his chest and between his legs.

The kisses were brief and almost frantic, punctuated by soft sighs and gasps. She stroked his erection in his pants, smiling devilishly as she looked from his pants to his face. He ran a hand along her arm, up along her shoulder to wrap fingers in her hair. Now captive, he pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her wantonly. I watched her melt into each kiss.

Their mannerisms became playful, the kisses went long and deep, but then they broke, and became a series of pecks. They grinned at each other, touched each other, and watched them touch each other. He laid a hand on her thigh, they both looked down at it.

She took up his hand, and holding it like a lollipop, his fingers splayed, she licked the tip of each finger.

He kissed her then, deeply, but when the kiss broke, and they found his hand on her bare breast, the dress somehow having fallen way off her shoulder, they both stared at it. A moment later, a flurry of touches, kisses, licks of necks and jawlines and earlobes, they were once again in embrace, their mouths teasing each other, as his hand crept under a skirt that had ridden much too high.

He stopped, frozen. She stopped curious. He looked down, at his hand vanished between her thighs. She followed his gaze. He smiled, slyly.

“You’re wearing panties?” he teased.

“I know!” she whispered. “I’m wearing panties around you! What was I thinking?”

“You should take them off,” he said.

“You mean, right here? Now? Even before we go in the bedroom?” She smiled.

“Sure.”

“No.” Her smile became a grin. “I think you should take them off.

He grinned back at her.

Carefully, he placed his hands on her knees and slid them up her thighs. She looked down, watching them. His hands reached the skirt of her dress and slid under, the fabric folding and bunching as he moved higher and higher, exposing more of her bare thighs. She bit her lip, her eyes dancing, her knees spreading wider.

He glanced directly at me and my smart phone, then back to her.

“I don’t want to show Sam your pussy just yet.”

She nodded. His hands moved under her dress now, towards her hips. Bracing herself on the back and armrest of the love seat, she lifted her hips for him, a casual gesture that sent a shiver through me. Kayley looked directly into his eyes, as he pulled slowly. The punched fabric of her dress relaxed, her knees moved together. The delicate white lace of her panties emerged from beneath her dress onto her naked thighs. Carefully, he pulled them over her knees and down her calves. She lifted her knees together, raising her feet off the floor. Gracefully, he slipped them off, let them hang off his finger for a moment, and then casually tossed them away.

She smiled knowingly.

“Better?” she asked him.

“Much,” he told her.

“Then show me,” she dared him.

Without a word, he leaned in to kiss her, and she leaned back, their mouths open as their lips met. Her knees parted, and his hand landed on her bare thigh, just above her knee, and moved smoothly under her skirt, as if with independent purpose.

As they kissed, the skirt moved, Kayley’s legs scissored, just a little, and she threw her head back and moaned. Leroy took the opportunity to lick her neck, and she moaned again.

She looked directly at me.

“Sam,” she said, “you should know, that right now, Leroy is fingering your wife, right in front of you, practically in public.”

“It’s true,” Leroy said. “I am.”

Leroy nuzzled her half exposed collarbone, and she leaned her head back, so he could lick her neck again. She moaned deeply.

“Can I tell Sam a secret?” she asked him.

“Be my guest,” he said, he moved back.

She leaned forward and looked directly at the Smart phone, into the camera, not at me.

“Sam,” she told the camera, “I think you should know. I love it when a man fingers me, I don’t care where or how he does it. An actual real man, I mean.”

She stared at the camera, her smile slowly becoming diabolical.

“He’s done it before you know,” she turned her head to face me. “Why he did it right in the bar. Right in front of everyone. He fingered me.”

She smiled, and kissed Leroy gently, then turned her head to look into the camera.

“Of course you know that. You were there. And of course... You did nothing.”

She put on a sad expression, and lifted a finger to mime a tear.

“So I had to take matters into my own hands! I had to take action! Do you know what I did?”

Leroy pulled back a little, watching her with amusement. He glanced at me and the smart phone. I was starting to sweat, my guts knotting up.

“I took him into the Men's room and I let him fuck me!” At the word fuck, her chin tilted up defiantly, as if to emphasize it.

“And then I let him come inside me!” Her chin tilted defiantly again.

“And I came so fucking hard!” Chin tilt. Defiant.

“And what were you doing, when all this was going on?” Her eyes widened, her eyebrows lifted, her lips pursed, miming curiosity and surprise.

“You....”

“Just sat there, in a chair...”

“Doing...”

“Nothing...”

“Nothing at all...”

“You...”

“Worthless...”

“Little...”

“Cuck!”

Her chin tilted up, her eyelids fluttered, her bared shoulders slowly swung back and forth. She purred, and then parted her knees wider, while turning to throw her arms around Leroy. She kissed him passionately, and rubbed her forehead against his.

“That feels so good,” she whispered.

She turned back to look into the camera lens, with a glare.

“And that, Sam,” she said, “is how you ended up here.”

She grinned evilly. And then, her eyelids fluttered once more, Leroy moved closer, kissing a bared shoulder, pulling the dress further down, exposing more bare flesh. He lifted a hand, cupping her opposite breast through the fabric, and she gave a low moan, turning and licking his ear.

Kayley slowly wound her arms around Leroy’s neck, her mouth opening, her eyes closing to wait for him. He moved on her, his kiss devouring as he descended on her, his hips pushing apart her thighs, as he leaned into her. She was pushed back against the armrest. Their bodies pressed together, frantically, her dress riding up almost to the waist, and falling down around her shoulders. She lifted a bare leg against him, and he wrapped an arm around it.

They kissed back and forth, each kiss hungrier and more intense. For a moment, they stopped, freezing motionless, and smiling at each other. Then he descended to her mouth. She moaned at his touch.

“Fuck,” she whispered, her eyes devilish. “I’m so fucking wet right now,”

“That’s the idea,” he said.

“Fuck,” she repeated. “You’re such a good kisser. So much better than...” She glanced towards me. “I could kiss you all night. I could spend the evening making out with you right there...”

“But?”

“I don’t know what I want more? I don’t know what I want first?”

He looked at her.

“For you to fuck me.”

Pause.

“Or for you to cuck him.”

“How about both?” Leroy said.

She grinned.

“Yesssssssss,” it was an evil hiss.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“For your cock?” she said. “I’m always ready, twenty-four, seven, three-sixty-five.”

He leaned back, taking her hand, guiding her to her feet. Kayley pulled her dress back over her shoulders, but didn’t bother zipping up the back. Instead she smoothed the skirt, to make herself presentable. Leroy adjusted his pants.

She reached out, running one hand through his hair, and then kissed him, open mouthed, but brief.

“We’re doing this. Right?” she asked.

“We are.”

The tiniest flicker of nervousness came and went.

“Role play, right?”

He blinked, then settled into a smile. “The sex is going to be real,” he said. “But yeah.”

She nodded, taking her hand in his.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she husked. “Shall we?”

As they turned towards the bedroom, Kaley glanced over at me. Her eyes were cold, her expression without mercy. She snapped her fingers.

“Cuck!" she barked. “Follow!”

Leroy and Kayley, hand in hand, sailed into the bedroom together. At least he didn’t sweep her off her feat and carry her across the threshold. As for myself, I trailed them like a particularly inferior household servant, holding the smartphone up like a talisman.

Leroy’s eyes swept around the bedroom. I realized he’d never been here before. This was his first visit to our apartment. Leroy looked at the small chair in the corner of the bedroom.

“That’s the cuck chair?” he said, appalled. “Jesus. No that’s just some regular dining room chair. Fuck it, we’ll make sure to get you a better one, Sam.”

I’d been warned to shut my mouth. But I must have looked confused.

“In Cuckold situations, the cuck doesn’t participate, just watches. So if it’s a regular thing, there’s a comfortable chair for the cuck to sit in and watch. Usually padded. Usually cumstains all over the seat.”

I contemplated the implication from Leroy’s remark that this was going to be a recurring thing. But the moment moved on and was forgotten.

Leroy took Kayley in his arms, so smoothly and naturally, it seemed like she belonged there. He stroked her cheek with one hand, then used two hands to cup her face. She looked up at him, eyes shining, as he stared down at her. Then he kissed her with slow tender passion. As if knowing his intention, Kayley let her arms hang at her sides, accepting the kiss.

When it ended, he put his hands on the shoulders of her dress, pulling the fabric over. She was already unzipped in the back, and so the dress barely hung on her. He pulled it down her arms and down her chest, taking away the tenuous support of the curves of her body. As the fabric moved down her cleavage, it finally passed her nipples and began to fall away on its own.

In an instant, Kayley stood nude, utterly and perfectly beautiful, a vision of perfection. She looked up at Leroy, eyes shining, as he ran his hands over her body, teasing rigid nipples, leaving goosebumps down bare arms.

He kissed her one more time, and as he did so, his fingers slipped between her legs. The scent of female arousal filled the room, and she moaned deeply.

“Look at this, Sam,” Leroy said, nuzzling her shoulder.

He turned her directly towards me, and lifted her arms straight up. She folded them behind her head, smiling with perfect poise.

“Fucking look at this body, isn’t she gorgeous? Isn’t she amazing? Isn’t she straight up fuckable?”

He licked her neck and Kayley smiled sensuously, closing her eyes for a moment, tilting her head to give him better access. His hands slid possessively up and down her body.

“Look at her, Sam,” Leroy told me. “Enjoy her all you can, because in a few minutes, she won’t be yours any more.”

Kayley looked down at me with catlike coolness, clearly enjoying the way he was touching her, but viewing me with neutral disdain.

“Aren’t you going to tell him this is his last chance?” she asked.

“Fuck that,” Leroy snorted. “You’re here naked in the bedroom, we’re way past the point of no return.”

He paused.

“Maybe out in the living room, or the parkade, or the restaurant. But now? Now it’s going to happen. There’s no stopping it now. We’re past that.”

“Mmm,” Kayley murmured, her body swaying as Leroy fondled her breasts and slid his hand between her breasts. She pressed her body backwards into him, offering herself up. “I think it was already too late then.”

“I think,” she purred, “it was already too late for him, the first time he watched you fuck me. He knew then what he secretly wanted, and he knew what I really wanted.”

“Maybe it was already past the point of no return when he listened the first time you fucked me, and came inside me.

"That’s when I knew what I wanted. Maybe the moment your cum spurted up inside me and I loved it, it was inevitable we would end up here.”

She looked down on me, her eyes heavy lidded.

“Or maybe, Sam,” she smiled, “it was when you told me to take my panties off. Maybe that’s when, deep down, Sam, you chose to be a cuck. That was when you had a choice and it all got decided. After that, every step was just the path here, every chance and choice along the way was already made back then.”

“Maybe,” she told me, “nothing you thought or did after that mattered a damned bit, because after that, you were just a cuck, you were one all along, and we all knew.”

She paused.

“You’re just such a pathetic little cuck.”

If I hadn’t been sitting, I would have collapsed. My body went red hot, my skin flushed so bright I felt like I was radiating, my heart raced, my fight and flight reflexes kicked in and immediately collapsed. I had never felt so humiliated or worthless in my life.

Or more sexually aroused. My cock was so hard it vibrated, as it throbbed it seemed to shake the rest of me. I felt as if I so much as touched it, I would explode.

My mind was racing with something like panic. I couldn’t seem to contain myself. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted desperately to argue, to claim some shred of dignity. But whatever arguments popped into my head seemed ludicrous.

Besides, I heard Leroy’s voice in my head, remembering the last of our conversation. “Shut the fuck up, Sam,” or end up in the living room, sitting there as they fucked here.

“Do what you are told, Sam,” Kayley had said, no judgment, no animosity, but no kindness or love. Just the bare words delivered calmly.

So I just sat there, and held the smart phone against my knee to brace it and keep it from shaking too much, as they forgot about me.

I filmed Leroy kissing her, his hands running all over her body. The way she purred like a kitten at his touch. She turned her head to him, twisting, and they kissed, deeply and passionately. She inhaled him with erotic sensual joy, as he reached down and spread her wet lips with his fingers.

“I love your hands on me,” she breathed. “I love that the way you’re touching me, the way it makes me feel, is being recorded.”

“You’re like a fucking sculpture,” he whispered. “I could do this forever.”

“I’m glad you wanted this video,” she said. “I wasn’t sure, but I see it now, and I want it too. After its over, I want to watch it again and again. And I want to make Sam watch it, so he knows what he gave up.”

They kissed deeply, I saw his lips on hers, pressing her back, her opening to his tongue. The kiss went on, punctuated only by soft moans as he explored her naked body.

She broke the kiss, moving away ever so slightly, and smiled.

“I think it’s time,” she said, “to reveal that great big beautiful cock.”

He chuckled, turning her around, so that her ass was nestled in his hips. She smiled wantonly, grinding into his cock, bending forward a little as he cupped her breasts.

“Do the honours?” he told her.

“I’d love to.”

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 15, Date with Leroy

PRELUDE TO THE CUCKOLDING, SAM AND KAYLEY HAVE A DATE WITH LEROY IN A RESTAURANT. IT'S NOT JUST THE FOOD THAT GETS SPICY

KAYLEY

I checked my make-up in the rear view mirror as we parked.

“How do I look?” I asked Sam.

“Perfect,” he said. “Breathtaking, absolutely gorgeous. Sexy and classy.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. This wasn’t some bar or nightclub, and I didn’t want to look skanky. Holden’s was an upscale restaurant, and I wanted to dress for it. I wore a black pencil skirt, just above the knee, with a slit, together with a red silk blouse and a loose black satin vest. Black stilettos, the strappy ones, with lambent earings completed the look. Casual, but high end, classy, sophisticated.

Sam had opted to go with a dress suit, black, with a matching red shirt. I’d just barely talked him out of wearing a tie.

“It is impossible for you,” he said, “to be anything less than perfect. You would be gorgeous standing naked dripping covered head to toe in baby oil, standing in one of those little plastic kiddy pools.”

“That,” I told him, “is oddly specific.”

“Is it?” he looked innocent. He shrugged. “Just a random example.”

“I see. And how much would one of those little pools cost?”

“You mean a circular pool 59 inches diameter, with 11 inch depth, in a variety of colours, of which blue would really go with your complexion? Thirty two ninety nine.”

“I see,” I said carefully. “And how much baby oil would be needed?”

“Well,” he said, “technically, olive oil would be preferable. But either way, you’d want a a minimum of three to five quarts. For maximum coverage. Plus, you’d want a foam padding for the floor of the pool, and slip ons for your feet to avoid slipping.”

He smiled.

“I’ll say again,” I said, “this feels oddly specific.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied. “This is just random information commonly known to everyone.”

“Uh huh,” I said. “Sam... my love. By any chance do you have a fetish that you haven’t mentioned to me?”

“Why hundreds!” He said. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh no reason,” I said. “You’re sure I look okay?”

He took my hand.

“You look gorgeous,” he said. “Nervous?”

I looked out the windshield over the parking lot.

“Kind of,” I said. “It feels like we’re out on a date. I just want to make a good impression. For him, you know? Isn’t that fucked up?”

We were going to have a date, the two of us, with a man we’d already had an epic threesome with, who had fingered me in public, fucked me repeatedly in sleazy bar’s mens room, and who had played me like I was a guitar. He’d seen me naked.

But somehow, we were both dressing up for the occasion, nervous and desperate to make a good impression.

“We are out on a date,” he said. “And yes, it’s kind of weird. It’s like we’re doing it backwards. Normally, you go on a date, and then later on the sex. But I don’t know, it feels right. Maybe we want to show him it’s not just sex, we like him, we could be serious about him.”

“We have a crush?” I suggested.

He laughed, I joined.

“This is silly,” he said, he took my hand. “We’re overthinking. Let’s just relax, go with the flow. And have fun.”

I nodded. He always said the right thing.

“Let’s go.”

We walked into the restaurant, and Sam was just calling up our reservation with the Maitre’d’ when Leroy walked in. I gave a happy squeak.

“Hey kids,” he grinned at us.

I glanced at Sam, he nodded, I rushed into Leroy’s arms, and he kissed me passionately, so I literally melted. He broke the kiss, easing me back at arm’s length. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the Maitre’d’ watching, reappraising us based on the kiss.

“Look at you,” he smiled. “You’re gorgeous. Miss me?”

I beamed.

“Totally!”

He spotted Sam, and spread his arms wide.

“Hermanos! Fratela!” he called. “Bring it in, my brother.”

I watched them embrace warmly. For a moment, it almost looked like they were about to kiss, and I had a subliminal wet flash that shivered through me. The Maitre’d cleared her throat, and they had to part. We were lead to our table.

Sam had specified a half moon booth, with a deep table, so that we could have a degree of intimacy and privacy as we sat together. Sam’s idea, he felt square table would divide us.

As we entered on either side, I sat in the middle, where I could casually put my hands on both their thighs. There was something about being able to do that, that just made me grin madly, I felt like glowing.

Leroy turned out to be relaxed and at home. The Sommelier came with a wine list, and he and Leroy had a long technical conversation that Sam and I only half understood, but ended up with a botttle of exquisite Chablis being brought.

I caught Leroy sneaking a look at us, and knew from his expression that he’d put on a show to impress us. It was like he was eight years old sometimes, but right then, it was so endearing.

We discussed the menu, we discussed food. We ordered, or technically, we let Leroy give the order for us, he had a knack for talking to the waiter. Then we talked, and talked. We laughed, told stories, joked, flirted.

It was a little bit like that Thai restaurant, but that was more feeling each other out. This time, we were all really clicking, like we’d all been together for years. We had this easy luscious chemistry, where I moved smoothly between them.

There was a sexual tension of course, both men at different points had their hands on my thighs. I let mine rove under the tablecloth. We kissed. I tried to talk Leroy and Sam into kissing, well, I dared them. But they were shy and it would have been hard with me in the middle between them.

The funny thing was that while that sexual tension and interest was there, while it was never far away, it was amazing how it was only a part of it all. We enjoyed each other’s company, we felt comfortable together.

At one point, Sam reached over and kissed me, and said, “I am so glad we found him.”

I laughed with delight, it was the perfect thing to say.

The busboy collected our plates. We went on to desert. The conversation became sexual, filled with double entendres. We hadn’t promised a threesome, but... Yeah, that was where it was headed.

Butter me top to bottom, I sang to myself, we’re going to make a Kayley sandwich, beef on both sides and me in the middle.

“So,” Leroy asked with fake casualness, “have you guys looked at the stuff I sent you?”

“The cuckold stories,” Sam said. He shrugged. “Yeah, we took a look.”

“Interesting,” I said. “We went through it. Very much a lifestyle thing, with its own vocabulary. Hotwives. Cucks. Bulls.”

“I prefer Hotty,” Leroy said. “Hotwife seems possessive, dehumanizing. It’s funny. The terms for male roles - cuck and bull, are very clear. But for women... vixen, hotwife, cuckoldress... it’s all over.”

“Hmm,” I said. “You’re right, I hadn’t thought about it. But you’re right.”

I shrugged.

“And you’re the bull?” I suggested.

Leroy faked a yawn. “I’ve played the role,” he said, “when the occasion demanded. Played the cuck. Even been the hotty.”

How would that work, I wondered. Never mind.

“The prosaic stuff,” I continued. “That read like instruction manuals, that was informative. But unengaging. It kind of read a bit like swinging, a stylized version of swinging. Other pieces seemed to deal with the emotional aspect.”

“I had trouble getting into some of it,” Sam said, “particularly some of the male-written pieces, that dwelled on it, it was, some of it, flirting with humiliation. Some of them were hot. Others, I was just going ‘this guy needs a therapist.’”

Leroy nodded.

“Some of what you sent us,” I said, “was beautifully written, very sensual, every erotic. Complex and psychological.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Mostly those seemed to be female writers, or female perspective.”

“I liked those. They were lyrical, and seemed to dive deep. The female experience seemed a lot more complex emotionally and sexually, like the characters, or the writers were navigating opposite experiences on both sides.”

“They worked for you?” Leroy asked.

“Uhm...” I blushed. “I suppose so.”

I didn’t want to admit to him that I’d gotten off on some of it, either masturbated, or read while Sam was going down on me. Fair was fair, I’d sucked his cock when he’d been enjoying some of it. Some of it, I’d found literary and lyrical and erotically charged, and it had been exciting to read. I’m a sucker for deep psychological porn.

I was sure he’d sent it to get us off, and get us all hot and bothered so we’d jump in. Okay, fair enough.

But also fair enough that I could enjoy really well done porn and not feel the need to do a particular act. Reading hot cuckold lit was one thing, it didn’t mean we were going t suddenly adopt the lifestyle.

“Some of it was hot,” Sam agreed. “Very hot. But that’s why you sent it to us, because it was hot.”

“A lot of it,” I said, “once you got past the instruction manual stuff... It seemed odd, very role play, very distorted.”

Leroy’s brows knit.

“Distorted?”

“Not necessarily in a bad way,” I said. “But some of it felt really formal or ritualistic, almost doctrinaire, with particular set of rules... No, not rules. Perspectives? I don’t know.”

I chewed my lip.

“Help me out, Sam?” I said. “Swingers, I guess we’ve always seen these as free for all. Just two people in a relationship that fuck around outside. But...”

“This stuff seemed to be less swinging, less free for all, and more... relationship oriented. But odd relationships.”

“Odd dynamics,” I said, grateful to Sam. “Structured, but distorted and uneven. Sort of like Dali or Picasso sex... You see the relationships, the dynamics. But they’re twisted.”

“Interesting,” Leroy said. “I’ve never heard it that way. But I can see it.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “We admit it’s hot... But...”

“We looked around a bit ourselves,” I told him. “Some of the stuff out there seemed pretty ... dark. Toxic.”

“A real emphasis on humiliation,” Sam said. “Felt like a sort of S&M. Dom, sub, power and control. Borderline abusive really.”

Leroy nodded. “That’s definitely out there. There are toxic outliers in anything. But I don’t think the extreme stuff describes cucking for most people who do it. It’s not really about humiliation, it can seem like that, but I think that’s superficial... an oversimplification.”

I leaned back towards Sam.

“Oh yeah?” I was intrigued. “So why do most people do it?”

“Perhaps you an answer that question yourself,” Leroy said. “You’ve sort of danced around it. What draws you?”

“No fair,” Sam said. “We’re asking you. Kayley and I, we’re just having fun. You’re the one that seems to see us this way. You’re the one that’s pushing.”

Leroy held up his hands.

“I’m not pushing,” he said. “I apologize if I gave that impre–”

“It’s all right,” I cut him off.

“Maybe I used the wrong term,” Sam corrected himself. “But you seem knowledgable about this. And you seem to keep going there. Explain it to us, what’s going on with it? If it’s not S&M...”

“Okay,” Leroy said. He held up his hand. “I see what you’re doing, and that’s fair. Let me try to figure out how to begin.”

We nodded. He leaned his head back a bit, as if thinking.

“Cucking is really popular these days,” Leroy said. “I don’t think it’s really about the dom/sub thing though. I mean, yeah, that’s there. It’s right in there. But I think what drives it is really something else.”

“What?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Spectators,” Leroy said.

“Spectators?” Sam asked. “What do you mean?”

“It’s all spectators. Everybody watches. That’s our whole civilization. We watch television. We watch movies. We got to stadiums and watch ball games. We go to the theatre and we watch stage plays. We listen to music. We go to concerts and sit and listen to music. We’re a society of people, we don’t do anything, we just watch and listen, that’s how we’ve all been trained.”

“I didn’t take you for a culture critic,” I said. I poured a bit of chablis from the snifter, not much, just enough to wet my palate.

I glanced at Sam. That sounded sarcastic, but actually, I was impressed. On the one hand, Leroy sometimes felt like a walking erection, a hard cock continually driving towards the next vagina. But he kept showing these new unexpected sides to him. It bowled me over that some charming sleaze I met in a bar would have these insightful observations and reflections. It drew us both to him, all these facets, these unexpected, unanticipated remarkables.

“That extends to sex,” Leroy said. “Even sex. We watch porn. Everyone watches porn. You watch porn.”

“I’ve watched porn,” I admitted. Honestly, there was so much out there, it was just inevitable. I found my mileage varied. A lot of it just left me cold. But that’s the thing with porn, there’s so much of it, that something out there will press your buttons.

Sometimes in ways you would rather not admit to. Stranger sex. Nasty sex. Filthy language. Ugly guys. Kinky non-politically correct things. Of course, I’d done some of that with Sam and Leroy, so I guess they had an inkling.

But you know, you don’t necessarily want to talk about it.

I realized that I’d made an awkward admission, and hoped he wouldn’t ask embarrassing questions.

“So have I,” Leroy said. “I like it. It’s great. Totally okay with porn. Good porn, whatever that is. But the point is, we’re watching all the time, that’s what we do.”

I smiled. He was invested in making his point, I was off the hook.

“Sam and I, we’ve done plenty of actual sex,” I pointed out. “You’ve been in some of it.”

Sam grinned. “She has a point.”

“Sure, there’s plenty of doing things out there. People play sports, they play music, games, they engage. But watching is a big part of everyone’s life. We’re trained into this passive experience, to sit and watch and enjoy. And that can extend to our sex lives.”

“Cuckolding?” Sam asked.

“Right.”

“So you’re saying that cuckolding is really just the desire to watch our partners fuck someone else,” Sam demanded. He shrugged thoughtfully.

“Yep.”

“That’s just voyeurism,” I pointed out.

“No,” Leroy said, “voyeurism is watching anyone. And exhibitionism is getting off on being watched by anyone. Cucking, is about that special person being watched, or doing the watching. Porn, voyeurism, exhibition, all that is generic.”

“But cucking is personal?” Sam asked thoughtfully.

“Sure it is,” Leroy said. “Because everything else is generic, it’s all brands and branding and marketing and merchandising. You want to watch porn, you can watch ten thousand girls, all stemped out like a cookie cutter. But you’ll never meet any of them, you’ll never know any of them.”

“You can go to the strip club and watch strippers all day long,” he said, “but you’ll never really know any of the. You’ll never have a personal relationship, or anything meaningful. It’s all just a generic mask.”

“But there’s something about the personal,” he said. “You watch someone you know play a sport or an instrument, you feel something, it matters.”

“Authenticity,” Sam and I both said at the same time. For a moment, Leroy looked startled. Then we all laughed.

“Authenticity. That’s exactly it. Same with sex,” he concluded. “You can watch porn. Or you can watch someone you know, your girlfriend, your boyfriend, someone who matters to you, fuck, and that makes it special. Makes it hot.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said. “But we’re just having fun. This whole cuckold lifestyle, just feels icky. It’s got like a lot of creepy baggage.”

“Yeah,” Leroy said. “But you told me about your fun, like before I started tapping Kayley here. You were getting off on watching her flirt in bars.”

I squirmed a little uncomfortably. It’s one thing to talk in abstract about sexual politics and what drove people. Relating it on a personal level, that’s awkward. For Sam and I, it was about having fun, pressing boundaries.

Sometimes you just don’t want to overthink things.

“Not the same thing,” Sam said. “I wasn’t jerking off over it.”

“It’s not,” I said. “We’re just playing a game together. It’s not really what you’re talking about.”

“What were you getting out of it?” Leroy asked Sam.

I looked to Sam.

“It was fun,” Sam was obviously uncomfortable. “Special. She looked beautiful, charming. She sparkled.”

I smiled and put my hand on Sam’s.

“Special.”

“Yeah.”

“Because it was her, because it was her expressing herself, being herself.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t sex.”

“But it was cucking,” Leroy insisted. “It wasn’t sex, but it was sexy. And you loved seeing this person you knew, that you loved, getting their sexy on. It was about being a spectator, like we all are, but for someone you had a connection to.”

Leroy turned to me. Oh no, I was on the hot seat. I was happier just watching Leroy and Sam spar.

“Kayley,” he asked, “what was it like for you, flirting with guys. Knowing that Sam was watching.”

I knew what he was going for. I didn’t really want to give it to him though.

“I didn’t mind,” I said carefully.

“Is that all. You just didn’t mind?”

Oh geez, he wasn’t going to let it go. I paused, and thought about it.

“Well,” I said. “I like flirting sometimes. But I can be nervous. Having Sam watch... it’s hard to explain, I had more confidence. It’s like he was my safety net. I wouldn’t do it at all if it bothered him. I’d never hurt him.”

“Did you enjoy him watching you flirt?” he demanded.

I chewed my lip.

“I.... guess?”

I was blushing. I definitely liked Sam watching me flirt. But was that me showing off, some exhibitionist urge. Or was it that Sam really liked it and I enjoyed pleasing him. Okay, so maybe one of us was definitely voyeuristic, or one of us was definitely exhibitionistic. Or maybe we both had a bit.

But whatever. It was mild, it was just having fun together without all the actual weird baggage. This whole cuckold thing seemed a little much.

It’s like this, you’re in a schoolyard, you have a ball, you all start playing with it, and everyone has fun. We’re just messing around. But then someone shows up, there’s a ball-playing manual, there’s all these rules and regulations, a full book of them.

Maybe a formal game with rules is good, maybe it’s better. But you can’t help but pine for when you were just messing about in the schoolyard with a ball.

I suppose what it was, was that what Sam and I were doing, on some level, felt really innocent.

“What about when you fucked in the men’s room?”

I sucked air in through my teeth.

“I was so fucking nervous,” I said. “It was unbelievable.”

“Did you get off on Sam listening.”

I thought about it.

“I don’t think so,” I said carefully. It was actually a decent question, and even if Leroy clearly had his own ideas, there was room here to explore other things.

“I was so nervous,” I admitted, “I mean, Sam made it possible. He supported, he was my lifeline, he gave permission and made it safe. That was what was important to me in the moment.”

I could tell they were watching me. I looked at the wine glass.

“But when I was with you, or that other guy, I was mainly right there in the moment. It was hard to think of Sam and how he might be feeling when some total stranger has their hands on your ass and are slamming you with a big cock. You know?”

Sam nodded. My hand twisted in his, our fingers entwined. God, I loved him so much.

“You talked a lot though,” Leroy pointed out.

“What?” I asked.

“You were really verbal each time,” Leroy said. “You talked. Derek, when he was bragging, said you were practically doing colour commentary.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess.”

“Why?” Leroy persisted.

“For Sam, I suppose,” I said thoughtfully. “To make sure he knew what was going on. Just in case.”

“And because he liked it,” Leroy said. “You were talking because it turned him on to hear.”

“I guess,” I said uncomfortably. “That might be part of it.”

Or it turned me on to talk about it as it was happening. On reflection, describing it for Sam as it was going on, was something of a turn on for me.

“Leroy,” Sam said, coming to my rescue, “you’re really reaching here.”

“I was paying a lot more attention to the cock in me,” Kayley said, “than I thinking about how hard I was making Sam.”

Oh shit, that came out so wrong. I squeezed Sam’s hand to let him know I didn’t mean it that way. An answering pulse reassured me.

“But were you thinking of it at all,” Leroy asked. “Were you enjoying the fact that Sam was your audience. Were you enjoying the idea that Sam was enjoying you flirting in bars.”

“Some,” I replied. “You’re really overthinking it though.”

I sighed.

“Look,” I said. “We were just having fun. That’s all.”

“No, no,” Leroy agreed. “I get that. I totally get that, and having fun is the entire point. I agree with you. I’m not trying to fuck with you. I’m just exploring.”

“That’s fine,” Sam conceded. “I understand the impulse to try to make sense of things.”

“Maybe better to go with the flow,” I said. “Let things happen naturally. We just want to explore.”

“Totally get that,” Leroy said. “If I overstepped I apologize.”

“No problem,” I said. “It’s kind of interesting to dissect. I liked what you were saying about culture - how we’re all spectators, and about authenticity. It made sense...”

I hesitated.

“It just feels a little odd to apply the analysis to our own sex life,” I blushed. “Geez. And you’ve been a part of that sex life. It’s uhhh...”

“Unique circumstance,” Sam supplied.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sorry if we felt evasive. We’re just feeling our way...”

“Pun intended?” Leroy gave a slight smile.

I laughed.

“Pun intended,” I said.

“It’s cool,” he said. “I didn’t make you uncomfortable?”

“A little,” Sam said. “But good uncomfortable. I don’t know that it’s us.”

“Fair enough.”

“Maybe it could be,” I admitted, shrugging. Mistake, I could tell by the speculative gleam in his eye. “But we’ll just learn as we go.”

“That’s a good plan.”

Leroy leaned back, looking at us. A mischievous expression slid over him.

“So what do we do after this?” he asked.

I glanced at Sam, our eyes met, and he nodded. I leaned into him.

“We had been thinking of inviting you back to our place to get naked and sweaty,” I said. “If you’re up for it.”

Leroy grinned.

“Definitely,” he said.

“Shall we go?” Sam asked.

“Oh yeah,” Leroy said. He paused thoughtfully.

“Let’s try a little experiment first,” Leroy suggested. “Just to test out this cuckold idea. Are you up for it?”

I felt a little shiver.

“Sure,” I said. “As long as it’s not anything weird.”

“Maybe.” Sam was concommittal. My fingers moved against his, reassuring.

“No weird,” Leroy said. “I promise. Sexy though. But nothing wild. Nothing you haven’t done before. And nothing as wild as I know you’ve done before.”

Sam stared.

“All right,” he said finally.

“What have you got in mind?”

“Okay,” Leroy said. “Let’s start with something simple. Kayley, I want you to slide over here and snuggle up against me.”

I stiffened a little. Sam and I exchanged glances. Sam shrugged. Cuurious to see what he had in mind, I nodded, and scooched over to Leroy’s side. As I leaned up against him, I felt a little tremble go through me. There was a nervous, excited sensation, in moving from cuddling against Sam to easing up against Leroy, it felt almost like a change of allegiance, or a change of ownership. Leroy draped an arm over me possessively.

“Now she’s my girlfriend, Sam,” Leroy said, smiling. I stiffened and blushed.

“She’s not,” Sam said.

“I’m not,” I said emphatically. At that moment, I flashed through memories, a kaleidoscope of images flirting in the bar, being on his cock, fastening the necklace at the back of my neck, the make out session in the peep show. I wasn’t his girlfriend, but there was a lot more claim on me than I wanted to admit.

“I appreciate that,” Leroy conceded.

I was blushing hot. Casually, Leroy’s arm over me swept across my breast, a gesture so subtle that only the three of us noted it, and he felt my rigid nipple. Well, no hiding that, I guess. My clit tingled, and I could feel a wet pulse between my legs.

“But anyone who is looking at us right now, they’ll think we’re together. They’re watching us cuddle. You’re over there. No one would think she’s yours. How does that make you feel, Sam?”

Sam shrugged.

“I don’t know. Doesn’t really matter, it’s just pretend. We all know the truth.”

Leroy nodded.

“Okay. How about this:” he glanced down at me. “Take off your panties.”

My heart skipped a beat, not in shock, because I knew how aggressive Leroy was. But with genuine excitement, he’d been well behaved, but now he wasn’t, and that was thrilling. I looked up at him, wide eyed. He nodded at me.

I looked over at Sam, whose expression was carefully neutral. I searched his face for a sign, but he pretended indifference. He shrugged, leaving it to me.

I stared at him, our eyes locked. The corner of my lips turned up just a little.

This was a game.

I nodded slightly.

Showtime.

Setting my feet firmly, I braced my back against the seat and lifted my hips just an inch or so. Staring straight ahead, I raised my hips and pulled my skirt up to my waist, high enough that she could hook my fingers into my panties and down my thighs, almost to the lip of the seat. Then I let my weight settle and lifted one thigh and then the other, bending forward as I slid the panties over her knees and down my calves. I leaned forward, reaching down to fish the panties, and pulled them over one foot then the other.

“Give them to me,” Leroy said, staring at Sam.

I lifted them up in my hand, shoulder height, so that Sam could see them clearly. Hell anyone who looked at our table could see them. Staring at Sam, who remained deadpan, I gave him a wicked little smile, and held them towards Leroy, who took them from me.

Sam’s eyes shifted, following the movement of the panties from me to Leroy.

Aha! I thought, got you now. He wasn’t as indifferent as he pretended to be.

Very deliberately, without looking at them, Leroy took my panties and placed them squarely and openly on the table, for anyone to see.

Involuntarily, my thighs rubbed together, I could feel tension and excitement. It was like we’d been catapulted into some erotic spaghetti western, where it was all just everyone staring at each other, and these careful gestures, but instead of gunfighters facing off ready to draw, it was panty removal.

I lifted my hips to move my skirt back into place, but Leroy placed a hand on my thigh, not taking his eyes off Sam.

“Don’t,” he ordered me. “I Iike you better this way.”

His attention shifted to Sam. Perhaps it had never shifted away.

“So,” Leroy asked. “Hot or not?”

Sam shrugged.

“Hot,” he said, his voice carefully flat. “But that’s always hot.”

“Are you hard?” Leroy asked.

“I’m wet, a little,” I offered. Technically, a lot wet. I felt shivery in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to squirm a little, but the tension kept me still.

Leroy leaned forward and placed a hand on my thigh. A small bold of electricity ran through me, but apart from a single small start, I gave no sign. Instead, I simply stared at Sam. His eyes flickered, he could just see the edge of Leroy’s hand on me, around the edge of the booth’s table..

“I’m touching her, Sam.” Leroy deliberately moved his hand up the inside of my thigh. My heart was beating faster. As I watched Sam, I parted my legs slightly to allow Leroy access, knowing that Sam would see. “Right here in the restaurant out in the open. I’m touching her. Does this turn you on?”

“Of course,” Sam admitted, his voice just slightly strained. That’s when I knew he was hard. “What’s the point?”

Leroy nodded.

“You like to watch.”

Sam shrugged. He blushed, just slightly, but I caught it. The tiny smile I wore widened.

“All right,” Leroy said. “Let’s move it up a notch. Sam, I want you to go to the men’s room.”

“Why?”

I glanced at Leroy, I was curious too. His expression was cunning, like a cat playing with a mouse.

“Part of the experiment,” Leroy said. “Just go with it.”

Sam looked around nervously. “This isn’t the bar. We can’t get away with that stuff here.”

“I know,” Leroy said. “We’re not going to do that. We’re doing something else. Just go to the mens room, sit on the toilet. We’ll call you.”

Sam seemed to think it over, and then without a word, he stood up and walked off.

“So what are you doing?” I asked when we were alone.

“You and I are going to play a little game,” he told me. “If Sam is into cucking, he’ll enjoy it. If not, we’ll have a little fun and he’ll be a little annoyed. What do you say?”

“I’d like to know what we’re doing,” I insisted.

“We’re going to send him a picture or two, and talk dirty to him.”

I thought it over.

“What do you want from me?” I said. “If you want me in this game, you have to give me more than that.”

“Trust me,” he said. “And just go along.”

I laughed.

“Uh uh,” I said. “I know you, remember.”

“All right,” he said. “We’re not going to do anything, not really. I don’t want to get thrown out of the restaurant.”

He laughed.

“But Sam won’t know that. We’re going to phone him, and talk very dirty, and convince him that we’re doing a lot, that we’re being very bad...”

“How bad?” I asked.

He smirked. Okay, I thought, ‘that’ bad.

“We’ll build up gradually though,” Leroy told me. “And we’ll stage some pictures to prove it. I want to see how excited we can make him.”

I thought it over.

It sounded exciting, but more than that, it sounded fun, fresh, inventive.

“Okay, I’m in.”

“Unbutton your blouse, please,” Leroy asked.

I looked at him.

“Not all the way,” he said. “Just for a picture for Sam, and then you button up right away.”

Perhaps impressed by the politeness, I decided to go for it and undid the buttons, all of them. But I carefully kept the blouse close, so no one would notice.

“I don’t want to get kicked out for flashing,” I told him.

“We won’t. We’re going to be careful. Trust me. Take out your phone, call Sam.”

I pulled it from my purse and called.

“Hey Sweetie,” I said, when Sam picked up.

“Hi.”

Leroy took the phone.

“Hey Sam,” he said. “Kayley and are are just fooling around a little. Are you sitting down on the toilet.”

“Yes.”

“Pants down?”

There was a sigh.

“Give me a second.”

Leroy pulled me close, and held up the phone for a selfie. The two of us leaned in together, our faces side by side. My lips pursed for the camera, as if blowing him a kiss. My blouse hung open just slightly, nothing naughty was visible, but... He sent the pic.

“Cute,” Sam said sarcastically. “You make a nice couple.”

“Notice anything.”

“Her blouse is unbuttoned.”

“Very good. Kayley will take the next one.”

Leroy handed the phone to me. As I held the phone up, Leroy leaned in slipping his hand in my blouse and cupping a breast. The hand was hidden under the blouse, butit was clear from the stretch of fabric where the hand was. I was a little nervous, if anyone looked directly at us, they’d see. I hoped this was as far as he went, or we really would get thrown out.

I hit send.

“Nice,” Sam replied.

“A little more,” Leroy suggested. In my blouse, his hand pulled my breast from my bra, folding the cup and pushing it down. He pushed with his wrist, moving the fabric aside, for a moment, exposing a bared breast and hard nipple. “Now!”

I took the picture, hoping that the way I held the phone would shield us a little from onlookers.

The exposure left me momentarily breathing hard, as he tucked my breast back into place. Hastily I did a few buttons. That was a little too much. I narrowed my eyes at Leroy and mouthed. ‘Don’t do that again.’ He mouthed back ‘It’s all right.’

The picture went.

“Are you hard, Sam?” Leroy asked.

He pursed his lips, touching them. I nodded, understanding the gesture, and turned towards him. Leroy took the phone from me, and this time took a picture of the two pressed together, our lips meeting in a kiss.

“Are you hard, Sam?” Leroy asked again.

“Not so much.”

“All right Sam,” Leroy said. “I want you to send us a picture of your dick right now.”

My eyes widened. Talk about going up a level.

“I don’t think so,” Sam replied.

Leroy looked to me. Okay, I thought, let’s see where this goes.

“Oh come on, Sam,” I wheedled, putting on a girlish flirty voice. “Just do it. Do it for me. For meeeeeee.”

A sigh.

 “All right,” he said.

A moment later, a picture appeared, of Sam’s fully erect penis, swollen and rigid between his thighs. He was definitely excited.

Leroy showed it to me. I nodded.

“That looks really hard, Sam,” I said. “Like really, really hard. Throbbing hard.”

“Yeah.”

“Was it the kiss?” I asked, curious. “Or the nipple.”

“Both, I guess,” he said carefully. Sam was still playing it close to the vest. He was so guarded, it made me want to dig in, just burrow under that careful facade to reach his real feelings. He was turned on, and didn’t want to admit it. I needed him to admit it.

Leroy and I exchanged looks. I nodded. Time to turn up the heat.

He held up the smart phone, pulling me towards him. This time, when we kissed, it was passionate, open mouth, lips pressing hard. I closed my eyes, moving my head, trusting him to get the pictures. The kiss lasted only an instant, just long enough for some pictures. I moved back. Leroy grinned and gave thumbs up, showing me our clinch.

“Ahh,” he whispered into the phone. He held it towards me, sending a picture. I giggled, and then finished with a tiny little moan.

The next four pictures, showed passion and intensity. Our tongues mingling. He sent them carefully, one at a time, as we supplied sigh and moans, while grinning madly.

“Oh,” I giggled, “oh Leroy.”

He gave a thumbs up, and I couldn’t help myself. I clapped my hand over my mouth to avoid laughing out loud.

What about continuity, I thought suddenly. My blouse had been unbuttoned. Now I had a couple done. Would Sam notice? I undid them again, leaving a single button holding. I pulled Leroy’s hand toward me, under and into my blouse, against my side, under my ribs. Leroy held up the phone, angling for the shot.

We traded the phone back and forth, alternating touching each other carefully. I held the phone, snapping pictures as Leroy laid his hand on my breast over my blouse, and on my cheek. I handed it back. Boldly, while Leroy held the phone, I reached straight down across Leroy’s body, as if reaching for his crotch.

“Okay,” Leroy told me, switching the phone to silent, glancing around, “if we do much more, we’ll attract attention.”

I nodded. We’d been quick, discrete and careful. The booth hid some of us, but really, we were out in the open. There was a fine line between a couple in love taking a few selfies and a make out session. We’d been very careful to keep each clinch brief.

The pictures went, one by one, with little gasps and sighs.

“I hope you’re enjoying, Sam,” Leroy said.

“Because we are,” I put in. I sounded a little breathless, and hoped it came across as deep arousal, as opposed to delicious naughty fun.

“The next one will be a little different,” he said. He looked at me, and made a lifting motion with one hand. The message was clear: Go up a level. I grinned, my eyes flashing.

Leroy tapped my thighs and handed me the phone. He leaned back, giving me space, as much for me, as to allay the suspicion of potential watchers. He carefully looked down towards my waist.

I nodded silently and spread my legs, hiking up my skirt and lifting my knees for a moment. Leroy reached forward casually, his fingers beside my pubic mound, brushing just beside my pussy lips. I dipped the phone below and took a quick picture.

Leroy took his hand away quickly, leaning back. I let my thighs rest, crossed my legs, and held up the phone. The picture wasn’t very good, but it was clear what it depicted. I handed the phone over to him to look at. Leroy sent it without any hesitation, shocking me a little.

“You know what I’m doing with her right now?” Leroy asked.

“I can see.”

“I’m fingering her right now,” Leroy said. “Right at the table, in the middle of the restaurant. She’s got her legs spread for me, and I’m fingering her.”

I was taking a sip of wine, when Leroy said that I quickly put the glass down and had to hold my fingers over the mouths to suppress a giggle. Leroy held the phone close to me. I swallowed quickly.

“He’s doing it, Sam!” I breathed huskily, pinching my palm so as to avoid giving it away. “He’s got his fingers down there, and he’s touching me. I can’t believe how bold he is. The waiter walked right by.”

“She’s so wet, Sam,” Leroy said. “It’s unbelievable. My fingers slide right in. I have two fingers in her right now. She’s just dripping.”

He held the phone closer to me, and I took it. I moaned deeply into the phone.

“Oh my god, Sam! What he’s doing to me. I can feel his palm against my mound, and he slides his fingers in so deep. He’s right, I am just so fucking wet. It’s soaked down there. He’s just playing with my clit...”

I scrolled back a little in photos, found a kissing shot we hadn’t used. I sent that.

“Every time I feel like I’m going to make noise, he kisses me. My nipples are so hard. He pinches them when no one is looking. God, Sam, we’re right in the open, and no one notices yet. I’m so hot.”

Leroy had unzipped his pants. That was a little much. It was still under the table, but the hand pushed the table cloth away, giving me a clear view. I shook my head - no. He looked down and nodded - yes. I rolled my eyes, he was taking way too much risk.

I nodded back, holding up a finger, to pause. I made a gesture to try to get him to pull the table cloth to cover him.

“Are you hard Sam?” I whispered urgently. “Tell me you’re hard, hearing what he’s doing to me. Tell me how hard you are, knowing what I’m letting him do.”

“Yes,” Sam’s voice came, his lust clear, “I’m hard.”

Victory! I could tell, he was so into it. Then suddenly, I thought about him listening in as I had sex with strangers in a mens room. He must have felt this then too. I paused thoughtfully.

Leroy tapped me with a finger, encouraging me to go on.

“Are you stroking it?” I asked. “Tell me you’re stroking it. I want to know you’re rubbing your big hard cock!”

“Yes,” Sam’s voice was almost strangled.

Leroy pushed the tablecloth back, exposing the open fly in his pants. Jesus, that was reckless. I glanced around nervously. No one watching. All right, do it quickly, and maybe he’ll smarten up.

I handed the phone to Leroy, who held it close to me. I reached into his trousers, deep enough to bury my hand in the folds of fabric. Briefly, I felt his cock through his boxers, felt it swell at her casual touch.

Someone from a far table seemed to look in our direction, so I withdrew quickly. But Leroy had already captured his shot.

I was really was wet. Now that I fully understood the game and was getting into it, it was exciting. I squirmed in the booth, my skirt having ridden up my hips, or perhaps I’d never lowered it down. My bare thighs and pussy ground against the fabric.

One hand below the level of the table, I pointed and waggled, mouthing a ‘No more.’

This was wildly fun. Getting thrown out wouldn’t be fun.

Leroy nodded and zipped up.

“Ohhh,” he faked a moan. “She’s fucking fearless, Sam. I can’t tell you what she’s doing, right out in the open.”

“I need to tell you something, Sam,” I whispered, breathily.

“What?”

“I’m being bad!”

“I know!”

I could tell Sam was masturbating intensely, his breathing was syncopated, his voice was tight, and when he spoke, even a few words, I could hear the rhythmic tension of his body as he jerked. I had played with his cock so many times, I could literally close my eyes and see it now, as he stroked it.

“No, I’m being really bad, Sam!” I added a penitent and confessional tone.

Leroy grunted.

She paused.

“I’m touching him too.”

Leroy finally sent the picture of my hand in his fly.

“Her hand is on my cock, Sam,” Leroy said.

“It is,” Kadie agreed. “I’m playing with it. He’s just as hard as you are. I have it out, under the tableloth. But geez, I hope we don’t get thrown out.”

I gave a little giggle.

“His cock is in my hand, under the tablecloth. It’s out. I reached down and unzipped him, and took it right out. It’s so fucking big, Sam.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Leroy confirmed. “She used one hand. We’re kissing, Sam, and she’s turned towards me so I can reach between her legs. Fuck, Sam, she’s just so unbelievably wet. And she’s jerking me off.”

“Oh Sam,” I said, “Do you like it? Do you like what I’m doing?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“I’m glad you’re getting off,” I whispered. “It makes it so much better knowing you are listening, just like the other times.”

Under the table, between us, he made a jerking motion with his hand, and looked at me. Masturbation? His mouth opened and he brought a thumb towards it. Oh, right, a blow job. That’s where he was going. I nodded to show that I understood.

I pulled the phone towards me.

“Should I go all the way, Sam?” I asked. “Do you want me to go all the way.”

“What?” Sam asked, his voice was choked, I could hear how tight his diaphragm sounded, he was jerking off hard, masturbating intensely. My words provoked him, and that excited me. “What do you mean?”

I waved at Leroy, leaned back and fanned myself. ‘You’re on your own,’ I mouthed, and shook my head. I made a ‘wave away’ geture. Then I picked up her glass of wine and drained it, nodding. Folding one arm over my breasts, I looked at him and nodded, mouthing ‘go on.’

“I’m not fingering her any more,” Leroy took over. “Do you know what she did, Sam? She just went under the table. She slid right down. I don’t think anyone noticed. I’m pretty sure no one did. I’m looking... She’s under the table, Sam.”

“Holy shit!” Sam grunted, followed by a fast, urgent “My god!”

“I can feel her under the table. Her hand, she’s got her hand around my cock, and she’s trying to get between my knees.... There! Okay! Hold on Kayley. Just let me move.... There.”

He shifted in his seat, lifting, parting his legs. His knee brushed mine as his hips moved forward. I had to smile, method acting. Or maybe he was just a ham.

“Both hands now, Sam,” Leroy said. “She’s masturbating me under the table, she’s using the little butter pats from the bread basket I think.”

I almost choked. Goddamn, but he was good at this.

“Fuck, Sam, she just took me in her mouth,” Leroy’s whisper was the perfect note of strangled urgency. “My cock head is in her mouth, she’s playing with my balls. Jesus Christ, this girl, Sam, she’s amazing.”

He took a deep breath.

“She’s... She’s...” Leroy’s voice oozed surprise and astonishment, “she’s sucking my cock right here under the table!”

He gave a deep moan.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Sam was chanting. We could hear him frantically working himself.

“Hold on, the waiter is coming,” Leroy switched the phone to silent.

“How am I doing?” he asked me.

“Call the Academy,” I said, “they’ve got an Oscar waiting for you. You’ve just about got me convinced I’m doing it.”

I paused.

“You know, fifty fifty he beats the shit out of you for this. But...”

I took his wrist, took the phone off silent, and made wet mouth noises punctuated by heavy breaths. I leaned back, smirking. That should add a little authenticity.

“She’s incredible,” Leroy said. “She wont’ stop. Her mouth, her mouth is so tight and wet....”

“Oh fuck!” came through the phone, Sam almost squealed, holding back his deep moan, as he ejaculated. Leroy and I looked at each other, I wanted to high five him, but instead I just grinned.

“He came,” Leroy said softly, as if not speaking into the phone. He handed it back to me.

She held the phone in front of her and sucked in a theatrically deep ragged breath. And then a lighter one.

“Did you come, Sam?” I asked sweetly, making sure to sound a little out of breath. I held one hand up beside the phone to make it try and sound muffled, as if I was under.

“Where are you?”

“Under the table,” I whispered, “Leroy handed the phone down. I can’t move very much, it’s really awkward. And dark. It’s really tight. His cock is on the other side of my face. Did you come?”

“Uh yeah.” He sounded disoriented, almost confused. I knew it must have been a really hard come, those always left him a little unstrung.

“Show me,” I said. “Send me a picture.”

“Okay,”

We waited almost a minute. When the picture came, it was Sam’s cock, in his hand, the hand covered with strands of semen, the whole cock oozing and slick, the image of the wet, raw, pink penis filling the screen.

“Good boy,” I said. “I’m so glad we turned you on so much. Come back to us, when you’re cleaned up.”

“Okay.”

I broke the connection.

I looked blankly at Leroy.

“You realize,” I said, “he’ll probably beat you to a pulp for what he thinks we just did.”

“Do you really think so?”

I shrugged.

“Honestly,” I said, “I don’t know how he’ll react. But I can imagine him being upset.”

He thought about it.

“Worth it,” he said. I had to smile. “Come on, you had fun. Worth it?”

I grinned, relaxing back and sucking air through my teeth. “I really hope so. If he takes it well.”

“We’ll convince him.”

“Unless he beats you to a pulp for fooling him like that.”

“Really?” Leroy said. “He didn’t strike me as violent.”

“Oh he isn’t,” I said, “I’m just fucking with you. I don’t know how he’ll react. That was nuts, what we just did. Fun, but nuts.”

Leroy grinned.

“I’m a lot of fun.”

I eyed him speculatively.

“Yes,” I said, “I think you are. Fuck, I’m really wet.”

“I’m really hard.”

“I felt it.”

“Want to make out?” he offered. “I bet I could finger you till you came.”

“In the middle of a fucking restaurant? Are you crazy.”

We both laughed.

“Even faking it,” I said, “there was a lot of sexual energy going back and forth between the three of us.”

He nodded.

“Real sex,” he pointed at his head, “is always up here.”

“Fun, but nuts,” I confirmed. “He’ll be out in a few minutes. I’m going to be very interested to see how you talk your way out of this one.”

“How we talk our way.”

I shrugged, leaning up against him. He put his arm around me, the gesture more affectionate than sexual.

“Uh uh,” I said and stuck my tongue out. “You’re on your own. This was your idea.”

“He could blame you as well.”

“Meh,” I replied. “I’ll just do a lot of blow jobs to make up for it.”

As predicted, a moment later, Sam came out, and sat down at the table.

“Nothing happened?” he said.

Leroy leaning back, with his arm draped over me, nodded.

“I looked at the table cloth, coming back,” he said. “There’s no way. Her feet would have stuck out.”

Kadie moved away from Leroy, to a more neutral position between them.

“You tricked me,” Sam said.

“Are you mad?” I asked. Now that the game was over, I felt a little nervous.

“Sorry to disappoint you, man,” Leroy said. “I was not getting a blow job under the table. I mean, the tablecloth covers. But it doesn’t cover enough.”

“And he was not fingering me,” I said primly. As I said it, I was acutely conscious of the number of times I’d had his cock in my pussy and mouth, his hands all over me, the times he had fingered me. But it just seemed important to say he hadn’t fingered me just now.

“I was unzipped,” Leroy said. “But only for a moment, long enough for the picture.”

“Same thing with my blouse,” Kayle said. “It was just for the picture. Buttoned right up after.”

“Nothing actually happened,” Leroy said. “It was all in your mind. But the idea of it. The idea of me using your girl, it was enough to make you blow your load in the bathroom. Just thinking about it.”

Leroy leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table.

“Generally,” Leroy said, “I think any time someone comes, someone has an orgasm, that’s just a good thing. I didn’t do this to trick or humiliate you, man. We told you a story, we gave you a scenario in your head, a few details and you did all the rest. This was for you. This was... to make a point.”

“And the point was?”

I couldn’t tell whether Sam was mad or not. I edged towards Sam, he didn’t reject me. I edged closer.

“Spectator, bud,” Leroy said. “You were a spectator, and you loved it. This was just like me fucking Kadie in the bathroom, and you listening in. Except this time, the tables were turned. Instead of being trapped out in the open, we made sure you were someplace private where you could let yourself enjoy.”

“We did it for you, It was your turn. ”Leroy paused thoughtfully. “In a way, this was fair. This time, we couldn’t do anything and you were the one getting pleasure. Reversal. Kind of karmic balancing when you think about it.”

“That’s really big of you,” Sam said.

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh bullshit,” Sam said, but he said it lightly, almost laughing. “You were making a point.”

Sam sighed. “So make your point.”

“The point is, Sam,” Leroy said, “you’re a cuck. You feel the word is negative, but it’s not. That’s not a bad thing. It’s not everything in you, it’s not all you are. But it’s there. You like to stand back and watch, sometimes. And it’s hot when it’s someone important to you that you’re watching.”

“It feels...” Sam said doubtfully.

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Leroy said. “If you enjoy it, if you enjoyed it, that’s what matters.”

Sam nodded, thinking about it.

“You guys were very convincing,” he said finally, but I could tell he was just saying that to cover, while thinking it over. “Almost too convincing.”

“My fault,” Leroy said. “My idea. Kayley didn’t have anything to do with this, I just sort of got her to go along. I didn’t mean harm. She absolutely didn’t mean harm, she loves you.”

Sam looked at me.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It just felt like a game, it started up and I got caught up in it. But we didn’t intend to hurt you. If I did, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, babe,” he reassured me. We kissed, first reassuringly, then tenderly.

Sam sighed.

“All right,” he muttered. “I’m a cuck. Or at least, I get off on it. Happy?”

He nodded at me, and I snuggled up against him. He draped an arm around me.

“Are we good?” I asked.

“We’re always good,” he assured me.

He stared at Leroy.

“All right,” he said finally. “It was hot. Yes, I liked listening to Kadie having sex, or thinking she was having sex, or fooling around. I suppose you’re right. You win.”

“It’s not about winning, Sam,” Leroy said.

“Sweetie,” I looked up at Sam, as I leaned back against him.

“Hmm?”

I was genuinely curious. He had definitely sounded unstrung, which told me it had been intense. I wanted to know.

“When you blew? How strong was it. Scale of one to ten.”

Sam blushed.

“It was ... it felt ... intense.”

“How intense.”

Sam looked around.

“Nine,” he whispered quietly, his face red.

“Wow!” I said. “Good one.”

“It felt like I blew a hole in the stall door, it was so hard. I think some of my come actually hit it.”

“Good for you!” I straightened up and kissed him. Sam’s orgasms always made me happy. He half grinned, and looked away.

“All right,” Sam sighed, “so you made your point. I’ve got a little cuck in me. So now what?”

“You’re into this cuck thing,” Leroy said. “You love the idea of your girl being sexy with another man, and you watching... or listening... being the spectator. It’s cool. It’s all right. There’s no judgment. It’s just... fun.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Suppose I am into it?”

Sam and I both knew what this whole thing had been about. It wasn’t just proving a point. But we wanted Leroy to come out and say it. If this is what he was up for, then say it.

“Then let’s have some fun with it,” Leroy said. “Let’s play with it. Nothing crazy, nothing nasty. Just have fun. I play with your girl, you watch. We play together. Everything is open and honest, no bad head trips.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That sounds like fun, kind of. But it’s not really us. A fling is one thing. I don’t think we’re up for a lifestyle.”

Leroy looked suprised.

“Who said anything about a lifestyle?” Leroy said. “I mean sure, there are people who make it a lifestyle, a long term thing. But those are the exceptions.”

“What are we talking about then?” Sam asked.

“A session,” Leroy said. “A game. Think of it as a role play - as theatre. We take on roles, we take on identities, and there’s truth in them. These things are us, they’re part of us, they’re in us. But they aren’t all of us.”

“Sex theatre?” I said.

“Yes,” Leroy said. “And no. It’s about exploring ourselves, an aspect of ourselves, embracing it, coming to terms with it. In the end, it’s about knowing ourselves fully. Self-realization. We explore, discover, and then go back to regular life.”

“You make it sound intriguing,” Sam said. I glanced at him, and as I moved, I let my hand drift down to his pants. The move gained his attention, and we looked at each other. “So I know myself through you fucking my girl?”

Leroy laughed.

“Ouch! Sounds crazy. But think about it, Sam,” Leroy said. “You keep brushing up against it, the both of you. Sort of tapping around the edges. Why not go full on? Why not face it, deal with it directly.”

Because bumbling around and exploring was more fun, I thought. What was this male need always to drive to the heart of things? Was it a factor of having a penis?

Sam smiled.

“So we just do it - a cuckold session, explore it directly, as one time thing. Play the role, to see what it’s like,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s kind of...”

“When you think about it,” Leroy said casually. “You’re the only one who’s gotten off tonight. Kayley and I are fucking horny as hell. So why don’t we go back to your place, and I’ll fuck the living shit out of your girlfriend in front of you, on a real bed, with real privacy, while you watch and enjoy?”

Sam paused, and looked down at the me cuddled under his arm.

“What do you think, Kayley?” He was definitely intrigued, I could tell. This was something he’d faced tonight, and felt like exploring.

But was he unsure? Was he leaving it with me, because he couldn’t decide? Or was he asking my permission and participation in something he wanted. I snuggled up against him, trying to read him. I wished we had some time alone to talk about it.

I looked up at him, eyes shining. If it came down to how I felt... Our little game had given me a sexual charges, and right at that moment, I wanted two men to help me burn it off. This had been fun, I was willing to see abut the three of us taking it further.

Why not?

“It sounds kind of wild. Sounds like fun.”

“All right,” Sam said carefully. “Let’s go with it. But we quit when we feel like it. It’s a session. A role play. That’s all.”

“Perfect,” Leroy agreed. “Now let’s go back to your place, so I can fuck your girl in front of you.”

“Ooh,” I lifted up and kissed Sam on the cheek. “You’re going to get cuckolded! You’re going to be my little cuck!”

Sam chuckled ruefully.

“I can hardly wait.”

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 13, Lunch with Leroy, and more

LEROY FINALLY HAS KAYLEY ALONE, THE SEDUCTION B

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 12, Kayley gets fingered

THREESOME AT LEROY'S PLACE, PART TWO OF TWO

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 11, Two Men in Kayley

A THREESOME AT LEROY'S PLACE, PART ONE OF TWO

KAYLEY POV

Leroy's place was on the fourth floor of an old red brick building from the turn of the century. At least it had an elevator, but you

KAYLEY

Leroy's place was on the fourth floor of an old red brick building from the turn of the century. At least it had an elevator, but you could see the age of the place in the ancient patched plaster of the walls, the antique wainscotting and the heavy wooden stair railings.

Apart from trying to tempt me into the back seat with him, while Sam drove to his place, Leroy had been pretty well behaved. He didn't even grab me in the elevator, perhaps because we shared it for three floors with a little old lady and her cat.

"Welcome to my house," Leroy said, opening the door, and waving us in. "Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring."

I grinned, taking Sam's hand, and followed the direction Leroy pointed.

"That's really beautiful," I said, surprised. He had unexpected sides to him. "I love that. Did come up with it? Is it a quote from somewhere? Can I use it?"

Leroy looked thoughtful.

"I dunno. I think I picked it up from somewhere. Just liked the sound of it."

His apartment was old style, high ceilings, hardwood floors, heavy overstuffed furniture. It had been renovated to an open plan. It was a bit grungy, bachelor kind of thing. A couple of guitars, acoustic and electric, were propped up in a corner between two adjoining futons. Big flatscreen television, of course, I supposed that was a guy thing.

I'd been tempted by the idea of a King Size bed, but I didn't have high expectations. This guy came across as dumb and sleazy. I wouldn't have been surprised if the place had been a hole, with a King Size bed taking up the entire place.

Instead, it was nice.

Bonus!

"Nice place," Sam said appreciatively.

"Yeah," Leroy said, closing and locking the door. "I like it."

"So!" he continued, following us into the living room. "I've got some beer. Some scotch. Tequila. Brandy. Rum. No red wine, sorry. A chardonnay? I've also got some pretty good weed. Some ecstasy. Whatever you want."

He came up behind, us, turned me around, wrapped his arms around me and kissed me breathless, right in front ot Sam.

"But me?" he said. "What I want is you: Get naked, bitch. Sam and I are going to give you the fucking of a lifetime."

He kissed me again. I broke the kiss, and looked over at Sam.

"Sam!" I cried. "He called me a 'bitch'! Do something."

Sam froze for a second, and then I spoiled it by giggling.

"Sir!" I snapped. "Naked, Sir! Right away, Sir!" I saluted, and then started giggling.

Leroy looked at Sam.

"Is she always like this?"

Sam nodded.

"Pretty much."

I smiled. I felt safe and fresh and horny, and without the undercurrent of anxiety that I'd had in the toilets at the bar. Had that helped to block me a little? Made it harder to come? I wondered. That was the other side of excitement: Stress.

"So you want me naked," I purred. I kissed him and pulled away, there was just a moment's reluctance, and then he let go.

I melted backwards into Sam's arms, leaning my head back, nuzzling his neck and cheek. His head bent to kiss my forehead, as his arms folded around my waste. I pushed my butt into him, he was already hard.

"What about you, babe?" I asked. "Do you want me naked too?"

"Fuck," Sam said, "up to me, you'd be naked all the time. The only reason I'd let you wear clothes would be so I could undress you."

"Hmm," I said, pushing Sam's hands up, so that he exposed the bare flesh of my belly. I stared directly at Leroy. I pushed them higher until the fabric of my top was pushed almost to my collarbone and he was cupping my bare breasts, teasing the nipples.

"I'd ask for a vote, but I think you two might cheat, somehow. So I guess I'll get naked...."

I moaned softly, a little theatrically, and broke free from Sam's grip, turning around, and kissing him.

"The question isn't whether I'll get naked, the question is do I get naked fast, or get naked slow?"

I smiled at Leroy from Sam's arms. I could see his erection struggling against his pants.

"Slow," Leroy said.

"Slow," Sam agreed.

I stepped back from Sam, holding him at arm's length.

"Leroy, my darling," I said. "Got any music to dance to? Sam, if you could move the cofffee table..."

Leroy pulled out his phone, the flat screen lit up, there was an almost subliminal hum as his sound system activated. I was impressed, Leroy was networked.

"Spears, Aguilera.... Eminem... How about Nelly Furtado?"

"Furtado," I said. I was trying stripper moves in my head, trying to decide whether to wear shoes or go barefoot. "Maneater to start with, then whatever."

"Sounds good to me," Leroy said. Music started up, I began to sway, finding my rhythm. Sam and Leroy rushed to take their seats, on the couch and love seat, diagonal to each other.

"Now," I whispered, grooving to Furtado's lyrics, trying not to sing along, "you've seen me naked. You've done more than that. But you showed me such a good time, I want to dance for you both. I want to strip for you. So just pretend you haven't seen me naked, okay?"

I danced happily between them, pulling up my skirt folds until that they could almost see my pussy, then dropping it, unzipping and lowering it so much that I almost exposed myself from that direction. I turned and swayed, my butt in their faces, as I did some half assed twerking.

I undid my top button by button, unclasped the front of my push up bra, and gave them a glimpse of everything but nipples, as I laughed. Turning my back, I got rid of the bra, and buttoned back up to tease. As I turned around again, I realized I had the buttons crooked, but pretended it was on purpose.

Gods, the problem with my outfit was I was already half naked.

"Sam," I said, "I want your shirt..."

Sam and Leroy looked at each other. I snapped my fingers a couple of times. "Come on, come on. Off with it. Also, I want you to sit next to Leroy, and you should both be naked, or at least pants down."

"Pants down?" Leroy asked.

I stuck my tongue out as I danced.

"It's a surprise."

"I don't know about this," Sam play-grumbled as he undressed, throwing me his shirt. "The stripper putting on more clothes and the customers getting undressed? Something's wrong, I can't put my finger on it."

"You know," Leroy teased, "if you're doing a reverse strip, I can probably find a business suit and a trench coat in my closet."

"Ooh!" I said. Dancing in a trench coat with nothing underneath...

"And a winter coat, maybe some galoshes."

And he ruined it, because you know, men ruin everything. Sam crossed in front of me, delightfully naked, except for his white socks. I wanted to grab his cock. He was already hard. Carefully, he sat on the same couch with Leroy, the two of them maintaining a careful separation. Leroy pulled out his cock, and I caught Sam giving it the side eye. Leroy was definitely proud of his manhood.

I turned my back to them, swinging my hips, trying to figure out how to get into the shirt, but take my top off after. When I turned back, I sexily undid the buttons on the top, before doing a single button, and then pulling the top off through the arm of my shirt.

Then I had a problem. The shirt didn't cover enough. I smiled and lowered it, the cuffs hanging over my fingers, until it was barely concealing my cleavage, and I could drop the skirt without completely exposing.

I danced gloriously, happily, drunkenly, flashing and teasing, showing nothing and showing everything. As they watched eagerly, I touched myself, boldly exposing my wetness to them.

The shirt fell away. I stood nude in front of them, swaying and turning, pushing my hands up in my hair and letting them fall away. I was deliriously happy, wantonly sexy.

Everyone should strip at least once in their life, for the right person, or persons. And these two, they were fucking perfect.

Swaying, I went to my knees, my arms waving in the air bonelessly. For a second I felt like one of those dancing tube puppets at car dealerships, and almost giggled. But I went the floating, sinuous quality and it was hot I drifted forward onto all fours, and practically purring, I crawled towards them, rising up on my knees.

For fuck's sake, there was a big enough gap between them, I could have sat in it.

"Move together," I told them, smiling. "I want to do something."

They were reluctant of course, especially Sam, but I coaxed them to get close together, until their hips and knees were touching. Guys are so touch averse, you really have to work on them.

Two beautiful cocks, right in front of me. I licked my lips and descended first on one, then lifted and swallowed the other. I cradled two sets of balls, one in each hand. My head dipped back and forth as I alternated licking and sucking, laughing and teasing.

Leroy was bigger, I decided finally, by maybe half an inch and a little more thickness. Of course, his pubic hair was close cropped while Sam's was thick and wooly, and that made Sam seem smaller. Maybe Sam should shave, or at least trim. Sam's head was a little bigger, more elegantly curved, Leroy's a little narrower. Leroy's had a little bit of curve in his shaft. Honestly, they had both felt about the same inside me, the distinction was subtle things, the angle of their penetration, the rhythm of their thrusts.

"Should we stand up?" Sam asked. "So you don't have to bend over us as much?"

"Yeah," Leroy agreed. "Let's do that."

Their cocks were dripping with my spit by that time. I backed away a little bit to allow them to stand. Leroy's pants were down around his ankles, but he kicked them loose. I sat back on my haunches, looking up at those two beautiful cocks hanging above me, and reached up to masturbate them, one in each hand.

"I think I'm in heaven," I drawled, playing with them. Standing up, their cocks were so close, I could almost suck them both at once. Almost, not quite.

Maybe I could get them to scissor each other or something, so the cocks were right up against each other? I thought. I wouldn't be able to get them both in my mouth, but I could fondle and lick them together? No, they'd never go for it. It was a challenging coaxing them to sit with thighs touching.

"Heaven," Leroy replied, laying his hand on the top of my head, gently adjusting my angle, "is your mouth."

And then he slid his cock down my throat. My eyes went wide with surprise, I could feel it moving smoothly down my gullet and held still as he slipped past anything like a gag reflex. His scrotum pressed against my chin for a moment and then he was withdrawing. As his cockhead left my lips, he smiled down. My emotion in that moment was a mixture of surprise and elation, arousal and disorientation, maybe a little flare of submissiveness. I covered by turning my head, grabbing Sam's cock around the base and trying to go as deep as I could, gagging a little past half way.

Kneeling in front of two standing men, their hard cocks rampant, changed the dynamic. Their hands were on my head, in my hair, guiding and directing me back and forth, alternating their use of me. There was no roughness, no competition, but I could feel it. I'd lost control, or given it up, and they were in charge now, directing me, using me. Pushing one, then the other cock down my throat, bringing my face to their crotches, sharing me. I swallowed and licked and fondled, giving up all will, allowing myself to be directed, used, passed back and forth.

I loved it, I loved every moment of it. My cunt was dripping and I didn't even notice. I was transfixed, transported, my world narrowed to those two magnificent erections, the hairy scrotums and heavy balls, hips and flat stomachs and male thighs and male smell, in front of my face. It was one of the most erotic experiences of my life.

I don't know how long it went on, but finally, Leroy pushed my head away. I remember my mouth opening wide, trying to descend on him, and then on Sam, but they were both stepping back, as if in mutual agreement. Had there been some unspoken exchange, a nod or a look between them, as I'd knelt worshipping before them?

Sam bent down to kiss me, and I reached up to wrap my arms around his shoulders. But he pulled away and Leroy took his place. As I reached up again, he reached down, arms under mine, down around my waist, pulling me to my feet.

"Time to go to the bedroom," Sam said. "That was amazing, but we both want to fuck you."

"Sounds perf--" I whispered, rising to my feet in Leroy's arms. He dipped, and suddenly I was rising up into the air. "Hey! Hey!" I said shocked. "Wha--! Woo--! HEY!!!"

Leroy had me lifted by the waist, and then my hips were on his shoulder, my upper body was swinging through the air almost uncontrolled. My arms windmilled and I fell draped across his back. He'd gone total caveman, throwing my over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, holding me in place by an iron grip around my thighs and calves.

"Holy shit!" I laughed. "Holy shit! You guys! You fucking cavemen! Well... To the Man-cave!"

I couldn't stop giggling as Leroy swung me over his shoulder, so I was facing back towards the couch, and took a step or two to the bedroom. He paused.

"Hey Sam," Leroy said. "Come here."

"Yeah?" Sam said. They were behind me. Or technically, I was draped over Leroy's shoulder, caveman style, looking in the direction I'd been sucking their cocks, with a full view of the empty wall. It was my ass and Leroy who face to face with Sam, behind me, somewhere in the direction that lead to the bedroom.

"You see this sopping wet pussy, needing to be fondled and fingered?" Leroy said, "Teased until that pussy is just dripping down her thighs?"

"Yeah," Sam said.

I grinned, this was going to be so much fun.

"Do me a favour and feel up the backs of her knees," Leroy said.

My eyes opened wide, and I stiffened, lifting up from his back. What?

"What!" I cried out.

"Sure thing," Sam said gleefully. The traitor!

"Wait!" I cried out, struggling, but Leroy only tightened his grip. "Stop! Stop right now! Don't do it! I swear to God, don't you dare! Sam! Leroy! If you want to get some pussy tonight, you better not do this!"

But it was too late, Sam was tickling the backs of my knees, I couldn't help it, I burst out giggling, squirming all over, beating my fists against Leroy's back. I lunged straight up, and fell back again as Sam touched sensitive spots.

"How's that?" Sam asked. I couldn't tell if he was talking to me or Leroy. He wasn't stopping, if anything, his tickling got worse.

"Sam!" I cried. "I'll get you for this!"

But he didn't relent and I burst into convulsive giggles. "Oh you are in so much trouble, Mister! Turning your back on... on... me! We're married! Where's your solidarity! I need a divorce lawyer!"

"She's a wriggly bitch," Leroy grunted, struggling to hold me in place. He staggered. I tried to squirm a little less, just in case I overdid it and he fell, or worse, dropped me. "Maybe try the soles of her feet!"

"NO! NONONONONONO!!!!" I arched bolt upright. "Not that! Anything but that! Don't! I'll be your sex slave! I'll wear that silly outfit you like so much! I'll be both your sex slaves. Please. Nooooooooo...."

But the bastard totally went for it. Leroy's iron grip held my calves in place, and there's only so much escaping you can do with your ankles. The giggles turned to hysterical laughter, and wild wriggling and random pounding on Leroy's back so fast and furious he sounded like a motorboat. If he'd needed a heimlich maneuver, I would have saved his life about a hundred times in sixty seconds.

Finally, I couldn't stand it any more.

"Time out!" I cried out. "TIME OUT!!!"

Sam stopped, thank god. I panted for a moment, catching my breath. My sides were hurting.

"You guys!" I said slowly. "You guys. You better fuck me soooooo good to make up for this. Like insanely good. Or you're going to be in such trouble!"

"That's the plan, darling," Leroy told my ass, as it rested on his shoulder. I was sliding off a bit, and he gave this little jump to shift me back in place.

"Leroy," I said. "Could you swing me around a bit, so I can talk to Sam."

"Sure thing."

He turned around, the room swam around me, and then I was looking the opposite way at Sam.

"C'mere you," I reached for him with one hand, pulled him close. We kissed. I'd never kissed anyone while being slung, caveman style, over someone else's shoulder. It was kind of sexy, including the part where Leroy stuck his finger in me while I was kissing. I broke the kiss with a low moan of pleasure. That fucking guy.

I looked Sam straight in the eye.

"Sweetie," I said, "I love you more than life itself. But you better deliver. Seriously, you need to deliver, we're talking marathon session, multiple orgasms, maybe a Ferris wheel. I'm talking Carnival sex! All the rides!"

My body jerked and swayed unevenly for a moment, as Leroy took a step, carrying me off to the bedroom.

"Sam, follow," he ordered. "Just to make sure she doesn't smack her head on the door frame or something."

"Sure thing," Sam said, moving into my frame of view.

"Traitor," I cried, smiling to let him know I wasn't being mean. "You men, in it together. You're supposed to be on my side. I won't forget this Sam. I'll get you back some day. One day, when you least expect it, I'm going to lick the soles of your feet."

"I'm sure he's terrified now," Leroy said.

"Your insteps will never be the same!" I yelled loudly.

We passed through the doorway, a couple more steps. I felt Leroy bend his knees and flex, and suddenly, I was flying through the air with a squeal. There was a dizzying instant of free fall, and then I hit something soft and springy and bounced, spread eagled.

Finally, Leroy's king sized bed. I thought I was never going to see it!

I stretched out, luxuriating. It was soft, there were rumpled satin purple sheets and a twisted, down comforter. Unmade of course. When has a man ever made a bed? I don't think they even know how. The little bit of DNA that would allow them to do it probably ended up used to create the foreskin. It smelled vaguely of Sam. Hello, laundry? But not too bad. I stuck my legs up in the air, let them drop, looked left, looked right, looked back to the headboard. Jesus, this thing could sleep eight. Put up a net in the middle, we could play volleyball.

Leroy and Sam were all the way down at the foot of the bed, watching me writhe and luxuriate naked.

I raised my head to look down at them, smiling wantonly. Then slowly, I pulled my knees up, feet flat on the bed as I spread my legs wider and wider. I reached down with both hands, fingers pressing on either side of my pussy lips, and pulled them open until my vagina was gaping open, revealing my pink fleshy folds.

"So boys," I whispered huskily, "are you going to get those big cocks up on this bed and fuck the daylights out of me? Or do I have to call the fire department? Because this pussy is hot!"

Our first threesome. I was delirious with excitement, I could feel it below, just these surges of wetness, that wouldn't stop. My nipples were so hard they ached. I watched them crawling up onto the bed before me, almost racing, intently fixed on my pussy.

"I'm going to enjoy fucking you." There was something, not quite aggressive, but implacable in the way Leroy said it, the way he stared. I knew he was intent on fucking me first. It was almost deadly implacable, like he'd push Sam aside if he had to. He was that relentless.

I angled my hips towards him, just slightly, signaling my choice, or my acceptance of his ruthless intent. A look of satisfaction, almost gloating, swept over him. He grabbed my ankle, his grip surprisingly strong, pulling and angling my hips further towards him.

"Sam," I called, reaching out, as Leroy laid his claim on me, "come here. Kiss me."

I don't know if Sam picked up on Leroy's intent, or how determined he was, and deferred out of courtesy or mildness, or if he was more focused on me, I just didn't want the wrong kind of friction. Sam shifted slightly, abandoning the drive towards my pussy, coming into my arms. I kissed him passionately.

As we kissed, Leroy pulled up between my legs, grabbing my ankles, and pulling them apart and lifting them into the air. I put my hand over my pussy to slow him.

"I want you to watch him fuck me," I told Sam, loud enough for Leroy to hear and to pause, "I want you to be there for this."

Leroy's death grip loosened on my ankles although he still held them up in the air, like I was some sort of Christmas turkey. Sam pulled in beside me and got his arm under me so that I was cradled laying beside him, my head resting on his forearm, elevated as well, so I could watch.

We looked up at Leroy, kneeling between my thighs, holding my ankles up, his erection massive and resplendent. God, he had a beautiful cock. I took my hand away.

He looked down at us, full of desire and triumph.

"You're not taking this pussy," I said. "You can. But we're giving it to you. We want to give it to you. To make it a gift for you. Do you understand what that means?"

His expression seemed to soften, his grip on my ankles seemed to loosen, become gentle.

"Yeah," he said, "I do."

He rolled his hips forward, bringing his cock closer. I reached down again, this time to spread my lips for him. I gasped as my hand brushed my throbbing hard clit. My mouth was dry, heart pounding heavily, I could almost feel my pussy clenching for him and then relaxing almost to dilating. I stared, fascinated. Beside me, I could feel Sam still, staring, almost holding his breath.

It seemed to go slow, I watched Leroy lay his raw cock head between my parted wet lips. I gave a little gasp, at the touch of it. It was almost red and angry, the skin stretched taught, bead of precum was already oozing from it.

"Yes," I whispered. But I didn't need to speak at all, he was pushing gently, and I felt myself open as his cock head pressed within. This time my gasp was louder, welcoming. Sam's hand was in mine and I squeezed it tightly, as Leroy smoothly slid forward, opening me, entering, plunging deeper.

"Oh god, Sam," I whispered breathlessly. "Look at him, look at it, look at that big cock going into me. It feels so good, Sam."

"You want it don't you," Sam whispered. "You want him in you."

We both knew it wasn't a question.

"Oh fuck, Sam, I do, I do." Leroy's cock continued its relentless conquest, invading deeper, the hard stiff length driving slowly but relentlessly, taking possession, taking ownership. "He's just pounding me."

With my free hand, I reached down between us, finding Sam's rock hard cock, and curling my fingers around his head. It reassured and excited me, telling me that he was as wildly excited as I was.

"You want that hard cock," Sam whispered.

"Yes."

"You want him to fuck you."

"Yes."

"Tell him!"

I looked up at Leroy. "Fuck me. Take my cunt," I told him. "It's yours. Take me and fuck me.."

"I'm going to fucking own you, bitch," he whispered, beginning a powerful, relentless thrusting. He leaned over me, supporting his weight above me on his hands, one of them, between me and Sam.

"You already own me," I breathed. "You took ownership with your cock, you have taken possession. You're conquering me with that big hard cock."

I swear I could feel him getting harder with the words, the thrust into me no faster, but somehow more potent, more weight behind it, more implacability, as if determined to push deeper.

"God, you're fucking me so good," I whispered. "His cock feels so good, Sam. Tell him to fuck me, Sam. Tell him how much you love watching him fuck your girlfriend."

"Fuck her," Sam said. "Fuck her good and hard. Give it to her, go deep, and just pound her, she loves it."

Sam reached up with his free hand, to squeeze my breast, cruelly pinching and pulling on my nipple, until I arched my back, giving greater access to Leroy's cock.

"She loves my cock," Leroy said, not even looking at Sam. "She can't get enough of it. She comes crawling back to it again and again."

"She needs your cock," Sam said.

"I need it," I said. "I'm insatiable. I need you both to fuck me, over and over."

"I'm going to fuck you so hard," Leroy said.

He descended, lowering himself to kiss me deeply, his tongue invading my mouth, as he hammered with a series of powerful thrusts.

"Give it to her," Sam said. "Give it to the bitch. Make her beg. Make her your whore."

"Oh god," I whimpered, "it feels so big. It feels so good. Fucking take me, break me on that big cock. Make me yours. Own me. Your whore."

"That's right," Leroy said. "Beg for it. You want it? You want that big cock? You little whore. You bitch. You want it. You want to take it? Spread your legs for my cock. Show me. Show me how much you want it."

"I do. I want it. I need it. I'm a whore for that cock."

"You want it."

"I need it," I whispered. "Fuck me hard, give it all to me. I need it so bad. I'll do anything for your cock."

"What are you?" he demanded.

"She's a whore," Sam whispered, his voice driving me wild. "She's an insatiable fucking whore who needs cock. Isn't that right, whore?"

His hand moved from one breast to the other, torturing my nipples, while I squeezed the head of his cock. He kissed me, and I turned my head to him, giving him my open mouth.

"Oh oh oh," I whimpered. "I'm a whore. I need cock. It feels so good getting fucked."

I looked down, watching his cock pistoning in and out of me, the shaft shining with my wet juices.

"Oh god, Sam," I said. "Look at it. Look at this cock fucking me. It's so hard, and he's fucking so hard. It's beautiful."

"Take it, Kayley," Sam ordered. "Take it all. He's taken you, that pussy is his now. His property."

"That's right bitch," Leroy said. "You're conquered. You surrendered, and now I own that pussy. You're going to get good and fucked. I'm going to wreck that tight hole."

"We're going to fuck you, Kayley," Sam said, "the two of us, taking turns, taking you over and over, slamming our cocks in you, claiming you, turning you into our whore."

"Oh fucking god!!!" I screamed. My legs wrapped convulsively around Leroy's thighs. My hand squeezed Sam's cock convulsively, and it was only his absolute rigidity that saved him. Sam's arm under my head reached for my other breast, as his first hand clutched, squeezing my nipples. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!"

And then I was gone, my body thrashing, screaming when my seizing muscles allowed me to draw air into my lungs, hot and cold and everything in between, vagina clamping tight shut, even as Leroy forced his way in setting off chain reactions of pleasure and abandon.

Suddenly, I went limp, heart pounding, out of breathe.

"Holy fuck," I whispered. Sam and Leroy's faces were right beside me, I turned from one to the other, kissing each in turn, hungry for them both. I could feel Leroy sliding back inside me all the way, his balls firm against my ass, his pubic hair against my mound.

My hand around Sam's cock was wet and slimy. For a moment, it didn't fully register. I looked at him.

"Did you?"

He blushed a little, almost shamefaced.

"Yeah," he admitted. "When you came, I went."

I laughed then, overwhelmed with sheer happiness, and pulled him close, kissing him. For a second, all three of our bodies were in wonderful contact, so entwined that I could barely tell which of us was which.

Leroy laughed too, sounding pleased, happy with my orgasm, happy to be in me, but also a little triumphant, as if our orgasms were some kind of victory over us. But you know what, I didn't mind at all, it was just the way he was. He didn't have the bond that Sam and I had, a bond so strong it felt sometimes we were the same person. What worked for him, worked, and I was happy he was happy.

Oh and holy fuck, his cock felt so good in me, so hard and full, and deep with every thrust, the gentle curve of it moving inside so sweetly, the way his pubic hair ground against my clit. I reached up, caressing his face, running my fingers through his hair. He half smiled at me, looking down, his eyes luminous with lust. I tried to pull him down to me, but he resisted.

"We're not done yet, Princess," he told me. I pulled back my knees to let him go deeper and he speeded up his tempo. "You're mine now."

Princess? Where had that come from? It was a change from whore and bitch. Not that I minded. It was all just sex talk. Everyone has it, words and phrases that drill right down into the deep subconscious, into the deep wells of sex and sensuality and send them over the moon. Sometimes it sounds awful, but it's not, it's just deep, no control, they can't help responding. They say it, they repeat it, they go stratospheric when someone else says it. I loved finding it, repeating it back, triggering the excitement, internalizing it myself. So sure, call me whore, bitch or princess, and if it makes you crazy it'll make me come too. But it's just sex talk, you don't hold them responsible, they didn't choose their triggers.

Now that it was just us, with Sam out of commission, the dynamic shifted. He was more aggressive, more confident. I enjoyed this change of pitch. It invited teasing.

"Oh yeah," I whispered up at him, "we're not done? You're not done?"

"That was round one," he gritted. "There's a lot more fucking before I'm done with that pussy."

"Oh yeah," I said. "It's a hungry pussy. You sure you're up for it? Maybe my pussy will get done with you."

His cock went rigid inside me, I could literally feel it getting stiffer, and his hips surged, thrusting with brutal force.

"OH fuck! Oh fuck!" I grunted.

"That answer your question?" he said.

I smiled up at him, and reached up resting my hands on his shoulders. I pulled gently, but he stayed above me. I didn't mind, I just wanted to touch him. Casually, I wrapped my legs around him, keeping my knees bent way back, so he could thrust deep.

Sam had pulled away a little bit to watch, his cock gone half hard, still heavy but no longer rigid. He stroked it casually as he watched us fuck. It made it easier, I could just focus on giving my body up to Leroy, and have to make sure Sam got a good view.

"I don't know," I smiled. "I hear a lot of big talk. Almost as big as that big cock."

I bent my head back a little, and this was the moment, if it had been Sam, that he would have bent to kiss me passionately and breathlessly. But that was Sam, and our perfect synchrony. But this was Leroy, and he just fucked harder, looking down at me.

"You got a mouth on you, bitch," he said. "I'm going to teach you."

"Oh yeah," I replied. "You going to shut me up by shoving your cock in my mouth? I can't wait."

He didn't take the invitation.

"Oh it's coming, bitch," he promised. "But I'm liking this tight little pussy too much right now."

"What are you going to do with it then?"

"I'm going to fuck it. I'm going to make you come buckets. I'm going to make you come again, and again. I'm going to rule that pussy, and make it mine."

"You're going to conquer me with that big cock?"

"Fucking right."

"Going to make me your slave? Your personal whore?"

"Oh you bitch," he seethed. "You're fucking playing with me!"

"Maybe," I grinned. Fuck, I kept underestimating him, he was smarter and sexier than I bargained. It sent a warm wet surge through me, and I squeezed him between my thighs. A woman loves a man who's got surprises. Who has more than you think.

"Oh yeah," he growled. "You want me to take that pussy and own it, you want me to make you my whore? You want to be conquered? Taken? That's what you really want. What you need. You can't wait to spread your legs and surrender. You need to be owned."

"I'm going to wreck that pussy," he said, his voice tight. "I'm going to fucking ruin you for Sam. My cock will own you, you won't want anyone else. I'm going to ruin you for anyone. I'm going to take that pussy, and fuck you so good and hard, you're going to scream my name only."

He was pounding me furiously with savage intensity, giving me everything he had, and I was loving it. I couldn't believe this was the same guy who had been five minutes in a Men's room.

We fucked like wild animals, cursing, dirty talking, drops of sweat falling on me, hour bodies jamming together wetly, thrusting, squishing, we were fucking ravenous. Every time his cock softened in me, one of us would say or do something and he'd be roaring back. I came again, and again, enjoying the utter triumph he took from each orgasm.

Sam recovered quickly and joined us, his cock full and almost erect, thick and spongy.

By that time, Leroy was power fucking me, my face in the mattress. We went to doggy style, and Sam knelt in front of me with his delicious cock right in front of my face. I swallowed him with one smooth lunge, the angle of my throat, or the sponginess of his cock, or my overwhelming excitement allowing me to deep throat him without a trace of a gag, the fastest, easiest throat of my life.

Just the idea of my first spit roasting sent me spiraling into a dizzy orgasm, and the only thing that held me up was my two men ramming, thrusting into me from either end, at first maddeningly out of synch, but slowly coming into rhythm.

Over me, they stared at each other, grinning, even laughing, and it was honest laughter from Leroy. They high fived each other, as they simultaneously withdrew and thrust, leaving me disoriented and ecstatic, cascading relentlessly to another orgasm.

Sam hardened quickly to his usual iron bar. They switched up, this time on my back, ankles held high as Sam rammed into me while Leroy held my head in place and throat fucked relentlessly, until I begged for rest.

Leroy slid back, his erection rampant, soaked and shining with my spit and pussy juice, watching, his eyes luminous. Sam turned me over like a doll and rammed me doggy style until my elbows gave way and he pile-drived me into an orgasm. He threw me onto my back, thrusting into me, reclaiming my body with his cock, intent on matching Leroy thrust for thrust.

I rode Sam like a cowgirl, descending onto him. Aroused, Leroy rose up, balancing precariously, standing over us, grabbed my hair and fucked my face. Below me, Sam watching, my tight cunt enfolding his cock, his eyes on my heaving breasts and dripping sweat, watching me get facefucked was too much. I felt his hips lifting up, like a rocket going off, and he flooded my cunt with sperm.

After that, Leroy claimed me again, and I found myself on the back. His body slick with sweat, I pulled my knees high and squeezed his hips, feeling his cock filling me. This time his weight was on me, his chest against my breasts. We kissed again and again with each thrust. I managed to get my hand between us, my fingers against my clit, trying to time my arousal with his, so that we could come together. I felt his body go stiff, a flush of slick sweat all over him.

"Come in me," I screamed. "Fill me, take me, own me with your come. Come in me." The words sent him off like a rocket, and even if my orgasm was smaller and briefer, we came together.

He panted like a dog, his weight crushing me, while I made happy mewing noises, and his softening cock pushed the last few drops of semen into my welcoming cunt. He rolled off me, happy with his victory over Sam, not that Sam or I cared. But it mattered to him, so I cuddled against him, and Sam cuddled to me, and the three of us drifted off.

There is absolutely nothing in this world that's better than going to sleep sandwiched between the sweaty, warm bodies of two men who have just fucked your brains out.

I think maybe, when we started, we had some idea of going home, Sam and I. But really, a bed that big, why not sleep in it?

In the morning, I woke gradually to a finger in my pussy, and a relentless, excruciating tapping around my clit. As I drifted up towards consciousness, I spread my legs wider to invite more attention. Finally, I opened my eyes to find my love, Sam, still sound asleep.

I looked the other way, to find Leroy wide awake and grinning luminously. His cock was already hard. How long had he been awake and erect, thinking about fucking me?

He put a finger to his lips, silencing me before I could speak, and indicating Sam with a turn of his head. I nodded. Be quiet, don't wake Sam.

Of course. Sam was his rival, and in his mind, he always had to defeat him. He was always looking to get some advantage. Fingering his girlfriend while he slept unconscious was some kind of victory I guessed. For me though, it was simple pleasure. I bent my knee and spread my legs wider, turning towards him to give him access, a second finger slid into me, an his thumb worked my clit.

I was amazingly wet and his touch felt incredibly good, reaching me in the exact right spots. It was all I could do to suppress my moans and gasps. In fact, remaining silent made it even hotter, excruciatingly hotter. Our heads moved together, we kissed in absolute silence, carefully exploring each other.

My hand found his cock, sliding gently up and down the shaft, feeling the slick precum oozing from the head.

Silently, carefully, I rolled onto my back, smiling as I carefully spread my legs, bringing my knees up, once again surrendering my body. With devilish glee, he eased into position over me, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to jostle the bed and wake our sleeper. I looked up into his eyes, welcoming him, as I felt his cock head pressing at my gates, and then my lips parted and he sank smoothly into me in one gentle motion, burying himself to the hilt, filling me.

I wondered if he could feel his own semen from the night before around his cock head as it bottomed out in me. Did his flesh know its own? Did the sensitive nerves of his cock recognize the semen now teeming all over its surface as it slid back and forth in me. Did the sperm sense their progenitor.

Was Sam's semen mixed inside, was he fucking the three of us in me - me, Sam and his own past ejaculation? Or was Sam's sperm subjugated, buried and subordinated under the layer of Leroy's discharge, a strata of defeat and submission. I looked up at Leroy, staring down at me, his tight smile one of triumph and knew exactly what he was thinking. In his mind, my careful silence, my acquiescence and relinquishment was a profound surrender to him. His cock enforced my body's compliance, the combination of his cock and my silence awarding him victory over me and Sam.

I didn't care. What mattered was how wet I was and how good his cock felt. And if his games were what made him hard and relentless and satisfying, I was happy to let him have them.

And, deep down, there was something more. His drive to conquest, his relentless urge to conquer me, the hunger and the satisfaction in his eyes, thrilled me. I was so wet and submissive.

So I laid back, and gazed up in worshipful silence as a stranger fucked me while my husband, my love, slept beside me.

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 10, Some Thai Adventure

OUR TRIO CELEBRATE THEIR THREESOME, AND TRY ANOTHER MEN'S ROOM

LEROY POV

"So you'd never done this before?" Leroy asked. "I was your first? Well, fuck me!"

"Well," Kayley laughed. "Technically I did."

"I figured," Leroy said, leaning back in his chair, "my chances were fifty fifty I'd get a drink thrown in my face, or you'd laugh. It was a long shot, I just didn't want to let you go without at least trying. I figured I might get your phone number. When you came back without panties... Holy shit!"

He was playing to them. He'd fucked a lot of women in fucked up places, he had a knack for talking them into it. But why not stroke their ego? People were more malleable when you stroked them.

"Blame Sam," she smiled. "He told me to take off my panties and come back out."

Leroy raised a glass to him.

"I owe you one, buddy."

"It's actually a few now," Sam said. "But I didn't order her to go through with it or anything. I just gave her a little nudge."

"A little courage."

They'd found an out of the way Thai place, practically a hole in the wall, that Leroy knew. Open late, good food. He was on his best behaviour, open, charming, easygoing. The three of them sat at a small square table in the corner, Leroy sprawling on one side, doing his best to be casual and agreeable, while the Kayley and Sam faced him.

He noted their chairs were close together. They tended to lean into each other and their fingers frequently entwined, just under the table. They were joined at the hip, these two. Leroy breathed them in, trying to get a sense of the couple.

People in heat were one thing, when they were caught up in the need to fuck, their personalities took a back seat to their sex drives, the desperate urge sublimated everything else. It was only when they slowed down you really started to get a feel for who they are.

"You were very bold," he agreed. "What can I say. I'm thrilled to be lucky enough to be chosen first. And I'm even more thrilled that you kept coming back. I'm honoured."

Mainly lucky. The first stranger, or one of the first strangers, those have a good chance to bond. The tenth stranger, well, then it's like eating a sandwich, they've become kind of disposable. Of course, she'd fucked Derek next. He considered himself lucky to have had a second crack at her and do her properly while she'd been impressionable. He intended to take advantage of that.

"Particularly after the condom broke," Sam said.

Tricky to deal with. Leroy made a point of looking shamefaced. "I swear, that never happened before. I didn't even notice. I felt terrible."

"No worries, you have a boyfriend, just tell him it's his," Kayley quoted with a passable imitation of Leroy's drawl.

Leroy winced and stared up at the ceiling. She'd come back to fuck him again though, twice, and now here they were. So they'd gotten past it. He decided to play it light, a little honesty, a little humour, admit a flaw, rather than defending or pushing back.

"Ouch! You got me, I'm an asshole sometimes. I can be such a total asshole. I am so sorry." He put some extra sincerity into it, a trace of genuine embarrassment and regret.

Kayley shrugged and smiled

"We got over it," she said, dismissing the matter.

Technically, it had broken because he'd put a couple of holes in it with a pin. Leroy usually kept two condoms, an actual safe one because sometimes you just knew you didn't want skin contact, and the holed one, because it was just easier to put it on and pretend, than to bother trying to talk a bitch into rawdogging. Right away, he'd marked Kayley as a girl whose sugar walls he was going to paint any chance he got. He was pleased that after the first time, he'd been able to talk her into taking his loads willingly.

Time to move the conversation back to them.

"So," he asked Sam, "has it just been me, or were there others?"

He was curious to see if they'd admit to Derek, or how much they'd admit to. Kayley had mentioned him on their second encounter. So he was asking Sam. Hell, for all he knew, she'd been out spreading her legs at a different bar every night since he'd cracked her.

"Just one other guy," Sam said. "I don't think he was as much fun."

Kayley shot him a look. Had Sam said too much? Leroy filed it way for later use. Mainly, he was reassured. They had no reason to admit to Derek and lie about others. They weren't virgins, but they were still new to this. Inexperienced, feeling their way. He would definitely use that.

"How did all this get started anyway," he asked. "You just woke up one day and decided to jump in? Did you read a magazine article? Watch a porno? Or did it build from something?"

Kayley and Sam glanced at each other.

"Hey!" Leroy held up his hands. "No judgment here! You already know I'm an asshole."

That broke the ice a little, and they laughed.

Hesitantly, Sam and Kayley started talking about the flirting game, how they'd stumbled into it, particular encounters, how each of them felt and reacted. Leroy nodded and smiled, asking just enough to keep them talking, getting little glimpses of their lives and personalities.

"Ah," he said. "So this is a cuckold thing."

They looked blank.

They had no idea what he was talking about.

Okay, Leroy thought. Not a cuckold thing, or not quite. There wasn't any of the harder edges of cuckolding, the submission or humiliation, the underlying power games, the psychological aspects.

They were just two kids having fun, playing a mutual game, supporting each other. There was no particular plan or agenda for either of them. They'd just drifted along, they could have drifted indefinitely, doing nothing more than innocent flirting.

His proposition, as vulgar and aggressive as it had been, had kicked them off the fence. There was no plan or intent to get Kayley fucked. He'd just hit her at just the right time, and just the right way. He thought, maybe, with their flirting game, they'd eventually cross over to fucking, but there was no guarantee, and certainly no predicting when or how or with who. He'd gotten lucky.

Hell, even now they were on the borderline. They'd discovered something - cocks for Kayley. So they were experimenting a little, dipping their toes. But they could change their mind and just go back, to just flirting. Or move on from the game entirely.

It wasn't really cuckolding, but he could make it that way.

They might not continue, unless he made them, kept them going.

Wheels began to turn.

"What's a cuckold thing," Sam asked. Leroy could see by the trace of a nod that Kayley had been on the verge of asking the same thing.

"Hmmm," Leroy said, buying time to think about how to present it. Play it light, nothing too dark. Define it so it fit them. Offer a mold, a reflection of what they were experimenting with, to draw them in.

"It's a swinger's thing. Some men enjoy seeing their wives or girlfriend getting with other men. It's a... voyeur and exhibition thing, but more intimate. It can be casual, or it can be a whole lifestyle thing."

"Interesting," Sam said. "I'm not sure it's us."

Sam was resisting. Not surprising, there was an inherent aspect of emasculation in being a cuck. When they'd fucked in the bathroom, the three of them, Leroy had made sure he was in charge. It was a drive, he couldn't help it. But consciously, or subconsciously, Sam had been put in third place.

"I dunno," Leroy said. "I think there's an instinct to see it as dark - degrading for the woman or emasculating for the man. But it's not like that at all."

Except when it was, but he wasn't telling them that.

"Some men just enjoy watching. I mean, they have their relationship, they fuck. Maybe the woman goes with someone, but she comes home with her man."

Except for the times she didn't, but he wasn't telling them that either.

"So the woman sleeps around on her husband?" Kayley asked. She was neutral, Leroy couldn't tell how she felt about that. She'd just fucked two guys on her husband, one of them multiple times. But Leroy had been around long enough to realize that sometimes someone's moments of personal conduct didn't align with their personal moral rules - that could be tricky to navigate.

"Not necessarily," he said, "not usually. Often they go with one man that works for both of them."

He was careful not to call it a bull, or use the word cuck. That was a little too blunt for them, at this point.

"So a threesome?"

"Not quite," Leroy said. "Threesome is they're all in it together, all the time. Cuckold is more back and forth. But there's all kinds of variations."

He didn't want to get too deep into it with them. Introduce the idea, lay it in there. Let it sit and simmer. He could see it wasn't grabbing either of them, so he'd go carefully.

"Anyway," he said, "it's lifestyle stuff. There's lots of variations on lifestyles, a lot of people out there having sex, and you know, they find different ways to make it work for them."

He shrugged.

"I don't know. What you were talking, seemed to me like you were getting into cuckold lifestyle, that's all." Plant the hook. "When we're finished, give me your email and I'll send you some stuff on it. You can read up, decide for yourself."

Drop and move on.

"What I do know," Leroy said, deliberately moving it back to them, "is that you two are the sexiest, boldest couple I've met in a long time. What we all did together? Amazing."

Kayley and Sam both smiled. The conversation shifted back to them, and Leroy spiced up questions about their sex lives with tales of adventures of his own. They grinned, they laughed, they told jokes, made confessions. Leroy told some truth, told some lies, all of them calculated. Kayley blushed and giggled as she talked about discovering masturbation. Sam related the night they met, and together they told them about the night they fucked, which turned out to be the same night, just a little later on. Leroy smiled and nodded, and occasionally refreshed their wine, and tried to file everything away, and maybe figure out how to use it later.

Of course, it circled back to the bar, but that was fine with Leroy.

"Wait!" Leroy said to Sam. "So you were listening? Holy shit!"

That was disturbing. Leroy wasn't shy. He often said a lot of aggressive things in his seduction efforts, efforts that sometimes were more forceful than might be technically legal. What had he said, how hard had he pushed her? He had a moment of cold sweat as he tried to recall everything he'd ever said to Kayley in the bar, particularly the first couple of times. He could feel himself getting defensive.

"Mostly just the sex part," Sam said, registering Leroy's sudden discomfort. "In the bathroom. There was too much noise to make out anything much in the bar itself."

"You listened to us fuck?" Leroy said, almost angrily. "That's a pretty cuck thing right there!"

He caught himself. Dial it back, Leroy told himself. Find a way to make it light.

"Hey," he turned to face Kayley. "You were really fucking talkative during sex. I just figured you were a dirty girl. But..."

Kayley raised her eyebrows, spread her hands and pointed to Sam.

"I was fucking to a listening audience," she said.

Leroy was angry, it felt like they tricked him, that they'd done it to humiliate him. But he dared not show it. The only thing he could do was go with it, he faked laughter, and they joined in. They were comfortable with him again. He needed to play into that.

"Oh my god! Sam!" he said. "Some of the things I said! Holy shit! You were listening? I'm so sorry, man, it was just sex talk, that's all."

It was like the condom thing, the fact that they were here meant they'd moved past it. But it gave him an opportunity to play them, to try and charm. Act guilty, apologetic.

Deeper down though, beneath his genial mask, he was poring over an interesting datum. He'd fucking emasculated Sam in their dirty talk. He hadn't known who Sam was. And he certainly hadn't known Sam was listening. But he'd belittled 'the boyfriend' on cock size and sexual and personal adequacy. He'd shit all over him. He'd coaxed Kayley into joining in. It had been vicious.

Sam had heard it all.

And here they were smiling at him. Was it really just dismissed as sex talk? Just rolling off like water off a duck's back? Leroy, whose skin was deceptively thin, found that hard to believe. If he'd overheard talk like that, he'd have been livid, and would have made sure to punish someone hard.

Or maybe... it had made Sam hard? Maybe he'd liked it. Maybe it had hit somewhere in Sam, touched on insecurity or inadequacy. Sam hadn't fought too hard for his status in the bathroom, and had allowed Leroy to put him in the corner.

Was it conscious? Deliberate? Or was there a weakness there, a hidden flaw in Sam? Something that Leroy could drive a wedge into.

And Kayley... she'd resisted, but once she gave in, she trashed Sam. He lifted his eyes to watch the two of them. She was definitely in love. There was no trace of the passive aggressive frustration, the angst and bitterness that often fed that kind of vicious talk.

So... maybe deep down a cruel streak? Something he could cultivate in her? And turn on Sam?

Unsure. He'd save it for later. Right now, he needed them to like him and to trust him. Which meant being a little bit of an asshole, embarrassed about Sam listening in on his sex talk.

"Oh don't worry about it," Sam waved away. "We figured."

Sam paused.

"Although you know what," he said, "I'm so fucking glad to hear you say that."

"Just sex talk to get her going, she had a mouth on her, and I figured I had to play along. No hard feelings." Shift the blame onto Kayley, for safety. Didn't matter if they believed it, they probably didn't. What mattered is that they thought he believed he was catering to Kayley, and just went to far.

Leroy reached his hand out to Sam, and Sam reached back for a 'bro' shake.

"No hard feelings," Sam replied.

Leroy noted Kayley watching with approval. He'd scored points there, bonding with her man. She loved Sam. She wanted Sam to approve of the man who fucked her. And she wanted the man who fucked her to like Sam. He understood.

"No hard feelings. Just hard cocks," she said. It wasn't funny, but they chuckled.

"By the way," Sam said, wrapping an arm around her, "she really does have a dirty mouth on her. She can be crazy verbal when she's into it. She doesn't need much of an excuse."

"What can I say," she preened, "I'm literary."

The waitress came by to see how they were doing and ask if they wanted anything else... like the bill. It wasn't a subtle hint.

"I can get the bill," Leroy said magnanimously after the waitress left. He thought of saying that he'd gotten his money's worth out of Kayley, but he didn't quite have a good enough read on them yet to make sure it landed right. He wanted to avoid provoking them.

"No," Sam said. "We can get it."

Leroy recognized the little power play. He didn't really care, he preferred to let the cuck pay the bills. But the real problem was that the late supper was over, they'd be on their way. He wanted to keep them around a little longer put some hooks in.

He spread his hands magnanimously.

"I defer," he said. "The honour, and the beauty is yours."

Kayley smiled. He'd learned a long time ago that just because you laid it on thick sometimes, didn't mean it wouldn't work.

He leaned back.

"You know," he said reflectively, eyeing them with frank appraisal, "I bet they have a men's room here. Or a woman's room."

Sam looked startled, taken off guard. But Kayley grinned. She wasn't taking him too seriously, but she was amused. That's what he was going for. Once was sexy. Once in a while was sexy. But bathroom bandits was silly.

"This is a small restaurant," Kayley said. "I don't think we'd get away with it."

Leroy nodded wisely, pretending to consider. He was careful to play it light. He had to make it a fun idea to play with. Not a serious proposition. The real goal was to get them home, so he could fuck her again, in front of her husband.

"Yeah," he said. "They'd bust us for sure... Unless..."

He had their attention now.

"Unless we took turns," he said, "one of us keeps watch, while the other two play."

He laughed.

"You know what?" Leroy told them. "You guys go for it. The two of you. I've had turns already. I'll stand guard. Have some fun. This place, you probably can't get more than two in a room."

"You could take turns though," Kayley pointed out.

"Oh yeah, we could," Leroy said. "I was just thinking out loud. How would we make that work? I dunno."

"Time limit," Sam said, desperate to contribute.

"Hmmm," Leroy lifted his eyebrows at the youth. Kayley was looking at him too. Now Sam had to follow through. It would become his idea.

"Uh time limit," Sam said. "We're on a timer, five or ten minutes, and we switch."

"All of us?" Leroy said. "What if Kayley ends up standing guard."

He winked. Kayley laughed.

"Okay," Sam said. "Good point. Kayley's out. It's you and me, one of us goes in with Kayley, the other stands guard, and we switch."

Leroy grinned.

"I'll admit, the idea of five or ten minutes alone with Kayley again makes me hard as a rock. What about you Sam?"

He'd left it open for them to interpret - Five minutes of Sam with Kayley, or five minutes of Sam standing by while he was with Kayley.

He laughed.

"You know what this reminds me of?" Leroy asked. "Five minutes in heaven, you know that teenager game where you'd go into a closet and take turns making out. Christ, we're talking like teenagers."

He paused reflectively.

"I could spend five minutes kissing your girl, Sam." He paused reflectively. He figured it would excite the young man, fan those little cuck flames inside him. "You know, it's doable. It would be quiet, not too noisy, no bumping around. Just taking turns with a make out session. It would be... Sweet."

He left it out there to see if they'd take the bait.

It would get him alone with Kayley, shut Sam out. He'd have the advantage of being new and exciting for her in a make out session, and he was pretty sure he'd be able to finger her breathless. The shared experience would bond him with the couple.

"Or a blow job?" Kayley said reflectively.

Oh, she is a filthy one, Leroy thought. Hang back a little, let her or Sam pick it up.

"Making out," she said, "Leroy's right. That's tame compared to what we've been doing."

Aha. Leroy spotted it. She was avoiding intimacy. She shared that with Sam. She didn't want to share intimacy with Leroy. Instead of intimacy, go to something raunchy, overtly sexual. He understood that, intimacy was one thing, sex was another. He'd tried to bridge into intimacy with her, and she'd defended. He wondered if she was aware of what she was doing?

He made a show of shrugging. "True. You have a point there."

"So you want to blow us both?" Sam asked, "In turns?"

Sam had just moved from talk to a serious proposition.

"I don't know," Leroy said. "I love getting my cock sucked, but it takes a while. Maybe we should take turns on Kayley. Not sex... but going down on her, or fingering her. I'm good with my fingers."

Kayley smiled and blushed. Leroy smiled at her. They both knew how good his fingers were, it was instantly a secret joke. A little bridge of intimacy established, going right over Sam's head.

"I don't know, Sam... Kayley," he said. "What do you guys think?"

He didn't really care. Make out session, finger session, blow job, he could work with any of them.

Kayley touched her chin, then raised her hand. "Time limit!"

She paused. "Blow jobs, four minute sessions, two sessions each."

"Three sessions," Sam said.

"Three sessions," she said. "Whoever comes first, pays for the meal."

"The winner, the one who lasts longest, fucks Kayley," Leroy suggested.

She shook her head. "No." It wasn't a violent rejection, but it was definite.

He'd overstepped. She wanted to be the ringmaster, not the prize. The girl was willful, even when she was submissive. He'd pushed a little too much, there. He'd have to watch out.

He had her right, she was the lead in their relationship.

She'd need breaking. But that was for later.

"Fair enough," he said. "I'm still getting a couple of blow job sessions. Sam will get at least one..."

Kayley smirked at Leroy's little boast.

"How about this: To make it interesting and set the mood Kayley has to be naked for it. After all, she's not the one jumping in and out of the bathroom."

"I don't know," Kayley giggled. Submissive, but not too submissive. Thing with subs, Leroy knew, was that they liked being subs, even when they wanted to be in control. You just had to give them opportunities that they could indulge the submissive urge that weren't too scary. She was sort of saying no, but not really. She was amused and waiting to be convinced.

"Let's take a vote on it," Leroy said. His hand shot up. So did Sam's.

Kayley burst out in a laugh. "You guys!!! Unfair!!!"

Leroy looked innocent, his hand up. "Hey Kayley, you still have to vote. Election's not over. It's a democracy here, we don't count the ballot until everyone has voted."

"I think this election is rigged," Kayley teased.

"I don't know what you mean," Sam offered, his hand still up. "Seems fair to me."

"I don't know," she said. "But I can't put my finger on it."

Kayley put her hand up.

"One, two, three," Leroy counted. "Motion passes. Kayley does blow jobs naked."

"I still think there's something funny with this election. Collusion. It was fixed, I tell you."

"We could do a recount," Sam offered.

Leroy had Sam on board, and had them going in the right direction. He needed to tweak her submissiveness a little more, some task or trust exercise.

"And a little more interesting: To make sure you're naked, you have to hand over your clothes. Whoever stands guard, will hold them for you. We'll switch as we change places."

"You guys!!!" Kayley said. "I think this is just a plot to steal my panties. Hell, how do I know you won't take off with them and leave me naked?"

But her eyes were dancing. He knew she'd say yes, even before Sam called for another vote.

"Okay," Leroy said, always best to take the lead. "Kayley, you go to the men's room--"

"Women's washroom," she corrected.

"But that's women only," he said. They looked at him. "Oh, right, right."

He mimed slapping his forehead.

"You get to the toilet and get naked, I'll settle up," he said.

"Admitting defeat already," she teased.

"Not a chance," Leroy said. "I just don't want the staff thinking we skipped out on them and go looking for us. This is a 'do not disturb' situation."

"Smart." She nodded. "Well gentlemen, get ready for four minutes in better than heaven. Set your timers...."

She paused.

"Question: For the blow jobs, do you want on my knees, or can I sit on the toilet?"

"Knees," Sam said instantly.

"Knees," Leroy said.

"You guys are so transparent!" she laughed.

But she was the one that had brought it up.

"I dunno though. Floor's hard."

Leroy took off his jacket. "I offer this for your knees, Milady."

"Thank you kind sir," she said, and stuck her tongue out at Sam. "At least someone is a gentleman. And I bet he knows how to handle a mulberry."

Mulberry? Leroy wondered. What the fuck was that about?

Never mind, it was going well, he had them in a playful mood, and he'd gotten them to agree to separating, so he could have a few minutes alone with Kayley. Sam was starting to go along, and Kayley's submissive streak was showing.

He wouldn't be satisfied with a few minutes of cock sucking though, his real goal was to get the girl back to his place and spend the night fucking the shit out of her. He wouldn't mind ditching the boyfriend, but that wasn't likely. But as long as Sam could be persuaded to know his place, he'd put up with him. That was one of the reasons he wanted them at his place. Sam would be bolder in their own residence. He'd be a little cowed at Leroy's.

Kayley vanished down the hall. Sam went with him to pay the bill. Leroy wondered how he'd get to go first, but Sam offered. Problem solved. What a fucking gentleman. He'd make a not of that, it would come in handy.

The washrooms were at the back of the restaurant, around a tiny hallway to shield it from the gaze of the restaurant patrons. Seeing doors prominently marked 'Men' and 'Women' didn't add to the ambiance of a dining experience.

Leroy knocked on the men's room. The women's room door opened, and Kayley popped her head out. Leroy grinned, she was already completely naked, even barefoot.

For some reason, the sight of her barefoot, her going that extra little distance, sent his cock throbbing. Or maybe the way she huddled submissively around her bundle of clothes. Or maybe it was the excited, awkward, submissive yet eager way she asked, "Who's first?"

"It's the visitors team," Leroy grinned. She nodded and grinned back at him. She fucking wants me, Leroy thought, she doesn't even look at him. He thought of how her pussy felt around his cock, and had an almost irresistible urge to slam it into her again, to bend her to his will, shove his cock up her ass, fuck her throat till tears and snot and slobber were running. He wanted to just make her scream.

But not with her boyfriend standing outside of a cheap hollow core door that an angry eight year old could smash through.

Play the long game. Eventually, he'd do everything he wanted with her, and he'd make her love it.

Kayley was already down on her knees, beside the toilet when he walked in. Her knees were only a couple of inches apart, the backs of her feet were flat on the floor, her palms on her thighs, and she was leaning forward so that her breasts hung and swayed, she looked almost like a geisha, or a slave, delicate and beautiful.

The washroom was incredibly cramped, room for a toilet and a delicate looking pedestal sink, and space to step from one to the other, and that was it. It was too bright of course, there was no mood lighting for toilets. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sink and flashed a smile. Still a handsome devil.

"Well look at you," Leroy said, unzipping his fly. He reached in and pulled his hardening cock out. Kayley watched his crotch hungrily. The slut was eager to take him between her lips. "You know, I've always believed that a woman is twice as beautiful when she's on her knees. There's something so natural, so perfect about it."

He took half a step forward, as she stared at his cock, one hand reaching out. Then he threw his curve ball - quickly, Leroy bent down, and kissed her flat on the mouth, grabbing her hair and holding her head in place. Kayley's eyes went wide, she mewed in surprise, but almost instantly fell into the kiss. Her mouth opened to his, like a flower blossoming, she welcomed his tongue and met it with her own. He ruled her with a kiss, choosing pressure and intensity, a kind of slow rise and fall of exploration, and she followed and obeyed, relaxing and trusting.

He broke for a moment, exchanging spit. Her eyes were heavy lidded, and before she could speak, he kissed her deeply again, leading her down the path.

Leroy kissed her passionately and as she acquiesced, his grip on her hair loosened. One hand crept down to her breasts. Her knees involuntarily parted, instinctively, unconsciously offering herself. One of her hands fell on his jeans, crept softly upwards and wrapped around his now fully hard cock.

Leroy's hand reached down her side, to her waist, just below her ribs. He guided her upwards until she rose up sitting on the toilet lid. He knew he had only a few minutes and was wasting blow job time, but he had other things in mind. He finally had her alone, maybe the first time she'd ever been genuinely alone with him, and he meant to take advantage of it.

Bent over, almost crouching, kissed her slowly and passionately and let her hold his cock, while he reached between her legs. He was pleased at how easily and automatically she gave him access, adjusting the way she sat, moving close to the edge of the toilet lid, and spreading wider so his fingers could find their target.

At his first touch, she shook and moaned deeply into his mouth. He felt a new surge of wetness spread over his fingers. Her eyelids fluttered.

Leroy wanted Kayley hot, insanely hot. Ideally, that would translate into a sexual fury, a hungry eagerness that would cause Sam to blow instantly. Then with him rendered ineffective, he'd get her back to his apartment, with or without Sam, and fuck her the way he wanted.

She was receptive, and soon, she was humping desperately onto Leroy's fingers, actually pushing them up into herself. She was ready. Leroy withdrew his fingers and straightened up, breaking the kiss, feeling Kayley's whimpering longing. He slid his fingers into her hair.

"Time to get to work, Darling," he told her. "I want to get at least a couple of minutes of blow job time."

Kayley didn't so much take his cock into her mouth, as she melted around his erection. Her lips flowed along his shaft like a warm thick wave, and suddenly his cock was floating in a warm, wet slobbering heaven. He didn't even guide her, just let her inter into some communion with his cock. Kayley swallowed and worked his cock like she'd been waiting all her life for it, like worshiping his erection was her only reason for existing.

"Oh fuck that's good," Leroy whispered, and let himself be enfolded by the welcoming warm sea that was within Kayley's lips.

A loud buzzer went off. "Jesus Christ!" Leroy actually jumped, he was so startled, almost tearing his cock from her mouth. Kayley squealed and hopped on the toilet seat. For a second, they stared at each other, wild eyed heart pounding, as buzzer blared and blared. What the fuck, Leroy's mind floundered wildly. Was there a fire?

Kayley reached over to the toilet tank, and shut the alarm off on her phone.

"Timer," she explained apologetically. "Time's up."

"Jesus Christ!" Leroy swore, "you almost gave me a heart attack!"

He laughed with relief, what a stupid thing. She grinned, laughing with him, stood and kissed him. He let her. He bent her head back with one hand, slipped two fingers between her legs...She submitted to both.

There was a knock at the door. Leroy jumped again. "Fuck!"

"My turn." Sam knocked again.

Kayley smiled. "Them's the rules," she told him.

If it had been a real door, he'd have locked it and fucked her right there, and he absolutely knew she'd have let him.

"The rules," he agreed, smiling. And stepped out.

Sam handed off Kayley's clothes, and stepped inside He was impressed by how she'd neatly folded and stacked them in layers, including her shoes and purse. It was a woman thing, he decided, that sort of care and delicacy. Nice panties, black, satin and lace. She hadn't been wearing them in the bar.

He resisted the urge to look through her purse.

On the other side of the door, Sam laughed. Leroy looked up, frowning. Kayley giggled. Then Sam laughed some more. Then Kayley laughed loudly. Then they were laughing together, loudly, hysterically. It would build and build, and then subside. Then start over again. There'd be a moment when it would be quiet, but then one of them would chuckle or giggle, and that would start if over again building to a where they were both howling, then descending into exhausted wheezing.

Were they laughing at him? Leroy felt hot anger, and struggled to control it. They were just stupid kids, he told himself, being silly.

A Thai waiter appeared in the hallway looking curious. He stared at Leroy. Leroy stared back, jerked his thumbs at the bathroom doors and rolled his eyes. He made a point of looking at his wrist, miming a watch and mouthed "I've been waiting!"

The waiter nodded and disappeared.

A moment later, the buzzer went off, still shockingly loud.

When he walked in, Kayley was sitting on her haunches, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose with toilet paper. She dropped the wet wad in the toilet bowl.

"I know," she admitted. "So romantic. You've got something for me?"

"Right here, Darling," he said casually, and pulled his cock out. The laughter had spoiled his mood, and he just wanted his cock sucked.

"C'mere you!" she whispered, and yanked Leroy forward by his cock, swallowing it all the way down in an instant. Leroy felt her wet mouth closing over him, sliding down his shaft as if it was oiled. She gagged instantly and pulled off.

"Sorry," she breathed. "Went too fast." Then she dived down immediately, taking the head and a few inches into her mouth, tongue working and cheeks sucking in.

The girl was a natural cock sucker, she was gifted. Leroy luxuriated in the feel of her mouth, rhythmically working him over. She closed her eyes, seeming almost to go into a happy trance. It was criminal that he'd banged her three times now and still hadn't given her a good face fucking. He planned to change that. Not now, not here, but soon.

Meanwhile, he enjoyed her on her knees, swallowing his erection as a warm up act. He stroked her hair, and she made a happy sound. The blow job went on for a few minutes.

Kayley's eyes opened, and she looked up lovingly. Then her eyes bulged, her nostrils flared, and she spit him out hard, coughing.

"What he hell?"

But she was laughing, rich peels of laughter. She fell back on her haunches, turning away.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" she apologized. "I lost track of who was who. I thought you were Sam, you both felt the same. I thought for a moment I was sucking Sam's cock, and I looked up and..."

Then she lost it again, laughing uncontrollably. She draped herself over the toilet, ribs shaking as she laughed. Leroy stood there, smiling tightly. He hated women laughing at him, he wanted to smack the bitch. Among other things, he was definitely bigger than Sam, and she should be appreciating that, not confusing them. But he knew better than to go with the impulse. So instead, he just smiled and waited.

The timer went off. Fuck. Kayley kept on laughing.

"Oh my god," she said. "This is too much, my ribs are hurting." Then she convulsed in another peel of laughter, her sides heaving. "Oh it hurts!"

Sam forced his way in, there was barely room for the three of them, it was so cramped. The two men looking down at her. She looked up and laughed all over again. Finally, she got control over herself.

"Guys," she giggled, "this isn't working. I'm cancelling the contest, before the restaurant throws us out for causing a disturbance."

For some reason Leroy didn't understand she found this hysterically funny and broke down. Leroy forced a laugh, to join in, and waited for his moment. The way he wanted to play this hadn't worked. But there was more than one way to get what you wanted, they were happy, they were giggley, they were receptive. That could work.

When she wound down, he took his chance.

"You know what," he said, putting as much cheer and enthusiasm into his voice as he could manage. "We're having too much fun for this restaurant, and I don't really want to quit. Tell you what, come back to my place. I got a king sized bed, I got some grass. Let's take this party someplace where we can really get going."

Kayley looked up.

"King size huh?" she giggled, and Leroy felt a flash of annoyance, certain she was mocking his equipment. But she was smiling, her eyes merry.

"What do you think, Sam?" she asked.

"I say we go for it," Sam said. His eyes were shining. She was taking his cue, had Leroy misread them? Sam looked over at him. "You're not some weird dangerous psycho guy? Are you?"

"Nope," Leroy said. But despite winning, he couldn't stop his irritation from showing through. "But apparently, I have a very funny cock."

And that was it, Kayley and then Sam broke down laughing all over again.

"No more," Kayley begged. "Also: Get out! I need to get dressed. What's wrong with you guys. Men are just pervs!"

Sniggering, she bustled them out to stand in the hallway.

A moment later, her head popped out of the door and her voice rang out.

"Hey! My panties are missing!"

But Leroy knew exactly what to do.

He pointed, and cried out "Sam!"

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 09, Third Time is Leroy

KAYLEY AND SAME ARE BACK AT THE BAR, BUT THIS TIME KAYLEY KNOWS WHAT SHE WANTS

Kayley and I sat in the car, watching the Bar. Its cheap neon blinked on and off. Kayley looked gorgeous. Her red hair was swept back an

SAM

Kayley and I sat in the car, watching the Bar. Its cheap neon blinked on and off.

Kayley looked gorgeous. Her red hair was swept back and styled, she had on dark eye shadow. Tonight, she'd opted for a form fitting lacy top that was somewhere between a vest and a bustier, bustier with a plunging neckline and a row of buttons down the front. She wore her 'special occasions' push up bra, a black lace Marlies.

The top didn't quite reach down to her velvet, low waist, pencil skirt, leaving her navel and a band of pink flesh exposed all the way around. She looked like a slutty femme fatale. Maybe that was part of the appeal of this grungy bar, she could push her look deeper into provocative territory.

She took a deep breath, and I watched her chest heave. Loved that push up bra.

"He's probably not even in there," I said. "It's been hit and miss."

"He said he usually comes by Wednesday nights," she said, staring.

There was something hungry in the way she looked at the Bar, like a craving, an uncontrollable urge. What had gotten into her?

Well, actually, I knew what had gotten into her. I was just surprised by the intensity she wanted it in her again.

"What if he doesn't come by?" I asked.

She shrugged.

"We'll wait around a while, if he doesn't show, we'll just leave."

"Maybe you'll meet someone else," I teased. "Mister Thick as a Barge Pole."

She made a face and actually shuddered.

"No thanks!" she said. "I don't know, I don't know that I want to fuck just anyone. I like flirting, but that whole just 'insert generic cock here' isn't working for me."

She paused thoughtfully.

"In fantasies, sometimes, it does. Like, I have this 'free-use' fantasy sometimes, where literally anyone and everyone has me. Like, just give me a mattress and a line up of men, and hell, even an audience to watch... that's hot. But some random guy, like for real. No. I think Barge Pole knocked that down a little. I had fun with him, I just... don't need to."

"So it has to be him."

"Kind of, yeah."

I wasn't jealous, not exactly. But I found myself almost wishing for a charming random stranger to sweep her off her feet, if Leroy didn't show up, or even if he did.

"What's so special about this guy," I groused. "You say he's sleazy. You've said that."

"My god," she said. "Yes! He's so sleazy, he almost leaves a slime trail. When he looks at you, it's like you want to wipe him off, it's like he leaves a film on your skin, just looking at it. He's shallow, and superficial. All he wants is to fuck me, there's just nothing else in him."

"You've convinced me," I said wryly. "I'm going to switch teams. I want him too."

She laughed out loud.

"There's something about him though," she reflected. "You know how women are attracted to bad boys. Well he's a bad boy, and all the things about him that should be a turn off... that ARE a massive turn off, somehow they're a major turn on with him. When he looks at me like meat he desperately wants to fuck, I'm wet. When I'm talking to him, and he's completely uninterested in any part of me except for getting his cock in my pussy... it's hot."

"There's something about that, he's totally fixated, totally indifferent, I'm just an object to fuck. All the civilization, the humanity, the social engagement, every human feeling, just stripped away. He's like a human erection, with only one purpose in the entire universe, and that's to push up into my pussy and ejaculate."

I waited a few beats to see if she had anything else to say.

"That..." I said finally, "was insane."

Kayley laughed and blushed.

"It's hard to explain--"

"No," I said, putting my hand on her knee. "No. I think, in a weird intuitive way, I understand. I don't know that I could put it logically in words any better. But I get it. I think I get it."

"You do?"

"I think so."

"I'm not really attracted to him," she said. "Not in the usual way. He's just..."

"An itch," I said. "An itch you need to scratch. A compulsive itch."

"Thank you," she said. "That's exactly it."

There was a palpable relief in her voice, she smiled at me.

"It's an itch," she said. "But what about you. If you... If it hurts us. If it bothers you, we don't have to do. I don't have to."

I laughed.

"You're asking after... three times now?" I said incredulously. "You've got to be kidding."

She blushed and looked out the passenger window, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

"Well..." I can't help wondering.

"It's not the same for me," I said. "It's not this irresistible compulsion you're experiencing right now, this itch you need to scratch."

"It's not irresistible," she said. "I can resist plenty."

"But you really want it?"

"I really do."

"Got it. It's not like that for me. But I kind of get into it. There's something exciting about it, you're so bold, adventurous, you're really putting yourself out there--"

"You mean I'm putting out," she teased.

I laughed.

"You know what I mean. It's hard to describe, but there's something so beautiful and bold, when you do it. It's thrilling, that's all I can say. And there's something intimate, knowing I'm your lifeline, just there in case anything goes, your security so you can feel comfortable. And it's hot, it's so fucking hot, it's unbelievable. It's like watching a really hot porno, except it's live and immediate, and you know the porn star down to her soul - it's super porno!"

"We keep thinking, I should be jealous. The both of us wonder. But I'm not. I don't feel it. Maybe because I know, it's just a thing, that I'm yours and you're mine and that won't change."

"So... you're okay?"

"Kayley," I said. "Look at me. Look straight in my eyes."

She looked, for a moment, we stared at each other.

"Kayley," I ordered. "Take off your panties. Now."

She blinked. Her lips moved, not quite forming a word. There was almost a tremble. Then she turned facing the bar. Staring fixedly, she lifted her hips, rolling her mini pencil skirt up, and then slid her panties down her thighs, over her knees, down her calves. Gingerly, she lifted one high heeled foot, stepping out of it, then the other. She lifted her hips again, pulling her skirt into place, and smoothing it down carefully.

"It seems to me that if you leave your panties in the car, then he won't be able to steal them."

She gave a half smile and a little snort. I placed my hand on her bare thigh just below her skirt.

"Spread your legs," I ordered. She obeyed, parting her thighs. The skirt rode up quickly. God, her skin was so smooth. Slowly I let my hand slide up her skirt, cupping the inside of her thigh, applying gentle pressure. The skirt was so tight, the material so sheer and stretched, that even in the dim light, I could see my fingers and knuckles prominent beneath the fabric. She opened wider, surrendering. When I reached her lips, she gasped.

She was so incredibly wet, it was unbelievable. Her lips were already parted, my fingers were almost drawn in. With an effort, I slid my fingertips up against her clit, teasing and touching. She threw back her head and moaned, hips rocking slowly.

"Some stranger is going to put his cock in you tonight," I said. "That's very clear. Maybe Leroy, maybe someone else."

I shrugged.

"I know, I know, you say you're not interested. Just Leroy or nothing. But, holy shit, Kayley... you're so fucking wet."

I kept fondling her, she shivered and squirmed, moaning softly.

"Now, you might think I'm fingering you right now, so you'll just get hotter and hotter and wetter and wetter, so that when you walk into that bar, there's no chance you're not going to get fucked. Leroy or someone...or maybe a bunch of someones... their cock is going to be in you."

The thought of Kayley opening her leg, not just to one man, but taking three or four or a half dozen in a row, each one taking their turn, one after another, coming in her, filling her with their seed and then withdrawing so the next could take her overpowered me like a battering ram. For a second, I was distracted.

"Uhhh," she whispered, her voice choked with lust. Had she reacted to the idea of multiple men taking her? Had that image sizzled for her like it had for me? She was so wet. We were filthy in the same way. "You're really working me up," she husked.

"Shhh," I said. "That's not what I'm doing. I mean, I know it's already guaranteed you're going to get fucked by someone in there. That's absolutely going to happen. Fingering you to get you to it... you're already there. It's not necessary..."

"But here's why I'm fingering you..."

"Because I love you, and I want you to feel me, to know I'm right here, to know my touch, and know that I'm with you all the way. Whoever's cock goes in that pussy, my fingers are touching you."

She gasped, took a deep breath, I admired the way her chest heaved, how rigid her nipples were.

"That," she said, "is the most romantic fucked up thing I've ever heard. I love you so fucking much."

She took a breath.

"Also..." she sucked in another breath. "You need to stop, or I'm going to come."

"Do you want to come?"

"No!"

"Oops!" I took my hand away quickly.

She gasped and clenched her thighs together, bending forward to squeeze her knees.

"Oh that was close!" she gasped. "I kept thinking I should make you stop, but I wanted to keep listening."

She took a deep breath.

"We're doing this?" she asked.

"I guess so," I said.

"What if I change my mind?"

"Then we leave, no worries. If you don't want it, it doesn't happen."

"That's not what I wanted to hear," she said. We laughed.

"You're right. I want this," she said. "I want to do something."

"Yes."

"Together?"

"Forever."

We got out of the car, and walked to the bar. I let her go in first and waited a minute. When I entered, she was already perched on a stool at the bar. Not her usual, those seats were taken, somewhere further down. She was alone. No sign of Leroy or Mister Barge Pole.

The bar was about half full, a low buzz of voices. My phone rang, I picked up.

"It's me," Kayley said from the bar.

"How are you doing?"

"Waiting for my drink."

"He's not here?"

"No. I didn't see him."

"Maybe he's in the bathroom..." I said.

"Maybe."

"Maybe he's in the bathroom fucking some other chick," I said.

"Ha ha," she replied sarcastically. Was she a little jealous? Maybe. Maybe the thought of her sleazy zipless fuck side piece guy getting his dick in another woman bothered her.

"I'm serious," I told her. "It could be his regular thing. He might have a whole string of girls that he fucks in the bathroom."

"You're so mean!"

"Do you want me to go back and see if there's a line up of women at the men's room?"

"So mean!"

I laughed.

"Let's give it half an hour," she said. "If he doesn't show up, we'll fuck off and make our own fun."

"You've got some other prospects," I said. "There's hardly any women here. I think you'll get lots of interest."

"I saw," she said. She swiveled on her bar stool, surveying the options, while holding the phone to her face. "No one really appealed to me."

"There's a couple of rednecks at the pool table, they're okay in a scuzzy urban cowboy way," I suggested into the phone. I could almost hear her smirk. "You could have a bathroom threesome?"

"I saw them," she said. "They're not doing it for me."

"Oh well."

"I'm going to put you on mute and play candy crush," she said.

"Sounds good," I replied. "I'm going to find a table with a good view and relax."

"I love you."

"Love you too," but from the flatness, she'd already muted me.

Half an hour went by.

I texted her.

"Time to go?"

She paused and texted back.

"A little longer."

"Okay."

The bartender delivered another drink to her. She looked up surprised, and the Bartender pointed. A man waved, and came over. He was overweight, but not morbidly so, balding, with sideburns. At his table, a couple of his buddies cheered him on.

"I noticed you sitting alone. I thought I'd buy a beautiful lady a drink," he said.

Her smile was radiant.

"That's so sweet," she said. "But I'm not alone. I'm waiting for my fiancé, this is our anniversary. We met in this bar, right here. But thank you for the drink."

I admired her kindness. There were a dozen ways she could have blown him off, some quite unkind. But Kayley was inclined to sweetness.

He kept his smile, but it lost considerable wattage.

"Ah well," he said. "Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude on true love. But I'm glad to offer you the drink. That's on me."

"You're so sweet," she said, grabbing his wrist. She noticed his companions watching and pulled him close. "If I wasn't waiting, I would definitely love to have you sit with me. You're just my type."

She kissed his cheek, and nuzzled him affectionately, he was so close his body was pressing against her thigh as she perched on the bar stool. The bare flesh of her leg below the skirt down to her knee, must be touching him. I was pretty sure he popped a boner.

"I'll tell you what," she said. "To thank you for your kindness and your attention, let me buy you and your friends a round in appreciation."

She called the bartender over. While they waited, she continued to hold his wrist, lowering it to her thigh, just at the edge of her skirt, and she smiled and made small talk. Her body rubbed against his, not quite accidentally. The bartender arrived, I watched her give instructions, the bartender nodding, and then he went off.

"Well, you should go back to your table now," she said. "But you know what? I don't think my fiance would mind if I gave you a real kiss. Do you think he would mind?

"I'm not sure--" he began, and then she kissed him.

It wasn't much of a kiss. But it was a real kiss, all right, full on the lips and she put a little pressure onto it. No tongues, though, none of the open hunger I'd seen when she kissed Leroy, or for that matter, when we kissed. It was definitely sexual, but more affectionate.

He seemed to simultaneously swell and deflate as she kissed him, frozen and astonished, but somehow eager. When it ended, she smiled, patted his hand, and sent him back to his table.

I texted her.

"He seemed nice."

"Oh shut up." Wink emoji.

"Seriously," I texted. "I think he'd be up for a trip to the Men's room. You should have gone for it."

"Mmm. Not what I want tonight."

I texted a line of question and exclamation marks.

"You would do him some other night?" I texted. "We can come back."

"Shut up."

"I could get his phone number."

"Shut up." Laughing emoji.

"Actually," I texted. "Not kidding around. I think it was very sweet the way you handled him. Gentle. Compassionate."

"He seemed nice. I didn't want to hurt his feelings."

"It was really nice of you."

"Thank you."

"Was he hard?"

"Shut up!"

A moment later, she texted.

"Yes he was. But he tried to hide it."

"Sounds like a winner. You should have done him."

"He was nice. He's the only one who sent me a drink. There's this pervy guy at one of the tables, a real low life, he's been watching me all night, never sent me a drink. What do you think of that?"

"Sounds like a jerk. You should ditch him and go with that guy."

"Maybe I will!"

"You should!"

"Is that a dare!"

I sent a lips and tongue emoji.

Just then, the waitress delivered the drinks to the other table. Fat boy raised a glass to her, and she turned and raised her glass to him. They all put their glasses to their lips, then she smiled at them and turned back to the Bar.

I smiled. She didn't have to do any of that. She wasn't condescending or mocking, she was simply being naturally kind. She was so fucking wonderful, just one of these people that are better than the rest of us, kinder, gentler, more thoughtful, none of it forced or fake. It was crazy how much I loved her.

"I don't think he's coming."

"A little longer."

We were already well past the half hour agreed on. I wondered if I should put my foot down, or just wait her out. According to my phone, it had been forty-three minutes.

At forty-nine minutes, Leroy walked in. She didn't notice, she wasn't looking at the door. I was about to text her a head's up when he spotted her and made a beeline straight for her. He was almost on top of her, when, alerted by the sense of a presence near her, she looked up and gave an audible gasp of sunrise and pleasure.

Leroy wasted no time, he simply took her in his arms and kissed her, in full view of the bar, and the table with Keith and his friends. I registered their shock and excitement at seeing Kayley's fiance show up.

But my real shock was Kayley, she melted completely into his kiss, returning it with submissive eagerness, their lips pressing, her mouth worked and I could practically sense his tongue intruding, and her happy sigh. Her whole demeanor and body language changed, sensuous, sensual, submissive, erotic. She almost squirmed on her seat as his body pressed against hers, welcomed. Even from across the room, I could literally feel her pussy instantly wet and soaking, her whole being quivering with desire and anticipation.

Her transformation left me breathless, my heart racing and mouth dry. My erection was so instant and so rigid I had to lift half out of my chair to adjust my pants.

I was vividly aware that she wasn't wearing panties, that there was nothing between her soaked, engorged hungry pussy and him. I was the one who had told her to take them off, and suddenly, I was shocked with the realization that I had literally handed her body over to him. I'd served Kayley on a platter.

Keith's table were fascinated, whispering to each other. I could imagine what they were saying. Kayley's submissive lust, her aching need and hunger for this man was obvious and overwhelming. And it was just as obvious, it was inevitable, no it was destined, that he would take her, that she would surrender herself willingly and enthusiastically.

I flashed for an instant on her in the car after that second time with him: Proudly leaning back and spreading her legs, opening her lips to show me his semen filling her, the shining slimy whiteness, the thick ooze. She'd reached down, coating her finger, and licked it, smiling.

Now, for the first time in our game, I was jealous.

But with that jealousy, came a sense of helplessness. I'd consented, hell, I'd supported, I'd practically given her pussy to another man's cock. I'd served her up to him on a platter, again and again.

I'd just never imagined she'd want it so desperately.

"I waited for you," she breathed.

Wait, I thought. The way she'd spoken, it was almost as if they'd arranged to meet here again. But that hadn't happened, had it? I'd listened in on their encounter through her phone. They hadn't said anything about meeting, they hadn't set a date.

Had they?

No, it was impossible. The phone had been on continuously, I'd heard everything. Unless she'd silenced her phone so they could speak privately for a few seconds without me hearing? Or unless he'd passed his number so she could call or text him later? Or she gave him hers?

In turmoil, I watched them make out. They spoke, but the words were indistinct in my ears, distracted as I was by the muttering at the other table as they speculated on what the couple would do next.

There was almost no hesitation on Kayley's part, she was ready instantly, and leading him by the hand, walked to the back of the bar. As she passed Keith's table, she ran her fingertips along his shoulder, and tousled his hair.

Although I watched with naked interest, our eyes never met, she didn't even glance in my direction, which triggered a new wave of insecurity. It was as if, in her overwhelming need to be taken by Leroy, she'd forgotten I had ever existed.

And yet, despite it all, I was the hardest, most excited I had ever been in my life. It felt with just the slightest pressure, I would ejaculate helplessly and uncontrollably.

The disappeared behind me. I didn't dare turn to follow them, but Keith's table all did, staring openly, astonishment plain on their faces. They knew exactly where she was going with him and what he'd be doing to her.

Hell, after that volcanic kiss, everyone in the bar knew.

"No," Kayley's voice came through my phone. "Not the Men's Room again. It's disgusting. Let's go to the Women's room."

"Guys aren't supposed to go in the women's room," Leroy said. I heard her laugh openly, and then the creak of a door. I imagined her pulling him in after her.

"Oh!" I heard her moan suddenly. She sighed. "You don't waste time."

"I just wanted to see you were wearing panties," he replied.

"After you ripped the last pair off," she breathed. "Why would I bother?"

"Good girl."

"If I'm such a good girl," she said, "why isn't your cock out?"

"I thought I'd let you..."

"Oh thank you."

"Do these buttons... are they just for show?"

"Do you want to unbutton my top?"

"Fuck yes."

"I bet your boyfriend loves your outfit," Leroy asked. "What would he think if he watched you walk out the door looking like this?"

"Oh he did watch me walk out the door," she whispered. "And he knew I was going to get fucked by a big hard cock."

"He knew, did he?"

"Well, I might have told him."

Leroy laughed.

"He's okay with it," she said.

"He's okay with you getting fucked by a random stranger?" he said.

"You're no stranger," she purred. "This is our third time. We're not strangers any more."

"He knows about this?" he asked. "You and me."

"He made me take off my panties for you," she said. "He finds it exciting."

"Yeah? Waiting for you to come home? Or is he here? Now?" Leroy asked. "Wait, he must be. Watching out for you.... the skinny guy."

"Don't worry," she said. "He's fine."

Actually, I wasn't sure I was fine. The first encounters had been exciting, but this, her intensity, her deep craving, felt like it was getting out of hand. We'd talked about it in the car. But actually seeing the intensity had shocked me.

"Invite him," Leroy said.

What???

"What?" Kayley said.

"Invite him," Leroy said. "Call or text him to join us. I bet he'd love to see for himself. Wouldn't he love to watch and listen to you get fucked, rather than just hear about it after it's all over?"

Pause.

"Tell him to come on in," Leroy offered. "I'll even let him have a turn. How about it. The three of us?"

I was paralyzed with shock. Did he know about me? Of course, she'd said she had a boyfriend, right from the start. And she'd just told him I knew. Did he know who I was? I didn't think he'd ver noticed me. For a second, I was certain he knew I was listening, and it frightened me. But then I realized, he'd just assumed she told me all about it after.

My phone beeped, she was texting me.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Would you like to join us?"

I was literally shaking with excitement and trepidation. The idea of Kayley getting fucked by a stranger was one thing. Listening to it, another. Actually being there for it?

Could I handle it? Would it be the most exciting thing in my life? Or would this new jealousy explode? Or would it just break me, watching another man slide his cock into the woman I love, watching her spread her legs for it, moaning in ecstasy.

For a second, I wanted to say no, to be a coward.

But that wasn't an option.

"On my way," I texted back.

***

LEROY

Leroy waited a moment to look up when the washroom door opened and the boyfriend walked in.

He had Kayley half sitting on the sink, bare assed, her skirt on the floor, her top pushed up. From her armpits down, the girl was nude. Each time he'd had her, she was easier, more submissive, more compliant.

She was gasping into his mouth, frenzied little mews. He had one hand between her spread legs, two fingers hooked up in her pussy, stroking her g-spot, his other hand clutched her tit so ferociously it was almost stretched, pulled to one side, while he kissed her, pushing his tongue.

Leroy had unzipped and his cock was poking out of his trousers, but that didn't bother him. He was proud of his erection, and he knew he'd be burying it in Kayley tonight.

Hadn't he already done it twice? The first time, it had been just a random bar fuck, the sort of thing that happened out of nowhere and vanished as if it had never happened. He'd made sure to drop a load in her pussy, but hadn't cared much.

Then that asshole Derek had been talking about this girl he'd fucked in the Men's room, and he knew Kayley had come back. Clearly, she hadn't come for Derek, she'd been looking for him and settled for what was available and hard. So the second encounter, he'd taken his time with her, for his own pleasure, and for hers.

After all, now he knew she'd come back for more.

The door closed, he ignored it a few seconds longer. He needed to show the boyfriend who was in charge in here, and the best way to do that was to ignore him while Leroy fingered his girl to jello.

The boyfriend stood there, unsure and awkward.

Finally, Leroy looked up.

"Oh hey," Leroy said, "we didn't notice you come in. Thanks. I didn't get your name?"

"Sam."

He actually stuck out his hand. After a moment's amused hesitation, Leroy withdraw his fingers from Kayley's grasping pussy, and joined his hand with Sam's, letting the wet slickness slide against his palm. That's your girlfriend's pussy you're feeling, Leroy thought.

Sam was younger, he judged about the same age as Kayley, both mid to early twenties. Sam was tall, overtopping him by a couple of inches, but slender, with a bony angular face, and piercing blue eyes.

"You know who I am, right?" Leroy asked and gave him a smile. A small dominance game - Sam was the one that needed to introduce himself, Leroy wasn't. I'm the guy that fucks your girlfriend, he thought.

"You ever done this before," Leroy asked. He didn't bother to ask Kayley, she was in a sexual haze, right where he wanted her. His hand returned to her pussy, working her clit, teasing her lips as she watched her two men.

"Uh no," Sam said. But his cock was visibly rigid in his jeans, whether he was experienced, he was into it. Leroy cast a knowing glance at his crotch.

"Well," he said, "no worries, it's all about her. Come here and feel her tit."

Gingerly, Sam stepped towards them, reaching up to place two hands on Kayley's free breast. She cooed with pleasure, as Leroy stroked her clit.

"Come on, man," Leroy said, "grab it hard, like this." He lifted and squeezed Kayley's breast brutally, fingers digging in. "She's not going to break. She likes to be handled."

Another small little assertion of dominance: I know what your girlfriend likes better than you do.

Leroy bent down and licked Kayley's neck, bringing a squeal and a giggle. She squirmed between the two men, one hand reaching down to wrap around Leroy's cock, the other stroking Sam's pants.

Leroy grabbed Sam's hand, thrusting it down between Kayley's legs.

"Feel that pussy," he said. "She's so fucking went. She was dripping before we even got in here."

"Oh his hands," Kayley whispered. Leroy smothered her mouth with a deep passionate kiss, while grinding Sam's hand between her legs. He was vividly aware of Sam watching them kiss.

"Suck that nipple," Leroy ordered. "Bite it, bite the fuck out of it. Don't be gentle."

Sam's head dropped, and Leroy let the kiss go, licking the side of her face, her neck all the way to her collarbone. He pushed his hand under Sam's, and slid two fingers into her pussy, while sam instinctively gripped her thigh, pulling it wider.

"Oh fuck," Kayley was moaning. Her hand was still on Leroy's cock, jerking it spastically, while her other arm was wrapped around Sam's head, holding him to her breast. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, I can't believe it."

Moaning deeply, Kayley pulled Sam up to her face, and the two kissed passionately, as Leroy fingered her. She clung to Sam like a drowning woman, trying to grind her body against him, while still having Leroy beside her. Leroy drove his palm against her clit again and again eliciting a series of moans. Her legs were trembling, all her weight resting on the sink's vanity shelf. She was breathless, panting in syncopated rhythm, gasping and starting with each touch, flushed red with desire.

"Hey, Sam," Leroy looked up from mauling her nipple. "You're overdressed, get that cock out."

"Yes," Kayley said. "Fuck yes, get it out, get your cock out for me."

Leroy plunged three fingers into her pussy roughly, curling up like a hook in search of her g-spot and all she did was spread her legs wider. She was so ready to be fucked. If the boyfriend wasn't here, he'd have plunged into her already.

Sam stepped back, disengaging for a minute, to Leroy's pleasure. It mean, for a moment at least, Kayley's body was all his. The fly on Sam's pants were already unzipped, he or Kayley must have done that. The younger man worked his jeans and underwear down until his erection sprang free, while Kayley stared with bleary desire.

Leroy took it in at a glance. Big. Straight. Not quite as big as his. Leroy judged himself at least an inch, with more girth and a curve that women loved, he was satisfied that his was the better cock. The head was already leaking copious precum, and he suspected, half hoped, that the boy was so excited he'd prematurely ejaculate.

Stepping a little to the side, holding Kayley in place, Leroy got his elbow under her knee, lifting one leg higher, exposing her pussy wantonly as she leaned back on the wall behind the sink. The position made her pussy gape juicily.

Sam stared, transfixed, he'd never seen Kayley's pussy so open before, so intensely dripping wet, her body transfixed, radiating wanton helpless sensuality.

"She's your girl," Leroy said. "I give you the honours. Come and fuck her."

Except Leroy wasn't being generous. He figured that the kid would be keyed up fast with excitement, he'd probably shoot real fast. He might only last a minute. Kayley wouldn't have time to come. Then once the boy had demonstrated his inadequacy, Leroy would mount the little bitch and fuck her to orgasm. The boy would be too fuck-exhausted to complain or object, even if he dared to open his mouth.

It would subliminally establish the pecking order between them, who was the pea shooter, and who brings it home. Who was the pretender and who was the man. Who was the tryout beta and who was dominant team captain. He wouldn't need to speak to it at all, but both of them would know, consciously and unconsciously, the pecking order, the relationships, the hierarchy, that had been established, set in stone in that moment.

"Sam," Kayley called, throwing out her arms. Sam rushed to embrace her, and they wrapped their arms around each other. Their mouths hungrily found each other, devouring. Kayley's legs scissored tight around his hips, one heel digging into the back of his thigh. Only Leroy's grip on the other stopped it from pulling her lover closer. Sam buried his face in her neck, and Kayley threw back her head in a moan, her lips stretching into a radiant grin.

Leroy was taken aback, somehow Kayley had gone from hot and dirty to an almost luminous state. Embracing Sam, she seemed to glow. They both did, the intensity of their genuine love for each other overwhelming physical passion. Pure happiness radiated from both of them. It was stunning. Leroy was a man who'd been fucking all his life, but in this moment, it felt like he was witnessing something higher, purer, a form of sex that was like communion, something he'd never imagined.

Leroy was forgotten. Kayley and Sam ground together, hands running through hair, lips pressing against each other hungrily, exchanging kisses, their mouths sliding across cheeks, necks and shoulders. Sam's cock, the head wet with slickness slid over Kayley's mound, across her belly, as he struggled to pull back enough, to get enough room to enter her. Impulsively, Leroy reached down, seizing the cock and pushed it towards the lips.

"Oh god, oh fucking god yes," the moaned in unison as his cock slid into her. He didn't so much enter, as the bodies simply merged, as if for an instant they became one being.

Then Sam pulled back and lunged, and it was as if an explosion went off. Kayley twisted and squealed, flailing, losing her grip on Sam, and then wrapping herself around him with desperate intensity. Sam pumped into her with fast ferocious strokes, as if sprinting, and Kayley was almost a rag doll, shaking and flung around at the end of his cock.

The couple were both approaching orgasm rapidly as an avalanche, with the inescapable intensity of a boulder rolling down a hill, smashing everything in its path and picking up speed. Leroy didn't want her to come on the boy, she need to come on his cock. Almost frantic, he seized her knee, lifting it to change the angle of penetration. He licked her neck, his face brushing Sam's as their mouths kissed and licked her.

"Give it to her," Leroy cried, "give her, make that bitch come!" He slapped Sam's bare ass cheek hard, throwing off the rhythm. Sam's fucking became wilder, unsynchophated, leaving Katie crying out. As their bodies slammed together wildly, Leroy grabbed her thigh with his other hand, and lunged his right hand between them. For a second, his fingertip touched her gaping drenched well, brushed Sam's iron bar of a cock plunging into her like a runaway piston. Then he slid back a tiny increment and found her clit. He stroked it wildly, then set two fingers on either side, curling them slightly to protect it from stimulation. The movement of Leroy's hand was too much for Sam, and he uttered a low moan, his next thrust almost tore them off the sink. Suddenly, he was ejaculating with savage grunts, his hips pounding spasmodically, as he relentlessly tried to pump her full of his seed.

"Oh god," Sam cried out, "oh fuck." The orgasm seemed to blow him out, empty him out, as if he was collapsing, hollowing. Weakly he fell into Kayley's arms, her hips rocking onto his cock, as if trying to extract every last bit of semen and pleasure.

"Oh Sam," she moaned, almost delirious with pleasure and need, stroking him. Leroy slipped his hand from between them, and once gain, their bodies seemed to merge as one, this time remaining as each pushed against each other with all their fading strength, exhaustion melting them together.

Leroy let them pant, the air in the bathroom was moist with their exhaustion. The bathroom mirror was even fogged. Sam was fading, he could tell, but Kayley, had not orgasmed. He'd prevented that. Her body was still keyed up, hungry to be taken.

The minute Sam's wet cock fell from her with a plop, Leroy announced "My turn!"

Gently pushing against Sam's shoulder, he eased the younger man away and stepped between Kayley's legs. There was no need to feel for her, she was wide open, and he rammed up into her to the hilt with one violent thrust, using extra force to slam his pubic bone into her hip. Kayley's back arched, she threw back her head, mouth opening wide as he forced all the breath from her. He pulled back and thrust hard again. With a guttural grunt, Kayley inhaled, her head bending only to find Leroy's mouth on hers, covering hers, stealing her breath away.

Fully in control now, Leroy pumped savagely into her several more times, pushing her to the brink of orgasm, before easing off. He didn't want her coming too quickly after Sam, he wanted her orgasm to belong, unquestionably, to him. He settled into a rapid steady rhythm with enough unevenness to leave her gasping to catch up, delirious with pleasure, but under control.

"Holy fuck, Sam," Leroy called from the corner of his eye. "She's the hottest piece of ass I ever met. You're so fucking lucky to have this. She's so tight!"

He didn't pay attention to Sam, only saw the younger man from the corner of his eye, watching helplessly. Sam's cock was dripping semen, rapidly deflating. The jeans down around his thighs. He was panting and almost delirious, as if he couldn't believe what had happened. He leaned up against one wall, to support himself. As long as Sam didn't try to interfere, didn't try to call it off now that he'd come, Leroy didn't care.

Kayley was slick and smooth, Sam's ejaculation had combined with her own lubrication and wetness to turn her vagina into a tight, greased tunnel. Leroy took full advantage, hammering up into her with all his strength. He seized her breasts in both hands twisting almost painfully, and lowered his hips slightly so his cock's curve would fuck up, sliding against her G-spot. He tried to kiss her, and for a moment his tongue slid between her lips, but her head shifted and he licked a wet trail across her cheek. Annoyed, Leroy let go one breast, and grabbed her hair, holding her head in place, as he thrust extra hard to assert his dominance.

Kayley's eyes bulged, her tongue stiffened, her jaw seemed to distend. Leroy pulled back his tongue, sensing what was coming but maintained his lips sealed on hers. Suddenly, Kayley's whole body went rigid, her lungs struggled to expand, but she could only suck air through her nostrils. She lifted away from him for an instant to draw a gasping breath. Then he kissed her again, as the massive orgasm broke over her, her body shaking wildly. Simultaneously, she tried to pull him close and push him away, her cunt tightened so hard and fast she all but pushed him out before he forced himself back in. He fucked hard and fast prolonging her orgasm.

Suddenly, she was begging him. "Please, please," she whimpered.

Leroy slowed down enough to let her catch her breath. He didn't stop fucking her, but allowed her enough space for the orgasm to recede from her body, to let her slip back to, if not a normal state, something less than white out intensity. She was panting, hyperventilating, her movements disconnected and uncoordinated. Her eyes were wide, staring. Her thighs were drenched.

He held her almost tenderly. The grip on her breast loosening, the iron grip on her hair became stroking. When he bent his head to kiss her, she lifted her mouth to his. This time, the kiss wasn't frantic or devouring, but lingering, submissive. She accepted his kiss as ownership, allowing him to explore and gently claim.

He lifted his head to look into her eyes.

"Good one?" Leroy asked. She looked up at him, nodding her head. Her mouth worked, and she had to swallow for enough spit to speak.

"Oh yeah," she replied. Her body had yielded, eased back to the state he wanted.

"Well how's this," he said, and thrust up suddenly, making her gasp.

Lowering his hips pulling her thighs up, he hammered into her gaping swollen pussy, the curve of his shaft driving his cockhead continuously against her g-spot. He using one hand to hold a thigh raised tight in place, he lowered a hand, until his knuckles were brushing against her clit, twisting as they mashed into her sensitive flesh with each grinding thrust. Her free thigh remained up, locked in place. Kayley's back arched involuntarily, increasing his angle of penetration, straining to place her g-spot squarely on his bounding cock head. Her muscles locked up.

"Jesus Christ!" she screamed. "Jesus! Jesus! Fuck! Ah Ah Ahhhhhh," and a blinding orgasm exploded her, as hard and fierce as a tornado or a car crash. Kayley's body surged, and her pussy squirted wildly, spraying liquid uncontrollably. This time there was no begging, her body simply twisted, riding the orgasm, all control and identity lost. Squeezing, spasming.

Leroy felt his own orgasm boiling up, the sense of lightning in his hips, crawling up his spine. He growled, a high pitched noise, everything forgotten, all existence erased, except for the need to ejaculate to shoot his semen like wet lightning boiling its way through his urethra into the waiting womb prepared.

"Fuck," he grunted, thrusting again and again, any thought of Kayley's pleasure or orgasm forgotten. He was vaguely aware of the spastic wet flesh wrapped tight around him, clenching and clenching, the way it almost pushed him out and his luminous need pushed back in.

Finally, it seemed to yield, going limp, her pussy surrendering, all tension drained from it.

Victorious, Leroy's cock spat and spurted the remainder of his semen into her conquered womb, her body yielding bonelessly to it's new master.

Having vanquished the conquered exhausted girl, his cock finally began to yield. With a sensation akin to heartbreak and loss, Leroy felt his erection fade, and his cock began to slip from this vagina he'd laboured so hard to make his.

Leroy stepped away, panting hard, his muscles felt exhausted, as if he'd run a marathon, but he felt the satisfaction of knowing her womb had been pumped full of his seed.

As he retreated, Sam stepped in again, and the couple humped and joined their bodies, kissing and touching each other. Leroy didn't care, Sam wasn't hard enough to put it in her. They could kiss all they wanted, but he was the one that claimed her.

Two to nothing, fucker, he thought triumphantly, I made her orgasm, you couldn't and it's my come, not yours, running down her leg.

Who the fuck were these people? he thought suddenly, as he watched them.

He had no read on them. At first, he'd marked Kayley as just a dumb slut, the sort of girl you use like kleenex, blowing a load and letting her take care of her own orgasm, cum or not, because she wasn't worth anything more.

But she'd come back, and done Derek. He'd been jealous. She'd come on to him, and he'd seen her as a fun slut, someone exciting, with a wild streak and a need to be ridden hard and eventually broken, and he'd operated with that.

But now, watching them together, she was something else. They were something else. There was something desirable about them, something exciting. He craved it, he wanted whatever it was they had for himself, to take it, or destroy it, but somehow, to come as close as he could to possessing it.

"Wow," he said. "That was intense. Wild. Do you guys do this all the time?"

"No," Kayley said. "First time."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

"First time," Leroy said, trying to sound curious, rather than sarcastic, "except for the other times."

Sam and Kayley looked at each other.

"It's complicated," Sam said.

Leroy carefully put his cock away and zipped up.

"Oh yeah," he said in his friendliest, most engaging tone. "That sounds like a hell of a story."

"You know what?" he told them, "I bet sooner or later, someone else is going to want to use this bathroom for something."

"How about we go out and get something to eat, on me. I don't know about you, but suddenly, I'm starved."

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 08, Lost in Darkness

KAYLEY GOES DOWN A DARK PATH, PART THREE OF THREE

When I came out, there was another man sitting with Leroy. So much for his promise of 'last one.' Like... fuck, man! "Fuck you, I do

KAYLEY

When I came out, there was another man sitting with Leroy. So much for his promise of 'last one.'

Like... fuck, man!

"Fuck you, I don't want to keep doing this," I told him.

There was a glass of wine waiting for me. I drank it in one swallow.

"I'm just going to go in the Men's room and wait, and when one comes out, you send the next one in. One at a time. And when I'm done, I'm fucking done, okay."

The wine sent a warm glow through me, and cleared the taste in my mouth. I was still horny and jangly inside, I could feel myself returning to balance. But my body felt erratic and craving, unsettled, maybe I needed cock to reset me. And there were smudgy awkward feeling, need and loathing. I didn't want to think about it at all.

I didn't wait for an answer, I just tapped the guy's arm. He followed me. When we got to the Men's room, I pulled off the dress and flung it in the corner. I wasn't interested in talking. I went into the toilet stall, and bent over the toilet.

I waited, bent over, back arched, legs spread, pussy on display waiting to be taken. After a moment, I felt hands on my ass. Fingers slid into me, and I rolled my hips in welcome as he fumbled, and eventually gave me his cock. He pounded me good and hard and a grunted and moaned and gasped and loved it. He slapped my ass, and pulled my hair, and I arched my back and fucked myself on him, and swore and said Shit and cunt and fuck me a lot.

When he was done, I didn't bother to talk to him, I just waited, feeling his cum slide down my thigh. He pulled up his pants and left.

A few minutes later, there was another cock in me, fucking me hard, different but just as good. And when he finished, I waited and the next one came. I think four or five. I think some of them wore condoms. One was big, but I don't know which. I came a couple of times, I don't know which ones I came on. Came close a couple of times.

Then I was alone. I waited and eventually turned around and sat on the toilet for a few minutes, wiping men's come with toilet paper, feeling it drop out of me. I was so fucking tired. I put on my dress and walked out to sit beside Leroy. There were a couple of men with him, I ignored him.

"I need a drink," I said.

"More wine?" he asked.

I sighed.

"Maybe something harder?"

"We're doing shots," he said. "You can have m--"

I didn't wait, I downed it. Then I downed someone else's. Fuck them. A warm glow spread through my stomach but otherwise they didn't affect me. I figured maybe getting railed one after the other burned off the calories or something.

"I'm done. I want my fucking purse."

He handed it over.

"Nothing's touched," he assured me.

"Where's my phone."

He handed it over.

"I was keeping it safe."

I gave him a 'fuck you' look.

I called Sam, but no answer. It just went to voicemail.

I looked at the time. Fuck. Two and a half hours, almost! Where was Sam?

I checked text messages. There were a lot of them. I scrolled through.

"I'm ready."

"Hello?"

"Are you still at the bar?"

"Where are you?

"You must be having fun."

"Are you there?"

"I'm glad you're having fun, but call."

"Where are you?"

"I just called. Pick up."

"I'm here, where are you?"

"WHERE ARE YOU????"

The last fifteen minutes ago. Suddenly, I was galvanized, wide awake. Almost as if I'd snapped awake from drowsing off.

"Sam's here!" I said.

"Who?" Leroy asked.

"My... Uber driver. Sam. His name is Sam. He's here!"

I started looking around frantically. I couldn't see him. But he was here. He had to be here. I turned on Leroy.

"Sam," I said. "Did you see him?"

"I don't even know what he looks like."

"Tall, slender, dark hair. Maybe leather jacket."

"Yeah," he said. "I've seen him. He's around somewhere."

I couldn't see him. I went over to the other side of the bar, scanning tables. Came back. Circling around.

"Sam?" I called. Not loud or anything, just normal voice. "Sam?"

"I don't see him," I told him. "Where is he? Where did you see him?"

I stepped up onto a chair, looking around, making a complete circle. But I didn't see him.

"I did talk to him," Leroy said. "He said he was going to step out and take care of some things. He said he'd let you have your fun and be right back."

"What?" Still standing on the chair, I bent down to talk to him. "You didn't say you talked to him."

"I forgot. But oh sure, we talked. He was happy you were having fun. He didn't want to get in the way."

"Where is he?" I demanded. "When it he coming back."

"Oh, don't worry," Leroy said. "He's on his way right now."

I felt palpable relief. I thought I'd missed him.

"He said something though," Leroy said.

"What?"

"I had this idea, and he was all for it. He wanted you to do it. He wanted to watch. He said you'd love it, and he was going to be right there for it. He wanted you to really show off."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded.

"He loved what you were doing," he said. "I told him. He didn't want to stop you."

"Wait! What?"

"He had this idea for you."

"Sam?" My brow furrowed.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, ESPECIALLY GENTLEMEN," Leroy's voice boomed, silencing the room. "WE'VE JUST HAD THE PLEASURE, SOME OF YOU MORE THAN OTHERS, OF HAVING MISS KAYLEY COME AND VISIT. LET'S ALL GIVE HER A BIG HAND. IT'S ABOUT TIME FOR HER TO GO."

Everyone was looking at me. Probably thinking 'Who the hell is the redheaded bitch in the trashy dress?' Which was embarrassing.

Except for the ones who knew or suspected what I'd been doing on my visits. Which was even more embarrassing.

There was a smattering of applause.

I smiled tentatively and waved.

"Hi."

I tried to get down, but Leroy stopped me.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

"Just go with it," he said.

So I stood on the chair, looking back at the people in the bar.

"NOW," Leroy boomed, "SOME OF US ARE VERY BIG ADMIRERS OF KAYLEY, AND I THINK IT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA IF KAYLEY GAVE US ALL A PEEK TO SEE WHY WE HOLD HER IN SUCH HIGH ESTEEM."

What the fuck was he talking about?

From a table off to the side, someone started a chant. "Show us! Show us!" Other tables, scattered here and there, started to take it up.

"Give them a dance," Leroy said. "Like on TikTok."

"I don't dance on TikTok," I said.

"Just dance," he said. "Show some moves. Sway a bit. They're all looking at you, give them a show."

Blushing. I started to dance. Or mainly sway. I was standing on a wooden bar chair after all, there was only basically the room of a fat guy's bum. So I sort of swayed and waved. Some people clapped, but mostly, it was just watching. The energy felt better, more positive. I felt more comfortable

The torn side of my dress swung away, and I had to grab it before I exposed too much, and I'd exposed a lot.

There was a groan, from a table, disappointed at not being able to glimpse my vagina.

"SHOW US! SHOW US! SHOW US!"

There were cheers and catcalls, everyone was looking at me. I was blushing hard, smiling awkwardly.

"Show them what you got, Kayley," he told me. "Come on, you've been showing everyone all night anyway."

I knew what he meant.

"I can't," I said.

"Of course you can," he said. "Show them. Sam said to do it."

"Bullshit," I said, "you didn't talk to Sam at all."

But tentatively, I pulled the torn cup of the dress, the spaghetti strap falling down my arm, exposing more and more of my breast. I could feel the attention ramping up. I exposed a nipple.

Cheers, and more demands for "SHOW US! SHOW US!"

I grinned nervously, swaying, turning in a slow circle, rocking my hip and shoulders. I covered my nipple, but most of my breast was exposed. I pulled at the fabric of the other cup, exposing more breast. I let my nipples fall out, both of them and pressed my breasts together, turning slowly to give everyone a good view.

There was something electric in the air, some excitement, some elation. I'd been embarrassed up on the chair, but this wasn't so bad. It was almost fun. I teased, concealing my breasts, one or the other, then showing them off.

As I swayed, the dress swung, and I stopped bothering to try to make sure it covered. What was a fleeting glimpse of a pussy. But the more they glimpsed, the more they wanted. The demand became "SHOW US YOUR PUSSY!"

I pulled the skirt of my dress aside, dancing on the chair, weirdly, wildly elated. I'd never thought of myself as an exhibitionist, but apparently I was. Here I was, practically dancing on a table, showing my thoroughly fucked vagina to everyone in the bar, and I was practically giddy. I was grinning. I wanted to laugh.

"Take it all off, Kayley," Leroy said. He was grinning and nodding. "They want to see it, you want to shot them. Take the dress off."

I looked down at him, nodding, and even though he was talking, it felt like the idea was my own. As if I'd thought of it first, or at the same time, or as if his words just pulled my urge together.

I pulled the dress off entirely, swinging it over my head, entirely naked now, but for the remains of my stay ups and my ankle boots, dancing on the chair, to cheers and catcalls and chants. I couldn't help myself. What a fucked up night, I thought. This was so much fun. There'd been ups and dark downs, but this was definitely an up, an escape from the darks and I threw myself into it. A song came on the jukebox, Eminem, and I danced to it. Something else replaced it, I danced to that.

Okay, I decided. That was it. Leroy was beside me at the chair.

"Okay," I said. "That was fun. I think I'm done."

He had a shot ready for me. I swallowed it.

"Just let me make an announcement," he said.

I shrugged.

"Okay."

"OKAY BOYS," Leroy boomed, "KAYLEY HAS SHOWN US HER GOODS, NOW BEFORE SHE LEAVES, SHE HAS A TREAT FOR HER FANS. A GROUP SESSION. TWENTY DOLLARS A HEAD, BACK OF THE BAR. FIRST COME, FIRST SERVICED."

I smiled vaguely at the bar, turning around, showing off my naked body, as he yelled. What the fuck? I thought. But true to word, he reached up a hand, to help me down.

"What the fuck was that about?" I asked, pulling the torn remains of my dress back on. I turned. "Can you zip me?"

"Autograph session," he said.

"No one is going to pay me twenty dollars for an autograph," I scoffed.

"Of course not," he said. "They're going to pay me."

He was leading me by my wrist to the back of the bar.

"Yeah, but they're not going to pay at all," I said, "I'm nobody."

"You're a naked girl who danced spontaneously in front of an entire bar," he said. "That's worth an autograph. And a picture."

"Wait," I said. "A picture?"

"Yeah," he said, "of course. A picture of you and an autograph. That's how memories are made."

"I don't know about pictures."

"You sure?" He asked. "I saw some pretty good pictures. Including a facial. I'm jealous. I should have asked to take some."

"That's different."

"Oh relax," he said. "Half the bar just took your pictures while you were dancing naked. Everyone's got cameras in their phones. That ship has sailed. Just go with it, make me a little money. Come on."

"All right."

"Just lay on the bed, let people take pictures," he said. "Easy. Sign some autographs. Lay down with some guys. Kiss them."

"Bed?"

"By the pool table," he said, "a futon couch, folds out as a bed."

Some guy thrust a twenty in my face. Leroy snatched it.

"I want more than a picture," the guy said.

"Sure thing," Leroy said. "You'll get a turn."

"You sure?"

"Oh yeah," he said, "she's up for anything."

"Who was that?" I asked.

"An admirer," Leroy said.

"He sounded like he wanted to fuck me?"

We were at the back of the bar near the pool tables, there was an open area, a dozen men milled around. More were gathering to watch from a distance. A black leather futon had flattened out into a bed.

"Admirers over here," Leroy called. "Have your money out. You can watch, but no standing on pool tables. Condoms if anyone wants them, but she was clean up to now."

"Leroy," I protested. "What the fuck."

He pulled me aside, walking me towards the leather futon.

"Take off the dress," he ordered, his tone commanding enough, I started. Then I stopped.

"No, I want to talk. I'm not--"

An irritated look crossed his face.

"Kayley," he boomed authoritatively at me, "stop fucking around, and just take off the fucking dress right now you stupid bitch!" Immediately after, in a softer voice, "then we'll talk."

I took off the dress, reflexively. He nodded approval.

"Okay," he said.

"I don't--"

"Kayley, you already fucked half the men in the bar already, and the entire bar has seen you naked. Grow the fuck up, already. What's your problem?"

"What are we doing?" I said helplessly. "I just want to go home."

"Well yeah," he said. "Of course you do. I want to get you home. You just have to do this first. Don't worry, not everyone's going to fuck you. You already did a lot of guys already, remember. Some of them will fuck you. But some of them, you're just going to blow. So what. And some, probably won't even touch you. They'll just jerk off on your tits or something, no big deal."

"Jesus Christ," I said.

A public gangbang.

He put his arm around my shoulder.

"Look," he said, "don't worry about it. It's in public. Most guys aren't going to do public. They'll fuck in private, but there aren't that many willing to fuck in front of people. So it'll just be a few, and most of them won't even fuck you. Mostly, it's just watching. You'll be finished, and then you can go home."

He paused.

"We'll call Sam to come and get you. All you have to do is start, we'll call him. He'll be here by the time you're finished. Or hell, I'll find you someone to drive you home myself. I'll even go with you, make sure you get home safe. You just need to do this for me. Okay? Yes. Simple.

I didn't know what to say. He must have seen my expression. He softened.

"Look, Kayley," he said. "This is just what you've been doing. Remember what we agreed. You remember what you said. You were going to make me..."

"I was going to make you lots of money," I mumbled. But I had done that...

"And..." he demanded. "What else?"

I searched my memory, my stomach falling.

"I promised to do what you told me."

"That's right," he said reassuringly. "You promised to make me lots of money by fucking guys. And you did. You promised to do what you were told. And you did. Now you just need to do what I tell you this last time."

"Come on Kayley. The thing is, you needed it, you wanted to do it. I didn't force you, you made those promises, because it you craved it. You made me do it to you, because it was what you really wanted. This is just that. Deep down, you want this, you're doing this. But this way, it'll be better for you. Alone with these guys, that could have been dangerous. Here, I'll be watching you. You'll be safe."

"Fuck," I said, I felt confused. "I don't know."

"Come here," he said, leading to the edge of the futon. "Sit down with me. Spread your legs."

I just kept obeying, sitting, spreading. I couldn't seem to help it. He told me to do things, and my body obeyed, while my mind was left dithering. Maybe he was right. He sat down with me, reaching forward between my legs, cupping my vagina. His palm found my clit, and his fingers moved up unerringly, making me gasp. My heart was still pounding with anxiety.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"Fuck yes," I said.

"But you're wet, Kayley, you're really fucking wet. Some part of you is very turned on by this, you're just not acknowledging it."

He paused.

"When you were up there dancing on the chair, naked," he said. "You were loving it? Excited?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"Aroused?

I didn't answer.

"Fuck, Kayley. You can't lie to me. I was standing right there. I could smell how aroused you were. I could look up and see your lips pulling open, and practically dripping. Don't bullshit me."

"Okay," I admitted. "I guess. Yes."

"It's dark, maybe, but you crave dark, don't you. Or you wouldn't have given yourself to me. I'm just doing what you want. You need me to do this."

"Kayley," he said, "look me in the eye, and admit, the things I made you do tonight. You wanted them. You needed them. You could have quit any time. But you kept asking. You wanted me to make you do them, because it was really you. It was in you. Every time I gave you a chance to be a whore, you took it, and you went further."

I looked away. Was I really a fucked up, masochistic slut, looking for an excuse to wallow in the gutter. He took my chin, brought me back to face him.

"In the eyes, Kayley. No games. You have to admit it, to me, to yourself."

He was staring.

"All right. I guess. Yes, I suppose."

Staring.

"You guess?"

"Yes. Okay. I admit it."

I sighed. Maybe it was true. Or so close to true that it didn't matter. Or it was just true.

He nodded.

"Good, that's a breakthrough. Some real self honesty there. Now Kayley, you need to understand. This is no different."

"No?"

"No different. It's just your insecurity talking. This is something you need, for yourself."

"I do?"

"Yes."

He paused.

"And you need to do it for me. You promised. You owe me. You do this, we're good. You go home, live happily ever after. But you want this, and you owe it to me."

I looked down.

"How many?"

He smiled.

"Fucks? Not that many. Five or six, tops. You've already done that many. A dozen maybe. Not much more. Probably not that many."

"Uhm... Okay? I mean--"

"Most will want to do other stuff. Low impact. Suck a few cocks. Get some come shooting on you. Nothing to it. If you're comfortable, you can hurry it by doing two or three at once."

My stomach was full of butterflies. I felt cornered, trapped, as if he'd run circles around me. It felt like I couldn't find an excuse not to do it. Was it the alcohol slowing me down. Was it really just... Did it really make sense, was the only thing to do.

To be a slut and finally show everyone what a whore I was, Mandeep's voice was in my head suddenly. That dark thing that Mandeep had touched was in full force, hungry and powerful. It wanted this.

Leroy hadn't been with us with Mandeep, but if he had been, he would have used that on me. But that was okay, because I was using it on myself. Maybe this was what I wanted. Maybe this was really who I was. Maybe this was what I deserved.

"I guess... Okay. Yes," I said tentatively, "I can do that."

"Good girl," he said.

I smiled.

"There you go," he said, "there's that smile. I promise, once you get going. You're to love it. You won't want to stop. It's just jitters. I promise."

"You promise?"

He held up crossed fingers. "Scouts honor."

I nodded. "Okay."

I took a breath. "You'll keep me safe?"

"Of course," he said. "I've looked after you all night."

"Okay," I took a deep breath. "I do this and then I go home."

"Sure," he paused a beat. "One thing, one really important thing..."

"What?"

"Your admirers. You want to make them happy. You smile for them, okay. You show them you're having a good time. You smile at the cameras. You tell them how good their cocks feel, how much fun you're having, how much you want them. This is for you, but these guys, it'll be the highlight of their lives. You want them to feel good about the experience."

I took a deep breath.

"I can do that," I said. Strangely, it actually made it easier. I was thinking of other people, managing them, how to make them feel. Not sort of getting in my own head. In a weird way, it felt like having control, not just having it happen.

"I can do that," I said more confidently.

"That's my good girl," he said. "Now get up on the bed, spread for your admirers."

Obediently, I crawled onto the bed. I turned, leaned back on one elbow, spread my legs, knees bent, heels touching, and demurely made little circles around my clitoris. I smiled at the people watching me, noting the ones holding cell phones, which was almost all of them. Some of them had their cocks out.

I was nervous as fuck, butterflies the size of biplanes. My mouth was dry. Maybe I should ask Leroy for something to drink. Maybe something alcoholic. Definitely alcoholic.

What the fuck was I doing?

It had made sense a second ago, when I was talking with Leroy. But now... Now I was just here. Whatever. Just whatever. Do it, maybe I'll like it. It won't be so bad. But mainly, get through it, and then go home.

Unless he was right. What I'd done, what I was going to do... could I just go back to my life. Maybe Leroy was right, maybe deep down, the true me, the real me, the hungry part underneath all the pretending, really wanted this, craved it.

And even after I went back to my life, it would drive me back. I'd come crawling back to Leroy. I shuddered, deeply, filled with revulsion... and longing.

Spontaneous, public gangbang. That wasn't on my bingo card, I thought.

Wait, was it spontaneous? Sure, it wasn't as if Leroy planned it last week. But still, it just didn't throw together, did it? You'd need people to agree, the bar staff to look the other way, people to participate. You'd need at least some time to pull it together. Half an hour. Or an hour. Or more.

Have the idea, think about how to make it happen. While I was busy fucking one man after another. While he was setting me up, he'd been setting me up, thinking about how to do it, how to get me to agree, what to do, what to say.

And here I was.

Fuck me.

Actually, a line of men might be taking care of that for me, right out in front of everyone.

I felt a deep dark quiver inside me. Whatever it was in me that Mandeep had touched, it wanted this.

Maybe deep down, he was right. That there was some dark urge, some compulsion, some hunger in me. It was there, I'd felt it again and again, with Leroy, with some of the men, a need to be used, debased, exploited.

I shivered. Get through it and go home to Sam, I told myself. Maybe he was already on his way to me. Maybe he was already here, waiting for me to do it, so we could go home together.

Leroy was back, with a big black guy. As I watched, the black man pulled off his sweater. He wasn't super-muscular, not an athlete. He was older, his body was a little thick around the middle.

"SHOWTIME!" Leroy announced. "Anyone that wants a crack, time to pay up now. No late arrivals will be admitted into the premises."

He grinned and winked at me, enjoying himself.

"Who are you?" I asked the black man, sitting up cautiously.

"Hi!" he said.

He looked at me, not my face, looked at my body, and grinned. He had a single gold tooth. He was taking off his pants. The boxers came off, exposing an impressive black cock, perhaps half hard. Very impressive. Getting more impressive by the second. It was hard not to stare.

"He's an admirer," Leroy said, "he's been here every night you have come by. He knows you really well. And he's a really good friend of mine, and he's got twenty bucks. And Sam said you could get started without him."

"Okay," I said doubtfully, laying back down on the leather bed, spreading my legs. He climbed on, pushing my leg aside, to kneel between my legs. His erection was becoming rampant. He was really big, I supposed it was true about black guys.

My pussy gaped open, dilated and so wet, I could feel each surge of lubrication, as it made its way out to my lips. My clit was ultra hard. It was weird, I didn't feel aroused, just anxious. But it was like my body had gone into total 'fuck me now!' mode "I guess it's okay."

He rubbed his cock head against my pussy lips, pulling back the foreskin, making the lips part as they wet him. It looked huge, I couldn't tear my eyes away.

"We're going to take pictures," Leroy said. "So Sam doesn't miss anything."

"What?" I asked.

"Smile," Leroy said as the black guy lifted my ankles, positioning his massive cock. I kept looking back and forth between that, and Leroy holding the phone up. "Smile," Leroy repeated.

I gave a nervous smile to his phone. Looked back. Smiled at the phone. A lot of guys were holding phones. I smiled at them all. The guy started pushing his cock in me. I looked up at him, and tried to smile.

Oh fuck, he was big, I could feel him opening me up like a speculum at the Doctor's office. He was unreal, his size made it almost feel more like a medical procedure than sex. He was actually stretching me, a sensation I'd never felt. He kept pushing gently, his hips rolling, little thrusts side to side, working his way deeper and deeper. Even lubricating madly, I was struggling to accommodate him.

"Holy shit," I said. I looked up. There were phones near my face, recording.

"He's so big," I told them. Cocks. All these guys had their cocks out. Had they all paid twenty dollars? This didn't seem well organized.

I groaned deeply as he bottomed out in me. It didn't hurt, but it felt uncomfortable, I felt stuffed and awkward. Stretched and over-filled. I could feel the head of his cock pressing against my cervix. His hands were on my breasts.

"Doing good?" he asked.

"Doing fine," I breathed. Be nice, I thought, and smiled up at him. "Now that you're in me."

He laughed, and started a slow delirious fucking, pumping in and out of me in long strokes that left me breathless. His cock filled me and stretched my walls, and when he pulled back, I could feel him dragging me. It was almost a relief when he pushed back in again. I grunted with each outward stroke and sighed as he went back in. I reached down to feel how big he was, how stretched my entrance was, it was amazing, my hand couldn't encompass him.

Someone was complaining that he was going to ruin me for the rest of them. I tried to see who. It was some fat guy in a beard, with no pants, his dick was out. A little pink knob in a forest of black pubic hair. A voice answered that I'd still be plenty tight, and three holes, no waiting, I was good to go all night long.

How many had Leroy said - surely not many. I wanted them to line up so I could see how many, but getting fucked by the big black cock, it was hard to do anything but grunt and bounce up and down on my back as it rammed into me.

"Look at her take that big fucking cock," someone yelled close by. But it was the other way around. The big black cock was taking me.

I stared down in amazement, even bottoming me out to my limit, there were still inches of shaft visible.

He looked down at me and grinned. "Don't worry, I'll get it all in," he assured me.

"I know you will," I said for the cameras. "I can hardly wait." But honestly, I doubted it. I didn't really want it all, actually.

My belly was swollen, there was a lump just past my pussy whenever he bottomed out. He was so big that his cock was making my belly bulge with each thrust. I stared at the steady bulge rising and falling in tandem with the sensation of being filled and stretched, I couldn't look away. I was disturbed but fascinated.

My body was responding, I felt pleasure, intense stimulation. But he was so big, that my body couldn't react normally. I hoped he'd finish and come in me soon. I didn't think I could come from him. Not without a lot more getting used to him.

But then who would be next? Off to one side, they were finally lining up. Would I come at all? Or would they just fuck me one after the other, uncaring, spurting into my battered vagina? Did I even want to come? Or just to be used.

Something dark in me wanted this, some pit of self loathing, that whispered this is who you really are, this is what you are, nobody loves you, and this is what you deserve.

My phone beeped. My purse was on the edge of the bed. Maybe it was Sam. I squirmed a bit, pinned like a bug under his big cock, but I twisted and managed to snag the purse. I fished the phone out, and called up text messages. From Sam:

"GO AHEAD AND GET FUCKED YOU CHEAP WHORE. DON'T BOTHER COMING HOME."

My heart bottomed out. I forgot everything, where I was, the massive cock sawing into me was forgotten. Sam was mad. I was terrified. Where was he? I needed to go to him. I needed to talk to him. I pushed the call button, but it wasn't working, nothing happened. Call blocked? That wasn't right. I needed to call him, to text him. The black guy was fucking me hard and fast, shaking my body like a rag doll. I couldn't make my fingers work to text, the phone was shaking too much.

"Stop! Stop!" I cried. "I need to talk to Sam. I can't text him like this."

"When we're finished," Leroy said. "When we're all finished, you can talk to him."

The black guy was on top, his weight smothering me. His cock was a battering ram, filling and splitting me. He was fucking so hard, the phone was knocked from my hand. I reached for it, but it slipped away from my fingers, sliding further and further. Leroy laughed.

"I NEED TO TALK TO SAM," I screamed.

I sat bolt upright, fists clenching the sheets. It was dark. Sam lay beside me, snoring softly. My cunt was spasming, clenching and unclenching. I was literally sitting in a puddle. My heart was racing, and I was covered with sweat. I was shaking, my body shivering all over.

What the fuck? I thought. What the fuck? I took deep breaths, orienting.

I was in our apartment. In our bedroom. Sam had texted some horrible thing to me, that he never wanted to see me again, that we were over. I remembered that clearly, the horrible panic and terror of it. But here he was sleeping beside me.

I was afraid to wake him up. What if it was true? What if he woke up, and hated me?

Last thing I remembered. The big black guy fucking me. I couldn't remember his face. Only his cock. He'd paid twenty dollars to fuck me in front of everyone. I'd been okay with that. Everyone had paid twenty dollars to have a turn. I'd agreed. But I'd felt so bad about it, uncertain and confused and awkward. Had that happened? He'd been first, I was sure. How many others had there been after him? I couldn't remember. But it was so vivid.

And there'd been something about my Mom and Dad... But it slipped away.

Wait though, how did I get here? I didn't remember coming home. Had Sam forgiven me and picked me up, took me home? Had someone else driven me home? Between the black guy fucking me in the bar, and feeling terrified in bed with Sam, there was... nothing. A blank spot. There should have been something.

I put a hand my pussy, feeling my vaginal spasms subsiding. That was weird. My pussy had never done that before.

Had the black guy happened? Had the gangbang happened? Before that, bent over the toilet, one man after the other? The creepy facial from that Indian man... Deep something? Deepak? That beautiful alabaster cock? Leroy selling me, fucking all those men? How much of that was real? Any of it?

Sam had got stuck with the flat tire. That was why it all happened.

No wait, wait! Sam had picked me up right away. That had happened, I remembered it happening that way. We'd gone home. Pizza and fucking and cuddling.

For a moment two separate memories existed in my head, but somehow, the vivid one, the intense memory, with all its angst and excitement and terror was fading, becoming indistinct. It was just a nightmare, I told myself. I was pretty sure that was it.

"Sam," I shoved him. "Sam, Sam, wake up."

He rolled towards me, eyes squinting. "Babe?"

Then he saw my face and bolted upright, his arm around me. He wasn't mad at me. Good.

Point awarded for the reality I wanted to be in.

"Is the car okay?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," he said. "It's fine. We just got it serviced last month."

"Right," I said. I remembered that.

"What about that leaky tire," something close to panic seized me. "Sam, we have to do something about that tire. Or something bad is going to happen. It'll go flat when we need it. And... And..." I was starting to hyperventilate.

"Babe," he told me, "fixed it months ago. Remember. After the Target thing. We both just got so fed up."

"Ohhhh," I whispered. "Right!"

I did remember that. That had happened. So for sure, the whole other thing, that wasn't real. It was already getting fuzzier, the details shifting. Something about facial pictures for my mother. And stripping standing on a chair. And just being a hole. Calling myself a 'hole' over and over, oh the very word made my skin crawl. And a lot of cocks. Orgasms, but not nice ones. An 'N' name, Neil... Norman.

Forget it, I thought. Let it go.

And Sam wasn't mad at me. I gripped his hand, squeezing it.

"I'm sorry for waking you," I said. "I had a nightmare. I got scared."

"That's an excellent reason for waking me," he said softly. "Automotive nightmare? Something to do with the tire?"

"Yeah," I said. "Car crash. Really horrible. Blood and guts. Total pile up."

"Oh," he said. "I'm so sorry. It must have been awful."

"Yeah."

"You want to stay up for a bit. We can take some blankets into the living room? Cuddle up on the couch? I can make some hot cocoa? Or break out those edibles? Watch something on streaming?"

That sounded tempting, actually.

"As long as you're holding me," I said.

"Guaranteed."

"I think.... I peed the bed."

"Really bad nightmare?"

"Yeah."

"Sam?"

"I'm really fucking horny. Like incredibly horny."

"We can take care of that," he said.

"I don't want to have sex."

He mulled that over.

"Okay."

"I want to suck your cock," I said. "Like, for a week. Just not do anything else. Just nonstop."

"There might be some challenges there," he said. "Wrinkles. Like if I'm in the shower too long..."

I smirked, then laughed.

"Maybe not suck it. Cuddle it. Have it in my mouth, hold it against my face, just treat it like a teddy bear."

There was a long pause.

"That sounds like a really fucked up nightmare."

"Sam?"

"Babe?"

"Sam, you need to know. I'd never for anything ever hurt you. I'd never allow anyone to hurt you. You're my whole world, and I'd do anything for you. You're my everything."

"Ditto Babe," he said.

I laid back down in bed on my side. He laid down beside me. I reached into his boxers, finding him, wrapping my hand around it. Then, once secure, I threw a leg over his thighs, and then an arm, and kept working myself closer until I was fitting right into him.

I wished I was an Octopus. No bones, I could just wrap myself around him. Wrap myself around and around, completely, every inch of him, touching every inch of me. Octopuses must be so good at hugging, I decided.

What a strange thought. Where had that come from?

I realized I was kind of drowsy. That nightmare had worn me out. Like when you have a dream of running a marathon and you wake up tired. I felt something. A kiss on the forehead. Sam. My whole body smiled. Fucking nightmare. It was just fading away.

I needed to remember though. Never ever ever go back to that bar again. Never. Also, never ever go near Leroy. Don't let him near us. Definite. Got to remember that.

Remember...?

I drifted off to sleep.

If it was important, I'd sure I'd remember in the morning.

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 07, The Path Gets Darker

KAYLEY GOES DOWN A DARK PATH, PART TWO OF THREE

Leroy grinned at me, then he looked over at Ian. "Our girl here," he said, "she was telling me how bad she needs a cock.

KAYLEY POV

Leroy grinned at me, then he looked over at Ian.

"Our girl here," he said, "she was telling me how bad she needs a cock. Why don't you let her take you to the men's room and help her out."

I took Ian's hand.

The minute we were in the bathroom, I took off the dress and hung it over a stall door. No sense letting it get even more wrecked. It was all I had to wear. Besides, Ian was almost glowing, his desire was so urgent, and wanted to show off.

"What do you think?" I presented my naked body to him.

Well, not completely naked. I still had my ankle boots and heels, and the stockings. But they weren't doing well. Stay ups don't stand up to rough treatment. They had runs and ladders, one knee was going. The elastic on my left had stretched and it sort of hung half way down my thigh. The other was still holding, but the tip of the elastic was curling. Neither were going to last the night. I needed to switch to garter belts.

Apart from that, the only thing I was covered in was sweat... and men, their sweat, their skin oils, their shed skin cells, their saliva and semen, the psychic residue of their lust, and their ownership and use of my body.

"You're hot!" he said. I stepped close to him, he didn't retreat. So I took his hands and put them on my breasts. His palms were sweaty, and he didn't seem to know what to do, he alternately grabbed and stroked, exploring. How many boobs had he touched? I decided I liked his hands on me. I liked strange men's hands on my breasts, it was an epiphany.

"They're real," I said. I'd never even thought about it until Jake asked. Of course they were real, you could tell just by looking. They weren't big enough to be fake.

He wouldn't look in my eyes, playing instead with my breasts. We were so close we could embrace. I reached down, feeling his cock, already hard, already twisted in his underwear. It felt a good size, I could feel myself quiver with need, my body wanting to feel it inside me. I unzipped him and struggled with his jeans, finally kneeling to rolling it out.

"Fuck," I breathed, "it's beautiful."

It was! His cock was like sculpture, the colour of dusted alabaster, every feature exquisite, bluish veins perfectly placed and proportioned, not ugly or intrusive. It was smooth to the touch, like fine silk, the head rolling off my tongue. The shaft was perfectly symmetrical with just the right hint of a subtle upward curve. The head, circumcised, was a graceful symphony of curves, from the glans to the corona, nothing blunt, nothing excessive, just exquisitely balanced. Even the urethra was the exact size and position.

I hadn't seen a lot of cocks. I wasn't a slut, or at least I hadn't been before Leroy. But I was speechless. This was the most beautiful, the most perfect cock I'd ever seen, that I knew I'd ever see in my life.

"Is everything okay," he asked. What was his name? I think it started with 'N.' Norman? No? Fuck it.

"I was just checking," I said quickly. I kissed it. "You have to be careful. It looks good."

"Okay."

"Did you want a blow job?" I said hopefully. "I can do that. Or both, blow job and a fuck."

I closed my mouth around it, shutting my eyes to memorize it's perfect symmetry with my lips and tongue.

"I only want to fuck," he said. "I think maybe I should wear a condom."

"I've been careful for a while," I told him. "Only two men have come in me bare. Leroy, and a fifty year old married man with kids. I'm pretty safe. Are you?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Your call. Wear one, don't. Up to you. But I don't think it's necessary. Are you sure you don't want a blow job? I swallow."

It wasn't until after I realized I'd forgotten someone. Sam.

"I don't mind wearing a condom.," he said politely.

Fuuuuuuuck!

"What do you prefer?" he asked.

"I want to feel you," I told him impulsively. How many men were going to come in me tonight, I wondered? I didn't care. Except this one. I had this mental image of it inside me, the head swelling as it ejaculated, just spurts and spurts, that made my heart skip a beat. I so wanted this one, it was so fucking beautiful.

I let him touch me all over, lifted my leg and parted my lips so he could run his finger between. I showed him my clitoris and how to touch it. I desperately wanted somewhere to lay down on my back so that I could watch it enter me. But the safest thing to do was to bend over the toilet and be taken from behind.

I was so excited to have him in me, I moaned at his touch, before he even entered. I grinned happily as he slid in me bare. He was a good hard fucker once in me, pounding me with steady thrusts that left me arching my back to meet him, spreading my legs and bending my knee slightly to get him perfect.

"I'm coming," he shouted, and I could feel it, the sudden intense thrusting. That set me off.

"Me too," I cried, as the orgasm rolled into me. I felt my pussy squeeze, pushing him out like toothpaste out a tube, and a horrible feeling of loss. "No, no," I cried, humping involuntarily against him, "put it back in, come in me."

"I can't," he said, "you're too tight."

"No!" I was almost weeping with the need to have it in me. "Just shove hard, force it. Do it!"

He tried, but in the end, his cum painted the inside of my thigh. I kissed him on the cheek. I'd finally had the orgasm Jake hadn't delivered.

When I came out, the next one was already sitting with Leroy. He was tall and skinny, with long hair and a beard, jeans and jean jacket. They seemed to be old friends.

Leroy looked up at me as I sat down. "This is Tommy."

Tommy looked me up and down and reached out a hand. Thinking he was offering to shake, I reached out to, but instead, he leaned forward, his hand passed mine, and he copped a feel. Leroy laughed at my shocked expression.

"Nice tit," Tommy said. "Real."

"Kayley here is the real deal," Leroy assured him.

"So we doing this?" I asked. I looked at Leroy, "he paid you?"

They looked at each other and he nodded.

"Okay, fine." I stood up. Tommy's hand was on my ass on the way to the men's room.

Once the door closed, he was all over me, pulling off my dress and leaving it on the floor. His hand went between my legs, finding my clit and sawing against it without finesse, his fingers pushed between my legs. I moaned in spite of myself.

"You're wet enough," he said, "how do we do this."

"In the toilet stall," I said. "I bend over."

"Yeah, okay." He followed me in, unzipping and taking out his cock casually. He didn't even bother to roll down his jeans.

"Do you want a condom?" I asked.

"Do I need one?"

But before I could answer, he thrust inside me all at once, giving me his whole length. There was no foreplay. I gasped out loud.

"Fuck that feels good," I grunted, and it wasn't a lie. It felt good, it felt so good, and as he started to pound me, it felt even better. He held my hips, and gave it to me with a steady relentless pace, as I felt his bare cock pumping away in me and my ass brushing his denim jeans.

"That's a wet cunt," he whispered in my ear. "Tight."

He bent me over the toilet, laying on my back and thrusting up into me, as I struggled for balance, and he groped my breasts. I was a tight wet hole to pump his cock into, and he didn't give a shit about anything else about me.

I loved it! I didn't give a shit about him either. He was just a cock pumping into me, and that cock felt good. It filled me. It made me wet. It sent waves of pleasure through me. I played with my clit while he fucked me.

I didn't come, but it felt good. I swore and talked dirty, but reflexively. I didn't care how he felt, I didn't care about turning him on.

I felt him speeding up, his cock getting harder, his hands gripping my breasts and pulling my nipples painfully. I was nowhere near orgasm, but he didn't care. I was just a hole, and somehow, that made me wetter.

"Come in me," I whispered. "Come in my slut hole. Blow your load in me. Yes. Fuck that hole, that's what it's for, for you to stick your cock in and blow."

I knew he didn't give a shit, he didn't react, his accelerating pace didn't shift. He was on the way to blowing in me and as far as he was concerned, that was exactly it. I was a tight wet hole to blow a load in, and I wasn't anything else.

Knowing that, saying it, excited me. I worked my clit, knowing I couldn't make myself come in time, but almost slapping it in time with his thrusts as he slammed harder and harder.

Then he gave this loud long groan, and jammed into me as hard as he could.

"Yes. Come in that hole. Fill it. Use it."

He laid his weight on my back for a moment, breathing heavily, and then stood up, pulling his cock out.

"Yeah," he said, slapping my ass, "that was a good nut."

Then he walked away. I stayed there bent over, not even fingering my clit, just feeling his come ooze from my opened pussy. I almost expected someone to come in and casually take his place. After a moment, I wiped and went to get my dress.

"Well," I said to no one, "that was romantic."

There's something about having sex with someone you completely don't even give a trace of a shit about. Someone you don't have to think about, you don't have to consider, you don't have to be concerned with their pleasure or doing anything for them, or caring in any way..

Everyone should try it at least once.

Three in a row, I was done. My pussy wasn't sore or anything, but it felt used, and sloppy wet. And I was tired.

I returned to Leroy to tell him I was finished, he'd made his money. I wanted my purse back, and I wanted my phone so I could text Sam. There were men at a table next to Leroy watching as I came back, but I ignored them. They could fuck themselves.

"Hey," I said, as I approached. There was a glass of wine on the table, to remind me I was thirsty. One thing about whoring, you don't have to worry about getting something put in your drink. You're already spreading your legs. It would be a waste of a good date rape drug. Assholes.

"You have my purse?" I demanded.

The man sitting with him was brown skinned, wearing a turban. South Indian. Fuck. I didn't want to seem like a racist. He turned to look at me.

"Oh," I said politely, "hello."

"You are Kayley," he said. "My name is Mandeep, Leroy was telling me about you."

I looked at Leroy. "Friend of yours."

Leroy shrugged. "More an admirer of yours. He came by, so I said he could have a turn... if he paid."

Leroy paused.

"He paid. So he gets a turn." There was something flat and final about it.

My heart started to beat. The kick ass 'I'm quitting now' side of me felt wobbly now in the face of Leroy's unyielding tone.

Our roles had deepened with each encounter, the reality that I was being sold for money, this time to a stranger, and this time only for cash had become blunter. The relationship, the pimp that ran the whore, and the whore did what she was told had hardened.

The only thing that mattered was that I was a wet hole, and he could make money selling it to men to shove their cocks in.

Still, I was tired and fed up, and if someone hadn't been sitting there, I might have told him no. But some shred of politeness and courtesy didn't want to make a scene with a stranger at the table.

And he was black. Not technically black, but East Indian. I felt like I'd be a racist if I turned down an East Indian after fucking four white guys in a row. Weird, I know, but there it was. I looked at Mandeep, and thought... What's one more.

I drank some wine to play for time while I thought about. Mostly, I thought, 'oh fuck it.'

"Okay," I told Leroy, "one more. But that's it."

He nodded.

"Last one, I promise."

Mandeep didn't talk as he followed me to the bathroom.

I took off my dress, naked once again, and leaned backwards against the sink, presenting myself.

"You're very beautiful," Mandeep said. "May I touch you?"

"Sure," I said.

I wasn't really into it. But again, I didn't want to seem like a racist. He put his hands on me, exploring my body. There was something clinical about it. He touched me all over, as if conducting an examination, even turning me around.

He even put his fingers in my mouth, not in a 'pretend my finger is a cock and suck it' kind of way, but pushing my lips, as if checking my gums and teeth. Defiantly, I caught his thumb and pressed my lips around it, pretending it was a cock, that fascinated him.

I let his thumb slip from my mouth, it left a trail of spit down my cheek.

"Do you want me to suck your cock?" I offered. Maybe I could get him to come fast with a blow job and then go get my phone and go home. I had very little sexual energy.

"No."

"No?"

"I want to fuck you," he said. "Then when I'm ready, I will come on your face."

I sighed mentally. Whatever. What an asshole.

"Sounds like fun," I told him. "Are you ready to do it?"

His cock was still tucked away in his pants.

"Do you want a condom," I asked. The vending machine had them, but it wasn't like I had change. He'd have to get it himself. Or bareback. How much semen had been pumped up inside me tonight. I was going to have to shower for an hour.

"I brought my own."

"Do you want me to put it on you?"

"No."

He took it out of his wallet, and turned away from me a little to take his cock out and roll the condom on.

I found that a little rude. I mean, why hide it? It was going to be in me. I could see it was normal sized, but curving strongly, it was like a bow, literally. I was glad I wouldn't have to suck it - it looked like it was designed to trigger a gag reflex.

"Okay," I said, "we do it here."

I went into the bathroom stall to bend over.

"No," he said quickly. "That's dirty. I don't want to go in there."

I stopped. God, he was tiresome. Fussy, that was the word for him, fussy. My pussy was definitely not lubricating right now.

"I want to be able to see you," he said. "Touch you. Not fuck you, bent over like a fat cow."

Yeah, thanks, I thought. Jerk.

I rubbed my eyes. "Okay," I said. "What do you want?"

He guided me until my back was up against the wall beside the urinals. His hands cupped my breasts, and then one reached to feel my pussy. It was the first intimate touch.

"This is good," he said. "I can see everything, touch everything. You are very beautiful, a man should see all of you. You shouldn't hide. Lift your leg.... No, the other one."

"We tried," I said, "it won't work like this."

He moved me a few feet, up against another wall.

"Okay, lift your leg," he helped by lifting it and pulling it open and towards one of the urinals, depositing my boot, so that the high heel hooked inside the lower lip of the porcelain. "There, you are good." He pushed himself up against me, grinding. "Bend your other knee. Yes, that's it. Push your foot out..."

I grunted, not from pleasure, but from the awkwardness of it. The cold wall on my naked back was giving me goosebumps all over, and I was pretty sure that sticking my boot in a urinal was bad for it.

"I told you. This isn't going to-- Wawhg Wow Wow Wow Wow Wow!"

His curved arching cock had found my pussy, and all of a sudden he turned into a jackhammer, punching his way inside, feeling huge because I wasn't as wet, and pumped so hard and fast it knocked the breath out of me. He was a dynamo. It felt like a hundred strokes in two minutes. I'd seen men masturbate so hard and fast that their hands had been a blur, but I'd never been fucked like that.

"Auwhg!" I grunted moments later. Abruptly, just as suddenly, he pulled out, leaving me off balance and near collapse, only is body pressing into me held me up.

"What the fuck was that? Are we done?" I gasped.

"No," he said, his face was shiny with sweat and he was panting from exertion. "Resting."

"Resting?"

"I'm ready!"

"What? Wait! Wawhg!!! WOW wow wow wow!!!!"

He kept doing that. These spells of furious fucking, insanely hard and blindingly fast that made me feel like my insides were a blender. Then he's stop suddenly, and we'd both be panting. My pussy began to lubricate, the weird insane fucking was getting my motor going. But it was so frustrating, he kept stopping.

I realized that he'd fuck hard, and then pull out so he wouldn't come. I tried to grab his ass to hold him inside me, not just to make him come finally, but because this breathless punctuated intermittent fucking was sending me over. When he fucked fast, I was practically hyperventilating, holding on for life. But then he'd stop, and I'd get dizzy. His cock would pull out, and all I wanted was it back to finish the job, to keep going and get me a machine gun orgasm. Or at least fulfill the promise of pleasure that kept receding each time.

He loved my naked body, he ground up against it, he licked my neck, my shoulders and armpit between bouts. but he hardly took off his cloths at all, as if he was hiding his body. I almost wanted to see it, to lift up his shirt or take off his pants to see what was underneath. His breath was in my face, his smell vivid and exotic.

He'd fuck fast and furious for a couple of minutes, and then stop or pull out before he came, then he'd put it back in and go furious fucking. Over and over. I loved the hard and fast, it was almost like an earthquake, he'd pound me so frantically it felt like overdrive. Then he'd stop, and it was jangly and frustrating.

Once, near the end, it felt like I was just being flung towards orgasm, but he stopped and pulled out, and "I'm not paying for you to come." I thought breathlessly, 'you fucker!'

Then after one of the hard poundings, he stepped back. For a second, I felt relief from the absence of his body's pressure. He took another step back. Suddenly, he peeled off the condom. His cock head was a lighter shade than the rest of him, kind of pink.

"Are we done?" I straightened up awkwardly.

"Kneel," he told me, "get down on your knees. I want to see a white girl kneeling in front of me after I fuck her good."

"Do you want me to suck you off?" I was pretty dubious about the extreme upward curve. It looked like a cock made to trigger the gag reflex.

"No, I want to come on your face."

I never really understood facials. As far as humiliations go, ones that you can wipe off in a moment with a damp cloth have to be pretty low on the list. Kinky low-rent asshole.

But he was paying for it, and we were near the end.

"Okay," I said, "kneeling."

I got on my ands and knees. God, this floor was filthy. Didn't they ever clean the place?

"No. Kneel upright, I want to see your tits."

I obeyed and waited. I was still panting, still a little dizzy, my pussy was throbbing, both with need and a kind of buzzed feeling from its brutal handling, and weirdly, or maybe not weirdly, I was kind of wildly horny. If he'd ordered me to masturbate in front of him or fuck myself with a dildo, I'd have eagerly complied.

"You're beautiful" he told me, masturbating furiously. His fist was a blur around his cock. "Your skin so pale. Are you a real redhead?"

"Yes," I lied.

"Good. Your tits are perfect. Your face is like an angel. You should be a model or a movie star. You should be married to a Doctor or an Executive, living in a mansion, with beautiful white children."

"But here you are, kneeling naked on the floor in a dirty bathroom, fucked by anyone with a few dollars. Waiting for me to come all over your face."

I wasn't sure what to say. The sudden left turn threw me. What was going on with this guy? But there was something darkly hot about the degradation. It was true, but there was something deliciously contemptuous about how he said it. As if I deserved, wanted, needed it.

"I paid for you. It was no money at all. I spend more at a restaurant. You're just a cheap gutter whore."

I took a deep breath, excited but disturbed.

"How many men have had you? I bet you can't even count. How many have had you today? I bet you don't even know."

What? Was it a serious question?

"Four," I said.

"No, five..." I'd forgotten Leroy.

"Wait... six?" Sam this morning. I hated that I sounded so uncertain suddenly.

Wow, way to go, Kayley. Fumble much? That was humiliating.

He laughed.

"Whore. That's all you are. All you are good for. You have no other use. Worthless."

"Is your mother alive?" he asked suddenly, out of the blue.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Is your mother alive?"

"Yes," I told him.

"She's alive. Good. She must be a beautiful lady, full of class and distinction. A graceful lady, with high morals."

"I guess," I said. "She's an administrator at a nonprofit."

"An excellent woman. And is your father alive?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"An excellent man, I bet. And important. I am sure he is accomplished, hard working, virtuous. He worked all his life to raise you. He sacrificed so much for you. The happiness you must have gave him growing up, the promise you held up. Seeing you in a white gown, giving you as a bride, children for him to be a grandfather to."

His masturbation sped up, despite his dark complexion, he was almost red in the face. His voice was tight and frantic. How was this turning him on? Was this some sort of hindu thing, recite geneologies while masturbating?

"Such a mother, such a father," he said.

"And their daughter a gutter whore, spreading her legs for scum. Day after day, spreading for strangers cock. Fucked by criminals, and degenerates, by poor men, dirty men. Every one of them, they fuck you, and they know they are better than you."

Oh, I thought suddenly. I see now.

"Does your mother know her daughter is a slut? Does your father know you have taken six men between your legs and your night is only begun? Do they know their daughter is such a filthy whore? A slut.

"That she crawls for her pimps and customers. That you wear their cum on your face."

"No," I said softly, kneeling naked and submissive, stranger's semen oozing from me, as I watched him masturbate. It was a little too close to home and too raw not to feel it.

He was really weird and it was a hurtful weird. Hot shame washed through me, and with it, a filthy heat between my legs, radiating from my pussy.

"They don't," I said quietly.

"They should know," he groaned. "They should know what a whore their daughter is. When I come on your face, I will take a picture and give it to you, and you will text it to them. You will tell them you kneel before brown men, so they can use you like the whore you are. Will you do that. Promise me you will do it."

"Yes," I replied, because it was what he wanted. "I'll send it to them. I'll tell them. I promise."

The thought made me queasy. But wet. When I spoke the word 'promise' it felt like a dark compulsion, as if I might actually do it. I wouldn't. But the idea was vivid and intense.

"You filthy fucking whore," he said, his voice rising in pitch, the words tumbling over each other, "you disgrace your family. You deserve this. You will have brown babies and black babies and you will never even know who their fathers are, so many men will use your worthless body."

With a scream, he grabbed my hair, yanking me forward so hard I almost lost my balance. His cock hit me on the side of my cheek, his blurring fist pushing me away. He ejaculated right in my face, over and over, ropes of semen shutting one eye, crossing my nose, my forehead, my cheeks, my open mouth, my hair. His semen tasted funny on my tongue.

It felt like he ejaculated for a full minute, and even after, his penis seemed to drool a thin river of semen. He seemed to physically deflate, not only his penis shrinking, but all of him diminishing, as if the air had been let out of him.

He wiped his penis in my hair. Gee thanks. This guy! But some dark part of me whispered it was what I deserved.

"Stay," he said. He was almost staggering, but he managed to pull a phone from his pocket and hold it up, taking several pictures. "Stay on your knees, like that."

"Beautiful!" he said finally, looking at them.

"Can I get up?" I asked quietly.

My stomach was churning. I had a bad taste in my mouth.

"Oh yes, sorry," he handed me several paper towels from the dispenser to clean myself with.

Afterwards, he gave me his phone number, and invited me to parties where I could make lots of money.

The sexual fury gone, he seemed like a different man, pleasant, friendly, thoughtful. I struggled to reconcile this new him with the awful man who had used me like a wet rag. I understood that the horrible degrading talk was for him, not me, but it was still bizarre and upsetting. I wasn't sure what to do with it. Maybe other people could just wash if off. But I couldn't shake it.

My stomach churned, yet the experience left me both weirdly elated and excited, almost ravenously sexual, wanting to fuck, practically needing to, wanting to seek out an orgasm, but unsure and dark, uneasy with myself. Part of it was the intense off and on stimulation, the hyper-fucking, that seemed to leave me all revved up.

But there was something else. His words had been awful and upsetting, but something in me had responded, something dark and sexual and eager had risen up, had devoured them and hungered for more. I wished when he'd been saying those things to me, that he'd been fucking me hard instead, not jerking off in front of me. Just fucking me, taking me from behind, so I didn't see his face, but just felt his cock hammering me and his awful words filling my ears. I wished he'd come in me while saying those things. I wished I'd come while he was saying those things.

There had been a moment, when I'd been on the verge of saying it back to him, screaming it back at him. He'd kept going and going, rushing so fast, changing as he went, I hadn't been able to keep up. But it had been there, I'd thought "I know what he's doing, I'll feed him, charge him up."

But right underneath was something that agreed, something that craved humiliation and degradation, that reveled in feeling worthless, and wanted to say it, to shout it, wanted to pour those ugly out the words to him and masturbate to it in front of him.

It had almost left me shaking. He'd touched something.

If Mandeep had not been so frantic to humiliate me, if he'd been slower and more patient, I'd have joined him, deepened it. He would have come so much harder, it would have blown him away.

I supposed I still could. I had his phone number, I could call any time, set up a date, less urgent circumstances. He'd mentioned parties, would they be like that? Would they be like him? Dark and degrading, wallowing in filth?

Abruptly, I felt this deep awful surge, as if a massive oar had been plunged into a bottomless pit of shit, and stirred slowly. My pussy clenched so slowly and fiercely I put my hand over my cunt, to feel semen oozing out from my prior... lovers? No.... Users. Men who used me for a hole.

What the fuck are you thinking! Get your head out of there Kayley, I told myself, fighting the awful gravity of this dark sludge inside me.

I was strangely conflicted, I wanted it to be over, but I needed more. I wanted to be fucked, but I didn't want to talk to anyone.

When I came out, there was another man sitting with Leroy. So much for his promise of 'last one.'

Like... fuck, man.

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 06, Kayley's Dark Path

KAYLEY TAKES A TURN DOWN A DARK PATH, PART ONE OF THREE

"You want to go get a drink," Leroy asked. "Give me an hour or two, and I'll have enough gas in the tank for another run."

What had I been thinking?

KAYLEY POV

"You want to go get a drink," Leroy asked. "Give me an hour or two, and I'll have enough gas in the tank for another run."

What had I been even thinking in the first place, with this guy? His semen was running down my leg. Absently, I wiped it with the hem of my dress. Yeah, that would leave a stain, but so what.

We walked out of the bathroom, into the bar. Maybe it was my imagination, but it felt like the ripple of bar babble quieted briefly for us, and that at least a few eyes checked out my new, just fucked really hard, look.

There was no sign of Sam. Good. We sat at an empty table, maybe the one Sam had vacated.

My stomach hurt a little bit, but I felt surprisingly good. Energetic even. The temporary exhaustion of shattering orgasms had dissipated. I felt invigorated, almost frisky.

"You know," I said. "I almost feel like I could go back for another round."

He grinned that sleazy knowing grin, his gaze sliding across my body like I'd oiled up for him. My nipples hardened. There was a wet spot on the seat, probably from his come leaking out of me. He might be a loser, but he had a sexy thing going on.

"You know," Leroy said, "I'm down for at least an hour. But I could probably arrange a few trips to the men's room for you."

"Really?" I asked.

The idea sent butterflies racing through my stomach. The notion was disgusting. I glanced around the bar, to see who, if anyone, was watching us. What the men were. I imagined walking into the men's room over and over again, each time with a different man, taking off my dress and being nude, or being fucked in it, being looked at, touched, bent over the toilet, or sitting on the sink, or up against the wall or the urinals, taken from behind, kneeling. I could feel my soaked pussy clenching, my heart rate picking up. My mouth was a little dry.

"Who?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.

Again, that sleazy grin. He shrugged elaborately and leaned forward, his eye seemed to fix on someone over my shoulder.

"No!" I said suddenly. I wanted to turn and see who he was looking at, who he might pick to fuck me. At the same time, I didn't want to see. I wanted and didn't want. "I have an Uber coming."

"You can cancel it," he said easily.

"Yeah," I said. "But no. I don't think I will."

He shrugged.

"Just a thought."

I was shocked that I had thought of it, even if only for a moment. I decided not to mention this thought to Sam.

My text message beeped.

Sam.

I picked up the phone.

"Delay."

"What?" I texted back.

The three dots of text typing flickered in and out. To hell with this, I thought.

"Excuse me," I said to Leroy, as I stood up and moved away from the table. I needed to find a quieter place in the bar. "I need to make a call."

Easier said than done. I retreated to the hall for the washrooms, and then behind the women's washroom door. I'd been here before. Maybe I should have done it here, it was cleaner, than the men's room, there was a small bench, and the vanity for the sink looked solid. But that was a passing thought. I dialed into Sam.

"Hey hon," I said. "What's wrong."

"You know that low tire, we keep having to pump air into?"

His voice sounded odd. Maybe frustrated.

"Yeah."

"It's flat. I've called auto-service, but it's going to be at least an hour's wait for them to come and fix it."

"Oh shit," I said. Fuck, I thought, I really needed to get out of here. "Well, you're just outside. I'll come and wait with you."

"No good," he said. "When I saw how low it was, coming back out, I figured I needed to get to a gas station and pump some more air in. But by the time I got here, it was completely flat. I've been trying to pump air in, but it just hisses out. I'm stuck out here."

"How far?" I asked.

"I don't know, two or three miles."

Too far to walk, even if I knew where it was. And definitely, it was the kind of rough neighborhood I didn't want to walk at night. Especially not looking as trashed as I was. Walking the street, I wouldn't just look like a hooker. I'd look like a low cost hooker.

"I don't think you should walk it," he said. "I'll be okay. I just need to look after the car."

"Okay," I said.

"You can wait for me," he said. "Of course, by that time your new boyfriend should be ready for round two. Or you can take an uber."

There was an edge in the way he said 'new boyfriend' and 'round two.' Had listening in gotten too real? Was it that I'd actually came this time. Or the ugly things Leroy had forced me to say about him. I winced at the memory.

"Sam," I said, "it was just sex talk, okay. It didn't mean anything."

A pause.

"Yeah," he said, forcing cheer into his voice. "I know. He's just hung, that's all. And stuff."

What did that mean?

"I'll take an uber," I said.

"Sounds good," he said. "Meet you back at the apartment... Sooner or later."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

I pulled up the Uber app, and tried to initialize. It came back no cars available in the area. What the hell? I tried again. Same thing. And tried again. Each time, the message was no cars available, please try later.

I texted Sam again.

"Can you try your App? I can't get a car on mine. Something's wrong with it."

"Hold on."

While I waited, I tried the App again. Nothing.

"It's not working," he reported back. "No cars available. Not even a time estimate, just no cars. And a 'try in a little bit.'"

"I get the same thing," I texted.

A pause.

"I guess wait fifteen minutes and try again. That's all. Or wait until I'm fixed, and can come for you."

"I'll wait and try again. If I get through I'll let you know." I texted.

"Okay."

I sent a heart emoji.

Fuck! Okay, I was stuck out here for at least twenty minutes, looking like a trashed out hooker, in a bar where apparently I had probably become well known as the men's room slut, and half of them probably knew I'd just gotten railed hard. Totally awkward.

I went to the mirror and ran some water, appraising myself more critically. The big wet spot on my dress was drying, and a small safety pin from the bottom of my purse took care of the worst tear in my dress, ensuring my breast wouldn't fall out. The sexy slit up the side of my dress had extended to a tear going up past my hip, it changed the way the dress clung to me, and definitely made very clear that I wasn't wearing underwear, or even a garter belt - but it was tolerable, and I'd only found the one safety pin.

I wiped around my eyes and reapplied a very light mascara, fixed my eyeliner, redid my lipstick, and brushed my hair. Appraising the result in the mirror, it was far from perfect, but it was serviceable. I checked my phone. Only five minutes? Fuck. Tried the App. No luck.

So, I could hide in here, until the App was working or Sam made it. Or I could go out there and maybe have a drink while I waited, and Leroy tried to talk me into getting shared with some of his friends.

I felt a sudden lightening sensation in the pit of my stomach, not butterflies, but something, at the thought. Almost concurrently, I felt a tingle in my clit. My hand slid down through the tear/slit in my dress, to stroke my pussy. My vagina was now a lot more open access than I technically liked.

The insides of my thighs were soaked, my lips wet and puffy, although I wasn't sure if that was current arousal or the after effects. I'd wiped myself down there, but he'd seriously pumped a lot of semen, and even if I'd wiped most of it, some was still oozing in me.

I thought about the way Leroy'd looked past me at someone when he made his suggestion. Maybe I should have looked to see.

Down girl! I thought. Go out there, get a drink, wait it out. No getting shared. Big tingle at the thought. No round two. Little tingle. Just chill and wait it out. No tingles allowed.

I took a breath and went out. There was a man standing in the hallway, South Asian, or East Indian, I wasn't sure the appropriate term. Pakistani? Hindu? Bangladeshi? Somewhere around there. He looked harmless enough. He looked at me, I looked at him, and we nodded as we walked past.

Leroy waved, as I sat down with him.

"Problem?"

"My uber is delayed," I said. "At least an hour. And I can't raise another one."

He shrugged.

"I'm surprised you got one at all, actually," he told me. "This area's a no-go zone after nine. A driver got jumped around here a few weeks ago."

I checked my phone. Nine twenty. I did a mental calculation backwards. Fuck me, I'd missed by minutes.

"So," he smiled, "you give any thought to..."

"Yes," I said, "and no, I'm not interested. I just want to sit here and wait. And maybe have a drink."

"Well," he said, "too bad. But I can take care of the drink for you. Cabernet, coming right up."

He headed over to the bar to place the order. I watched him walk away. Nice ass, not as good as Sam's, but nice. Muscular but not excessive. He moved with a smooth grace that let you know he'd be good at fucking, which I already knew.

I hoped that no one would try to join me now that he'd left the table. I glanced around in the direction he'd been looking, but no one met my eye and I couldn't spot his candidate, or candidates, to fuck me. It was just bar people, different ages, different looks, that was all. None of them really stood out or appealed to me.

Leroy returned with a wine glass and a fourteen ounce snifter, and poured. I took the glass and drank half of it in two swallows. As the wine hit my stomach and a warm glow started to spread, I relaxed. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"Were you really a sommelier?" I asked, just to have something to say. I didn't believe it for a second, but saying something was better than nothing.

"Yep," he replied. "For a while. I was a sous chef, an assistant before that, but I switched. I've been around restaurants here and there."

Bullshit, I thought, as I smiled at him. "A sous chef," I said. "That sounds interesting."

"An assistant," he corrected.

I couldn't imagine that.

"I find that hard to imagine," I said. Shit, I'd said the thought out loud. Watch the wine, Kayley. "I hope that I didn't offend."

He laughed.

"No," he said. "In the end, it wasn't for me."

"What do you do now?"

He shrugged, evading the question. "I've been around," he said. "I've done a bunch of things. I was a cowboy. Traveled a bit. Musician...."

I didn't believe any of it, but it gave us something to talk about.

"Anyway," I asked suddenly, "who was it that you were thinking of lining me up with?"

I was well into my second glass of wine, and feeling comfortable. I'd never stopped feeling curious. There just didn't seem any harm in asking. I took out my phone, unconsciously, and checked the app. Nothing. Fuck. And nothing from Sam, still waiting, I guess. I thought about texting him some heart emojis, just to let him know I was thinking about him.

"Jake," Leroy said.

I looked up. "Who is Jake?"

"That big guy over there," Leroy told me. He pointed. I looked, not being particularly careful. There were a few guys clustered around tables in those directions.

"Which one is he?" I asked.

"The big guy," Leroy repeated. He waved. "Flannel jacket."

"Oh," I said, "I see him now."

Jake noticed the wave, and looked right at us. He was tall, a little heavy, but not bulky, with a shock of curly brown hair, cut close to the sides. He had one of those bodies that looked like they grew too fast when they were young, and filled in, but never quite got past the ungainly awkwardness. He waved back.

Then he got up and started heading our way. Fuck. He was carrying his beer. Double fuck. That meant he intended to sit down with us. My heart started to race. My mouth was going dry, so I sipped the wine, and clutched the slit in my dress where it had become a tear, to maintain at least a little modesty.

"Hey Jake," Leroy said, "join us. This is Kayley. Kayley, Jake."

Jake was huge, at least six four. Older, I made him to be in his forties or fifties. There was a wedding band. Probably had kids. He seemed stable. I wondered how he knew Leroy. He reached for my hand. I wasn't letting go my dress, so I put down the wine glass and offered the wrong hand. He shook it gravely.

"I've seen you around," he said. "A few times."

"Thanks," I said, like an idiot, and followed it up with, "Okay." I was blushing madly, and between my legs a traitorous excitement. He'd seen me around here a few times? Well, given that I'd only been here three times, and each time had ended with me going to the men's room with a man I'd just met, I could only imagine what was going through his mind.

"Jake's a diesel mechanic," Leroy told me. Jake nodded affirmatively. "Kayley was telling me how much she wanted to meet you."

Wait, what, now? What the fuck? That was such a bold faced lie. I didn't even know who he was until Leroy waved at him. Now he was sitting here. I had no idea what to do, so I smiled and nodded.

"That's good. I've been wanting to say hello," Jake said. He looked at me. "Get to know you a bit."

"Oh," I said, blushing, smiling. "That's nice."

Awkwardly, I pressed my legs together, and then, self consciously, relaxed. Leroy put his hand on my knee, casually pushing so I parted a little. Jake's eyes drifted down.

"You know," Leroy said, "you guys have so much in common. It makes me happy to put you together."

"How old is she," Jake asked Leroy.

"I'm twenty-four," I replied.

"Kayley's very friendly," Leroy assured him. "Very easy to get along with."

Jake glanced at me and nodded. "That's not too young. Okay."

Jake took out his wallet, peeled out some bills.

"For what I owe you," he told Leroy, handing the money over. "For that thing, from a while back."

"Thanks," said Leroy, pocketing it.

Wait a second, I thought. What thing? Was there a thing a while back? Money had changed hands right in front of me. What for? Leroy's hand pushed my dress up my thigh, to the tops of my stocking. He reached down, grabbing the hand I was holding the slit together with. As he took my hand in his, the fabric hung loose, the gap showing my hip from the top of my stocking to just short of my ribs, the absence of panty prominent.

"Kayley's a fine girl," he told Jake. "Very friendly. You're going to like her. And she's clean too. You won't need a condom."

What the fuck? How was this happening? I reached for my wine glass, leaning forward, conscious of their eyes on me. The slit in my dress gaped wider, exposing more of me, but I didn't care. I swallowed the rest of the drink.

Leroy pulled me closer, I looked at him. He kissed me, his lips pressing mine apart, his tongue slipping lightly to tease. He stared into my eyes.

"Kayley," he said. "I want you to go to the Men's room with Jake, and help him out. Okay? You need to take care of him. Okay?"

I shivered. It felt, somehow, like 'no' wasn't an option. Technically, I could say the word, theoretically, I could refuse. But right there, in that moment, with Leroy's hands on me, his kiss fresh on my lips, Jake sitting there watching and expectant, having paid his money...

"Okay," I repeated, dully. Leroy sort of gave me a nudge, lifting my elbow, guiding me to a standing position, and turning me towards Jake.

"Off you guys go," he said. "Have fun."

What am I doing? I thought wildly, as I walked the short distance to the Men's room with Jake's looming presence beside me. Had I just been sold? I had. I had just been sold. My body felt weightless, disconnected from my mind, moving on its own. Where was my purse? Oh geez, I'd left it with Leroy. Fuck.

Jake held the door open for me, and then I was in the men's room again. I looked up at him. I had no idea what to do. Was I supposed to kiss him?

"So," I said, "you come here often?"

Oh fuck! Did I just say that? He was going to think I was defective.

Jake shrugged.

"It's a nice bar."

Showed what his standards were.

"Okay," I agreed.

"Can I touch you?"

"Sure?" I told him.

His hands reached for my breasts, as I backed against the toilet stall door, leaning against it. My dress was loose enough that he had my breasts out, playing with the nipples, as I looked down on them, watching his hands.

"Are they real?"

I didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted.

"Yes, they are."

"I like real breasts."

He lifted my skirt, exposing my pussy.

"Are you shaved?" He asked.

"Yes," I said. "Do you want to touch it?"

I guided his hand between my legs, I felt like he was going to go there anyway, but at least this way, I had some control, rather than him just pawing me. Would he feel the slickness between my lips and be repulsed by the thought of touching Leroy's come. Would he even know what it was?

"You're really wet," he whispered, as I guided his hand up and down gently over my pussy. His free hand fondled my breasts. I reached for his pants, stroking his erection through his trousers.

"Can I see you naked?"

"Okay," I replied. I pushed him away a little, and shimmied out of my dress.

"You're gorgeous," he told me. "Your body is amazing."

I couldn't help smiling. "Thank you."

"Can I take a picture?"

That surprised me. My impulse was to say no. But I was alone, naked with a six foot four behemoth and no idea what to do. I couldn't think of a good reason to refuse.

"Okay, sure," I said tentatively. He took out his smartphone and clicked.

"Smile for this one...."

"Okay, hands over your head, no not like that, like behind, hands in your hair, like you're lifting it, good."

"I want you to cup your breasts, no don't cover your nipples..."

"A good shot of your pussy, up close... spread your lips."

"Turn around, I want your back."

"Okay, stick your ass out..."

"Pull your cheeks apart so I can see your asshole." I balked at that one.

"That's enough," I said, turning around. "We should... let's just get down to..."

I had no idea what he wanted. Sex, yes, for sure. But what kind of sex did he want, what did he want from it. Maybe just ask him?

"What do you want to do?"

"A blow job," he said, "to start off. Then I'd like to fuck you."

I thought about that.

"What if you come from the blow job?"

He shrugged. "That will be okay. But I don't want you to try too hard to make me come from the blow job. I want to come in your pussy. You're clean right? Leroy said you were."

"I'm clean," I said. "How do you know Leroy."

"I know him from the bar," I see him there. "I buy grass from him now and then. I don't really know him though."

I wasn't surprised.

"All right," I said. "So the blow job, come in."

I opened the toilet stall door, and backed in, sitting on the toilet. He followed me in. I reached for his cock in his trousers, unzipping him while he undid his belt.

"Not like that," he said, pulling away, even as his cock sprung free. It was straight, and thick, uncircumcized and veiny. His pubic hair was thick, but nondescript. I looked up, confused, letting my hand drop away.

"What?" I was honestly puzzled.

"Not sitting on the toilet," he said. "That's a gross way to give a blow job. It's not hygienic."

"Oh."

"You should be on your knees. When women suck cocks, they should always be kneeling."

I was pretty sure that wasn't actually a rule. Like it wasn't written down anywhere. But he'd paid for me, which was a really fucked up thought, but there it was. And, I'm a petite naked chick, and he's a big fully clothed behemoth, who so far hadn't gone psycho, and I definitely didn't want him too.

"Right, I'll kneel," I replied, looking at the floor in front of the toilet. It was hard tiles, not fun to kneel on, and pretty gross. I wished I had a pad, or newspaper. But all I had was my dress, so I bundled it to kneel on. I looked up from my kneeling position, as he stepped forward.

Jake reached for my head, placing one hand on the back, and then moving it to the side as he placed his second hand. The grip wasn't tight though, and he didn't thrust into my mouth. He let me open wide and take it in, as he guided my head back and forth. There was no teasing, no exotic tricks with my tongue. He just put his cock in my mouth, and I did my best to suck it, bobbing my head back and forth, squeezing it between my lips, and trying to slurp it with my tongue.

After a minute, he took his hands off and grabbed the tops of the stall walls, almost suspending himself. I kept bobbing, one hand gripping the base of his shaft, the other playing with his balls.

"That's really good," he whispered. "You're a really good cock sucker, I can tell. Girls who love to suck cocks, you can tell the difference. I'd love to come in your mouth sometime. I bet you swallow."

I tried to make agreeing noises in my throat. Actually, I did like sucking cock, the right cock. But this was... uninspired. Not awful or unpleasant, just kind of a nothing. But he seemed to like it. I guess this was his idea of a great blow job.

Jake showed no sign of losing control, so I just knelt there and bobbed my head. I changed things up a little to experiment, stroking the inside of his thigh with my nails, or picking up the temp. His cock got harder in my mouth, but not that much. He'd already been hard.

"Okay, that's enough," he said. "I want to fuck you now."

"All right." I was still wet, so I thought it would be okay. I felt a weird kind of arousal, not so much from being with Jake, but from the realization that I had been bought and sold. I stood up and turned around, folding my arms and resting them on the toilet tank. I wiggled my ass.

"You like what you see?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," he breathed.

"Then come and fuck me with that big cock of yours, I need a good fucking."

I like talking dirty.

He stepped behind me, awkward because his trousers were around his ankles. With one hand, he grabbed my ass. The other, he used to line up his cock. By twisting my head around, I could just see him vaguely in peripheral vison.

"That pussy is so wet," I husked. "Waiting for you."

He pushed it in me. I wasn't as crazy wet as I'd been with Leroy, so he felt bigger, and because he was so much taller, his cock, when it went in me, angled down in a way that was surprisingly, intensely pleasurable.

"Fuck!" I cried out. "That cock feels good!"

It wasn't quite acting, it really did feel good, and I really was surprised. As fucked up as the situation was, I was wet, his cock was hard, and there was something bizarre and exciting.

"Your pussy feels really tight."

"Oh yeah," I agreed. "Now fuck it, fuck my tight little pussy with that big hard cock!"

But he was already thrusting hard, his hands on my hips, plunging deep and down with ever push. I moaned in genuine pleasure, feeling my heart racing, my knees trembling. My arousal built with each thrust. My breasts swayed back and forth. His fingers dug into my hips. It built up and built up.

Then he stopped, still buried in me. He was grunting.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm almost ready to come," he said, pulling out. "But I don't want to come this way. I want to see you when I come in you."

Oh for fuck's sake. I was sort of getting into it. He turned me around, pushing me back gently, until my ass was up on the toilet tank. I felt cool porcelain on my butt.

"I don't think this is going to work," I told him. "We tried..."

"Hold on," he said. He reached down hooking an elbow under one knee and lifted. I grunted, as for a moment, I felt like a wishbone. I could feel my pussy suddenly gaping wide. Then he got his other elbow under my other knee, and suddenly I was literally suspended, ass perched on the toilet tank, practically bent double. He pulled my hips forward, until they were literally at the edge of the lid, and moved his hips forward, straddling the toilet bowl.

"Holy shit!" I was astonished. This is what sex with really big guys is like I guess. They literally can pick you up and turn you into a human pretzel. It was exciting and disorienting. Suddenly, I couldn't move, my knees were up in the air, hooked over his elbows, my feet were dangling, I was spread wide open, so I could feel myself gaping between my legs. My pussy was wide open and presented for mounting.

With one surge of his hips, he thrust up into me, bottoming out, and making me cry out with breathless pressure. He grunted as he pumped up into me.

"Oh fuck!" I moaned. "Oh fuck! Your cock feels so big."

With each thrust, I could feel my whole body rock and lift as he rammed up into me. My shoulders and head were slammed against the wall behind. His cock fell out, and he just pulled back and rammed in again, making me cry out.

"Oh fuck," I grunted. He was fucking so hard it was almost hard to breath. I kept trying to time my breaths to his rapid thrusts, panting at a dizzying rate. But he kept knocking the breath out of me.

Jake was barreling towards orgasm, I could feel the heat bursting off his body as his frenzied pounding ramped up. His cock felt bigger in me, hotter, harder.

"Yes," I cried my own orgasm closing in. "Fuck. Fuck me. Come in me. I need--"

Then it hit him, I practically saw his eyes roll up. Suddenly, he was pushing into me like a freight train, all his weight and muscle flattening me against the wall, contorting me even further, as his cock swelled and shot rope after rope of viscous semen up inside me. Teeth clenched, his face a rictus of contorted muscle, made this roaring noise in his throat, pumping into me with spastic jerks, trying to achieve a few more millimeters of penetration.

Finally, he relaxed, but he didn't let go. He held me in place as he panted and came down, our bodies jammed together so hard, I couldn't even get my fingers in to reach my clit if I wanted to.

My orgasm had been so close. Now it hovered, dissolving slowly into this sort of wet generalized arousal, a pressing mindless need to be fucked, even after the hard cock inside me, slowly softened and shrank with each tick of a second.

"Oh fuck," he whispered. "You're a good whore. You're a real piece of ass. Fuck. Good cocksucker, tight pussy, hot bod, clean. Worth it. Any time you're around, I'm going to have you again."

There it was. Said out loud, it was official, no pretending, no denial. Whore. That's what I was now. My body, my cunt, sold for money, sold for use. It was a weird feeling. I knew I wasn't going to start walking the street.

But at the same time there it was.

"How much?"

"Eh?"

"How much did you pay?"

"Oh, fifty bucks."

I didn't even know if that was good or bad.

He grunted, lowering me. I felt my weight settle on the toilet tank lid. He sank down, sitting reverse cowgirl on the toilet seat, letting my knees lower, slipping his elbows from under. I felt very stretched out and cramped all at once. Up inside, I felt the sensation of his cum oozing rapidly inside me as my position shifted.

"Here," I said awkwardly, "can you let me out?"

He backed away in the stall, and pulled up his pants, handing me my dress which was now even dirtier and more mangled, with a fresh rip.

I felt jangly, I guess being contorted into a pretzel does that to you. It was like my limbs didn't feel right, my walk was loose and almost bouncy. My pussy, leaking cum again, felt funny. We walked out of the Men's room, and he want back to his buddies, I guessed.

I sat down at Leroy's table, that was where my purse was. He was sitting with a young man. As I sat, he put his hand up my skirt, gripping the smooth bare skin of my thigh just below my pussy, and kissed me hard. Horny, disoriented, I kissed back, our tongues meeting. He stroked my pussy, already sensitive, bringing a sigh.

"Good girl," he called me.

My lover, though there was no love in the fucking he gave me, the fucking I seemed to crave from him. Or in the way he'd turned me out. But what better word for him.

My pimp. The man who turned me out. Who sold me to a stranger. Who I fucked a complete stranger twice my age for. There was an awful psychic gravity to it, a dark delicious pull. Whore. Pimp. As awful as it was, there was a thrill, an excitement, even if it was a game.

"Kayley," he addressed me, "this is Byron. I've been telling him about you."

I looked at Byron, knowing two things without a doubt: That he had paid Leroy money to fuck me, and that he was going to fuck me. Or I was going to fuck him, because now I was Leroy's whore, and he was going to order me, because he was my pimp.

It was that simple.

And I wanted it. I was feeling fresh fucked, and horny and I'd almost come but hadn't been able to get there. So if letting... what was his name? Brian? Letting Brian put his cock in and fuck me till he coated my insides with his cum, was what it would take to get me my orgasm....

Well then,... Ryan? Yeah, Ryan. Come fuck the shit out of me.

While Leroy was talking about how I was a fuck machine, and how clean I was so you could rawdog me if you wanted, Ryan was glancing at the torn slit in my skirt, where it went up so that you could see I wasn't wearing panties. He was sneaking peaks, looking when he thought he was getting away with it, and back to me and Leroy when he thought I couldn't.

"Ryan." I caught his eye. I glanced down, directing his gaze to my the bare skin between the slit, very deliberately, I slowly pulled the fabric away exposing more and more of my stocking clad leg, my smooth hip and torso, until my crotch was bare. Sitting as I was, he couldn't see my pussy, but he could see I was shaved smooth and covered by nothing at all. I enjoyed the way his face turned red. Fucker, I thought.

"I think," Leroy said, "that your new friend is sold. Why don't you take him back to the men's room and--"

I put my head close to him to whisper.

"You're selling me," I accused Leroy, without anger.

"I wouldn't put it that way," he said.

"I'm not mad," I said, which was true. "I don't know, it's hot I guess." Which was a simplification of some very complicated feelings.

"It's more of a finders fee," he told me. "You like to be fucked. You came here to be fucked... You came here, all alone, behind your boyfriend's back, to slum around and get fucked, isn't that right? A girl like you? This place is beneath her."

That startled me, and it stung. Did I really come off that condescending and shallow? I wondered. I didn't like to think of myself like that. But there was enough of something like truth in it, that it made me uncomfortable.

"This is the third time you've been here," he whispered, "sneaking around on your boyfriend, spreading your legs for me, and when I wasn't here, you spread them for Derek. You didn't fucking know either one of us, but you spread them. Who's fucking fooling who?"

He reached down casually to my stockinged leg as he spoke, laying his hand on it, and smoothly sliding down to the inside of my thigh and up towards my crotch. Automatically, I opened for him, lifting my knee, moving my hips to give him access.

"It's not--" I tried to whisper. It was like that, but it wasn't. It was more complicated, but the words died.

Ian's eyes went wide, as my pussy was exposed for a brief moment, before Leroy's fingertips slid over it. I moaned, as he stroked my clit. Fuck! Every time he touched me below, I just went weak at the knees.

"You're so fucking wet," Leroy whispered. "That's what you want, isn't it? To be down in the gutter, with the trash. That's what gets you off.

A finger slid inside, almost at my G-spot, I rocked my hips.

I moaned softly, not trusting words.

"I just dangled it in front of you, and ten minutes later, you wanted to see who I'd sell you to. I took money for you, right in front of you, and you went and fucked him. You didn't even complain, you just did as you were told."

He kissed my cheek.

"You're a whore, darling," he whispered. "That's what you wanted. Maybe you didn't come here as a whore. You gave me your pussy, you just handed it over. And when I talked selling it, your only real question was 'who?' You were just fine with getting turned out.

"Jesus," I breathed. Two fingers were in me, stroking my G-spot, while he pressed his thumb against my clit.

"Look at how fucking wet you are,"

"Hey," I whispered. "Shit."

"A little finder's fee," he said. "To give you what you need, that's nothing. Makes it even hotter for you. You want me to sell you. Deep down, you need it."

I moaned. He put his lips on mine and kissed me deeply.

"Now," Leroy said, "here's how it's going to be. I'll take money for you. You'll fuck who I'll tell you to fuck. And you'll like it. Because you want it. Got it?"

"Yes." I nodded in affirmative.

"Am I wrong?"

"No, I want it."

"Good girl," he said. "And when we're done, I'll send you back to your life, and everything goes back the way it was. Except deep down, you and I both know who you really are. Deal?"

I nodded. He smiled.

"Say it."

"Deal," I whispered.

"So what are you going to do?"

The fingers withdrew, leaving me shaking and breathless, but lucid. It was dark, but there was an undertow of wicked excitement, of abject submission, of a kind of black fulfilment. It was an ultimate abnegation of me as a person, and I found I craved it.

I wanted to know who and what I was, when I had been reduced to this pure essence. I needed to know who I was, when this was all that was left of me. When there was nothing else to me but a whore.

Just like that, I had transitioned from free woman to income earning property.

At least temporarily. Unless it really was who I was, what I needed. And I came crawling back to him.

The thought made me shiver.

I embraced it.

I swallowed, and licked my lips and smiled darkly.

"I'm going to make you a lot of money," I whispered, and opened my mouth to kiss him, letting his tongue slip in. "And I'm going to do what I'm told."

He grinned his sleazy grin.

"If you get knocked up tonight, you better hope whoever did it was white. Or you're going to have a lot of explaining to do to your boyfriend."

He looked over at Ian.

"Our girl here," he said, "she was telling me how bad she needs a cock. Why don't you let her take you to the men's room and help her out."

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 05, Leroy Returns for more

KAYLEY "Buy a girl a drink, handsome stranger," I said, taking the seat next to him. "Well hello... Kayley," he grinned, looking me up and d

KAYLEY POV

"Buy a girl a drink, handsome stranger," I said, taking the seat next to him.

"Well hello... Kayley," he grinned, looking me up and down with naked appraisal.

"You remember me," I replied happily, smiling back. I expected him too. But there's no harm in a little fun. Or a little flirting.

"You're hard to forget," he replied. He finished his appraisal. "Looking good."

I was looking good. I'd styled my red hair, and had gone light on the make-up. I was wearing my red dress, form fitting, low cut with spaghetti straps and plunging cleavage. I couldn't wear a bra with this dress, and I could tell my nipples were hardening visibly. Black stockings and high heeled ankle boots completed my look.

It was a classier look, we'd been going to a more upscale club. Stopping in here had been a last minute impulse.

You know what a woman likes? She likes it when a man looks her up and down like he wants to fuck her. Sheer naked appreciation and lust, there's something exhilarating about it, something honest and damned sexy. Too often, when you meet men, they're guarded, carefully neutral. There's something about a man, where you can plainly see him thinking 'I'd like to fuck that.'

Of course, that's from fuckable guys, not creepy guys. The ones with dark stares, the ones whose eyes are hooded with brooding resentments, those aren't fun. There's no pleasure, there's no appreciation, just hunger and hatred.

It's about the smile, the attitude. It's hard to explain, but you can feel the ones that think its fun, that see you as an object, but an object to be enjoyed. The ones with the smiles. The ones that seem like they take pleasure. That look at you and decide they like you.

They say women like bad boys. But that's not true. Women like men that like to fuck, that look at them with appreciation and pleasure. You know they don't just want to come in you, they want to fuck, to enjoy you, not to finish and go.

"Thanks. I was going to go out with some friends," I told him. "But I decided to stop in here for a second to check things out."

"Well, I'm glad you did." He grinned. He was so sleazy it made me shiver. "Pull up, girl. You asked for a drink."

He put his hand on my ass, but only lightly and higher up, taking control, guiding me up onto a bar stool. He waved to the bartender, who came right over.

"Chuck," he said. "Cabernet for the lady."

As I settled on the stool, his hand landed on top of my thigh, the edge of his hand just slightly under my dress. He worked fast.

"You remembered," I said.

He laughed.

"You drank red wine," he said. "Place like this, all they have in red is a Cabernet. I should take you someplace that has better wines. I used to be a sommelier."

"Bullshit," I laughed. He smiled and shrugged, his hand moving up just a little, sliding forward to the inside of my thigh. Our bar stools were very close together. He'd pulled it close as he was seating me.

"I didn't expect to see you here," I said, more to make conversation than anything else.

The truth was, I'd walked into the bar hoping he'd be here. If he hadn't, I'd probably have turned around and left. Like I said, we had other places to be.

I placed my purse, opened with the phone inside and live, on the counter between us. Sam should be coming in and taking a seat to watch us. Was anyone else watching, I wondered. I'd fucked two strangers in this bar within the last couple of weeks. Were stories getting around? Was I recognized.

"I show up now and then," he said. "I like to spread the love. I was hoping to see you again."

"Oh?"

His hand moved up slightly. I was already wet. He was so fucking bold and sleazy, it was breathtaking.

Derek had been okay, he'd been charming enough, but he'd been timid, sneaking looks, working his way up to asking me out. Leroy on that first night had flat out propositioned me for sex in the men's room.

Boldness was exciting. It meant confidence, and skill, and desire.

So yeah, he was an over the hill, sleazy, low-rent barfly drinking his life away in some shithole bar, and our previous fuck had been five minutes with a broken condom and I hadn't even come. But fuck all that, he was sexy as hell, and I'd wanted to see him again.

"Yeah," he said his voice pitched low, leaning forward. The bar was noisier, more crowded tonight. I leaned forward to listen through the noise, feeling my breasts shift forwards, he looked and didn't bother to hide it. I worried a little that with the background noise, Sam wouldn't be able to hear much. "I felt like we had unfinished business. You disappearing like Cinderella and all."

I laughed.

"It felt like you finished your business," I teased.

"Oh don't be like that," he grinned. "We had fun."

His hand slipped further up my dress. Jesus, he was bold. We were sitting close together, leaning towards each other, my knee touching the inside of his knee. It would be hard to see, unless you were watching.

But Christ, we were out in the open in a par, sitting on stools. His hand was half way up my dress, almost at the band on top of my stocking. Bold! You see why I'd wanted to see him again.

I should close my legs, clamp my thighs together. I didn't. I should take his wrist and gently remove his hand from my person. I didn't.

Instead, he swiveled ever so slightly on his stool, and his other knee, the knee that pressed against the inside of my other knee, casually, innocently, pushed it a little further, spread my legs a little wider, though no one could see. I let it. His hand crept up a little further, his fingers on the band of my stocking.

I pretended not to notice.

My heart was racing.

"Oh hey," he said. "I'm not taking you away from your friends, am I?"

"Friends?"

"The friends you were going out with?" he reminded me.

"Oh them," I blinked, "they can go fuck themselves."

He chuckled in a way that made my panties wet.

My mouth was so dry, I had to straighten up, and grab the wine glass, swallowing hard. I was vividly aware of how the motion brought my breasts together and pushed my cleavage forward, and knew he stared appreciatively.

He hunched a little forward, fingers teased the edges of bare flesh at the top of my stocking. Involuntarily, my thighs closed slightly, I trembled. Was I flushed?

"You do remind me of Cinderella," he said.

"Because I turn into a pumpkin at midnight?" I teased.

Gentle pressure against the inside of my knee, hardly noticeable. If you were talking, distracted, you might not even be aware. Bullshit. I was so aware, even as I gave way, millimeter by millimeter.

"No," he said, "it's the way Cinderella ran away, and the Prince wanted to find her so bad. He wanted more of her. Because she fit so well, tight and snug, but just... fit."

What a clumsy entendre.

"I seem to remember an article of clothing went missing from the ball," I said, remembering my panties. I was pretty sure he'd stolen them.

"No," he said, "it's all about sliding in and see how it fit. I think you came back looking for something that slipped right in you, something big and thick that felt so good. I think you came back for more of what I have for you."

"Well, if we're talking about things that fit, I think we both ended up uncovered and bare." I whispered into his ear, bending forward a little further, my thighs widening just a little more. "I thought you wore shoes to the dance, but when you came you were bare foot and splashed in my pond. You were a very bad boy."

His arm moved, his fingers brushed my panties. I blushed bright and hot, drawing in a deep breath. How was anyone not noticing? Was Sam seeing this? Was I putting on a show for strangers?

"A very bad boy!" I repeated.

"I'm very bad," he agreed. "But you didn't mind, did you?"

"I suppose."

"I think you kind of liked it?" he said, "The natural feeling, skin to skin."

"The mess."

He smiled, not even a little apologetic. I had to wonder if the condom breaking was entirely an accident.

A finger pressed against my panties, against the lips, pushing them apart, and moving smoothly upwards, until it pushed against my clit. My legs trembled and closed on his arm. But he didn't yield, and my thighs, trembling, fell back, defeated. I took a shuddering breath.

"I like your panties," he said.

"Silk," I told him..

"Feels nice."

"Red," I said.

"I know," Leroy replied. I could feel his fingertips probing, exploring the fabric, and the sensitive flesh underneath. I could feel him tracing my lips, exploring my clitoris, brushing against my pubes.

"Oh," I challenged. "How would you know that?"

"I got a feel for these things." He found the boundary of my panties, tracing the edges of them, fingertip wavering along the soft skin.

"Mmm hmm," I agreed. I tried to look stern. "Do you plan to steal them?"

"I intend on removing them," he said. He pressed against my clit, circling in a way that made my breath hitch, and my heart pound. Then he'd slide down, pressing the silk between my parted wet lips, drawing the fabric together at the narrowest so that I could feel fingertips on my bare flesh. I was blushing nonstop.

"I'm sure I have no idea why you would be interested in that," I said primly. "But I think they might stay on this time."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

"I think you might be out of luck."

"I feel very lucky."

"I am, after all, a very good girl."

"But..." he said, "I'm a very bad guy."

His fingertips pushed the narrow band of panties aside, plunging against my wet lips, opening them, but not quite entering. I gasped out loud.

"Holy shit!" I whispered.

"Excuse me?" he teased. His two fingertips moved smoothly up, pushing, twisting the fabric of my panties, pushing them aside. I felt two bare fingers on either side of my suddenly exposed clitoris.

"Holy shit!" I gasped. "Holy fuck! What are you doing?"

Was this ten minutes? Was this even five?

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Yes!" I said. "No!" Wait. "Maybe!" I sucked in a breath. "In... a minute?"

Leroy whispered to me. "We both know that there's only one reason you walked into this bar, and that's to get railed by my big cock. You want that pussy split open in the way your husban-"

"Boyfriend."

"You want to get done the way your boyfriend can't."

"He's pretty big too," I said defensively, and gasped loudly, as a finger stroked and circled my bare clit. It was like he knew it better than I knew myself, touching confidently, and leaving me breathless.

"But you're here, looking for my cock. My big cock."

"Yes." I surrendered. I could feel my pussy just pulsing wetness. The bar stool must be soaking.

"Say it," he said, "say you want my big cock."

"I want your great big cock," I whispered, not hesitating in the slightest, blinking but not seeing, concentrating on the sensations. I leaned forward, hand on his thigh, gasping softly. "I want you to fuck me with that great big cock."

"Good girl. What about your boyfriend?" he teased. "Say fuck him."

"Come on," I protested. Sam was listening after all.

He moved his fingers, and I literally shivered all the way up my spine. "Wow! Your fingers! How do you do that!"

"Say 'my boyfriend can go fuck himself with his little dick, I want Leroy's cock."

"I'm not going-"

He did something with his fingertips above and below my clit.

"Fuck him. Fuck him," I whispered quickly. "He's useless. I want your big cock."

"What about his big cock? It's not that big after all, is it."

"No. It's not big. It's small. I don't want it. Fuck him, he can fuck off with his little dick. I need your big cock in me."

I was blushing madly and squirming on my seat. I didn't want to squirm, I was trying not to, I just couldn't help it. But even though I moved, his fingertips moved perfect time, always the perfect spot to leave me breathless.

How the fuck was he doing this to me? We were in a bar full of people, for all I knew, half the place was watching him finger me. I couldn't think, my mind was quivering, overwhelmed with sensation, with lust, with this maelstrom of confusion and desperate need.

I replied automatically, taking whatever he said, embroidering, feeding it back. I was vaguely aware of calling Sam down, and some part of me hoped that with the soft whispers and the bar noise he wouldn't hear it.

"That's why you came back here," he said, "you had a taste, and you wanted more."

"Yes," I whispered. "Fuck! What you're doing to me. How are you? Holy fuck. Shit. Your big cock. Ever since you...I couldn't stop thinking... you fucked me. You came in me. Filled me. Took control... I need... Oh.. I remember how your come felt in me... oozed... More. Yes, I loved you coming in me, I was mad but after I liked it.. Just.. Thinking about it..."

I knew I wasn't even making sense. It was like my brain was jello, just filled but disconnected and quivering, and somehow he'd inserted a pipeline straight into my sexual subconscious, bringing up incoherent images and words and urges. It felt like I was wetter, hornier, more desperate than I'd ever been in my life.

"Oh Jesus," I whispered. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm such a slut."

"Let's go," he said. The fingers were gone, withdrawn, the fabric of my panties, twisted and pulled, relaxed, leaving me shaking and blinking. He took my wrist, and pulled me off the stool.

To my shock, I didn't collapse into a quivering pile of boneless mush. I stood, although all my muscles felt like water. I felt weightless and boneless, almost floating, like a balloon. I was still incoherent, but thoughts started to swim together again.

Leroy led me to the back of the bar, and if anyone was watching, I was incapable of giving a shit. He could have bent me over the nearest table, and I'd have obeyed mindlessly and welcomed it. Faces flickered past, images, as we made our way to the hallway to the toilets. I have no idea how I did not stagger. I saw Sam, but we were past by the time I recognized him. I think he must have seen only hungry gasping need in my face.

Then we were in the men's room again, the familiarity of it, the dirty mirror, the sink, the urinals, the grimy walls and the smell seemed to anchor me, helping me to focus. Not that it made much difference. Leroy was pushing me up against the wall, the spaghetti straps down my shoulders, he was cupping my bare breasts. His mouth was on my neck, my collarbone. He kissed me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth, and I welcomed it.

"I've wanted another crack at you," he said between kissed. "You couldn't get enough of me, could you. You fucked that asshole, Derek, but you were looking for me, weren't you?"

Wait! What? Derek? He knew about Derek? Derek must have talked. People must have seen me go into the Men's room with him. Hell, they must have seen me go in now. And the first time, with Leroy. The story, the stories must be going around, must have... everyone probably knew. I shouldn't. Everyone probably watching. I shouldn't. Coming here was a mistake. All these fragments of thoughts came and went in an instant flash, and I didn't care about any of them.

One hand released my breast, reaching down, pulling up my dress to reach between my legs, nimbly pushing the fabric aside, and grabbing my bare pussy. A finger slid up inside me and all I could do was go boneless around it.

"You were looking for me."

"Fuck yes," I said quickly to get it out of the way. "I came back for you, but you weren't there. I came back again tonight. Fuck me."

"Take off the dress," he ordered, his body pressing into me. I felt his cock in my hand.

I blinked for a second, the order forcing me to arrange my thoughts. "Zipper," I said, pushing away from the wall. I reached behind me, turning way from him. "Here. Unzip me."

I felt his hand on my zipper, drawing it down. The dress loosened, the spaghetti straps fell away from my arms, and I felt fabric sliding down, as the dress fell away, and pooled around my feet, leaving me with nothing but my black stay-up stockings and red silk panties.

Leroy wrapped his arms around me from behind, cupping my breasts. I felt him licking the back of my neck and moaned, pushing back at him. Gloriously his hands slid down my body, one reaching behind to cup my ass cheek, the other slipping under the waistband of my panties. Two fingers unerringly sought out my clitoris, and took my breath away with a touch.

"How?" I gasped. "How do you do that?"

"I used to be a musician," he said, the comment seemed so random it startled me. What the hell did that mean.

"God, that ass! I'm going to fuck that ass."

Anal? I wanted, expected him to jam his cock up my aching pussy. The discord cut through the haze.

But there was no time to react. He took my wrist, turning me around, pinning me against the door of a bathroom stall. He lifted the other wrist, pinning them both above my head.

"Look at you," he said, his expression complete lust. It was like being bathed in dark light, I wanted to squirm, to writhe, to drench myself in it, in my nakedness and captivity. "So fucking gorgeous, and wet and tight. I'm going to fuck you so hard."

"Two," I whispered, smiling. For a moment he looked confused, and I was vaguely happy, to have at least some lucidity. "After you fuck me, I'll be gorgeous and wet..."

I paused for a beat.

"But I won't be tight any more."

He laughed and pressed up against me. Pushing me against the crudely painted plywood of the toilet stall door. His mouth found mine, and we kissed, devouring each other. He released my wrists to squeeze my breasts and nipples, and I wrapped my arms around him.

"Condom," I whispered. I was lucid enough to think of it. "You need to wear a condom."

"Why?" He licked my neck, and I wanted to melt. "You won't get pregnant. And anyway, you've got a boyfriend, even if you do."

"Yeah," I whispered, "but..."

"I'm clean," he insisted. "Are you?"

"Yes, but-"

His lips found mine, he kissed. His hand dropped, clutching my soaked panties.

"I already came in you already," he said. "Remember. If one of us had something, we've already given it, can't get it twice... So don't worry about it."

"Oh... Right," I mumbled, around his lips. He was right, or at least, it made sense. I wasn't going to get anything I hadn't already gotten from the last time, we still had to wait for the testing. So it didn't make any difference.

"But-" I felt there should still be a condom, I couldn't find an answer in my state of confused lust.

He pulled his lips from mine, ran his hand through my hair, and suddenly, I was looking into his eyes.

"Besides," he said, "this pussy... this pussy, is too tight and sweet to waste on a rubber."

He kissed me.

"I want to take you bare," he said. "I want to feel you, I want to feel all of you, skin to skin. I want to come in you, I want to fill you up with me, have me dripping down your legs."

The images, the words, the idea of him bare in me, of his ejaculation in to my unprotected womb, his seed inside me, it transported me, it made me delirious.

"Okay," I whispered. "Yes."

He licked my collarbone, his hands were roving, moving, touching me everywhere. I was moaning.

"You want that too, don't you?" he whispered. "You want it bare. You want to feel real flesh, feel me, the real me, not some fucking latex. Let fucking assholes wear condom. Let your boyfriend wear them. Not me. You want me, baby. You want to feel me, you want my come up inside you."

I was almost delirious, but his words, as intense and vivid as they were, were confusing. I'd said yes, but he was still trying to persuade me. You won, guy, you don't need to keep trying to talk me into it.

"Fuck me bare," I whispered to stop him. "Come in me. I want to feel it."

I wanted that cock in me, on me, his body, his hands, his mouth, his semen ejaculating around his penis as it filled my vagina.

He grinned crookedly. "Good girl."

"You know what?" He kissed me, reaching between my legs. I felt him gather the fabric.

"You're going to fuck me," I purred.

He yanked, I felt my panties tear, the waistband snapping as the fabric let go. I squealed. Suddenly, I was bare and exposed. So much for my underwear, another pair gone.

"Fucking right," he growled. "Let's get some privacy."

He reached above my head, pulling the stall door open and pushing me inside. I took one look, and stopped.

"Fuck!" I said, and not in a good way. I stepped forward, and flushed, hoping that whatever was in there would swirl away, and not overflow. "Fuck, that's disgusting."

"Don't worry about it," he said, pushing me forward.

"Not this one," I said, backing up. What the fuck was wrong with him? I was so horny I was literally melting, but the filthy stall was too much, it was distracting. "The other one. Please."

"Sure," he said. He reached down retrieving my dress from the wall near the stall. I had the presence of mind to grab my purse as I stepped into the stall, thankfully less disgusting, and placed it on the back of the toilet tank.

I felt his hand on my ass.

"Hey bitch," he grunted, "assume the position. I'm going to rail that tight little cunt."

This was how we'd finally done it the last time. We'd fumbled around, up against the wall, or even sitting on the sink. But what had eventually worked was bending over the toilet, folding my arms, bracing against the toilet, back arched, legs spread. Presenting for mounting, Sir!

Derek had fucked me like that, but he'd been shorter, and I'd had to lower my hips, bending my legs and turning knees outward, so he'd thrust up into me at a weird angle while my inner thighs slowly turned to fire.

But now, this third time, I assumed the position almost instinctively, bending, my breasts swaying above the toilet, legs parting. I felt one hand on my ass, the other cupping my now bare pussy. My dress slipped from his hand, falling beside the toilet. Two fingers slid inside, then three.

"Yes," I grunted loudly. "Shove those fingers in me. Finger me. Play with my cunt. I'm so fucking wet for your cock."

"You are," he said. "You're so fucking wet."

I felt so wanton. I was completely naked, except for my stockings and heels. The other times, we'd pulled skirts up and tops and pants down, made a mess of my clothes. As if, in case anyone walked in, we'd pull my clothes into shape to pretend modesty, and conceal myself from strangers. But now I was finally bare, nude, there'd be no pretense, no concealing from strangers. It felt like I'd crossed a threshold into deeper sexuality, or deeper submission. It was liberating.

It felt like a surrender to Leroy. Yes, that was it. This time was surrender. A surrender, giving myself up to him more fully this time, not just taking his cock, but giving up my clothes, giving him my nude body, giving up the condom, giving him my bare cunt, making my body a receptacle for his flesh and semen. On some level, I realized he wouldn't think like that, he wouldn't give a shit even if he knew.

But the metaphor, the symbolism of my surrender was so psychologically and sensually intense it shook me to my core. It made my body tremble with need, a craving to be taken and owned. The significance almost made me dizzy. I was glad he didn't register any of it, that it was just in my head. Or it would have been such a potent tool for him... or a weapon.

"Oh god," I said. "I am wet. I'm dripping. My pussy is so wet for your big cock. I need you to fuck me with that big cock."

I was talking right at my purse. On the other side of my phone, I knew Sam was in the bar, sitting at a table, listening to every word. I imagined him excited, his cock so rigid it was practically vibrating. I imagined him hungrily drinking every word down, swallowing it. His excitement, the idea of his excitement at my debasing myself into this wanton sexual creature in front of him. I'd be a creature of pure radiant sex as he listened, I'd be every porn star he'd ever jerked off to. That sent me stratospheric.

I felt something pressing between my lips. Opening me.

"Yes! Oh shit! Oh fuck, yes!" I cried out. "I can feel it. I can feel your cock! Fuck me!"

I wanted to be verbal for him, to do a moment by moment, play by play description. I wasn't just for him. Talking was exciting, it reinforced the intensity, the vividness. I liked to be mouthy in bed generally. For me, talking dirty was like watching porn while fucking. But doing it this way, doing it for Sam and me, having Leroy or Derek listen. Like I said, stratospheric.

The cock pulled back, vanished. "Oh!" I cried out. "Give it."

SMACK!!! My ass cheek exploded in stinging fire, a wave of heat spreading, followed instantly by pins and needles. The succession of sensations almost instantaneous, marching one after the other, leaving me breathless.

"OW!!!" I cried out, not comprehending for a second. My ass had been slapped hard. I panted, trying to catch my breath.

"Ohh!" Suddenly, I felt myself being entered. Leroy's hard cock sliding in. "Yes!"

And then it was gone, I gasped, feeling almost forlorn. An aching sudden need to be filled consumed me. I rocked my hips, pushing myself backwards. "Please!"

SMACK!!! "OW!!!" The slap, harder than the first, burst over my ass like a shower of pins and needles driving me forward, wedging.

"Fuck!" Again, Leroy's cock slid in.

"Who's in charge here?" Leroy demanded.

SMACK!!! "Ow!!! You are, you are. You're in charge."

At least this one wasn't as hard.

"That's right," his hand slid along my pussy, fingers unerringly finding my clitoris. His thumb slid inside me, working towards my G-spot. I groaned.

"Who's the pussy?" he said. "Who's the cunt?"

"Me, Sir," I whined. "I'm the pussy, I'm the cunt. I need to be fucked so bad."

What the fuck was he doing? Submission, dominance, were incredibly psychically powerful. The very idea of submission could leave me dizzy and gasping, eager to do things I'd never imagined. But sometimes it was such a delicate balance. There was a fine line between master and asshole and so easy to fall wrong.

"Oh yeah," he said, he stroked my G-spot until my knees were shaking, then he withdrew. His hands grasped my hips holding me in place. I felt the head of his cock brush my lips. He was teasing me, I understood now. For some reason, that excited me more. "How bad?"

"Real bad. I need your cock."

"Beg."

"Please, please fuck me. Ram that big hard cock up inside me. Fuck me. Fuck me like a cheap slut. Fuck my tight pussy. Come in me. Fuck the shit out of me."

"This cock?" He pushed the head inside. I tried to rock back on it.

"Yes! Your cock."

"What about your boyfriend's cock?"

"No! Your cock! Fuck me, please. I need it."

"Why not your boyfriend's cock?"

"It's not big enough. It's not as big as yours."

"Pretty small, right? I could tell because you're so tight. You're so tight right now. He can't do the job. That's why you need a big cock."

I hated how it inflamed me. Every word he spoke made me wetter. He was saying horrible things about Sam, and it was getting me off, making me want to say these things. The fucker, he'd picked up on my verbal thing, and was using it. He was using it against me, and I loved it.

"Fuck him," I said, I boiled with shame, both wanting to delve, and needing to move the dirty talk somewhere else, "and his little dick. I don't care about it. I need more. I need a real cock. A big cock. I need a man who knows how to fuck."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes! Please, fuck me with your big fucking cock. Pound me. Ram me. Fuck the shit out of me. I want you bare. I want you to come in me and fill me with your come."

"You made me wear a condom."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I made a mistake. Your cock is too big for a condom, it feels too good. I need it bare."

"You learned your lesson."

"Yes! You showed me. You filled me and I loved it. I couldn't stop thinking about it."

"Next time, I'm going to fuck you bare too," he said, "and you'll love it.

Next time? What was he thinking? But I was too caught up to think about it. "Yes, I'll love it," I agreed. "I want it bare."

And then, it happened. I felt his cock moving forward, sliding deeper and deeper, all the way in. His hips slapping against me, bottoming out. My jaw dropped, I moaned long and deep.

"Oh god yes!" I cried out.

"You like that?" He slapped my ass, but not so hard.

"Oh god, I love that big hard cock in me."

"Better than your boyfriend? Bigger?"

Fuck! What was wrong with him? Like, fucking insecurity much?

"So much better," I moaned, "so much bigger."

He was big enough, and it felt really good. He seemed the same size. Maybe it was how crazy wet I was, he slid right in. But maybe Sam was bigger. Whatever, he seemed to need to hear it, and I knew it would turn Sam on to listen to me take some super giant cock. So I played to it.

"Oh god," I moaned. "You're so fucking big. You fill me up, you fill me right up."

"Oh yeah?" I could hear the greedy hunger in his voice. He was thrusting furiously, his cock ramming me so hard my whole body was shoving back and forth. I had to brace myself with a forearm not to have my head smashed into the wall.

"Oh fuck," I panted. "You're so big. You're fucking me deeper than anyone has before. You're touching, fucking places in me no one has ever reached. Oh and you're so goddamned thick."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh fuck yes!" I grunted. "Every time you ram that monster in me, it feels like you're splitting me in two, and all I want is for you to ram it in again, harder."

"You want it harder!" He was pounding furiously, the sound of his hips slapping my ass was loud in my ears.

"Yes! Yes! Harder. Wreck my pussy with that goddamned big cock!"

The door opened.

We froze. Footsteps. I was panting softly, I couldn't help it. Leroy leaned forward carefully, putting a hand on my mouth, and bulled me backwards towards him, until I was almost upright. I could feel his knees bending, changing the elevation of his hips, the angle of his cock in me. His other hand wrapped around my belly, holding me in place, the palm descending, until his fingertips brushed my clit, sending a shiver through me.

I stared at the graffiti covered back wall, trapped in his viselike grip. We waited, The footsteps moved through the bathroom. It must have taken no time at all, but with my heart almost pounding through my chest, it felt like forever. Then a hissing sound at the urinal.

Suddenly, Leroy thrust up into me so hard and abrupt my eyes bulged. For an instant, if felt like my feet lifted up off the ground. I snorted involuntarily, and Leroy moved his hand to pinch my nostrils shut. Only his hand on my mouth kept the breath from being knocked out of me. The sensation left me dizzy. It was like being hit with a car, or being in an earthquake.

Leroy eased back, moving utterly silently, as I was held helpless. I could feel his cock drawing down. And then another brutal thrust, like a rocket going off under me and into me. Mouth and nostrils pinched shut.

As he withdrew, he eased his pinch on my nostrils, allowing me to desperately suck vital oxygen. But then, they pinched shut. Another violent thrust. I was boneless in his grip, almost dizzy, black spots at the edges of his vision. From this angle, he felt gigantic, like a traffic cone ramming suddenly into me. It was almost traumatic, each disorienting, like some explosive catastrophe, pushing me to the dizzying precipice of orgasm.

The pissing stopped. We froze. More footsteps, the taps on. He was washing his hands. Another brutal thrust. I could feel my eyes rolling back inside my head, the only distraction my body's desperate hunger for oxygen. Suddenly, I could inhale, and then just as quickly, it cut off, followed by another savage eruption up into me. I could feel my shoes lift off the floor, as for an instant, my entire body weight was impaled upon a cock that felt like a ram. I saw stars, my body shook. His grip tightened.

The water shut off. Footsteps. The door opened again, and closed. We waited another instant.

His hand dropped from my mouth. I heaved great sobbing breaths.

"Fuck!" I groaned. His grip eased, and released me, only holding my hips. I could barely hold myself up, my legs were shaking so badly. I bent forward, folding my arms and resting my elbows on the toilet tank. But even then, his cock remained nestled up inside me, it felt too good. "That was intense."

"Yeah," he panted. He sounded tired. I remembered how the inside of my thighs had screamed with Derek. Exotic positions were hard on him too I guessed. I was glad, he was human.

"Do you think he heard us?"

"I don't know. But if he looked at the stall, he'd have seen two pairs of feet. So, he would have known that either two people were fucking, or there was a unicorn drinking out of the toilet."

I laughed, genuinely. I was surprised, I didn't think he had it in him. In that moment, I kind of liked him.

Not that I was hating on him for fucking the living shit out of me. That was bonus.

"That was tough," he said. "You probably didn't feel much, but fuck it was hard doing it like that."

"I felt it," I admitted.

"I wasn't too rough?"

"No, it was good."

"This is why I wanted the other stall," he said. "It's against the wall, a lot harder to see under. This one, we might as well have not bothered shutting the door."

Now he tells me. That made a lot of sense. Probably, it also explained why the other stall was so disgusting.

His cock was see sawing back and forth inside me, after the traumatic upward thrusts, it was almost relaxing. I moaned.

"Oh that feels good," I gasped. "That's good. Harder."

He grabbed my hair, pulling my head back, making me arch my spine. The angle of his penetration shifted, his cock sliding up against my gee spot. I gasped quickly, the sensations re-ordering my breathing into syncopated grunts. Tremors rippled through my muscles.

"You giving orders again?"

"No, Sir," I forced out. "No, Sir. Begging, that's all. That big cock splitting me, going up so deep, it feels so good, it's got me begging. Pleading. I need it, it's so good. I'm imploring. Supplicating. Please, Sir, harder."

Out of nowhere, a line from Oliver Twist flashed through my head, and I almost giggled. "Please, Sir! Can I have some more!"

He let go my hair, but it felt so good, I kept my back arched, letting him ride up against my g-spot over and over. It was hard to make words. I just swore and moaned. My knees were shaking so much, he had to help hold me up.

My muscles were failing me. His thrusts pushed me forward and down, until I was kneeling on the edges of the toilet seat. He bent forward, I could feel him almost pressed against my back. As he thrust, he reached around to fondle my breasts, squeezing them, pinching my nipples until I was mewing with touch. One hand kept my breasts, fondling each in turn. The other reached down between my legs. For a moment, I felt his touch at my nether lips, squeezing them, as his cock thrust smoothly up into me. Then, once again, three fingers drew towards my clit, tapping, stroking, teasing.

The sensations of his fingers on my clitoris, the steady thrusting of his hard cock, his hand on my breasts, the weight of his body behind me, it was all overwhelming and indescribable. I felt my breath race, my heart speed up. This electrical sensation began to erratically between my clit and my pussy. I squirmed, but the sensation kept building and building with each jump, each thrust, each touch.

My jaw dropped. I stopped breathing for a second as if I'd forgotten how, then sucked air suddenly. My eyes went wide.

"Oh fuck!" I cried out. "Oh fuck! Oh fuck! It's, it's, it's happening. Oh god, I'm..."

The orgasm hit like a tidal wave. I couldn't stop it, couldn't cope. It just picked me up and flung me, rolling over and over as I struggled to breathe. I moaned loudly, not caring if anyone came in. I couldn't think. My knee slipped off the toilet seat, I lost control of my body. I was only vaguely aware I was squirting uncontrollably over and over, my stomach muscles seizing so tight they hurt.

When I could think again, I realized Leroy's cock was still in me. As I caught my breath, he started moving it back and forth, returning to fucking.

"My turn now," he said.

"Yeah sure. Whatever," I said vaguely. I sucked air. I was trying to get both my eyes to focus. But it sounded good. Whatever he wanted. Certainly. It sounded like a good idea. I approved. I wasn't focused enough to know what he was talking about. But whatever it was, sure, I approved.

He reached around my waist, pulling me up like a like a sack of laundry. I was fine with that. I wasn't sure I still had bones. Probably. He could do anything with me, as long as no actual volition was required on my part, I was good with that. He started thrusting his hips, making me flop back and forth as he pounded into me with measured strokes.

"Oh yes," I said. It felt good being fucked like a rag doll.

"Oh yes," he grunted.

It was nice that we agreed on something. I wasn't sure what. But yes, happy.

"Oh fuck me," I moaned, "your cock feels so good."

"I'm going to fucking come in you," he growled.

"Yes," I grunted. That notion cut through the random flotsam that passed for my mind. I understood and totally approved. "Good. Come in me. Fill me."

His pace increased steadily, I felt his cock harden inside me, and swell. His grip tightened. I felt my own excitement building relentlessly as he fucked harder and harder. His thrusts faster and faster. His pounding increasingly brutal

"You feel it," he growled in my ear.

"I feel it." I whined.

"You feel me going deep. I'm so fucking close."

"You are. You are. I can feel you hard and deep."

"You're going to take it."

"I'm going to take it!"

"You're going to take it all."

"I want it."

The excitement was building in me. I found myself frantically fucking back at him with each thrust, desperate to have him deeper, take more of him.

Suddenly, his grip tightened like iron bands, forcing the air out of me, jamming me on his hips. I could feel his cock suddenly hot inside me, suddenly swelling.

"Take it! Take it! TAKE IT!!!"

But I could already feel him ejaculating up inside me, the hot squirts of semen flooding my walls with every thrust. My orgasm hit, I could feel my pussy clenching tight, almost pushing him out of me. But his drive was relentless. No matter how much my cunt squeezed, he pushed forcing his way deep, sending lightning bolts of sensation through me. My body surrendered suddenly, going limp. My pussy went slack, but it wasn't enough for him. He thrust wildly up inside me again and again, spurting over and over.

Finally, he was finished. We were collapsed, sprawled, me bent over the toilet, one breast hanging into the bowl, cold water brushing the tip of my nipple. His weight on my back. We were both breathing hard. I could feel his cock in me, throbbing slowly, evicting his last drops of semen into my sodden cunt, deflating with each pulse.

When it felt out, I felt this sense of loss and mourning.

Eventually, he got up off me, pulling up his pants, leaning against the wall if the toilet stall. A moment later, aching, I climbed up, and sat sprawled on the toilet.

"Third time's the charm," I mumbled to myself.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He stepped forward, and slapped his limp dick against my face.

"Put it in your mouth," he said. "Clean me up."

There was no will left in me. What is it with men shoving their limp dicks in my face when I was too wrung out to say no? It was taking advantage is what it was - like cheating.

I just opened my mouth, taking it in, and rolling my tongue against it, sucking. There was no sign of an erection in there. It didn't taste bad. Derek's had tasted of latex and condom funk, that kind of sweaty slime cocks get when men fuck with condoms on - I so hated that. But this wasn't bad, it was just skin texture, and male sweat, and my own juices.

I swallowed all the way and stuck my face in his pubic hair and inhaled and enjoyed the smell of his maleness. When he ordered me to lick his balls, I licked them.

When he was satisfied, he zipped up. I finally had the focus to try to pull myself together. I reached into my purse for a compact mirror and checked myself. Oh yeah, this girl has been fucked hard.

I grabbed a brush, made a few desultory efforts with my hair and then gave up. Whatever. This minimal effort would have to do.

I was naked, except for my stockings, and one of them was starting to roll down. I pulled it up. The shift of my leg made the semen he'd deposited in me move. I could feel it oozing inside me, and put my hand between my legs, feeling it seep across my fingers.

"Jesus," I told him. "You really did fill me up."

"I told you I would. Don't say you didn't love it. I could feel your pussy sucking ever drop."

What did that even mean, I wondered. I was afraid to ask. Sometimes it felt like men had no idea how women's bodies worked.

"What were you doing?" I asked. "Saving it up for Christmas?"

I looked down at his feet.

"You're standing on my dress."

"Oh," he said. "Sorry."

He bent down to grab it, and handed it to me. I pulled it on. My dress was filthy, with a footprint and ground in toilet and floor grunge. There was a tear in the side, along the seam, and another lower down in the material, at the top of the slit in the skirt, a small rip along the hem. The zipper didn't quite go up all the way. Worst of all, one side was wet, I wasn't sure with what, and I didn't think I wanted to know.

I checked myself as best I could in the mirror. Oh fuck, I thought. From classy to trashy. It was a shame, I loved this dress. Still, it had been an epic fuck.

"You want to go get a drink," Leroy asked. "Give me an hour or two, and I'll have enough gas in the tank for another run."

What the fuck? I'd never heard that idiom, it made me wonder where he was from. I gazed at him. The idea of hanging around a dive bar, slowly getting wasted until he got his second erection seemed... unspeakable.

Holy fuck, but it was unappealing.

What had I been even thinking in the first place, with this guy? His semen was running down my leg. Absently, I wiped it with the hem of my dress. Yeah, that would leave a stain, but so what.

Where the hell were my panties?

Oh right.

"I'm good," I said. "Honestly. You wore me out." I pulled out my phone. "I think I'll just call an Uber and go home and crash."

I hoped Sam figured it out. I wanted him to get the car and pick me up outside.

"Can't change your mind?"

"Cinderella, remember. I turn into a pumpkin at midnight," I reminded him.

"Well," he said, "you got ridden hard, plowed and seeded. I guess its time to put you to bed wet."

Wait, did he mean to come home with me? Fuck that. No, second thought, he knew I had a boyfriend. Okay.

We walked out of the bathroom, into the bar. Maybe it was my imagination, but it felt like the ripple of bar babble quieted briefly for us, and that at least a few eyes checked out my new, just fucked really hard, look.

There was no sign of Sam. Good. Probably. I hoped that meant he'd gone to get the car. We sat at an empty table, maybe the one Sam had vacated. I checked my phone. There was a text from Sam, he was getting the car. I pretended to call an uber.

My stomach hurt a little bit, but I felt surprisingly good. Energetic even. The temporary exhaustion of shattering orgasms had dissipated. I felt invigorated, almost frisky.

"You know," I said. "I almost feel like I could go back for another round. I'm tempted. But..."

He grinned that sleazy knowing grin, his gaze sliding across my body like I'd oiled up for him. My nipples hardened. There was a wet spot on the seat, probably from his come leaking out of me. He might be a loser, but he had a sexy thing going on.

"You know," Leroy said, "I'm down for at least an hour. But I could probably arrange a few trips to the men's room for you."

"Really?" I asked.

The idea sent butterflies racing through my stomach. The notion was disgusting. I glanced around the bar, to see who, if anyone, was watching us. What the men were. I imagined walking into the men's room over and over again, each time with a different man, taking off my dress and being nude, or being fucked in it, being looked at, touched, bent over the toilet, or sitting on the sink, or up against the wall or the urinals, taken from behind, kneeling. I could feel my soaked pussy clenching, my heart rate picking up. My mouth was a little dry.

"Who?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.

Again, that sleazy grin. He shrugged elaborately and leaned forward, his eye seemed to fix on someone over my shoulder.

"No!" I said suddenly. I wanted to turn and see who he was looking at, who he might pick to fuck me. At the same time, I didn't want to see. I wanted and didn't want. Absolutely nothing good would come of me turning and looking. "I have an uber coming."

"You can cancel it," he said easily.

"Yeah, I could," I said. "But no. I don't think I will."

He shrugged.

"Just a thought."

I was shocked that I had thought of it, even if only for a moment. I decided not to mention this thought to Sam.

My text message beeped.

Sam.

"My Uber is here," I pulled myself to my feet. Leroy rose up with me.

"I want to fuck you again," Leroy said, as we walked to the front of the bar.

"At the bar."

"You've got a thing, let's do it again. Come by, next Wednesday at eight."

"I don't know," I said.

"Next Wednesday at eight," he repeated. "I'll do you in the Men's room again."

"All right."

Why the fuck did I say that? Now I was making dates with this guy?

"Good," he said. "Don't be late."

"I won't."

Fuck! What was wrong with me.

We stepped out into the street. Sam had pulled up in our car. Leroy glanced dismissively at him. Then he took me in his arms and kissed me. I hadn't expected that, and it took my by surprise. As his lips pressed against mine, his tongue snaked into my mouth, and his hand slid down the strap of my breast, to slip under the cup and take my bare exposed nipple in hand, pinching hard.

I gasped, pulling my face away, breaking the kiss. But he just took the opportunity to bring his hand down, lifting my skirt and cupping my pussy in his palm, right out on the street. Breathless, suddenly half naked, I didn't know how to react as he kissed my open mouth, our tongues sliding against each other.

"Remember," he whispered.

"I will," I replied, though at the moment, I was so disoriented, I had no idea what he was talking about.

All I knew was my bare breast was out in the middle of the sidewalk, my pussy had been exposed, and I'd been wantonly frenched, all right in front of the love of my life, Sam, as he waited in the car. Leroy's fingers were slick from my pussy, probably from his own come as well as my juices. He wiped them off on my dress, what a gentleman, and waved.

I got in the car, and Sam and I pulled away.

"Sounds like you got your bell rung," he said.

"Oh yeah," I said. "Rung hard. Let's get home. I want to take a shower, burn this dress and fuck you blind."

"Any particular order?"

I leaned into him, reaching between his legs. Hard as a steel bar.

"We'll see what comes up first."

SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 04, Back to the Men's Room... with Derek

SAM Kayley was drop-dead fuckable. She'd curled her red hair so that it hung in waves, used eyeliner to make her eyes sparkle, and applied h

SAM POV

Kayley was drop-dead fuckable. She'd curled her red hair so that it hung in waves, used eyeliner to make her eyes sparkle, and applied her brightest reddest lipstick. This time she wore a purple velvet miniskirt, way too short for stockings. It showed off her long bare legs. Sitting in the car, her skirt was hiked up so I could almost see her panties, I kept glancing. She wore a matching purple top, satin, not velvet, low cut with spaghetti straps, just loose enough that you could see the curve of her breasts every time she moved. You could definitely see how hard her nipples were.

"How do I look," she asked again, as we drove.

"You look hot, you look sexy, and you look barely a few steps from being a hooker," I said.

She smiled.

"Fuckable?"

"Very. If I dropped you off on the right street corner," I assured her, "you'd get a lot of offers."

"I thought you said I was still a few steps from looking like a hooker."

"The right street corner would complete the look," I said cheerfully.

She giggled.

"Maybe we should do that instead."

"Really?" I asked, I was genuinely curious. Would she do it? The thought of Kayley standing on a street corner waiting to be bought by the first John pulling up in a car with cash, gave me an instant erection. There was something about the idea, the image, that overwhelmed me with lust.

Could I bear to watch her do it?

"No," she said quickly, not quite nervous. "That's a step too far. I think doing this is scary enough."

"Are you scared?" I asked "We don't have to. This is supposed to be fun. If it's not, no one is going to force you."

She held up a hand. It looked perfectly still.

"I'm shivering a little," she said, looking at her finger. "My heart is beating faster. My mouth is dry. It was so much fun to talk about when we're in bed or flirting. But now... I mean... I'm going to walk into a bar and sit down so some random guy can pick me up. That's mental."

She took a deep breath.

"The thought that in half an hour or an hour, some complete stranger, some guy I'd never met before might be fucking me. A complete stranger will have his cock up inside me. That's bizarre. That's insane. That's... terrifying."

I glanced at her. She was staring straight ahead.

"There's so much that could go wrong, could go weird, could go dangerous. It could get out of hand. It could go so bad. I could get arrested. I could get hurt. Killed."

She took a deep breath.

"But it's fucking exciting," she exhaled. "My nipples are so hard they're tingling. My pussy has been wet all day, and every time I start thinking about what we're going to do, I can feel my vag clenching."

Another breath.

"I want to do it."

She looked directly at me. I pretended to stare at the road.

"I'm out of my fucking mind," she said. "Aren't I?"

"I think," I said carefully, "that you're adventurous."

"I'm only doing this because of you," she said quietly.

Startled, I looked directly at her. I had this flush of guilt. Was I pushing her into this? Had I pushed her? Was I taking a safe fantasy, and forcing her into acting it out?

"I know you'll keep me safe," she said. "I wouldn't do it without you. Too scary. But knowing you're there... that gives me strength. You give me the safety, the back up, to let me take this fantasy and try. We all go through life wanting so many things, and playing it safe, wanting and being afraid to try. You don't know how much that means to me. How much you mean to me."

Wow. I swallowed.

"I got your back," I said quietly.

"I know."

"And I think it's fucking hot," I admitted. "I'm crazy hard."

She smiled.

"I know," she said, "and I love it. You wonderful, supportive, kinky horndog. When this is over, if it goes right, I'll fuck you so hard."

"We're here," I said, pulling into the parking lot. There were more cars, but it was half empty. I chose a spot under a light, close to a street.

"Showtime!" she said.

"Showtime!" I agreed.

"I'll go in first," she said, "find a seat. You come in after."

"Maybe I should go in first," I said. "I'd love to watch you make an entrance, see every man turning to check you out. I bet half of them would have boners instantly."

"Yeah," she said. "But if I go in first, no one will notice you come in right after me."

"Ouch!" I said.

"Down boy!" she said. "If it was a gay bar, you'd definitely get checked out. I need to find my seat first, that way you can choose a spot to watch me from."

"Right," I sulked. She quickly leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Then she licked it.

"Oh no," she said. "I left a print." She grabbed a tissue and moistened it with her tongue before wiping it clear. "Wouldn't want you walking in and giving the game away."

She grinned, and reached down. I feeling how hard I was.

"I like that," she purred, then grinned. "I guess I'll have to touch up my lipstick when I get in. Hope no one notices."

"Well, if you're going to fix your lipstick anyway..." I looked down meaningfully. She followed my gaze and grinned. Very deliberately, she unzipped me, blew a kiss down, and then zipped me back up.

"I love the way you think," she said. "Consider this a down payment."

"Curses!" I fake moaned.

She got out and walked to the bar, swinging her hips a little, knowing I was enjoying the view. Oh yeah, I thought, the right street corner, she'd definitely have them lining up. After she vanished through the door, I adjusted my pants and followed her.

It was loud inside the bar, someone had been cranking up the jukebox. Disappointingly, it was emptier than last time. I was surprised, given the cars in the parking lot. Still, plenty of seats. Kayley was sitting up at the bar on the left side, among empty seats on either side of it. There were a couple of men at the other end of it, but they looked like regulars.

She glanced casually towards the door as I walked in, tracking me without seeming to really pay attention. I didn't hide it, when I checked her out. A woman like that? It would have been weird if I hadn't looked. This time, I chose a spot nearer the hallway to the washrooms. If anything went wrong, I wanted to be able to charge in quickly.

She nodded at nothing in particular, and swivelled her seat, facing the opposite direction, making sure I had a good view of her legs, perched and crossed on the bar stool.

Impulsively, I walked up to the bar myself, leaning on it, waiting for the bartender to come over. I looked directly at her, watching as she took out her compact to open the small mirror, and started touching up her lipstick. As she pursed her lips, I knew every man in the bar was watching those lips, dreaming of them wrapped around their cocks.

I had a sudden flash, Kayley on her knees, sucking cock after cock as men lined up. Suddenly, my cock which had subsided to a pleasant fullness, was rock hard. I put one foot up on the bar rail.

"Nice night," I said, smiling at her.

"Hmm?" she replied, tone distracted and dismissive, carefully not paying attention.

"I said 'nice night,'" I repeated more loudly.

Her eyes lifted from the mirror, looking me up and down, weighing and judging in a split second, and clearly finding me wanting. Her eyes drifted back to the mirror.

"I suppose," she replied, noncommittally.

The bartender came by, I ordered my beer. He started filling a glass.

"Are you here alone?" I asked, playing it eager and a little insecure. "Can I buy you a drink? Would you like some company?"

She responded with a bolder stare, no less dismissive.

"Sorry," she said, her tone flat. "I'm waiting for someone."

She turned slightly, her body language very clear. 'Fuck off creep.'

Shot down hard! Even the bartender winced. I knew it was all acting and role play, but it still stung. But it was also weirdly exciting. A part of me wanted to push a little further, to provoke a more blatant rejection.

"Well," I said, helplessly. But she was ignoring me.

I took my beer and went back to my seat, tail between my legs, noticing a few of the patrons had watched me strike out. They wouldn't have been able to hear, but our respective body language had been very clear. I'd timidly made a half hearted play, and she'd bitch slapped me into next Tuesday.

Maybe she'd slapped me too hard. For the next fifteen minutes, no one came near her. She made a show of looking at her phone. She swivelled in her seat, eyes roving over the bar. Then she'd cross and re-cross her legs, carefully showing off her bare thighs by adjusting her skirt, which always seemed to hike up on the stool. God, she radiated sex appeal, just sitting there.

Eventually, someone came up. Some young guy in ragged jeans and long hair, with a scraggly beard. She smiled and chatted politely for a moment, then shook her head. He went away.

A few more suitors went up. She smiled at each of them, laughed once, uncrossed and re-crossed her legs for another as he tried not to stare. But each of them went away in turn, clearly turned down. But none nearly as brutally as I'd been, and with perhaps some hope to try again later.

Her gaze swept the bar, lingered on the door.

She was waiting for Leroy. The thought sent butterflies through my stomach, I felt a little threatened. But why not, he was a known quantity, maybe the sex had been shit, but at least there was a little security there, he lacked the potential danger of a complete stranger.

I started watching the rest of the bar. Kayley was getting a lot of attention. There weren't that many women in the bar, and she was by far the hottest one. I could tell she was aware of the attention by the way she stretched her long legs, or crossed her thighs, or arched her back. All the movements were casual, but deliberately sensuous.

She finished her glass of wine, and then another. No one had come near her for at least ten minutes. She'd shot the boldest candidates down. She was working on the third glass when the guy came in.

He was below average height, I guessed, but with the stocky build that made him seem shorter. He had a plug neck and close cropped hair, clean shaven. He looked like a working guy, his clothes casual, but not sloppy. I couldn't see a wedding ring, but then I didn't have the best view.

Kayley glanced at him as he came in, and immediately lost interest. She was definitely waiting for Leroy, I thought. Again, I was unsure how I felt about it.

He definitely checked Kayley out, noting her short skirt and bare legs, her almost bare shoulders but for the spaghetti strap and the enticingly loose top. Then he glanced around the rest of the tavern. There was a brief nod, a half wave. So he wasn't a stranger, he knew people here. Not surprising. But was that good or bad? A quick adventure one on one was one thing. But other people were potentially dangerous variables.

While I was trying to assess, he looked Kayley over again, and made a bee line for the bar, stepping up almost at the spot that I'd taken, just a couple of seats over from Kayley. Close enough to open a conversation, not close enough to intrude. That bit of class put him ahead of most of her suitors this evening.

Interested, I waited to see what he would do next.

At first, Kayley ignored him, and he ignored her. Instead, he waited for the bartender to come up to take his order. Then once the bartender was pouring, he glanced over at Kayley and said something. I couldn't make out what he said, but he had none of the nervousness I'd pretended.

She looked up and replied. He said something else, and she smiled and replied again. He laughed, and leaned one elbow casually, as he spoke. She nodded and then shrugged. They exchanged back and forth. The mug of beer appeared on the bar in front of him, and he picked it up.

Kayley leaned forward to touch the bar stool next to hers. He nodded, smiling pleasantly, and came over. She pretended to shift on her stool to make room for him, allowing her knees to brush his. As he took his stool, she pivoted towards him, giving him her full attention.

Interesting, I thought. Why him? He didn't seem particularly her type. But then, when we played our games before, she was open to flirting with all sorts of men. But why him and not one of the others? Had she given up hoping for Leroy? Was it the third glass of wine steadying her nerves and loosening her inhibitions? Or was it that she hadn't been hit on for at least ten or fifteen minutes and had decided time was running out.

I settled back to casually watch them and enjoy the show. I'd seen her flirt before, but it was always fascinating. This time, she engaged with friendly neutrality, nodding politely, and responding carefully. But then she flashed a radiant smile. By steps the conversation grew more animated. He said something, she laughed. Emboldened, he came up with another witty remark, and this time they both laughed.

She touched his hand a moment, while telling him some story. Then she leaned forward while talking. For a moment, his gaze dipped to her cleavage, and then back to her face. But that was okay, she'd meant for him to peek. She shifted on her bar stool, swivelling ever so slightly, to draw his attention to her bare legs.

None of it was obvious, or crude. The conversation was pleasant, even enjoyable, her movements were casual, and he was careful not to be caught looking. Kayley turned her body, to take a long drink of her fourth glass of wine, allowing him to gaze at her body, appreciate the swell of her breast, the way her top lifted, exposing a flash of bare skin just above her shirt. Her legs swung a little, unself consciously, and from the way he glanced down, and the way the skirt rode up, I was sure he'd gotten a glimpse of panties.

She put the glass down half way, making some remark, and then turned to take another drink, letting his eyes slide over her body. Fuck, I could see her nipples poking at the fabric from here, and her skirt was so short and hiked so high on the stool I was absolutely certain that he'd glimpsed her panties a few times already.

But he wasn't really doing anything. He smiled continually, a nice easygoing grin, completely unforced. He leaned towards her, he whispered into her ear to make her laugh, and touched her arm.

But I wanted him to accidentally lay a hand on her thigh, and her legs to part. I wanted to see his touch on her bare shoulder, or him lean forward so that her nipple brushed his arm or even carefully try to cop a feel. Hell, I wanted him to even just be more obvious with his looking, not to be blatant, but let her see him appreciating her breasts or panties.

This wasn't more than the casual flirting with a stranger we usually enjoyed.

But we'd come here for more. She had come here for more. This was her adventure, after all. Did she have cold feet? They seemed to be getting along. Was she waiting for him to make the first move?

She'd told me I was her support, that she couldn't have done it, wasn't brave enough to do it without me. Was that it? Did she need my approval? My encouragement? I didn't want to push her into it, not if this was something she didn't really want. But what if she did want it, and she needed me for that little bit of extra strength to take the step?

After another ten or fifteen minutes of modest flirting, I decided to act. I pulled out my phone and texted.

Her phone buzz, she excused herself, pulled it out of her purse, and

"Go 4 it."

She smiled at the phone. I could see her excusing herself from her conversation for a moment. He nodded pleasantly and patiently.

"Is that a dare?" she texted.

I sent a chicken emoji. She grinned and texted back.

"If you can handle it, I'll do it." Smiling devil face.

I sent an eggplant emoji."U want? U need? Mr Grocer is rite there!"

Abruptly Kayley's name flashed, on my phone, connecting. I accepted the call, hearing the her voice as she muted me and dropped the phone in her purse.

"- oh just a girlfriend, she wanted to know if I wanted to go out and have some fun."

"Oh," the male voice. He sounded gruff, with that kind of deep quality that barrel chested men had, with a little bit of a country accent. "What did you say?"

"Nosey!" Kayley told him. "I told her I might have already found some. Now where were we?"

"We were talking about some of the crazy people we met."

"Oh yeah," she said. "I remember this guy in college. Armpit fetish. Went out with him once, all he wanted to do was sniff my pits. It was a very short date."

"Oh fuck," he said. "Knew this girl once, terrible hygiene, and some kind of body odor problem. Got drunk one night, went with her. Thickest bush I ever saw. Seriously, it was a shrubbery. She took off her panties, and it was out to hear..."

I glanced up, saw him making a gesture, hands apart. Kayley was laughing.

"But the worst thing, the hair was like stiff and crusty, and there was gunk in it."

"Ouch!" Kayley laughed. "Derek Jacob, that was so gross! You win."

She'd told me his name.

She took a sip, and leaned forward, touching his hand. He bent his head, so she could whisper, confiding a secret.

"I don't have that problem."

He perked up.

"Oh yeah."

"Shaved. I'm totally smooth down there."

As provocative as the words were, the sensual spin, the slow sexy way she said it, made me rigid. I could see him shifting unconsciously on the stool, and knew his dick was getting hard. There was a subtle change in his body language, a stiffness, an alertness. I could practically see what was going on in his head, it had been a simple, casual flirtation with a hot lady. Something that might lead somewhere. But suddenly, the heat had been turned way up. The possibility was turning real, and his excitement was aroused.

I'll give him credit, he handled the shock well, and played it cool.

"Nice. Here I was wondering if the carpet matched the drapes."

"They do, but I like a nice smooth polish. Men appreciate it."

"Can't argue with that."

"Change of pace," Kayley said. "Since you started talking about sex with Miss Minge, I want to hear more. Craziest sex you ever had! Good sex, I mean, not nasty gross stuff about boogers in bushes."

Long pause.

"Hmm, Mexico. College trip. I made it with three women at once - Black, white and Hispanic."

"Holy shit, a reading rainbow! How did that happen!"

"I hooked up with this girl, and she had a couple of lesbian friends, and we were all drunk."

"So each one of them?"

"Full penetration for each. Yep. Fucked em. Came in them. We all got freaky."

"You didn't just watch the lesbians get off?"

"Plowed each one of them, all the way to multiple orgasms."

"Now you're bragging," she laughed.

"It is what it is. Truth."

"Impressive. If I believe you."

"I swear. How about you?"

"I fucked a guy in a bar once."

"In a bar?"

"In the bar's mens room, same thing."

"That's pretty freaky. Boyfriend?"

"No, just some random guy I met in the bar."

"Hot."

"As a matter of fact, it was this bar," she leaned in to whisper that to him. Her breasts swayed, he couldn't help looking at her cleavage. Looked away quickly, saw her approval, and then looked again.

"This bar?" he asked, his voice suddenly thick.

"This very bar, right down there," she leaned in again, so he understood she was deliberately showing off her cleavage while looking and pointing towards the short hall that lead to the washrooms."

"Well, holy shit. When was this?"

"Not that long ago."

"Who was it?"

"Just some guy. I didn't even ask his name."

I almost laughed at his expression when she said that. Way to turn up the heat, Kayley.

"How did that happen?"

"Well," she said. "It just coincidentally happened that I wasn't wearing panties that night, and I was really wet. So it seemed like a good idea."

"Are you wearing panties now?" he asked. His hand finally brushed her knee, fingertips making their way lightly up the top of her bare thigh. She let him. Emboldened, his hand settled on the inside, still below her skirt. She signaled her approval by allowing her legs to part a little bit more.

"Yep."

His face was carefully neutral, but the hand moved up against the skirt, as if intent on verifying whether she was wearing them or not.

"Too bad."

"But I am wet." She was smiling. "Very wet."

He gave her a look.

"Good to know."

"Really fucking wet," she purred.

"Even better."

"So now that you know, what do you want to do about it?"

Even from my table, I could see his body language change, he seemed to stiffen and become alert, less casual, more focused. He had the urgency of a man intent on burying his cock in a wet pussy in the next few minutes. More than that, a man who knew he was going to bury his cock in a wet pussy. He was hard and eager.

"I think I'd like to take those panties off and fuck you," he said.

She smiled.

"You're not sure?" she teased.

He got the message. His hand went flat on her thigh, pushing it open not wide, but he was spreading her. His knee pressed against the inside of her knee. For the first time, he looked her up and down, no more sneaking peaks. This was a predator appraising meat. He'd shifted from eager suitor, to hunter looking at willing prey.

"Oh I'm very sure," he said, his voice harsher. "I'm definitely going to take those panties off and fuck you."

"I like that."

"I want to see that Men's Room," he ordered.

She reached over and pecked him on the cheek.

"I thought you'd never ask."

"Maybe I'm not asking. Maybe I'm telling you," he almost growled. Even with the limits of the phone muffling, I could feel the hot urgency in his voice.

I could imagine her smile and wink, and the wet flush between her legs.

"Even better," she purred.

She slid off her seat, and strolled to the men's room, him trailing after her. Our eyes met, she gave me a smirk and a wink. As she passed, me, she brushed by and her hip gave a little wiggle as it touched me. It was breathtaking how fast she'd moved once the decision was made for her. My heart was pounding, and it was literally all I could do not to turn to watch her.

But her new guy was right behind her. He was damned eager, his hand was on her ass before they were half way there.

"Do you have a condom?" she asked, her voice pitched low. "I don't do raw."

"There's a vending machine," he replied. I could hear the creak of the door opening.

I couldn't believe she was doing this. The first time, she'd been nervous, even tentative. Even when she'd been inside the bathroom she'd been uncertain. Now she was breezy and confident. In complete control. Did she feel more experienced? Or was he less threatening? Or she was just a little more drunk.

"Let me take off my panties," she said through the phone. I realized she was saying it for me, she could have just taken them off.

A wolf whistle.

"See," Kayley's voice. "Smooth! Gloriously smooth. I shaved just before I came here."

"That is a grade A pussy!"

He was looking. I imagined her boldly pulling her skirt up for him to see. Perhaps even stepping close, intimately close, to whisper in his ear.

"You like the look of it?" she purred. "It feels even better. I promise."

For a moment, there was nothing, no noise. I imagined her guiding his hand, or simply him reaching between her legs, cupping her smooth pussy, feeling how wet she was. A gasping breath, his, followed by hers. A slight grunt, hers, and I visualized his fingers slipping, thrusting into her.

Then a moan purring in her throat. They were kissing. His body against hers. Where was his hand? Was he touching her down there? Another moan.

"Fuck you're wet," he said. "You were fucking right about that. You were getting wetter as we were talking. I should have taken you into the Men's room the minute I saw you."

"You should have. You're so hard," she said. "It feels good. I knew the minute I saw you, that you'd have a big hard cock."

Then nothing. I held the phone to my ear, straining. Was that the sound of a footstep, of rustling clothes. I heard her soft grunt, and sigh, followed by his heavier masculine one.

"Oh," she whispered

"Ah," I heard, "Uh."

The sounds were distant. As if she'd put the purse down and moved away from it. Where was she. Pinned against a wall, leaning back on a sink.

Sucking noises, followed by a soft. "Oh yeah."

He'd pushed her top up and was sucking her nipples. I imagined her holding his head, pressing his lips to her breast.

Then that purr, that throat noise, she made sometimes, I could hear his breathless masculine snort, the sound of male hunger, and I knew they were kissing, making out passionately.

I visualized her backed up against the bathroom sink, all but naked, top up around her armpits, breasts exposed, nipples hard and shining with his spit, skirt up around her waist. In my mind's eye, her arms were wrapped around him, his hands were clutching her breasts hard enough to make her gasp. Her thighs were parted, and his hips were pushed against hers. Was his cock out already? I imagined it pressing against her soft belly as they made out.

She broke the kiss, I could hear her pant. "C- Condom," she got out. Her voice was odd, strained. Hungry and desperate. She must be dripping, her pussy soaked and clenching with the irresistible need to be fucked.

"Yeah."

They were both panting. I could only imagine how hard he must be right now, how urgent. His hands must be shaking as he reached into his pocket for change. A moment later, there was the sound of coin, and the clatter of a vending machine.

"Here we go," his voice was tight. The sound was better, I could tell she was right next to her purse. She was almost loud.

"Over here," she said. "In here. Like this."

"Okay."

"Is it on?"

"Yes."

"Let me check.... Okay."

"Ready."

"Yes."

"Get a little lower, spread your legs a little wider."

"Like this?"

"There."

"Okay."

"That's, oh yes, that's-" a grunt. "Oh fuck. Yes! Take that cock!"

"Oh! Uhgk! Ohhhh," her sudden groan was shockingly deep and guttural, I imagined his cock forcing its way in. The follow up gasp was softer, almost a pant, as if when he'd shoved his cock in it pushed the air from her lungs.

"You okay."

"Yes! Uhghk. Oh fuck you're thick!"

"You're tight," he said, there were room noises, creeks, the subtle sound of bodies moving.

"Uhnngk! Oh! Fuck." I was transfixed by how deep throated her groans were, the way they seemed to be forced out of her. I'd never heard her like this.

"You're like a fucking vise down there."

"AH! Oh! I won't be after you finish with me." This was followed by a lowing moan that sounded more like something from a cow than from the woman I loved.

For a moment, I only heard her deep guttural grunting.

"Uhngk! Uhngk! Oh!"

His answering grunt. Then...

"Fuck," she gasped. "You're going to ruin me for the next guy. Ohh!!! Uh!!!"

"Yeah," he said, voice tight and urgent. "Oh yeah. I'm going to wreck this tight pussy."

"Oh! Oh yeah," she agreed. "Ohhhh fuck. Oh you're going to wreck me. The next guy. He's going to stick it in, and he'll say "Bitch, how many babies have you had? He'll think I fucked a hundred guys."

He laughed.

"You won't even feel him," he gloated.

"Oh fuck!" this was especially clear, with that one, as if her head dropped suddenly and she was speaking right at the phone. "You're right. Uhhhh. I won't... He'll... he'll stick it in, and I'll go 'is it in?'"

"Sorry." But he didn't sound sorry. He sounded greedy and proud, she was really stroking his ego. "A pussy this tight, I just got to wreck it."

Or he was really thick. This blinding image of her tight pussy taking a massive thick cock, the delicate pussy lips stretching to their limits around it in a tight pink ring, as it pushed inch after inch up inside her, reshaping her.

"Fuck! Oh fuck, you're so fucking thick. You're ruining me. Wreck it. Wreck that pussy."

There was a hard slap, and then another. Something fell and clattered, and the sound changed.

"Take that cock, bitch," he said. "Take it all."

"Oh fuck," she said. "I'm taking it. Fucking tree trunk. Oh god, it's too much. You're splitting me in half."

In my mind, her delicate pussy gaped, as it withdrew, only to be pushed wide open, stretched taut, remade around the intruder as it relentlessly invaded her.

"Tell me to wreck that cunt."

"Oh! Uhghk! Ughk! Wreck! Wreck! Oh fuck."

"Say it!" A hard slap.

"Uhghk! Wreck me! Uhgk! Oh fuck, wreck my fucking pussy! Ruin me! Ohhhh."

"You love it!"

"Fuck yes! Fuck me! I love you wrecking me. Oh god, you're like a baseball bat you're so thick.. Ruin me. Ruin my pussy. I need it!"

"Fuck you're a hot piece of ass!"

It went on longer this time, at least ten minutes. Every now and then she'd give this long guttural moan, followed by a series of rising pants. And then it would just descend into more grunting.

"I'm going to come!" he yelled.

"Yes! Yes!" she grunted. "Come. Come in me. Fuck, yes!"

"Oh yeah!" he roared. "It's coming. It's coming!"

"Yes!" she said. "Do it."

"Here it comes!" And then a long gargling groan, almost a growl.

"Ohhhhh," his voice, drawn out in satisfaction. You could almost feel his grin through the phone, the wide smile of satisfaction, as his cock pumped the last squirts of jism, filling his condom inside her cunt.

Wait? Was he wearing a condom? Yes, they'd talked about it.

For a second, I was almost disappointed, the thought of him ejaculating in her unprotected cunt, his seed mingling with her bare flesh, his semen searching for her undefended womb. The thought made my cock so rigid I was breathless.

Maybe it broke, like the other guy? The thought made me dizzy. The condom breaking, his seed spilling like a flood into her exhausted, used pussy. An intense image of her fully gaped, her pussy so hard pounded and stretched that the muscles were bruised and incapable of tightening, as his semen slowly oozed from her.

I was sweating. This session had a far more powerful effect on me. Her other encounter, had been hot, but it had sounded like regular fucking. This sounded like she'd been getting a baseball bat shoved in her, her grunts and groans deeper and more urgent than I'd ever heard.

"Fuck," he said, you could hear his deep satisfaction. The cat that fucked the canary.

Underneath, her soft panting. It changed pitch slightly, there was a note of relief, and I guessed his cock had finally fallen out of her. Again, I visualized her gaping, destroyed by her invader.

"Okay, okay," she said suddenly, her voice strained. "I have to sit down. My thighs are killing me."

There was the sound of movement. Again, a rustle, like the purse was being moved. The sound quality changed.

I visualized it: She was sitting now, probably on the toilet, half naked, exposed, covered with sweat. He was standing in front of her. They must have fucked with her bent over the toilet.

"Fuck!" she said, half exhaustion, half relief. "Fuck!"

"I felt you come," he told her, he sounded smug. "At least three or four times."

"Oh yeah?" she agreed. Then a longer grunt, as if stretching. "You really did me. I can still feel you. You were so thick. I can still feel it."

"Hey," he said. "Want to do the honors?"

"Okay."

I wasn't sure what they were talking about. Soft breathing. I strained and couldn't hear anything else.

"There we go," she said. A little plopping sound. I realized she'd pulled his condom off, perhaps knotted it, and casually dropped it in the toilet between her thighs. I imagined it heavy and full of semen.

"Thank you."

He paused.

"You want to give it a kiss?" he asked.

My mind filled in the details. She was sitting, exhausted on the toilet. He was standing in front of her, softening dick just inches from her face.

She laughed tiredly.

"It looks really slimy."

"That's the condom. Come on, give it a kiss."

I knew she hated the aftertaste of latex and cock funk after a condom comes off.

"I don't know."

"Come on."

"There."

She must have kissed his bare, cum and sweat slimed condom. I imagined it heavy and slick, her pursing her lips in disgust.

"That's not a kiss."

"That's all."

"Give it a real kiss," he said. "Show some love. It worked really hard for you."

She gave a brief snort.

"All right," she sighed.

A moment later. There was an indescribable slurping sound, a throat sound, an almost muffled protest that died away even as it was being born. I knew that he was shoving himself into her mouth and holding her head, and she'd decided to go with it. A muffled grunt.

She was sucking his cock, cleaning it with her mouth. I knew he wasn't hard. But that made it more exciting. This was submission. It was slimy with cock sweat and latex taste, but she was taking it in her mouth anyway. He'd either dominated or exhausted her completely, but either way, her will, her resistance was gone.

"That's a good girl," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Good girl. Oh that's it."

For a few seconds there was silence. She'd stopped. I held my breath. But I didn't hear her breath or any sound of movement. It had gone still.

"Come on," he said. I knew he was holding her head in place at his crotch, his cock still buried in her mouth. A contest of wills: She'd decided she'd done enough, he wasn't finished with her.

He was waiting her out. A moment later, the slurping sounds started up again, as she surrendered to her fate. Each slow deliberate slurp an acceptance of her defeat, a submission to his will.

"There you go, clean it up," his voice was smug with victory. "You may as well go to town, you're down there."

A deep throat noise of agreement, I imagined his half-erect cock, thick as a pile driver, disappearing into her throat. My cock was so rigid at the thought of this subtle contest, and her acquiescence to his conquest, her subordination to his desire that there was an expanding wet spot in my trousers.

Had she given in fully? Embraced her submission, accepted that she'd been mastered. Was she tonguing it lovingly, rubbing it against her face in slow ecstacy. I imagined her cradling his balls and licking them in euphoric bliss.

"All good," she asked, her voice free of erotic haze, puncturing my fantasy.

"Perfect," again, that smug pride.

Silence.

"You're so hairy!" she said wonderingly. "It's so thick."

I visualized her running her hands up his chest, or along his thighs. Now that her task was done, he'd be standing there in front of her. She had a moment to pay attention to, to explore the rest of his body, to touch it.

"Yeah," he said, his voice seemed slightly self conscious, "I'm a bear. Not the gay kind."

"No," she said. "I love it. I wish I'd felt it more. I should have made you take off your shirt."

"Next time."

Her laugh was friendly, but noncommital.

"That was a hell of a fuck."

"Yeah," she said, but the erotic intensity was gone. She sounded tired.

"So," he said. "You okay. I think I'm going to need to piss and stuff. Do you need to clean up?"

"Yeah," she said. "No, I'm fine. Take care. I'll split."

There was a long pause. I imagined a final kiss.

"Thank you for the great fuck," she said warmly.

"Any time. Give my regards to the next guy."

"I won't have to," she said, a bit of life had crept back in her voice, she sounded teasing. "He'll know you were here first the minute he puts it in. Ohh, I think you stretched me permanently."

He chuckled with satisfaction.

A moment later, I saw her coming out of the hall. She grinned at me, her eyes luminous, bending over to kiss me hard on the lips.

"Let's get the fuck out of here, before he comes out," she said. "Right fucking now!"

I didn't need to be told twice. She was already heading for the door, and I had to scramble to follow her.

As we stepped out of the bar, she took my hand, and we crossed the street. She almost skipped as she walked. I pressed unlock, and she literally flopped into the car, leaning back and stretching her legs.

"Holy shit!" Kayley grinned. "Did you get all that! It's a shame we couldn't record it. Maybe we could. We should check. If we ever do this again, I want to listen to a recording."

"I heard," I said. "Thick, uh."

"Mmm," she said, "now that I think of it, not that thick. I mean he was short and thick, followed his body proportions. I had it in my hand, and it rubbed up against me, and it was... Thick, but not crazy thick. But when he was in me though, it felt like a fucking barge pole. Maybe I wasn't wet enough... No."

"I think it was the angle," she said reflectively. "He was shorter, than me, and I really had to sort of get low, sort of half spread and half squat. So when he put it in, the angle felt really different. Like, straight up. I could feel him at the back of my pussy, it felt different inside, different angle, different motion. I think that was it."

Her eyes searched the ceiling.

"I mean afterwards," she said, "with the condom, I had my hand around it. It's just not that massive, not as massive as it felt inside, and I know he didn't lose it. Interesting. I can still feel it."

She paused, stretching her legs. "It was the angle," she said finally.

"Oh and my fucking thighs," she said. "They were on fire, I was like half spread, half squatting, bent right over, my face was practically in my purse sometimes. And it was okay at first. But by the end, I was fucking dying. All I wanted was for him to come so I could sit down."

"Sounds like torture," I smiled.

She fixed me with an evil grin.

"Torture, definitely. I made sure to do plenty of dirty talk for you, so you'd enjoy. All that was for you, sweetie. I think he enjoyed it even more though. His ego really got fed."

"I didn't come. I came so fucking close, again and again, I could almost taste it. But I couldn't get there. I think it was the angle. Bent too far, that awkward position, the muscle strain distracting. No orgasm," she reflected.

"Too bad," I said sympathetically. "That's crushing. Getting all worked up like that, and no pay off."

Maybe deep down, I felt some satisfaction. I was still the man who made her come. The strangers had worked her up, but hadn't brought her through.

"I dunno," she said. "It was exciting. It was really wild. You don't have to come to enjoy sex. Sometimes, just the whole experience is satisfying in other ways."

"Better than the first time?"

"Hmmm," she said. "I don't know. Some ways, yes. I knew more what I was doing, I wasn't as nervous or unsure. More into it. The sex was harder, in a good way, but less comfortable. In some way less satisfying. Oh, and he was kind of a jerk at the end."

"No orgasms."

She smirked.

"Luckily, I have you for that."

We were so wildly excited, she sucked my cock as we drove home, and I pushed her down fucked her on the floor, right in the entrance to our apartment.

Later that night, in bed, as she slept beside me, I knew this wouldn't be the last time. She'd crave the experience. We would go out again, and she'd give her body to a stranger. She wouldn't be able to stop herself.

The thought of it made my cock hard.