Ready with the rice?
As June rolls around, my weekly Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot focuses on sex bloggers who are married or betrothed.
Tell you what, that Lex sure got me hankering for the choice cuts. And don’t get me started on hungry Aliza—you know how I get about that sexy UK girl.
As long as I’m sending you elsewhere, take a visit with my Madeline. Though, if you are here, then you may already be a fan of her special genius. You already know about her new posts concerning our most recent canoodling.
She ain’t kidding, man. Her daddy thinks I’m the shit.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
Friday, June 02, 2006
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Fleshbot and Winners
It’s been a busy Fleet Week in New York, and my revolving door just hasn’t stopped spinning.
But let me pour a glass of peach iced tea and pause to make these announcements.
First, here’s my weekly Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot. This time out, we tip the hat to those who just aren’t getting any. My fingers are crossed for you, friends.
Second, we have two winners for my recent Spring Fling Contest . Thanks to all who applied, and congratulations to our deserving winners.
You’ll recall that I reserved slots for two flings—one for a female, one for a male.
A female winner emerged quickly with a sweet submissive gal in search of her orgasm.
The male slot, sadly, went wanting. I had a few applicants, but none that met the basic criteria of proximity, compatibility and ability to actually make a date.
I’m increasingly convinced that boys are as lame as the girls say.
So, in the interest of balance, the second position went to another woman. Male aspirants may take some comfort in knowing she’s practically a boy—really, she’s such a prick, she must be packing testosterone someplace.
Of course, I’ll tell you all about it in time.
Perhaps the guys will do better with my annual Summer Boyfriend contest. Last year’s attempt uncovered a fine boyfriend—though, come to think of it, he turned out to be a woman.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
But let me pour a glass of peach iced tea and pause to make these announcements.
First, here’s my weekly Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot. This time out, we tip the hat to those who just aren’t getting any. My fingers are crossed for you, friends.
Second, we have two winners for my recent Spring Fling Contest . Thanks to all who applied, and congratulations to our deserving winners.
You’ll recall that I reserved slots for two flings—one for a female, one for a male.
A female winner emerged quickly with a sweet submissive gal in search of her orgasm.
The male slot, sadly, went wanting. I had a few applicants, but none that met the basic criteria of proximity, compatibility and ability to actually make a date.
I’m increasingly convinced that boys are as lame as the girls say.
So, in the interest of balance, the second position went to another woman. Male aspirants may take some comfort in knowing she’s practically a boy—really, she’s such a prick, she must be packing testosterone someplace.
Of course, I’ll tell you all about it in time.
Perhaps the guys will do better with my annual Summer Boyfriend contest. Last year’s attempt uncovered a fine boyfriend—though, come to think of it, he turned out to be a woman.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Walk the Line
Three people sleeping in one bed is often better as an idea than it proves to be in practice.
I woke between Emma and Mitzi in exactly the same position in which I had fallen to sleep. I was stiff, wedged into place by their nude bodies pressed close against mine.
I took my nose from Emma’s hair and looked to the clock. It was mid-morning. We had been asleep only a few hours.
I had to stretch and breathe.
I lifted myself on one hip, taking care not to adjust position lest I disturb my bedmates. My hip slid from under Mitzi’s arm as I pulled myself to the edge of the mattress.
“Jefferson?” she whispered.
I stood and went to her. I kissed her cheek. “Shh, baby. Don’t wake Emma. I’m just stretching.”
“Coming back?” Her eyelashes fluttered between sleep and wake.
“Yeah, soon.” I pet her hair.
She turned back to her pillow as I kissed her shoulder. My bare feet cooled against parquet as I left the women to slumber.
The living room was full of morning light. I stretched my arms up and lifted myself on my toes. I could feel the expansion of my hamstrings and calves. My vertebrae and joints complained as they popped back into place.
I twisted on the axis of my hips, my cock flopping amicably between my thighs.
I yawned and scratched my ass.
I poured a glass of orange juice and returned to the doorway of my bedroom to survey the women under my covers. I smiled at their arms over the duvet.
They looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place the memory.
The citrus slashed across my tongue’s cottony memories of the previous night’s cocktails.
I finished the glass. My mouth was a little more awake, but my body was no less fatigued.
I needed to rest to the sound of my own pulse.
I rinsed my glass and took a piss. I took a pillow and blanket from the linen closet and curled up on the couch.
“Jefferson?”
Mitzi woke me there, as she had just before dawn.
“Hmmm?” My eyes remained closed.
“Sweetheart,” she said softly. “Can you come back to bed?”
I turned to my back. “Hmmm, no, I’m fine. Go to sleep.”
“But I miss you.” She sat against my hip, caressing my hair.
“I’m just sleeping.”
“Come sleep with me.” She put her lips to mine.
I flipped to my hip and pulled her into my arms. “No, you sleep here,” I said, too leaden to move. She nodded and lay on her side, nuzzling her back to my torso. My face was buried in her black curls.
I dozed.
“Jefferson?”
“Hmm?”
“Honey, I’m falling off the couch.” I realized that she clutched my forearm with tense fingers.
“Okay.” I rubbed my eyes. “Maybe the bed makes more sense.”
We sat up, abandoning the couch and it’s bedding to find slightly roomier accommodations.
Emma awoke to the sound of us fucking beside her.
“Good morning,” she smiled.
“Hey, morning, sweet.” My cock pushed deeper into Mitzi as I leaned to kiss Emma.
“Did we wake you?” Mitzi asked.
“Yes, like you care,” Emma said. “I mean, you’re not going to stop just so I can sleep, are you?”
“We’ll stop,” I grinned to Mitzi. “Eventually.”
“That’s what I figured,” Emma said, lowering her heavy lids. “Just leave me some room on the bed.”
I put my forearms under Mitzi’s shoulder, pulling her closer to me. I kissed her earlobe.
I held my cock deep in her, pressing my pubis back and forth against her clit.
“So deep, baby,” she squealed quietly.
“I know, so deep,” I whispered. “Now give me what I want.”
She nodded. Her cheeks were wet against mine.
“Unh,” she moaned. “Unh, no, Jefferson . . . so close, but I can’t.”
I pulled my face back and looked at her. “Do you want to . . .?”
“Yes, please,” she nodded.
I pulled away from her body. She sat up.
We traded positions. She lowered her pussy to my thigh.
She began to grind down on me. I tensed a muscle under her, and took a nipple between a finger and thumb.
Emma turned and sat up. “Are you going to high school him?”
“Uh huh,” Mitzi smiled. “Now be quiet.” She closed her eyes.
Emma and I watched Mitzi’s face as her hips pushed back and forth against me.
Mitzi lowered her hand to brush my cock, bobbing against her hip. “Unh,” she moaned quietly. She moaned again, more loudly.
She opened her eyes and smiled.
She collapsed on my chest.
I pulled her hair from her face. “Did we get it?” I asked.
She nodded into my chest. “Unh huh.”
“Nice work,” Emma said. “It’s good to see Jefferson finally having sex when he’s awake.”
I asked the girls what I had missed by falling asleep at the orgy. Emma said she had enjoyed it when Nate fucked her as she was poised in midair, her back against one hallway wall, her feet against the opposite.
“You were in the air?” I marveled. “Wait, didn’t that block the hallway?”
“Wasn’t that Apollo?” Mitzi asked.
“It was one of them, whichever.” Emma shrugged. “I don’t know if we blocked the hall; I was too busy to notice.”
“Damn, I sleep through the best sex,” I lamented.
Mitzi raised up and punched my shoulder. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“Ow!” I winced. I sniffed Mitzi’s hair. “Oh, is that liver I smell?”
“Motherfucker,” Mitzi laughed, hitting me harder.
“Bitchcunt,” I replied, grabbing her wrist. “Bitchcuntpussyass punk.”
“Children, behave . . . ,” Emma began.
“She fucking started it,” I grimaced between clenched teeth.
Mitzi struggled against my grip. “Bring it, asshole—I’ll kick your bony ass.”
“You talking to me?” I snarled.
“Can’t we all just get along?” Emma asked plaintively.
“Stand back, Emma,” Mitzi warned. “I don’t want you getting hurt as I take him down.”
I blocked a blow with my free hand, now gripping each of Mitzi’s wrists. “Ha!,” I gloated.
Mitzi jumped her feet and wrestled free. She crouched into a wrestler’s stance and drummed her chest. “You want a piece of this, old man?”
“You can’t be talking to me?” I rose to echo her pose.
We circled, our eyes locked.
“Jesus, would you just get a room?” Emma sighed.
“We’ve got a room . . . ,” I began before being silenced by a lunge.
“Mother fuck,” I reeled back. “Ref, did you see that?”
“You gonna cry to mama, poor little wee wee?” Mitzi taunted, bobbing from side to side.
I took her arm and hurled her to the bed.
She fell, raising a foot to stop my advance.
“Okay, enough,” Emma said, raising a hand. “It’s all fun until someone loses an eye.”
“Fine by me.” I stood back and extended a hand. “Truce?”
“Truce,” Mitzi nodded before kicking my hand away.
“You double-crossing, yellow-bellied cocksucker,” I swore. I came at her waving my hands in a mock sissy fight.
She waved me back.
We turned our heads, eyes closed.
“Okay, okay, you win,” I surrendered. “You are boss sissy.”
“Damn right, Mary.” Mitzi leaned back on a pillow, her cheeks flushed, smug in victory.
I sat on the bed between the two women looking at me. Emma’s blond hair was sprawled on one pillow, Mitzi’s dark locks on another.
“Huh,” I said. “Now I get it—you two look like a Courbet.”
“What Courbet?” Emma asked.
“A painting?” Mitzi smiled. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, squinting to recall a painting I knew better in graduate school. “It’s called ‘The Sleepers,’ and it shows two nude women embraced in bed. One is blonde and the other is brunette, like my present company. I remember something about the blonde representing Europe and the brunette representing Asia, but I’m not sure about that. I’m just sure it’s pretty hot mid-nineteenth-century girl-on-girl.”
“Sounds hot,” Mitzi looked at Emma.
“Yeah, Courbet was a pervert,” Emma nodded.
“Or his patrons were,” I concurred. “Remember ‘Origin of the World' . . . “
“L’origine du monde,” Emma corrected.
“What’s that?” Mitzi asked.
“It’s a painting of a woman’s spread legs,” Emma said.
“Basically a beaver shot, right?” I nodded. “It hangs in the D’Orsay these days, but it was painted for a Turkish patron who went for the smutty pictures. It was originally commissioned for his private viewing pleasure.”
“Or wanking,” Emma said.
“Most assuredly, wanking,” I smiled. “It’s now public, but it was intended as a private thing.”
I realized I was absent-mindedly massaging each woman’s thighs.
We fell quiet, listening to the city.
“You know,” Mitzi broke the silence. “I’m having the best time. I’d like this to continue. Would you?”
“Sure, it’s nice,” Emma said.
“You want to go to a movie?” Mitzi asked.
“I need to see ‘Walk the Line.’” I said. “It was just nominated, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and I haven’t seen it,” Mitzi agreed.
“Me either,” Emma said.
Mitzi sat up. “Oh my God, are we going to do this?”
“I think we are,” I said, just as excited. I liked the spontaneity of Mitzi’s proposal. Why end this time together, or limit it to my bedroom? Why the hell not go to a movie?
Mitzi needed to stop by her place to walk her Chihuahua, Monster. Emma needed to study. I had writing to do.
We resolved to take a break of a few hours, and then reconvene at the theater. Emma would study at my place as I worked.
But first, we each needed a shower. In the spirit of togetherness, we took our party to the bath.
I was soaping Emma as Mitzi shampooed.
“You know, Jefferson,” Mitzi said, as if this thought just occurred to her. “You are living every man’s fantasy.”
“You think?” I grinned.
I blubbered as I washed my face in Emma’s soapy tits.
The girls laughed.
I hoped this joke hid my blush. I knew that what Mitzi said was largely true; my life is pretty much a wet dream for most men. But it’s a little embarrassing to have it so baldly stated.
Yes, I have a lot of sex, and some very cool lovers.
But, it’s not a put on, or some Playboy Mansion grotto fantasy.
It’s my life.
The daily fabric of my life may well be the envy of most men. Who would not want to awake between two women? Who would not want to have sex with these women, and trade playful barbs or ideas about art before facing the real world?
But it’s my life. How does one maintain a private life in so public a situation?
Mitzi messages Emma, who messages Shelby, whose best friend is Meg, who messages Madeline, who shares my girlfriend Viviane and my boyfriend Marcus . . . and of course, everyone has fucked everyone else.
Everyone talks about everything. There are no secrets.
I was pondering all this as my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex entered its second week—and I realized I had reserved no time to myself.
The afternoon was waning as Mitzi joined us at the theatre.
She smiled knowingly as she approached us on the sidewalk. We had already purchased tickets.
“Hello, Jefferson. Hello, Emma.” She kissed our cheeks in turn.
“Hi,” Emma kissed her.
“Hey baby.” I kissed her.
“Did you get much studying done?” Mitzi asked Emma.
Emma demurred. “Well . . . “
“Not so much,” I volunteered.
Mitzi smiled like a crocodile. Her voice teased. “Oh, Emma, did that bad Jefferson distract you from your studies?”
Emma turned to me. “Maybe a little.”
“Maybe we need to get seats,” I suggested, hedging the follow-up questions.
I avoided a few admissions.
Emma had put her books aside as we fucked. For several hours.
Emma cums so readily. It was almost cruel how I pushed her from one orgasm to another. A body can only stand so much. And yet I was insatiable for more of her shudders and gasps.
It was also cruel how close that brought us. Emma’s body found its language with mine. Our minds were just as synchronized.
At this moment in her life, Emma has no use for love and all that. She likes that I am uncomplicated about the emotional stuff. I’m a good person. I give her good sex. I’m a gateway for more good sex. I don’t mess it up.
But our hearts had to take care.
Emma was a little quiet as we walked into “Walk the Line.”
The heart is only so resilient.
I sat between Emma and Mitzi.
For nearly three hours, we watched Johnny Cash find his soul mate in June Carter.
I leaned to the left, leaving an arm entwined with Mitzi’s. Our fingers were interwoven.
At my right, my hand fit dryly into Emma’s palm.
I had to borrow my right hand to daub tears when June finally relented and agreed—on stage—to marry Johnny.
It was evening when the movie let out. We clustered on the sidewalk, parsing scenes and offering reviews.
Viviane waved to us as she rounded the corner.
The four of us talked for a while before Viviane said it was time to go. We all kissed cheeks. Viviane flagged a cab.
Viviane and I had a date that night.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
fucking
threesome
Courbet
Walk the Line
Johnny Cash
June Carter Cash
I woke between Emma and Mitzi in exactly the same position in which I had fallen to sleep. I was stiff, wedged into place by their nude bodies pressed close against mine.
I took my nose from Emma’s hair and looked to the clock. It was mid-morning. We had been asleep only a few hours.
I had to stretch and breathe.
I lifted myself on one hip, taking care not to adjust position lest I disturb my bedmates. My hip slid from under Mitzi’s arm as I pulled myself to the edge of the mattress.
“Jefferson?” she whispered.
I stood and went to her. I kissed her cheek. “Shh, baby. Don’t wake Emma. I’m just stretching.”
“Coming back?” Her eyelashes fluttered between sleep and wake.
“Yeah, soon.” I pet her hair.
She turned back to her pillow as I kissed her shoulder. My bare feet cooled against parquet as I left the women to slumber.
The living room was full of morning light. I stretched my arms up and lifted myself on my toes. I could feel the expansion of my hamstrings and calves. My vertebrae and joints complained as they popped back into place.
I twisted on the axis of my hips, my cock flopping amicably between my thighs.
I yawned and scratched my ass.
I poured a glass of orange juice and returned to the doorway of my bedroom to survey the women under my covers. I smiled at their arms over the duvet.
They looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place the memory.
The citrus slashed across my tongue’s cottony memories of the previous night’s cocktails.
I finished the glass. My mouth was a little more awake, but my body was no less fatigued.
I needed to rest to the sound of my own pulse.
I rinsed my glass and took a piss. I took a pillow and blanket from the linen closet and curled up on the couch.
“Jefferson?”
Mitzi woke me there, as she had just before dawn.
“Hmmm?” My eyes remained closed.
“Sweetheart,” she said softly. “Can you come back to bed?”
I turned to my back. “Hmmm, no, I’m fine. Go to sleep.”
“But I miss you.” She sat against my hip, caressing my hair.
“I’m just sleeping.”
“Come sleep with me.” She put her lips to mine.
I flipped to my hip and pulled her into my arms. “No, you sleep here,” I said, too leaden to move. She nodded and lay on her side, nuzzling her back to my torso. My face was buried in her black curls.
I dozed.
“Jefferson?”
“Hmm?”
“Honey, I’m falling off the couch.” I realized that she clutched my forearm with tense fingers.
“Okay.” I rubbed my eyes. “Maybe the bed makes more sense.”
We sat up, abandoning the couch and it’s bedding to find slightly roomier accommodations.
Emma awoke to the sound of us fucking beside her.
“Good morning,” she smiled.
“Hey, morning, sweet.” My cock pushed deeper into Mitzi as I leaned to kiss Emma.
“Did we wake you?” Mitzi asked.
“Yes, like you care,” Emma said. “I mean, you’re not going to stop just so I can sleep, are you?”
“We’ll stop,” I grinned to Mitzi. “Eventually.”
“That’s what I figured,” Emma said, lowering her heavy lids. “Just leave me some room on the bed.”
I put my forearms under Mitzi’s shoulder, pulling her closer to me. I kissed her earlobe.
I held my cock deep in her, pressing my pubis back and forth against her clit.
“So deep, baby,” she squealed quietly.
“I know, so deep,” I whispered. “Now give me what I want.”
She nodded. Her cheeks were wet against mine.
“Unh,” she moaned. “Unh, no, Jefferson . . . so close, but I can’t.”
I pulled my face back and looked at her. “Do you want to . . .?”
“Yes, please,” she nodded.
I pulled away from her body. She sat up.
We traded positions. She lowered her pussy to my thigh.
She began to grind down on me. I tensed a muscle under her, and took a nipple between a finger and thumb.
Emma turned and sat up. “Are you going to high school him?”
“Uh huh,” Mitzi smiled. “Now be quiet.” She closed her eyes.
Emma and I watched Mitzi’s face as her hips pushed back and forth against me.
Mitzi lowered her hand to brush my cock, bobbing against her hip. “Unh,” she moaned quietly. She moaned again, more loudly.
She opened her eyes and smiled.
She collapsed on my chest.
I pulled her hair from her face. “Did we get it?” I asked.
She nodded into my chest. “Unh huh.”
“Nice work,” Emma said. “It’s good to see Jefferson finally having sex when he’s awake.”
I asked the girls what I had missed by falling asleep at the orgy. Emma said she had enjoyed it when Nate fucked her as she was poised in midair, her back against one hallway wall, her feet against the opposite.
“You were in the air?” I marveled. “Wait, didn’t that block the hallway?”
“Wasn’t that Apollo?” Mitzi asked.
“It was one of them, whichever.” Emma shrugged. “I don’t know if we blocked the hall; I was too busy to notice.”
“Damn, I sleep through the best sex,” I lamented.
Mitzi raised up and punched my shoulder. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“Ow!” I winced. I sniffed Mitzi’s hair. “Oh, is that liver I smell?”
“Motherfucker,” Mitzi laughed, hitting me harder.
“Bitchcunt,” I replied, grabbing her wrist. “Bitchcuntpussyass punk.”
“Children, behave . . . ,” Emma began.
“She fucking started it,” I grimaced between clenched teeth.
Mitzi struggled against my grip. “Bring it, asshole—I’ll kick your bony ass.”
“You talking to me?” I snarled.
“Can’t we all just get along?” Emma asked plaintively.
“Stand back, Emma,” Mitzi warned. “I don’t want you getting hurt as I take him down.”
I blocked a blow with my free hand, now gripping each of Mitzi’s wrists. “Ha!,” I gloated.
Mitzi jumped her feet and wrestled free. She crouched into a wrestler’s stance and drummed her chest. “You want a piece of this, old man?”
“You can’t be talking to me?” I rose to echo her pose.
We circled, our eyes locked.
“Jesus, would you just get a room?” Emma sighed.
“We’ve got a room . . . ,” I began before being silenced by a lunge.
“Mother fuck,” I reeled back. “Ref, did you see that?”
“You gonna cry to mama, poor little wee wee?” Mitzi taunted, bobbing from side to side.
I took her arm and hurled her to the bed.
She fell, raising a foot to stop my advance.
“Okay, enough,” Emma said, raising a hand. “It’s all fun until someone loses an eye.”
“Fine by me.” I stood back and extended a hand. “Truce?”
“Truce,” Mitzi nodded before kicking my hand away.
“You double-crossing, yellow-bellied cocksucker,” I swore. I came at her waving my hands in a mock sissy fight.
She waved me back.
We turned our heads, eyes closed.
“Okay, okay, you win,” I surrendered. “You are boss sissy.”
“Damn right, Mary.” Mitzi leaned back on a pillow, her cheeks flushed, smug in victory.
I sat on the bed between the two women looking at me. Emma’s blond hair was sprawled on one pillow, Mitzi’s dark locks on another.
“Huh,” I said. “Now I get it—you two look like a Courbet.”
“What Courbet?” Emma asked.
“A painting?” Mitzi smiled. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, squinting to recall a painting I knew better in graduate school. “It’s called ‘The Sleepers,’ and it shows two nude women embraced in bed. One is blonde and the other is brunette, like my present company. I remember something about the blonde representing Europe and the brunette representing Asia, but I’m not sure about that. I’m just sure it’s pretty hot mid-nineteenth-century girl-on-girl.”
“Sounds hot,” Mitzi looked at Emma.
“Yeah, Courbet was a pervert,” Emma nodded.
“Or his patrons were,” I concurred. “Remember ‘Origin of the World' . . . “
“L’origine du monde,” Emma corrected.
“What’s that?” Mitzi asked.
“It’s a painting of a woman’s spread legs,” Emma said.
“Basically a beaver shot, right?” I nodded. “It hangs in the D’Orsay these days, but it was painted for a Turkish patron who went for the smutty pictures. It was originally commissioned for his private viewing pleasure.”
“Or wanking,” Emma said.
“Most assuredly, wanking,” I smiled. “It’s now public, but it was intended as a private thing.”
I realized I was absent-mindedly massaging each woman’s thighs.
We fell quiet, listening to the city.
“You know,” Mitzi broke the silence. “I’m having the best time. I’d like this to continue. Would you?”
“Sure, it’s nice,” Emma said.
“You want to go to a movie?” Mitzi asked.
“I need to see ‘Walk the Line.’” I said. “It was just nominated, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and I haven’t seen it,” Mitzi agreed.
“Me either,” Emma said.
Mitzi sat up. “Oh my God, are we going to do this?”
“I think we are,” I said, just as excited. I liked the spontaneity of Mitzi’s proposal. Why end this time together, or limit it to my bedroom? Why the hell not go to a movie?
Mitzi needed to stop by her place to walk her Chihuahua, Monster. Emma needed to study. I had writing to do.
We resolved to take a break of a few hours, and then reconvene at the theater. Emma would study at my place as I worked.
But first, we each needed a shower. In the spirit of togetherness, we took our party to the bath.
I was soaping Emma as Mitzi shampooed.
“You know, Jefferson,” Mitzi said, as if this thought just occurred to her. “You are living every man’s fantasy.”
“You think?” I grinned.
I blubbered as I washed my face in Emma’s soapy tits.
The girls laughed.
I hoped this joke hid my blush. I knew that what Mitzi said was largely true; my life is pretty much a wet dream for most men. But it’s a little embarrassing to have it so baldly stated.
Yes, I have a lot of sex, and some very cool lovers.
But, it’s not a put on, or some Playboy Mansion grotto fantasy.
It’s my life.
The daily fabric of my life may well be the envy of most men. Who would not want to awake between two women? Who would not want to have sex with these women, and trade playful barbs or ideas about art before facing the real world?
But it’s my life. How does one maintain a private life in so public a situation?
Mitzi messages Emma, who messages Shelby, whose best friend is Meg, who messages Madeline, who shares my girlfriend Viviane and my boyfriend Marcus . . . and of course, everyone has fucked everyone else.
Everyone talks about everything. There are no secrets.
I was pondering all this as my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex entered its second week—and I realized I had reserved no time to myself.
The afternoon was waning as Mitzi joined us at the theatre.
She smiled knowingly as she approached us on the sidewalk. We had already purchased tickets.
“Hello, Jefferson. Hello, Emma.” She kissed our cheeks in turn.
“Hi,” Emma kissed her.
“Hey baby.” I kissed her.
“Did you get much studying done?” Mitzi asked Emma.
Emma demurred. “Well . . . “
“Not so much,” I volunteered.
Mitzi smiled like a crocodile. Her voice teased. “Oh, Emma, did that bad Jefferson distract you from your studies?”
Emma turned to me. “Maybe a little.”
“Maybe we need to get seats,” I suggested, hedging the follow-up questions.
I avoided a few admissions.
Emma had put her books aside as we fucked. For several hours.
Emma cums so readily. It was almost cruel how I pushed her from one orgasm to another. A body can only stand so much. And yet I was insatiable for more of her shudders and gasps.
It was also cruel how close that brought us. Emma’s body found its language with mine. Our minds were just as synchronized.
At this moment in her life, Emma has no use for love and all that. She likes that I am uncomplicated about the emotional stuff. I’m a good person. I give her good sex. I’m a gateway for more good sex. I don’t mess it up.
But our hearts had to take care.
Emma was a little quiet as we walked into “Walk the Line.”
The heart is only so resilient.
I sat between Emma and Mitzi.
For nearly three hours, we watched Johnny Cash find his soul mate in June Carter.
I leaned to the left, leaving an arm entwined with Mitzi’s. Our fingers were interwoven.
At my right, my hand fit dryly into Emma’s palm.
I had to borrow my right hand to daub tears when June finally relented and agreed—on stage—to marry Johnny.
It was evening when the movie let out. We clustered on the sidewalk, parsing scenes and offering reviews.
Viviane waved to us as she rounded the corner.
The four of us talked for a while before Viviane said it was time to go. We all kissed cheeks. Viviane flagged a cab.
Viviane and I had a date that night.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
fucking
threesome
Courbet
Walk the Line
Johnny Cash
June Carter Cash
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Fleshbot and Friends
I must say, my new gig at Fleshbot has varied my reading of sex blogs. There are so many good writers out there burning up the keyboards with tales of lust and longing.
You can see what I mean at this week’s Sex Blog Roundup.
If you would like to have your blog considered for inclusion in the roundup, feel free to drop me a line. You may write fiction or nonfiction, straight or queer, vanilla or devil’s food—it’s all good to me. All I ask is that you write well and with some regularity.
All of this reading has encouraged me to update my blogroll, at left, and to add more of my favorite bloggers. The links preceded by asterisks take you to the blogs of my friends and lovers.
Those new to this blog may benefit from an introduction to some of the other places I crop up. You can often find me getting naked at these blogs:
Madeline
Marcus
Meg
Rose
Darling Viviane helps to keep it all in order by compiling Jefferson’s Gang Bang.
Every now and then, I may sneak into someone else’s blog boudoir. So keep your eyes peeled.
I’ve also started a new blog, Bukkake Social Club. The stories that appear there will also appear here. So why dedicate a blog to a particular fetish? That question is addressed in the first post.
Happy reading, all. I’m peeling my eyes from this screen and taking a book to the park.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
You can see what I mean at this week’s Sex Blog Roundup.
If you would like to have your blog considered for inclusion in the roundup, feel free to drop me a line. You may write fiction or nonfiction, straight or queer, vanilla or devil’s food—it’s all good to me. All I ask is that you write well and with some regularity.
All of this reading has encouraged me to update my blogroll, at left, and to add more of my favorite bloggers. The links preceded by asterisks take you to the blogs of my friends and lovers.
Those new to this blog may benefit from an introduction to some of the other places I crop up. You can often find me getting naked at these blogs:
Madeline
Marcus
Meg
Rose
Darling Viviane helps to keep it all in order by compiling Jefferson’s Gang Bang.
Every now and then, I may sneak into someone else’s blog boudoir. So keep your eyes peeled.
I’ve also started a new blog, Bukkake Social Club. The stories that appear there will also appear here. So why dedicate a blog to a particular fetish? That question is addressed in the first post.
Happy reading, all. I’m peeling my eyes from this screen and taking a book to the park.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Fleshbot and Dicks
You’ll never catch me apologizing for delayed posts in our continuing soap opera. At least, not so long as I am working for sex and peanuts.
Much as I enjoy savories.
But you do get my regrets for taking a few days to notify of you of my most recent Sex Blog Roundup, which appeared at Fleshbot this past weekend.
My next roundup should be up at the end of the week; in the meantime, enjoy the tasty treats offered by the scrumptious Chelsea Girl.
And while you are flitting about, venture to Sexy Dicks, where it is said of your humble servant: “he’s cute, he’s cool and he’s funny.”
Such nice words—and from a site with so vulgar a name!
Guess they don’t know I am a cheap date, huh?
Hell, they had me at “cute.”
Much as I enjoy savories.
But you do get my regrets for taking a few days to notify of you of my most recent Sex Blog Roundup, which appeared at Fleshbot this past weekend.
My next roundup should be up at the end of the week; in the meantime, enjoy the tasty treats offered by the scrumptious Chelsea Girl.
And while you are flitting about, venture to Sexy Dicks, where it is said of your humble servant: “he’s cute, he’s cool and he’s funny.”
Such nice words—and from a site with so vulgar a name!
Guess they don’t know I am a cheap date, huh?
Hell, they had me at “cute.”
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Fleshbot and Photos
The fine folks at Fleshbot have invited the incomparable Chelsea Girl and yours truly to compile their regular roundups of the best in sex blogs.
Each of our efforts appear weekly, with Chelsea at the top of the week and me at the bottom. (Now, I ask you—how often do you find me at the bottom?)
Take a peek at my virgin submission.
And as long as you have your eyes busy, here are some new glimpses of the man behind the curtain. My pal photographer Ryan Morris was good enough to aim his camera my way, taking care to obscure the bits you don’t need to see.
Enjoy.
Each of our efforts appear weekly, with Chelsea at the top of the week and me at the bottom. (Now, I ask you—how often do you find me at the bottom?)
Take a peek at my virgin submission.
And as long as you have your eyes busy, here are some new glimpses of the man behind the curtain. My pal photographer Ryan Morris was good enough to aim his camera my way, taking care to obscure the bits you don’t need to see.
Enjoy.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Tuckered
“Jefferson?”
I felt so rested and at peace. Her voice was sweet and gentle in my ears.
I opened my eyes, smiling. “Yes?”
Mitzi stood beside the couch, near my feet. “Jefferson, it’s after four. I’ve made the bed. Would you like to move to the bedroom?”
I turned to look around the living room. The lights were on. The radio was tuned to a soul station.
“Four? Like, in the morning?” I sat up. “Did I . . . ?”
“Hmmm, yes, Jefferson. You slept through the Nubian party.”
“Wow.” I rubbed my eyes. “Did I really? Wow.”
It had been a very long day.
I woke at six thirty, roused the kids, made breakfast and packed lunches. I took them to school.
By nine, I was at Viviane’s for breakfast and sex.
That afternoon, we drove to Costco and Home Depot, loading a car between us. We unpacked some things at her place, then unpacked the bulk of things at mine.
Afterwards, I cleaned my apartment, washed laundry and put things away.
The evening, I hosted Rose’s cocktail party, finding myself turned on and pretty tight as it shifted into an overheated gangbang.
And then the Nubians were supposed to show up around eleven, and so . . . well, what happened?
“Was it a big party?” I asked, scratching my hair.
“Uh huh,” Mitzi nodded. She held out her hand. “Come on, Jefferson. Let me take you to bed.”
I stood and put my hand in hers. “So, how did it go?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” she asked, leading me to bed.
“Well, I . . . ,” I stopped, hearing a noise in the back bedroom. I dropped Mitzi’s hand and peeked around the door.
I saw Nate’s back, completely covered in a methodical pattern of deep purple and red hickeys. Two smooth pale legs wrapped around his pivoting hips.
I turned to Mitzi. “That’s Nate and Emma?”
“Uh huh.”
“Didn’t he have to go someplace last night?”
“Yes, but he changed his mind. I think Emma had something to do with it.”
I squinted and walked into the other bedroom. “What all did I miss?”
“Tell me what you remember.”
“Let me think.” I stood next to my freshly made bed and began to undress. Mitzi crossed to the other side and pulled off her shirt.
“Okay, so the boys and I were fucking Rose . . . ,”
“Right.” Mitzi unhooked her bra, tossing it onto a chair.
“ . . . and then you showed up at the door. That was like, what, nine thirty?”
“Something like that.” Mitzi stepped out of her jeans.
I pulled back the covers and sat. I turned my nude body and lay back. Mitzi snuggled next to me.
“Oh,” I smiled at the memory. “I was on fire when you got here.”
“You sure were!” Mitiz said, sliding under the sheets. “You dragged me to the bed by my hair . . .”
“I threw you on top of Rose, didn’t I?”
“Yes. You said, ‘Rose, this is Mitzi.’ And then you started beating my ass.”
“Well, you had been whining for a spanking. Rose was being fucked by . . . Nate?”
“No, that other boy, the twinky twink.”
I looked at her. “Isn’t he cute? That Robby is fucking cute.”
“I didn’t see much of him,” Mitzi sighed. “My face was in Rose’s tits. But she was nice. She stroked my hair when you beat me.”
I pulled Mitzi close. “Oh, that is so sweet.” I kissed her hair.
She snuggled to my chest. “Go on.”
“Oh, right.” I scrunched my forehead. “So then Emma showed up . . .”
“Right . . .”
“And, oh! Right! Nate was all about Emma.”
“He sure was.”
“Well, they hadn’t met, and she’s real pretty.” I looked toward the sound of the pair in the next room. “Poor guy, he never made it to his party.”
“I don’t think he will regret it in the morning.”
“Did he turn loose of her at all?”
“Well, yeah,” Mitzi began. “She was pretty popular with the Nubians.”
There was a knock at the open door.
Apollo was wearing boxers and his trademark black flop hat.
He was trailing a nude woman I had never seen.
“Yo, look who’s up. What’s going on, Jefferson?”
“Hey, Apollo. Yeah, sorry I dozed off.”
“No, it’s cool, it’s cool.” His eyes drifted to the woman he followed. She paced the room as if caged.
“Are you looking for something, Tawnee?” Mitzi asked.
“Yeah, she looking for some pussy,” Apollo said.
“Well, this shop is closed,” Mitzi smiled, pulling the duvet to her shoulders.
“Huh,” Tawnee replied. She left the room. Apollo followed.
I looked at Mitzi.
“She’s a load of personality,” I noted.
“She was fun earlier,” Mitzi shrugged. “Until about two or so; maybe she’s tired.”
“So anyway, Rose left in good spirits. She seemed content to you?”
“Oh yeah, she was pretty happy, I thought.”
“And then, the last I remember, we got this party started. I was with you, Nate was with Emma, the four of us naked on the bed, going at it, and all these people were watching . . . ,”
“That’s right. All the white people at the party were on display.”
I laughed. “Yeah, the voyeurs took their sweet time to get at it.”
Mitzi ran her hand over my cock. “That was so nasty when we were doing it, and all those people were watching . . .”
I pulled her close, growing hard to her touch.
“Too bad I conked out, and you didn’t get to have any more sex.”
“Oh,” she kissed me. “I had some sex.”
I pulled back took at her eyes. “Oh?”
“Uh huh,” she nodded. “Apollo did me.”
“Look at you!” I grinned. “Getting busy with Apollo.”
“Uh huh.” She whispered in my ear. “He’s pretty hot, Jefferson.”
I ran a finger to her clit. “He’s a handsome fellow, that’s for sure.”
“That he is,” Mitzi cooed, running her fingers across my chest. “But right now, I want you to fuck me.”
I was already reaching for a condom.
Mitzi and I fucked into dawn.
During the course of things, we heard Apollo and Tawnee leave.
Nate came in to kiss us goodbye.
Emma followed, curling into bed with us. I spooned against her back. Mitzi wrapped her arms around my chest.
I was the first to fall asleep.
Silhouetted against my closed shades, the run rose on the fourteenth day of my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
orgy
I felt so rested and at peace. Her voice was sweet and gentle in my ears.
I opened my eyes, smiling. “Yes?”
Mitzi stood beside the couch, near my feet. “Jefferson, it’s after four. I’ve made the bed. Would you like to move to the bedroom?”
I turned to look around the living room. The lights were on. The radio was tuned to a soul station.
“Four? Like, in the morning?” I sat up. “Did I . . . ?”
“Hmmm, yes, Jefferson. You slept through the Nubian party.”
“Wow.” I rubbed my eyes. “Did I really? Wow.”
It had been a very long day.
I woke at six thirty, roused the kids, made breakfast and packed lunches. I took them to school.
By nine, I was at Viviane’s for breakfast and sex.
That afternoon, we drove to Costco and Home Depot, loading a car between us. We unpacked some things at her place, then unpacked the bulk of things at mine.
Afterwards, I cleaned my apartment, washed laundry and put things away.
The evening, I hosted Rose’s cocktail party, finding myself turned on and pretty tight as it shifted into an overheated gangbang.
And then the Nubians were supposed to show up around eleven, and so . . . well, what happened?
“Was it a big party?” I asked, scratching my hair.
“Uh huh,” Mitzi nodded. She held out her hand. “Come on, Jefferson. Let me take you to bed.”
I stood and put my hand in hers. “So, how did it go?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” she asked, leading me to bed.
“Well, I . . . ,” I stopped, hearing a noise in the back bedroom. I dropped Mitzi’s hand and peeked around the door.
I saw Nate’s back, completely covered in a methodical pattern of deep purple and red hickeys. Two smooth pale legs wrapped around his pivoting hips.
I turned to Mitzi. “That’s Nate and Emma?”
“Uh huh.”
“Didn’t he have to go someplace last night?”
“Yes, but he changed his mind. I think Emma had something to do with it.”
I squinted and walked into the other bedroom. “What all did I miss?”
“Tell me what you remember.”
“Let me think.” I stood next to my freshly made bed and began to undress. Mitzi crossed to the other side and pulled off her shirt.
“Okay, so the boys and I were fucking Rose . . . ,”
“Right.” Mitzi unhooked her bra, tossing it onto a chair.
“ . . . and then you showed up at the door. That was like, what, nine thirty?”
“Something like that.” Mitzi stepped out of her jeans.
I pulled back the covers and sat. I turned my nude body and lay back. Mitzi snuggled next to me.
“Oh,” I smiled at the memory. “I was on fire when you got here.”
“You sure were!” Mitiz said, sliding under the sheets. “You dragged me to the bed by my hair . . .”
“I threw you on top of Rose, didn’t I?”
“Yes. You said, ‘Rose, this is Mitzi.’ And then you started beating my ass.”
“Well, you had been whining for a spanking. Rose was being fucked by . . . Nate?”
“No, that other boy, the twinky twink.”
I looked at her. “Isn’t he cute? That Robby is fucking cute.”
“I didn’t see much of him,” Mitzi sighed. “My face was in Rose’s tits. But she was nice. She stroked my hair when you beat me.”
I pulled Mitzi close. “Oh, that is so sweet.” I kissed her hair.
She snuggled to my chest. “Go on.”
“Oh, right.” I scrunched my forehead. “So then Emma showed up . . .”
“Right . . .”
“And, oh! Right! Nate was all about Emma.”
“He sure was.”
“Well, they hadn’t met, and she’s real pretty.” I looked toward the sound of the pair in the next room. “Poor guy, he never made it to his party.”
“I don’t think he will regret it in the morning.”
“Did he turn loose of her at all?”
“Well, yeah,” Mitzi began. “She was pretty popular with the Nubians.”
There was a knock at the open door.
Apollo was wearing boxers and his trademark black flop hat.
He was trailing a nude woman I had never seen.
“Yo, look who’s up. What’s going on, Jefferson?”
“Hey, Apollo. Yeah, sorry I dozed off.”
“No, it’s cool, it’s cool.” His eyes drifted to the woman he followed. She paced the room as if caged.
“Are you looking for something, Tawnee?” Mitzi asked.
“Yeah, she looking for some pussy,” Apollo said.
“Well, this shop is closed,” Mitzi smiled, pulling the duvet to her shoulders.
“Huh,” Tawnee replied. She left the room. Apollo followed.
I looked at Mitzi.
“She’s a load of personality,” I noted.
“She was fun earlier,” Mitzi shrugged. “Until about two or so; maybe she’s tired.”
“So anyway, Rose left in good spirits. She seemed content to you?”
“Oh yeah, she was pretty happy, I thought.”
“And then, the last I remember, we got this party started. I was with you, Nate was with Emma, the four of us naked on the bed, going at it, and all these people were watching . . . ,”
“That’s right. All the white people at the party were on display.”
I laughed. “Yeah, the voyeurs took their sweet time to get at it.”
Mitzi ran her hand over my cock. “That was so nasty when we were doing it, and all those people were watching . . .”
I pulled her close, growing hard to her touch.
“Too bad I conked out, and you didn’t get to have any more sex.”
“Oh,” she kissed me. “I had some sex.”
I pulled back took at her eyes. “Oh?”
“Uh huh,” she nodded. “Apollo did me.”
“Look at you!” I grinned. “Getting busy with Apollo.”
“Uh huh.” She whispered in my ear. “He’s pretty hot, Jefferson.”
I ran a finger to her clit. “He’s a handsome fellow, that’s for sure.”
“That he is,” Mitzi cooed, running her fingers across my chest. “But right now, I want you to fuck me.”
I was already reaching for a condom.
Mitzi and I fucked into dawn.
During the course of things, we heard Apollo and Tawnee leave.
Nate came in to kiss us goodbye.
Emma followed, curling into bed with us. I spooned against her back. Mitzi wrapped her arms around my chest.
I was the first to fall asleep.
Silhouetted against my closed shades, the run rose on the fourteenth day of my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
orgy
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Shrimp, Cock, Tails
This event was also blogged by Rose.
I was on a ladder in the kitchen when Rose opened the front door. I had left it unlocked for her. I could hear that she was flustered and struggling with bags.
I looked toward the kitchen door and the sound of her struggles. Then I returned to putting away groceries, pointedly ignoring her.
We were abiding by the rules.
Rose does not exist for me unless she is nude. She was currently clothed. Therefore, I was not obliged to notice her, much less to come to her assistance.
Hard as it was for a polite Southern boy, I had to refrain from helping her until she complied with the rules.
I bided my time, unpacking juice boxes and fruit snacks intended for the children’s school lunches.
Moments later, Rose came to the kitchen, wearing only a corset and holding a bottle of Maker’s Mark. Her hair was freshly colored. Her pussy was freshly shaved.
She pointed to me and raised an eyebrow.
“Why, thank you Rose,” I smiled, sorting cans on a shelf. “I’d love a drink.”
The rules are clear on this. Rose knows she is obliged to offer me a drink when we meet. She knows she is obliged to remain silent in my presence.
She pointed to her sternum and presented me with a note. I read her cursive request.
“Yes, Rose, you may also have a drink this evening.”
Rose opened a cabinet and took down two glasses, grateful for my generosity.
She handed me a bourbon as I like it—two cubes, three fingers. She had a similar glass in her hand.
“Cheers,” I said for both of us to the sound of tiny clinks. “To tonight.”
Rose winced before kicking back a deep slug.
She knew it would be a daunting night.
Recently, I had returned to my desk from a morning of meetings to find a flurry of unread emails.
Rose had written to say that my pal J was hitting on her pretty hard, and she liked it. She liked the blog I had encouraged him to start. Could I tell her more about him?
J had written to inquire about Rose. She seemed pretty hot in my blog, and in the blog I encouraged her to keep. Could I tell him more about her?
After noon, the emails had ceased. Rose and J were no longer available to write.
Rose had invited J over for quickie sex during his lunch break.
Within days, she had blogged about their encounter, and he had blogged about their encounter.
Mind you, no one had asked me if I approved of their sudden urge to fuck one another. I had not been asked to sign off on their torrid midday tryst.
Nor was I consulted about the reporting of it. I only learned the lurid details of their encounter when they appeared on their respective blogs.
I was entirely shut out of the process.
Now, for an ordinary dom, this would have been an inexcusable breach of protocol.
Another dom, a friend of mine, had moved in on my submissive. She had gone right along with it. Neither had paid any mind whatsoever to my vested interests.
If I were any other dom, there would have been hell to pay.
But, you see, I am not any other dom.
I know J. I accept that he is easily the Tri-State area’s most unrelenting pussy hound. If he detects the scent of spread legs, he is fast on the trail, unrelenting in his quest until those legs are spread over his omnivorous tongue.
It’s just how he is.
I also know Rose. Having seen her marriage through divorce and beaten her cancer into remission, my submissive’s goal is to indulge and revel in her life and her sexuality.
Understandably, as a survivor, she wants to live as fully as possible.
We share that understanding. It’s common to us both. It’s why we met, after all.
As I see it, I share in Rose’s newfound revelation that no matter how long one walks the earth, life is a limited sequence of numbered days, each with the potential to be made memorable and distinctive.
Rose faced down sorrow and she faced down mortality. On this side of life, she found someone glad to take part in the emancipation of her all-too-human, all-too-sensate flesh.
Yet while I am her dom, I do not own her sexuality, not do I seek to own it. I merely take part in it, learning as I go, coaching when appropriate, guiding as best I can.
If she wants to be a slut at this time in her life, then my goal is to help her to be the best damned slut she can be. My task as her dom is to provide her with opportunities while watching her back.
So when I learned after the fact that Rose had met J, my immediate concerns were simple. Was it safe? Was it fun? Is everyone okay?
It would have been childish to concern myself with punishing Rose as a “bad sub” for having sex without my permission, or to reprimand J for fucking “my sub” without approval.
That kind of nonsense we leave to those middlebrow doms who demand to be addressed as “sir,” disguising jealousy within power trips left over from too many rounds of Dungeons and Dragons.
Rose and J are grown ups. They fuck whomever they want.
Still, I had my part to play. I mean, if Rose was so all fired up about fucking my friends . . .
My phone rang, signaling a visitor in the lobby.
“Hey, welcome. Come in—take a right and you’ll see the elevator,” I hung up the phone and closed the kitchen cabinets. “Rose, someone is here.”
Rose looked up from her seat on the couch. She had been leaning back to rest, her back kept very erect by her corset.
I had helped her lace up, tight and secure.
She pulled forward from her hips and shoulders to adjust a tray of shrimp and cocktail sauce on the coffee table. She reset the cheese platter at a slightly jauntier angle.
She wondered if she had brought right hors d’ouevres as she downed another slug of bourbon.
There was a knock at the door.
“Rose?,” I called, folding the step ladder. “The door, please.”
Rose peered through the peephole, then opened the door.
“Hello . . . oh, hi there,” the arrival said, his eyes taking in the corseted butler. “I’m Robby.”
“Hello, Robby,” I said, wiping my hands on a towel as I walked from the kitchen. “That’s Rose. She can’t talk.”
Rose shrugged as she closed the door.
“Oh, right,” Robby nodded. “Hey, Jefferson, happy birthday. I brought you something.”
He handed me a black bag.
“Why aren’t you sweet?,” I smiled, reaching inside. “Why look Rose, it’s Jack Daniels! Robby, how did you know?”
“Who doesn’t know, man?,” he smiled.
I handed the bottle to Rose. “Come in, Robby. Would you like Rose to bring you a drink? We’re having bourbons.”
“Sure, that sounds fine.”
I turned. “Rose?”
She nodded and went into the kitchen.
“Robby,” I said, my voice low. “I would like to ask you to remove your clothes.”
“Now? Right here?”
“Well, no, I think you should undress in the bedroom, then come back here for your cocktail.”
Robby looked around. “Okay, sure. Is it all right if I leave on my underwear?”
I smiled. “Of course,” I smiled, patting his back. “Whatever makes you most comfortable. Use the first bedroom.”
“Cool, man, be right back.”
I watched as Robby walked down the hall. I could hear Rose in the kitchen, dropping cubes into a glass.
This was going to be a fine evening.
Rose had wondered what to offer me for my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex. Feeling contrite after her unauthorized date with J, she had wanted to make it something special. So she returned to an idea I had once floated for her.
She would serve cocktails and blowjobs to a few of my friends.
It would be her first experience with group sex.
I provided the boys. The appetizers were a touch of her own.
Rose returned with Robby’s drink. She turned her head, quizzical.
“He’s undressing in the bedroom,” I answered.
Ah, she mouthed.
“Cute, right?” I asked.
Her eyes lit as she nodded.
“Fuck yeah, he’s cute. He’s . . . ,” I began, stopping at the sound of Robby’s return.
He was stripped to burgundy cotton briefs.
“Hey,” he said, standing next to the couch. Rose held his drink in her palm as we looked at him. His lean body was smooth and soft on the eyes. His face looked even more youthful and pink with his blonde hair scruffed by the removal of his shirt.
“Here,” I motioned. “Have a seat. Rose has your drink.”
Rose leaned forward to serve Robby.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the glass. “You look hot in your . . . thing, there.”
Rose smiled, curtseying slightly.
“Yes, isn’t that a lovely corset?,” I agreed. “Rose is generally fully nude for me, but I don’t mind this accent at all.”
“It’s really hot,” Robby reasserted, sipping his bourbon.
I took a drink, and asked Robby about his day.
Rose stood by patiently as Robby and I talked. I offered him shrimp. She pushed the tray slightly closer to us.
“Good sauce, don’t you think?” I asked between bites.
“Yeah, spicy,” he nodded. “I like shrimp.”
“Me too,” I said, taking another. “They were Rose’s idea.” I gestured toward her with a pink shrimp doused in cocktail sauce.
I took a bite. “I’m sorry, I am so rude,” I chewed, covering my mouth. I waved the torn shrimp again. “May I offer you a blowjob? She really is very good.”
“Maybe in a minute, thanks,” Robby said, reaching for another shrimp. “I’m just pretty hungry. But please, go ahead, man.”
I dropped the remaining tidbit into my mouth. “You sure?” I asked. “Really, company first.”
“No, I’m cool,” Robby said, swallowing his morsel.
I looked up at Rose. I could tell she was nervous and excited. Perhaps I should let her take me first.
“I think we’ll designate this the ‘blowjob chair,’” I said, gesturing to my leather desk chair. I picked up my drink and stood, dropping a pillow on the floor near my desk. I lowered my pants to my ankles and sat in my new seat.
“Rose?,” I asked. “Would you mind sucking my cock, please?”
She smiled, almost laughing aloud.
Rose lowered herself to her knees on the pillow. She took my cock in her right hand and looked up at me. Happy birthday, she mouthed.
“You are too sweet, honey,” I grinned. “Thank you. Now suck my cock.”
Rose dropped her mouth to my cock and swallowed me up. I relaxed my back, sliding down in the chair. My cock grew into her mouth.
“Hmmmph,” I groaned. “That is just right.”
“Good shit, huh?” Robby asked, scratching his hair.
“Very good,” I nodded. I stroked Rose’s hair. “She can really suck cock.”
“Nice,” Robby nodded. His own cock was hard now, and he teased it through his shorts.
My phone rang.
“Excuse me,” I said, reaching for it. Rose looked up, slowing her blowjob. “Hello? Oh hey there—sure come on up.” I pressed the buzzer and looked at Robby. “Wouldn’t you know it? I get settled in for a nice blowjob and have to get up for company. Would you mind entertaining Rose while I get the door?”
Robby’s hand reached inside his briefs. “You sure, man? I hate to take your spot.”
“No, no, it’s cool.” I lifted Rose’s chin. “I need to get up for a moment, honey. Can you suck Robby now?”
She nodded, her eyes wide.
“Good girl.” I kissed her forehead, then swung a leg over her. “Robby, here you go,” I said, standing.
“Thanks, man.” He lowered himself into in my still-warm seat. He raised his ass to slide his underwear down his legs. His cock jumped forward. “Hey there,” he grinned, his eyes on Rose’s as she slurped him into her.
I pulled up my pants and arrived at the door just before the knock.
“Hey, sugar man,” I smiled.
“Hey, Jefferson, man,” Nate said, leaning to pull me into a hug. “How are you, man?”
“I’m fine, fine. So good to see you.” I kissed his lips.
“You too, man. It’s been too fucking long.” He stood back. “Here, man, I brought you something.” He held forward a black bag.
I took it and retrieved a bottle. “Wow, Jack Daniels! Who told you?”
“Who doesn’t know, man?” Nate laughed, patting my back. He lowered his bag. “So, am I the first one here?”
“No, actually, come in and meet people.” I rested the bottle on the bar. “Nate, this is Robby. Robby, Nate.”
“Nice to meet you, man.” Nate crossed the room and took Robby’s hand in a soul brother shake.
“Nice to meet you too, man,” Nate nodded. “So, you are being treated well.”
“Yeah, man, she gives awesome head.”
“Nate, this is Rose,” I gestured.
Rose looked up and waved, her mouth filled with Robby.
“Don’t bother,” Nate laughed, petting her head and looking at me. “I can see you’re busy.”
“Hmm mmm,” Rose muttered, her eyebrows dancing.
“Actually, Rose, I hate to interrupt,” I said. “But Nate needs a drink. Do you mind, Robby?”
“No, it’s cool.” Rose dropped his cock in her haste to respond to my direction.
“You want bourbon, or . . . ,” I asked.
“Beer is fine. I can’t get too drunk,” Nate replied. “I have to go to a work party after this.”
“Beer for Nate, please,” I instructed Rose.
She nodded and stood, stepping quickly to the kitchen.
“Oh, I’m sorry, man,” Nate said to Robby. “Hate to mess with your fun.”
“No really, it’s cool,” Robby said, tugging his cock. “Fuck, Jefferson, you weren’t kidding. That is awesome head.”
“Glad you like,” I said. “There’s plenty more.”
“Yeah, but I should give someone else a turn.” Robby started to stand.
“No man, you sit,” Nate said, lowering his large hand to Robby’s shoulder. “I want to catch up with Jefferson anyway.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah man, have fun.” Nate turned to me. “I can only stay for a while anyway, man. I don’t want to be too late to this other party, you know. But I didn’t want to miss this.”
“You are very sweet to stop by,” I smiled.
Rose returned with Nate’s beer. He took it, kissing her on the cheek in thanks. “You’ve got really nice tits, Rose,” he admired, tweaking a nipple as he sipped.
“Yes, she does,” I agreed. “But now Rose should return to task on Robby.”
Rose shrugged to Nate, raising a finger to suggest “one moment.” She lowered herself to her knees and took Robby into her mouth again. His sighs followed into her ears.
Nate watched for a moment. Robby flashed a thumb up.
“So Jefferson,” Nate said, patting my shoulder. “How the hell are you, man?” He took another sip.
“Same old same old,” I said. “Sit down and tell me how it’s going.”
Nate took off his leather jacket and sat. He told me about his new batch of paintings. We discussed Jackson Pollock’s enamel drips, which Nate was emulating in an experimental aside.
He had noticed how the surface buckles when the underlying paint is thick, as enamel dries so quickly.
I offered a comparison to a coveted effect in lithography.
We were off in our own world when Robby interrupted. “Man, someone else better sit in this chair, or I’m going to blow on her face.”
“Nate, please,” I said. “I am wrong to keep you talking about art. Enjoy some head before you have to leave.”
“Yeah, maybe I should,” Nate said. He put his beer on the coffee table and stepped around me to the chair. “Hey Rose,” he said, unbuckling his belt. “Thanks for doing this, man.”
Rose looked up and smiled.
“You enjoying this?,” Nate lowered his pants and underwear, then sat.
Rose nodded.
“She’s not permitted to speak, Nate,” I added. “I’m not sure if I mentioned that.”
“Oh, okay, that’s cool,” Nate nodded. He laughed. “Well, all right then, Rose, I guess we are done talking.”
Rose shrugged, suppressing a laugh. She took Nate’s cock in hand, stroking it to its full girth. When she had a nice hand full, she took it to the back of her throat.
Nate gripped the armrests and stiffened his back. “Whoa, man!”
“See what I’m talking about?” Robby said.
“She really is good at this,” I agreed. “More shrimp, Robby?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Robby ran a piece through the sauce and took it into his teeth. As he chewed, he ran his fingers down Rose’s back to caress her ass. He felt her pussy. “Fuck, man, she’s really wet.”
“Of course she’s wet,” I said, washing back shrimp with bourbon. “This is pretty fucking hot.”
Robby looked over at me, his eyes going down my body. He put a hand on my thigh.
I required no further prompt. I stood and lowered my pants. I tugged my shirt over my head and sat, nude and closer than before.
I was rock hard.
Robby pinched the head of my cock, pulling his own from his underwear.
He jerked us both, his eyes moving from my cock to the sight of Rose blowing Nate. Nate watched his cock vanish into Rose’s mouth, stealing glances at the boys on the couch.
My eyes were drawn to Robby. I liked to see him getting into this zone of arousal. Desire brought a lascivious turn to his baby face, and made his large cock all the more enormous by contrast to his slender body.
I leaned over to blow him. I took him wet and deep, tracing my fingers lightly on his lean, smooth belly. It was only a taste, really, of what I could offer. Mine was not the blowjob du jour.
As I blew him, he fingered Rose to orgasm.
She never even looked back to see which of us was toying with her clit.
I sat back up and tousled his hair. We smiled at one another, then returned our eyes to Rose, stroking hard.
She was bobbing fast and rhythmically. I could tell she was well into a sense of submission.
“You need another drink, Robby?,” I offered.
“I could use a topper, I guess.”
“Rose, another round for the boys, please.”
Rose look up at Nate and stood immediately, allowing Nate’s cock to drop. She collected the glasses and retreated to the kitchen.
“Man,” Nate sighed, watching her depart.
“Sweet, huh?,” I said. I enjoyed this moment, the boys nude and stroking, Rose content in her service. We shared a male camaraderie that sent her into submissive bliss.
“Are you sure we can’t fuck her?.” Roby asked me. “She seems pretty turned on.”
“Well, the parameters for this evening are clear on that point,” I said.
“Too bad,” Nate said. “I’d love to fuck her. She’s so sweet.”
I had told Rose that she was to serve the boys drinks and blowjobs. When she got them off, I would send them away and reward her with orgasms and a beating.
It is not advised to change the rules once a scene is underway.
But then again, Rose was very turned on. This was her first time with group sex, so maybe it was a good idea to check in with her.
She might enjoy a taste of gangbangs to come.
Rose returned with the drinks, setting them on the coffee table.
“Rose, the boys and I were just talking,” I said. “And if you like, we can change the rules a bit. If you like, I can allow the boys to fuck you. You are doing a fine job; of course, if you prefer not, that is also fine . . .”
I didn’t have to finish the thought. Rose was smiling and nodding enthusiastically.
“Well then, that settles that. Rose has given her assent, gentleman. Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?”
We stood. I indicated that Rose should go ahead. We followed close.
“Robby, why don’t you lay back on the bed?,” I suggested. “That will give Rose some cock to suck as I beat her.”
“Cool,” Robby said, reclining back on his elbows.
Rose crawled forward to take his cock as I retrieved the arsenal of whips, spankers and floggers. To these, Rose had added a new birthday surprise—a braided leather cat o’nine tails.
“Damn, man, I may need to bend over the bed myself,” Nate joked, holding a bear bottle as he bobbed back and forth.
“Maybe we’ll find time to beat you before you head off to your party, sweet man,” I smiled.
I smacked Rose’s bare ass with my palm. I slapped fast and light, bringing a pink hue to her flesh.
She moaned into Robby’s cock.
“Let’s fill you up for this spanking,” I offered. I slipped a condom over a mid-sized butt plug, lubed her hole, and fed it slowly to her ass.
She moaned again.
I took up the small whip. It came down on her in swift flurries.
Nate sat to watch as I progressed through the whip to a crop. “Jefferson, man, where did you learn that shit?”
“I’ve been practicing,” I said, leaning over Rose’s back in an embrace. “Isn’t that right, Rose?”
“Mmmph,” she nodded.
Robby watched. This beating was novel to him.
“Now, I want to try out that new cat,” I said, returning my crop to the arsenal. I held the handle, tossing it between my two hands. “This has a great weight.”
I whisked it through the air. “Hmmm, sounds good, too.”
I brought it down on Rose’s shoulder. It landed in cascading slaps.
She flinched.
“Sweet, man,” Nate smiled.
“Yeah, I like this,” I said, changing positions. I let it fly to Rose’s ass, using very little force. Red welts came quickly to the surface.
I could see that Rose was lost in her sensations.
I gave her a sound beating.
I commanded her to fuck Robby.
She heard me, sitting back on her haunches. Nate opened a drawer and tossed a condom to Robby.
“Thanks, man.” He slipped it down his thick shaft. Rose lowered herself to it. Robby could feel the pressure of the butt plug still in her against his cock. His hands felt the warmth of blood rushing to the flesh of her ass.
I sat in Nate’s lap, my arms around his neck, watching as Rose rode my friend’s cock.
We shortly lost all track of time.
The boys and I tossed Rose between us, fucking her by turns, keeping her flesh tingly and her holes full.
As Nate massaged her g spot with his large fingers, I taught Robby how to deliver hot wax to her skin.
Rose was ecstatic and numb in her submission.
She barely knew what was happening as Nate fucked her to her first ejaculation.
“I . . . didn’t know I could . . . squirt,” she breathed.
“You didn’t know you could cum from fucking until recently,” I reminded her. “We’re making progress!”
I sat sipping my bourbon, reveling in the boys’ energy and Rose’s transcendent state, when I heard a knock at the door.
I looked at the clock.
“Oh dear, I think we went over time,” I said. “The orgy guests are starting to arrive.”
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I was on a ladder in the kitchen when Rose opened the front door. I had left it unlocked for her. I could hear that she was flustered and struggling with bags.
I looked toward the kitchen door and the sound of her struggles. Then I returned to putting away groceries, pointedly ignoring her.
We were abiding by the rules.
Rose does not exist for me unless she is nude. She was currently clothed. Therefore, I was not obliged to notice her, much less to come to her assistance.
Hard as it was for a polite Southern boy, I had to refrain from helping her until she complied with the rules.
I bided my time, unpacking juice boxes and fruit snacks intended for the children’s school lunches.
Moments later, Rose came to the kitchen, wearing only a corset and holding a bottle of Maker’s Mark. Her hair was freshly colored. Her pussy was freshly shaved.
She pointed to me and raised an eyebrow.
“Why, thank you Rose,” I smiled, sorting cans on a shelf. “I’d love a drink.”
The rules are clear on this. Rose knows she is obliged to offer me a drink when we meet. She knows she is obliged to remain silent in my presence.
She pointed to her sternum and presented me with a note. I read her cursive request.
“Yes, Rose, you may also have a drink this evening.”
Rose opened a cabinet and took down two glasses, grateful for my generosity.
She handed me a bourbon as I like it—two cubes, three fingers. She had a similar glass in her hand.
“Cheers,” I said for both of us to the sound of tiny clinks. “To tonight.”
Rose winced before kicking back a deep slug.
She knew it would be a daunting night.
Recently, I had returned to my desk from a morning of meetings to find a flurry of unread emails.
Rose had written to say that my pal J was hitting on her pretty hard, and she liked it. She liked the blog I had encouraged him to start. Could I tell her more about him?
J had written to inquire about Rose. She seemed pretty hot in my blog, and in the blog I encouraged her to keep. Could I tell him more about her?
After noon, the emails had ceased. Rose and J were no longer available to write.
Rose had invited J over for quickie sex during his lunch break.
Within days, she had blogged about their encounter, and he had blogged about their encounter.
Mind you, no one had asked me if I approved of their sudden urge to fuck one another. I had not been asked to sign off on their torrid midday tryst.
Nor was I consulted about the reporting of it. I only learned the lurid details of their encounter when they appeared on their respective blogs.
I was entirely shut out of the process.
Now, for an ordinary dom, this would have been an inexcusable breach of protocol.
Another dom, a friend of mine, had moved in on my submissive. She had gone right along with it. Neither had paid any mind whatsoever to my vested interests.
If I were any other dom, there would have been hell to pay.
But, you see, I am not any other dom.
I know J. I accept that he is easily the Tri-State area’s most unrelenting pussy hound. If he detects the scent of spread legs, he is fast on the trail, unrelenting in his quest until those legs are spread over his omnivorous tongue.
It’s just how he is.
I also know Rose. Having seen her marriage through divorce and beaten her cancer into remission, my submissive’s goal is to indulge and revel in her life and her sexuality.
Understandably, as a survivor, she wants to live as fully as possible.
We share that understanding. It’s common to us both. It’s why we met, after all.
As I see it, I share in Rose’s newfound revelation that no matter how long one walks the earth, life is a limited sequence of numbered days, each with the potential to be made memorable and distinctive.
Rose faced down sorrow and she faced down mortality. On this side of life, she found someone glad to take part in the emancipation of her all-too-human, all-too-sensate flesh.
Yet while I am her dom, I do not own her sexuality, not do I seek to own it. I merely take part in it, learning as I go, coaching when appropriate, guiding as best I can.
If she wants to be a slut at this time in her life, then my goal is to help her to be the best damned slut she can be. My task as her dom is to provide her with opportunities while watching her back.
So when I learned after the fact that Rose had met J, my immediate concerns were simple. Was it safe? Was it fun? Is everyone okay?
It would have been childish to concern myself with punishing Rose as a “bad sub” for having sex without my permission, or to reprimand J for fucking “my sub” without approval.
That kind of nonsense we leave to those middlebrow doms who demand to be addressed as “sir,” disguising jealousy within power trips left over from too many rounds of Dungeons and Dragons.
Rose and J are grown ups. They fuck whomever they want.
Still, I had my part to play. I mean, if Rose was so all fired up about fucking my friends . . .
My phone rang, signaling a visitor in the lobby.
“Hey, welcome. Come in—take a right and you’ll see the elevator,” I hung up the phone and closed the kitchen cabinets. “Rose, someone is here.”
Rose looked up from her seat on the couch. She had been leaning back to rest, her back kept very erect by her corset.
I had helped her lace up, tight and secure.
She pulled forward from her hips and shoulders to adjust a tray of shrimp and cocktail sauce on the coffee table. She reset the cheese platter at a slightly jauntier angle.
She wondered if she had brought right hors d’ouevres as she downed another slug of bourbon.
There was a knock at the door.
“Rose?,” I called, folding the step ladder. “The door, please.”
Rose peered through the peephole, then opened the door.
“Hello . . . oh, hi there,” the arrival said, his eyes taking in the corseted butler. “I’m Robby.”
“Hello, Robby,” I said, wiping my hands on a towel as I walked from the kitchen. “That’s Rose. She can’t talk.”
Rose shrugged as she closed the door.
“Oh, right,” Robby nodded. “Hey, Jefferson, happy birthday. I brought you something.”
He handed me a black bag.
“Why aren’t you sweet?,” I smiled, reaching inside. “Why look Rose, it’s Jack Daniels! Robby, how did you know?”
“Who doesn’t know, man?,” he smiled.
I handed the bottle to Rose. “Come in, Robby. Would you like Rose to bring you a drink? We’re having bourbons.”
“Sure, that sounds fine.”
I turned. “Rose?”
She nodded and went into the kitchen.
“Robby,” I said, my voice low. “I would like to ask you to remove your clothes.”
“Now? Right here?”
“Well, no, I think you should undress in the bedroom, then come back here for your cocktail.”
Robby looked around. “Okay, sure. Is it all right if I leave on my underwear?”
I smiled. “Of course,” I smiled, patting his back. “Whatever makes you most comfortable. Use the first bedroom.”
“Cool, man, be right back.”
I watched as Robby walked down the hall. I could hear Rose in the kitchen, dropping cubes into a glass.
This was going to be a fine evening.
Rose had wondered what to offer me for my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex. Feeling contrite after her unauthorized date with J, she had wanted to make it something special. So she returned to an idea I had once floated for her.
She would serve cocktails and blowjobs to a few of my friends.
It would be her first experience with group sex.
I provided the boys. The appetizers were a touch of her own.
Rose returned with Robby’s drink. She turned her head, quizzical.
“He’s undressing in the bedroom,” I answered.
Ah, she mouthed.
“Cute, right?” I asked.
Her eyes lit as she nodded.
“Fuck yeah, he’s cute. He’s . . . ,” I began, stopping at the sound of Robby’s return.
He was stripped to burgundy cotton briefs.
“Hey,” he said, standing next to the couch. Rose held his drink in her palm as we looked at him. His lean body was smooth and soft on the eyes. His face looked even more youthful and pink with his blonde hair scruffed by the removal of his shirt.
“Here,” I motioned. “Have a seat. Rose has your drink.”
Rose leaned forward to serve Robby.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the glass. “You look hot in your . . . thing, there.”
Rose smiled, curtseying slightly.
“Yes, isn’t that a lovely corset?,” I agreed. “Rose is generally fully nude for me, but I don’t mind this accent at all.”
“It’s really hot,” Robby reasserted, sipping his bourbon.
I took a drink, and asked Robby about his day.
Rose stood by patiently as Robby and I talked. I offered him shrimp. She pushed the tray slightly closer to us.
“Good sauce, don’t you think?” I asked between bites.
“Yeah, spicy,” he nodded. “I like shrimp.”
“Me too,” I said, taking another. “They were Rose’s idea.” I gestured toward her with a pink shrimp doused in cocktail sauce.
I took a bite. “I’m sorry, I am so rude,” I chewed, covering my mouth. I waved the torn shrimp again. “May I offer you a blowjob? She really is very good.”
“Maybe in a minute, thanks,” Robby said, reaching for another shrimp. “I’m just pretty hungry. But please, go ahead, man.”
I dropped the remaining tidbit into my mouth. “You sure?” I asked. “Really, company first.”
“No, I’m cool,” Robby said, swallowing his morsel.
I looked up at Rose. I could tell she was nervous and excited. Perhaps I should let her take me first.
“I think we’ll designate this the ‘blowjob chair,’” I said, gesturing to my leather desk chair. I picked up my drink and stood, dropping a pillow on the floor near my desk. I lowered my pants to my ankles and sat in my new seat.
“Rose?,” I asked. “Would you mind sucking my cock, please?”
She smiled, almost laughing aloud.
Rose lowered herself to her knees on the pillow. She took my cock in her right hand and looked up at me. Happy birthday, she mouthed.
“You are too sweet, honey,” I grinned. “Thank you. Now suck my cock.”
Rose dropped her mouth to my cock and swallowed me up. I relaxed my back, sliding down in the chair. My cock grew into her mouth.
“Hmmmph,” I groaned. “That is just right.”
“Good shit, huh?” Robby asked, scratching his hair.
“Very good,” I nodded. I stroked Rose’s hair. “She can really suck cock.”
“Nice,” Robby nodded. His own cock was hard now, and he teased it through his shorts.
My phone rang.
“Excuse me,” I said, reaching for it. Rose looked up, slowing her blowjob. “Hello? Oh hey there—sure come on up.” I pressed the buzzer and looked at Robby. “Wouldn’t you know it? I get settled in for a nice blowjob and have to get up for company. Would you mind entertaining Rose while I get the door?”
Robby’s hand reached inside his briefs. “You sure, man? I hate to take your spot.”
“No, no, it’s cool.” I lifted Rose’s chin. “I need to get up for a moment, honey. Can you suck Robby now?”
She nodded, her eyes wide.
“Good girl.” I kissed her forehead, then swung a leg over her. “Robby, here you go,” I said, standing.
“Thanks, man.” He lowered himself into in my still-warm seat. He raised his ass to slide his underwear down his legs. His cock jumped forward. “Hey there,” he grinned, his eyes on Rose’s as she slurped him into her.
I pulled up my pants and arrived at the door just before the knock.
“Hey, sugar man,” I smiled.
“Hey, Jefferson, man,” Nate said, leaning to pull me into a hug. “How are you, man?”
“I’m fine, fine. So good to see you.” I kissed his lips.
“You too, man. It’s been too fucking long.” He stood back. “Here, man, I brought you something.” He held forward a black bag.
I took it and retrieved a bottle. “Wow, Jack Daniels! Who told you?”
“Who doesn’t know, man?” Nate laughed, patting my back. He lowered his bag. “So, am I the first one here?”
“No, actually, come in and meet people.” I rested the bottle on the bar. “Nate, this is Robby. Robby, Nate.”
“Nice to meet you, man.” Nate crossed the room and took Robby’s hand in a soul brother shake.
“Nice to meet you too, man,” Nate nodded. “So, you are being treated well.”
“Yeah, man, she gives awesome head.”
“Nate, this is Rose,” I gestured.
Rose looked up and waved, her mouth filled with Robby.
“Don’t bother,” Nate laughed, petting her head and looking at me. “I can see you’re busy.”
“Hmm mmm,” Rose muttered, her eyebrows dancing.
“Actually, Rose, I hate to interrupt,” I said. “But Nate needs a drink. Do you mind, Robby?”
“No, it’s cool.” Rose dropped his cock in her haste to respond to my direction.
“You want bourbon, or . . . ,” I asked.
“Beer is fine. I can’t get too drunk,” Nate replied. “I have to go to a work party after this.”
“Beer for Nate, please,” I instructed Rose.
She nodded and stood, stepping quickly to the kitchen.
“Oh, I’m sorry, man,” Nate said to Robby. “Hate to mess with your fun.”
“No really, it’s cool,” Robby said, tugging his cock. “Fuck, Jefferson, you weren’t kidding. That is awesome head.”
“Glad you like,” I said. “There’s plenty more.”
“Yeah, but I should give someone else a turn.” Robby started to stand.
“No man, you sit,” Nate said, lowering his large hand to Robby’s shoulder. “I want to catch up with Jefferson anyway.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah man, have fun.” Nate turned to me. “I can only stay for a while anyway, man. I don’t want to be too late to this other party, you know. But I didn’t want to miss this.”
“You are very sweet to stop by,” I smiled.
Rose returned with Nate’s beer. He took it, kissing her on the cheek in thanks. “You’ve got really nice tits, Rose,” he admired, tweaking a nipple as he sipped.
“Yes, she does,” I agreed. “But now Rose should return to task on Robby.”
Rose shrugged to Nate, raising a finger to suggest “one moment.” She lowered herself to her knees and took Robby into her mouth again. His sighs followed into her ears.
Nate watched for a moment. Robby flashed a thumb up.
“So Jefferson,” Nate said, patting my shoulder. “How the hell are you, man?” He took another sip.
“Same old same old,” I said. “Sit down and tell me how it’s going.”
Nate took off his leather jacket and sat. He told me about his new batch of paintings. We discussed Jackson Pollock’s enamel drips, which Nate was emulating in an experimental aside.
He had noticed how the surface buckles when the underlying paint is thick, as enamel dries so quickly.
I offered a comparison to a coveted effect in lithography.
We were off in our own world when Robby interrupted. “Man, someone else better sit in this chair, or I’m going to blow on her face.”
“Nate, please,” I said. “I am wrong to keep you talking about art. Enjoy some head before you have to leave.”
“Yeah, maybe I should,” Nate said. He put his beer on the coffee table and stepped around me to the chair. “Hey Rose,” he said, unbuckling his belt. “Thanks for doing this, man.”
Rose looked up and smiled.
“You enjoying this?,” Nate lowered his pants and underwear, then sat.
Rose nodded.
“She’s not permitted to speak, Nate,” I added. “I’m not sure if I mentioned that.”
“Oh, okay, that’s cool,” Nate nodded. He laughed. “Well, all right then, Rose, I guess we are done talking.”
Rose shrugged, suppressing a laugh. She took Nate’s cock in hand, stroking it to its full girth. When she had a nice hand full, she took it to the back of her throat.
Nate gripped the armrests and stiffened his back. “Whoa, man!”
“See what I’m talking about?” Robby said.
“She really is good at this,” I agreed. “More shrimp, Robby?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Robby ran a piece through the sauce and took it into his teeth. As he chewed, he ran his fingers down Rose’s back to caress her ass. He felt her pussy. “Fuck, man, she’s really wet.”
“Of course she’s wet,” I said, washing back shrimp with bourbon. “This is pretty fucking hot.”
Robby looked over at me, his eyes going down my body. He put a hand on my thigh.
I required no further prompt. I stood and lowered my pants. I tugged my shirt over my head and sat, nude and closer than before.
I was rock hard.
Robby pinched the head of my cock, pulling his own from his underwear.
He jerked us both, his eyes moving from my cock to the sight of Rose blowing Nate. Nate watched his cock vanish into Rose’s mouth, stealing glances at the boys on the couch.
My eyes were drawn to Robby. I liked to see him getting into this zone of arousal. Desire brought a lascivious turn to his baby face, and made his large cock all the more enormous by contrast to his slender body.
I leaned over to blow him. I took him wet and deep, tracing my fingers lightly on his lean, smooth belly. It was only a taste, really, of what I could offer. Mine was not the blowjob du jour.
As I blew him, he fingered Rose to orgasm.
She never even looked back to see which of us was toying with her clit.
I sat back up and tousled his hair. We smiled at one another, then returned our eyes to Rose, stroking hard.
She was bobbing fast and rhythmically. I could tell she was well into a sense of submission.
“You need another drink, Robby?,” I offered.
“I could use a topper, I guess.”
“Rose, another round for the boys, please.”
Rose look up at Nate and stood immediately, allowing Nate’s cock to drop. She collected the glasses and retreated to the kitchen.
“Man,” Nate sighed, watching her depart.
“Sweet, huh?,” I said. I enjoyed this moment, the boys nude and stroking, Rose content in her service. We shared a male camaraderie that sent her into submissive bliss.
“Are you sure we can’t fuck her?.” Roby asked me. “She seems pretty turned on.”
“Well, the parameters for this evening are clear on that point,” I said.
“Too bad,” Nate said. “I’d love to fuck her. She’s so sweet.”
I had told Rose that she was to serve the boys drinks and blowjobs. When she got them off, I would send them away and reward her with orgasms and a beating.
It is not advised to change the rules once a scene is underway.
But then again, Rose was very turned on. This was her first time with group sex, so maybe it was a good idea to check in with her.
She might enjoy a taste of gangbangs to come.
Rose returned with the drinks, setting them on the coffee table.
“Rose, the boys and I were just talking,” I said. “And if you like, we can change the rules a bit. If you like, I can allow the boys to fuck you. You are doing a fine job; of course, if you prefer not, that is also fine . . .”
I didn’t have to finish the thought. Rose was smiling and nodding enthusiastically.
“Well then, that settles that. Rose has given her assent, gentleman. Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?”
We stood. I indicated that Rose should go ahead. We followed close.
“Robby, why don’t you lay back on the bed?,” I suggested. “That will give Rose some cock to suck as I beat her.”
“Cool,” Robby said, reclining back on his elbows.
Rose crawled forward to take his cock as I retrieved the arsenal of whips, spankers and floggers. To these, Rose had added a new birthday surprise—a braided leather cat o’nine tails.
“Damn, man, I may need to bend over the bed myself,” Nate joked, holding a bear bottle as he bobbed back and forth.
“Maybe we’ll find time to beat you before you head off to your party, sweet man,” I smiled.
I smacked Rose’s bare ass with my palm. I slapped fast and light, bringing a pink hue to her flesh.
She moaned into Robby’s cock.
“Let’s fill you up for this spanking,” I offered. I slipped a condom over a mid-sized butt plug, lubed her hole, and fed it slowly to her ass.
She moaned again.
I took up the small whip. It came down on her in swift flurries.
Nate sat to watch as I progressed through the whip to a crop. “Jefferson, man, where did you learn that shit?”
“I’ve been practicing,” I said, leaning over Rose’s back in an embrace. “Isn’t that right, Rose?”
“Mmmph,” she nodded.
Robby watched. This beating was novel to him.
“Now, I want to try out that new cat,” I said, returning my crop to the arsenal. I held the handle, tossing it between my two hands. “This has a great weight.”
I whisked it through the air. “Hmmm, sounds good, too.”
I brought it down on Rose’s shoulder. It landed in cascading slaps.
She flinched.
“Sweet, man,” Nate smiled.
“Yeah, I like this,” I said, changing positions. I let it fly to Rose’s ass, using very little force. Red welts came quickly to the surface.
I could see that Rose was lost in her sensations.
I gave her a sound beating.
I commanded her to fuck Robby.
She heard me, sitting back on her haunches. Nate opened a drawer and tossed a condom to Robby.
“Thanks, man.” He slipped it down his thick shaft. Rose lowered herself to it. Robby could feel the pressure of the butt plug still in her against his cock. His hands felt the warmth of blood rushing to the flesh of her ass.
I sat in Nate’s lap, my arms around his neck, watching as Rose rode my friend’s cock.
We shortly lost all track of time.
The boys and I tossed Rose between us, fucking her by turns, keeping her flesh tingly and her holes full.
As Nate massaged her g spot with his large fingers, I taught Robby how to deliver hot wax to her skin.
Rose was ecstatic and numb in her submission.
She barely knew what was happening as Nate fucked her to her first ejaculation.
“I . . . didn’t know I could . . . squirt,” she breathed.
“You didn’t know you could cum from fucking until recently,” I reminded her. “We’re making progress!”
I sat sipping my bourbon, reveling in the boys’ energy and Rose’s transcendent state, when I heard a knock at the door.
I looked at the clock.
“Oh dear, I think we went over time,” I said. “The orgy guests are starting to arrive.”
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Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Shouts Out
Pigeons have nested outside my window. Must be Spring.
And with Spring comes not only baby pigeons, but baby sex bloggers and sex blogs. Let’s note a few:
First of all, a very happy birthday to Audacia Ray, drinking buddy and midwife of my blog. She’s twenty-six now. Funny—during all the decades I have known her, she seems to have only one birthday for every two that come my way.
Also this week—specifically yesterday—marks the blogoversary of my dear Meg’s Tales of a Teacher (And Slut). She very sweetly took that opportunity to commemorate the night we meet, Valentine’s Day 2005, when Shelby decided that her best friend and her boyfriend should be having sex with one another.
A couple of noteworthy blogs have newly hatched in our orbit. Take a look, won’t you? Tell ‘em Jefferson sent you.
Tales of a Naughty Nurse in NYC is written by a friend of mine who charts her adventures as a single submissive in the city. She sings, she drinks bourbon and yeah, like I said, we’re friends, so you never know when I might pop in over at her place.
The Glengarry Leads began when a reader realized that while there are many blogs about sex work from the perspective of providers, there seem to be very few written by johns. He is no longer a client, but his tales take you back to Los Angeles at the end of the late century.
And then there is my Marla Jo.
Longtime readers will remember the ultra-fem Brooklyn cookie who taught gentle me how to rough up the ladies to good effect. Now and then, she graces the blogs with her views on being a good person with a wicked libido. She’s back once more at My Pleasure, My Pain. Dig in deep and enjoy it while you can—if history is any guide, she may well yank away her blog once you are good and hooked.
I have more blogs to share, but all in good time.
Enjoy!
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
And with Spring comes not only baby pigeons, but baby sex bloggers and sex blogs. Let’s note a few:
First of all, a very happy birthday to Audacia Ray, drinking buddy and midwife of my blog. She’s twenty-six now. Funny—during all the decades I have known her, she seems to have only one birthday for every two that come my way.
Also this week—specifically yesterday—marks the blogoversary of my dear Meg’s Tales of a Teacher (And Slut). She very sweetly took that opportunity to commemorate the night we meet, Valentine’s Day 2005, when Shelby decided that her best friend and her boyfriend should be having sex with one another.
A couple of noteworthy blogs have newly hatched in our orbit. Take a look, won’t you? Tell ‘em Jefferson sent you.
Tales of a Naughty Nurse in NYC is written by a friend of mine who charts her adventures as a single submissive in the city. She sings, she drinks bourbon and yeah, like I said, we’re friends, so you never know when I might pop in over at her place.
The Glengarry Leads began when a reader realized that while there are many blogs about sex work from the perspective of providers, there seem to be very few written by johns. He is no longer a client, but his tales take you back to Los Angeles at the end of the late century.
And then there is my Marla Jo.
Longtime readers will remember the ultra-fem Brooklyn cookie who taught gentle me how to rough up the ladies to good effect. Now and then, she graces the blogs with her views on being a good person with a wicked libido. She’s back once more at My Pleasure, My Pain. Dig in deep and enjoy it while you can—if history is any guide, she may well yank away her blog once you are good and hooked.
I have more blogs to share, but all in good time.
Enjoy!
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
Friday, April 21, 2006
Physical
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the tone, listening as it grew louder and then receded. I detected faint modulations in pitch.
Each time I heard the tone, I pressed the red button on the stick I held in my right hand, as instructed.
After a while, I no longer heard anything.
I sat still, leaving the earphones in place, my thumb on the button.
I wanted to be ready if the tone returned.
The nurse entered the examination room and turned off the machine. “You been sitting like that long?,” she asked. “It’s been over for a few minutes, you know.”
I opened my eyes and removed the headset. “I thought so. It’s kind of relaxing, I guess. I kind of zoned out there.”
“Hmm,” she nodded, looking at the read out. “Okay, so the doctor will be right in. You can undress and sit on the table. There’s a robe on the hook.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She closed the door as she left. I tugged off my fleece, wondering if that “hmm” meant anything.
I undressed to boxers and slipped on the robe. Paper crinkled under me as I sat on the examination table.
The doctor looked up from my chart as he opened the door. “Good morning, uh, Jefferson,” he nodded. “I’m Doctor Berkowitz.”
“Good morning, doctor. We’ve met before.”
He offered his hand. “Of course, we’ve met. Old habit. I always announce myself like that.”
“I’m naked and you’re the nervous one,” I grinned. My feet swung as they dangled from the table. I was a little nervous myself, as one is when getting a physical. I felt fine, but one always wonders: what if they find something?
“Yes, I suppose so,” he chortled. His eyes returned to the chart. “Now, let’s see . . . ah, you just turned forty two. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Any particular complaints?”
“Nope, I feel great.”
“Good, good. That’s what we like to hear. You seem to be in fine shape. Your weight is good, your cholesterol is terrific . . .”
I smiled, as though I had earned a gold star for eating well.
He pulled out the results of my hearing test.
“Let me ask you: do you find it increasingly difficult to distinguish sounds? Like, is it harder to hear a specific voice in a crowd?”
I felt a jolt of panic. “Uh, yes, it is.”
“And do you find it increasingly difficult to read fine print, or to make out objects at a distance?”
Oh my God. “Yes, yes I do.”
“Do you wear glasses?”
“No, I never have.”
“Hmm, well, you might want to get your eyes examined.” He joted a note.
“Why?” I asked. “Is there something wrong?”
“No,” he smiled. “You’re just getting older. Things change on this side of forty. You’ll notice things are different as you age.”
“Oh, well . . . I guess that’s to be expected . . .” I tried not to sound crestfallen. I’m just getting older, that’s all. Big deal.
Doctor Berkowitz continued. “Let me just ask you some more questions, running down this list . . . do you smoke?”
I sat upright, folding my hands in my lap. “No.”
“Good. Did you quit or . . .”
“Nope, never took it up.”
“Even better.” He made a check on my chart. “Drink?”
“Yes, please. Cabernet would be nice.”
Doctor Berkowitz looked up. He laughed. “No, I wasn’t offering a drink. I was asking if you drink.”
“I do, mostly wine and bourbon.”
“Much?”
“More than I should.”
“Hmmm.” He made a note on my chart. “Let’s watch that. Are you sexually active?”
“And how!” My legs swung a little faster.
Doctor Berkowitz looked up. “Are you married or single?”
“Single.”
“Multiple partners?”
“Oh yes.”
“Male or female?”
“Yes, please.”
Doctor Berkowitz was momentarily confused. “Oh, you mean ‘both?” You have relations with men as well as women?’
“Yes, and occasionally both at the same time.”
“So you are bisexual.”
“Yep.”
He wrote a “b” on my chart, then paused again. “And may I refer to you as bisexual?”
“Yes, please do,” I smiled.
He continued to write “isexual.”
“I assume you are safe? You use condoms?”
“Yes. I’d like to get a battery of STI tests too, while I’m here.”
“I’m just noting that as we speak,” he said as he wrote. “I’ll send the nurse back in to draw blood.” He took a moment to write, then closed the chart. He clicked the pen and slid it into his shirt pocket.
“Okay,” he said, standing. “This reminds me to check your prostate.” He reached for lube and a latex glove.
I hopped from the table and turned. “My bisexuality reminds you to check my prostate?”
He looked taken aback. “No, I meant . . . it’s just that you are over forty, and therefore at increased risk . . .”
I laughed. “I’m kidding, Doctor Berkowitz!” I lowered my boxers and bent over the table.
“I forget what a comedian you are. Okay, so let’s take a look, funny man . . .”
“No extra charge . . . huh?” I grunted.
A moment later, the glove hit the trash canister. Doctor Berkowitz washed up, offering off-handed advice about being safe and healthy.
We shook as he headed off for another patient.
A nurse came in and told me to get dressed before the next tests.
I peed into a cup.
I bled into a vial.
A week later, I opened my mail and learned that I was in fine health.
Of course, I expected that.
Each night as I lay in bed, wondering.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
safe sex
Each time I heard the tone, I pressed the red button on the stick I held in my right hand, as instructed.
After a while, I no longer heard anything.
I sat still, leaving the earphones in place, my thumb on the button.
I wanted to be ready if the tone returned.
The nurse entered the examination room and turned off the machine. “You been sitting like that long?,” she asked. “It’s been over for a few minutes, you know.”
I opened my eyes and removed the headset. “I thought so. It’s kind of relaxing, I guess. I kind of zoned out there.”
“Hmm,” she nodded, looking at the read out. “Okay, so the doctor will be right in. You can undress and sit on the table. There’s a robe on the hook.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She closed the door as she left. I tugged off my fleece, wondering if that “hmm” meant anything.
I undressed to boxers and slipped on the robe. Paper crinkled under me as I sat on the examination table.
The doctor looked up from my chart as he opened the door. “Good morning, uh, Jefferson,” he nodded. “I’m Doctor Berkowitz.”
“Good morning, doctor. We’ve met before.”
He offered his hand. “Of course, we’ve met. Old habit. I always announce myself like that.”
“I’m naked and you’re the nervous one,” I grinned. My feet swung as they dangled from the table. I was a little nervous myself, as one is when getting a physical. I felt fine, but one always wonders: what if they find something?
“Yes, I suppose so,” he chortled. His eyes returned to the chart. “Now, let’s see . . . ah, you just turned forty two. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Any particular complaints?”
“Nope, I feel great.”
“Good, good. That’s what we like to hear. You seem to be in fine shape. Your weight is good, your cholesterol is terrific . . .”
I smiled, as though I had earned a gold star for eating well.
He pulled out the results of my hearing test.
“Let me ask you: do you find it increasingly difficult to distinguish sounds? Like, is it harder to hear a specific voice in a crowd?”
I felt a jolt of panic. “Uh, yes, it is.”
“And do you find it increasingly difficult to read fine print, or to make out objects at a distance?”
Oh my God. “Yes, yes I do.”
“Do you wear glasses?”
“No, I never have.”
“Hmm, well, you might want to get your eyes examined.” He joted a note.
“Why?” I asked. “Is there something wrong?”
“No,” he smiled. “You’re just getting older. Things change on this side of forty. You’ll notice things are different as you age.”
“Oh, well . . . I guess that’s to be expected . . .” I tried not to sound crestfallen. I’m just getting older, that’s all. Big deal.
Doctor Berkowitz continued. “Let me just ask you some more questions, running down this list . . . do you smoke?”
I sat upright, folding my hands in my lap. “No.”
“Good. Did you quit or . . .”
“Nope, never took it up.”
“Even better.” He made a check on my chart. “Drink?”
“Yes, please. Cabernet would be nice.”
Doctor Berkowitz looked up. He laughed. “No, I wasn’t offering a drink. I was asking if you drink.”
“I do, mostly wine and bourbon.”
“Much?”
“More than I should.”
“Hmmm.” He made a note on my chart. “Let’s watch that. Are you sexually active?”
“And how!” My legs swung a little faster.
Doctor Berkowitz looked up. “Are you married or single?”
“Single.”
“Multiple partners?”
“Oh yes.”
“Male or female?”
“Yes, please.”
Doctor Berkowitz was momentarily confused. “Oh, you mean ‘both?” You have relations with men as well as women?’
“Yes, and occasionally both at the same time.”
“So you are bisexual.”
“Yep.”
He wrote a “b” on my chart, then paused again. “And may I refer to you as bisexual?”
“Yes, please do,” I smiled.
He continued to write “isexual.”
“I assume you are safe? You use condoms?”
“Yes. I’d like to get a battery of STI tests too, while I’m here.”
“I’m just noting that as we speak,” he said as he wrote. “I’ll send the nurse back in to draw blood.” He took a moment to write, then closed the chart. He clicked the pen and slid it into his shirt pocket.
“Okay,” he said, standing. “This reminds me to check your prostate.” He reached for lube and a latex glove.
I hopped from the table and turned. “My bisexuality reminds you to check my prostate?”
He looked taken aback. “No, I meant . . . it’s just that you are over forty, and therefore at increased risk . . .”
I laughed. “I’m kidding, Doctor Berkowitz!” I lowered my boxers and bent over the table.
“I forget what a comedian you are. Okay, so let’s take a look, funny man . . .”
“No extra charge . . . huh?” I grunted.
A moment later, the glove hit the trash canister. Doctor Berkowitz washed up, offering off-handed advice about being safe and healthy.
We shook as he headed off for another patient.
A nurse came in and told me to get dressed before the next tests.
I peed into a cup.
I bled into a vial.
A week later, I opened my mail and learned that I was in fine health.
Of course, I expected that.
Each night as I lay in bed, wondering.
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Thursday, April 20, 2006
Location, Location, Location
I bounced on my heels to keep warm, waiting for him to answer the bell. I looked over my shoulder at the basketball court across the way.
We had not yet met, but this hook up already offered a lot of potential as an ongoing fuck buddy. Chief among his attributes was his address.
He lived across the street from my son’s school.
How handy it would be, I thought, if this worked out. On school days, I could drop off the kids, stop by his place for a spell, and then head off to my desk, fresh from sex, ready to focus on the day’s tasks.
The intercom squawked and buzzed. The front door clicked. The entry door clicked a moment later.
At the end of the hall, I saw a door left slightly ajar. I checked the number I had copied down. 2A; it correlated.
I gently pushed open the door, closing it behind me as I stepped into a darkened kitchen.
There were four or five doors leading from the kitchen. Only one was not closed. I pushed it open.
I stepped through a dressing area and into a bedroom. The shades were drawn close.
He lay on the bed, wearing only white briefs.
He was watching “The Today Show.”
I began to unbutton my coat.
“You can put your things on that chair,” he said, waving his remote in the direction of a white upholstered divan.
I placed my coat on the seat.
Through the darkness, I made out the furnishings of an elegant room.
He reclined on a queen-sized bed, with a headboard and footboard covered in the same creamy white fabric as the divan. A high-back desk sat near the window, dark walnut, like the matching dresser and nightstands.
I stepped from my shoes. My socks sank into plush white carpet.
The plasma screen provided the only light in his shuttered room, the only color in an enclosure of black and white furnishings and gray air.
Katie Couric laughed as I removed my pants.
I stood nude next to the bed.
He glanced over, taking me in before his eyes were reclaimed by the television.
“Turn it off,” I suggested.
He lifted his remote. The room sank into a deeper gloom.
“Take them off,” I suggested.
He lifted his hips and removed his underwear.
He folded them and placed them on a nightstand.
He lay back, lifting an arm over his head and turning his face away. His lids lowered. He gave himself to the admiration of my eyes.
I took in the view.
His body was compact and well-toned, naturally smooth, with a shock of black hair around his cock. His youthful profile was delicately etched, framed in straight hair kept as long as appropriate to his conservative banking job.
I sat on the bed and touched his chest. He flinched slightly.
Nice response. I put both my hands on his body, roaming freely with a light touch.
He remained still, his eyes closed. Only the movement of his cock gave away his arousal.
I brought it to life with my fingertips. It lifted from a hip until it bobbed into the air, flopping back to his bare lower abdomen.
“You can suck me,” he said.
“All right, I will,” I replied, my voice low.
I bent forward and licked the underside of his cock, slowly, from its base to the head and back. I swirled my tongue just under the head, catching a strand of flesh in my teeth, just enough to give him a hint that I know very well what I’m doing.
He flinched again as I took his head into my mouth. I kept it shallow and enveloped in my tongue, leaving the rest of his cock to press for more. I kept him at bay.
He might well be wondering if this was the extent of my abilities: a blowjob that rests just inside my mouth for fear of disturbing a gag reflex.
As if I sucked cock like a girl.
I gave him a moment to crave more and then gave it to him. A deep plunge took him to the back of my throat and back, and then again.
I took his slender hips into my fingers, feeling his runner’s muscles grow taut as I pulled him into me.
Give it to me, I thought. Move your hips, my fingers enticed. If you know how to fuck, here’s your chance.
“Uh . . . ,” he moaned into his raised bicep. “I’m cumming . . .”
I pulled back. His hand took his cock and tugged. I continued to study his hips with my fingers.
His shot jetted up his torso to his neck.
He did not alter his position as he came.
I registered details as he orgasmed.
He likes to be adored. He’s passive. He cums fast.
Nothing steamy in this, but I could work with it. After all, he’s handsome, available on weekday mornings, and conveniently located.
He opened his eyes to look at me.
“Do you want to cum?” he asked.
“Yes,” I smiled.
“Go ahead,” he said, closing his eyes again.
Huh.
“Do you want to get fucked?,” I asked.
“No, no time,” he demurred. “I have to get to work soon.”
There was no offer of a blowjob coming my way. Evidently, getting myself off was my responsibility
I stood back on my knees, wrapping my legs on his thighs. I jerked my cock, still touching him lightly.
I trained my eyes on his handsome profile, on the cum covering his tiny bare nipple.
Just use him, I told myself. Let your eyes use his looks.
That thought took over. He was just visual stimulus, my personal magazine photograph, living and breathing—barely—underneath me.
I felt my orgasm building. My shoulders lurched back and my hips rocked. My cock looked enormous next to his hips, dwarfing his flaccid dick.
Too bad his eyes are closed, I thought. I could show him how to fucking cum like a real live man.
I moaned as I shot. I came in torrents, lurching as one burst and then another mingled with his cum on his body, pooling over and running down the sides of the hips I had so admired yet could not compel to move.
I breathed deeply and fell back on my haunches.
“Hot, man,” he said, almost robotically. His eyes remained closed.
“Yeah, hot,” I replied. “Say, which way is the bathroom? I’d like to wash up.”
“Oh,” he looked up. “I don’t want to disturb my roommate. Here, there are some tissues by the lamp.” He turned on a light and took two tissues for me, then a few for himself.
He began to wipe cum from his body. I stood to give him room, wiping my palms on Kleenex.
He sat up to toss his tissues into a wastepaper basket. I followed suite.
He reached for his underwear and pulled them over his feet. He stood as he lifted them to his waist.
“So that was hot, man,” he repeated, reaching for his remote. “We should do it again. I wish I didn’t have to get to work so soon.”
Matt Lauer interviewed someone I think I recognized from “Lost.”
“Yeah, let’s do this again soon,” I said, reaching for my shirt.
I looked around as I dressed.
The light had drained the mystery and elegance from his bedroom. It emerged fully devoid of personality, like a comfortably bland three-star hotel room.
It looked as though he had decorated with two swipes of a credit card, hitting Ethan Allen and Circuit City before stopping for coffee at Starbucks.
Once I had my scarf in place, I sat next to him on the edge of the bed. He was engrossed in a national weather report.
“Have a good day,” I said, kissing his cheek. “Thanks for having me.”
“Yeah, you too,” he said, not looking up.
“Great,” I sat for a moment. Wind storms in the Midwest. “Okay, I’ll let myself out.”
“Cool.”
It was a bright morning. I decided to walk home.
I made coffee and settled into my desk.
As a rule, anyone I meet for sex gets a nice note afterwards. That’s just good manners.
This time, I figured, why bother.
I was just another body in the room, He’ll find others.
Such a shame, though. What a great address he had.
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Today Show
We had not yet met, but this hook up already offered a lot of potential as an ongoing fuck buddy. Chief among his attributes was his address.
He lived across the street from my son’s school.
How handy it would be, I thought, if this worked out. On school days, I could drop off the kids, stop by his place for a spell, and then head off to my desk, fresh from sex, ready to focus on the day’s tasks.
The intercom squawked and buzzed. The front door clicked. The entry door clicked a moment later.
At the end of the hall, I saw a door left slightly ajar. I checked the number I had copied down. 2A; it correlated.
I gently pushed open the door, closing it behind me as I stepped into a darkened kitchen.
There were four or five doors leading from the kitchen. Only one was not closed. I pushed it open.
I stepped through a dressing area and into a bedroom. The shades were drawn close.
He lay on the bed, wearing only white briefs.
He was watching “The Today Show.”
I began to unbutton my coat.
“You can put your things on that chair,” he said, waving his remote in the direction of a white upholstered divan.
I placed my coat on the seat.
Through the darkness, I made out the furnishings of an elegant room.
He reclined on a queen-sized bed, with a headboard and footboard covered in the same creamy white fabric as the divan. A high-back desk sat near the window, dark walnut, like the matching dresser and nightstands.
I stepped from my shoes. My socks sank into plush white carpet.
The plasma screen provided the only light in his shuttered room, the only color in an enclosure of black and white furnishings and gray air.
Katie Couric laughed as I removed my pants.
I stood nude next to the bed.
He glanced over, taking me in before his eyes were reclaimed by the television.
“Turn it off,” I suggested.
He lifted his remote. The room sank into a deeper gloom.
“Take them off,” I suggested.
He lifted his hips and removed his underwear.
He folded them and placed them on a nightstand.
He lay back, lifting an arm over his head and turning his face away. His lids lowered. He gave himself to the admiration of my eyes.
I took in the view.
His body was compact and well-toned, naturally smooth, with a shock of black hair around his cock. His youthful profile was delicately etched, framed in straight hair kept as long as appropriate to his conservative banking job.
I sat on the bed and touched his chest. He flinched slightly.
Nice response. I put both my hands on his body, roaming freely with a light touch.
He remained still, his eyes closed. Only the movement of his cock gave away his arousal.
I brought it to life with my fingertips. It lifted from a hip until it bobbed into the air, flopping back to his bare lower abdomen.
“You can suck me,” he said.
“All right, I will,” I replied, my voice low.
I bent forward and licked the underside of his cock, slowly, from its base to the head and back. I swirled my tongue just under the head, catching a strand of flesh in my teeth, just enough to give him a hint that I know very well what I’m doing.
He flinched again as I took his head into my mouth. I kept it shallow and enveloped in my tongue, leaving the rest of his cock to press for more. I kept him at bay.
He might well be wondering if this was the extent of my abilities: a blowjob that rests just inside my mouth for fear of disturbing a gag reflex.
As if I sucked cock like a girl.
I gave him a moment to crave more and then gave it to him. A deep plunge took him to the back of my throat and back, and then again.
I took his slender hips into my fingers, feeling his runner’s muscles grow taut as I pulled him into me.
Give it to me, I thought. Move your hips, my fingers enticed. If you know how to fuck, here’s your chance.
“Uh . . . ,” he moaned into his raised bicep. “I’m cumming . . .”
I pulled back. His hand took his cock and tugged. I continued to study his hips with my fingers.
His shot jetted up his torso to his neck.
He did not alter his position as he came.
I registered details as he orgasmed.
He likes to be adored. He’s passive. He cums fast.
Nothing steamy in this, but I could work with it. After all, he’s handsome, available on weekday mornings, and conveniently located.
He opened his eyes to look at me.
“Do you want to cum?” he asked.
“Yes,” I smiled.
“Go ahead,” he said, closing his eyes again.
Huh.
“Do you want to get fucked?,” I asked.
“No, no time,” he demurred. “I have to get to work soon.”
There was no offer of a blowjob coming my way. Evidently, getting myself off was my responsibility
I stood back on my knees, wrapping my legs on his thighs. I jerked my cock, still touching him lightly.
I trained my eyes on his handsome profile, on the cum covering his tiny bare nipple.
Just use him, I told myself. Let your eyes use his looks.
That thought took over. He was just visual stimulus, my personal magazine photograph, living and breathing—barely—underneath me.
I felt my orgasm building. My shoulders lurched back and my hips rocked. My cock looked enormous next to his hips, dwarfing his flaccid dick.
Too bad his eyes are closed, I thought. I could show him how to fucking cum like a real live man.
I moaned as I shot. I came in torrents, lurching as one burst and then another mingled with his cum on his body, pooling over and running down the sides of the hips I had so admired yet could not compel to move.
I breathed deeply and fell back on my haunches.
“Hot, man,” he said, almost robotically. His eyes remained closed.
“Yeah, hot,” I replied. “Say, which way is the bathroom? I’d like to wash up.”
“Oh,” he looked up. “I don’t want to disturb my roommate. Here, there are some tissues by the lamp.” He turned on a light and took two tissues for me, then a few for himself.
He began to wipe cum from his body. I stood to give him room, wiping my palms on Kleenex.
He sat up to toss his tissues into a wastepaper basket. I followed suite.
He reached for his underwear and pulled them over his feet. He stood as he lifted them to his waist.
“So that was hot, man,” he repeated, reaching for his remote. “We should do it again. I wish I didn’t have to get to work so soon.”
Matt Lauer interviewed someone I think I recognized from “Lost.”
“Yeah, let’s do this again soon,” I said, reaching for my shirt.
I looked around as I dressed.
The light had drained the mystery and elegance from his bedroom. It emerged fully devoid of personality, like a comfortably bland three-star hotel room.
It looked as though he had decorated with two swipes of a credit card, hitting Ethan Allen and Circuit City before stopping for coffee at Starbucks.
Once I had my scarf in place, I sat next to him on the edge of the bed. He was engrossed in a national weather report.
“Have a good day,” I said, kissing his cheek. “Thanks for having me.”
“Yeah, you too,” he said, not looking up.
“Great,” I sat for a moment. Wind storms in the Midwest. “Okay, I’ll let myself out.”
“Cool.”
It was a bright morning. I decided to walk home.
I made coffee and settled into my desk.
As a rule, anyone I meet for sex gets a nice note afterwards. That’s just good manners.
This time, I figured, why bother.
I was just another body in the room, He’ll find others.
Such a shame, though. What a great address he had.
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Today Show
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Exchanges
“Dad! Hey, Dad!”
Lillie broke from her class line and ran to me. She pulled a backpack from her shoulders as she dodged kids and parents standing between us.
“Hey sweetheart,” I smiled, bending on one knee to hug her. “You are so excited!”
“I have a birthday card for you, Dada,” Lillie said, a babyish tone slipping into her voice. She unzipped her backpack and fished inside. “Here you go!”
I looked at the paper she handed to me. On the outside fold she had written, “Happy Birthday Dad.” Inside there was a drawing of the two of us—Lillie with bright red hair, me with yellow hair, no necks on either figure—dancing on green grass under an orange sun. A gray kitten watched next to a flower.
“That’s very sweet, honey. Thank you so much.”
“Look at the back,” she giggled.
On the back fold she had written, in brown, “You are stinky just like poop.”
I lowered my arms in mock exasperation. “Why, Lillie? Why must you be such a rotten child?”
She giggled. “You’re old.”
“And you are an ill-mannered cur.”
“Hey Dad,” Collie said from behind me.
“Hey, handsome boy.” I hugged him. “How was school?”
“It was fine. Here,” he shoved a note in my hand. “I made you a birthday card.”
He suppressed a grin, trying to play it cool.
“Oh, how sweet is that? Let me see.” On the cover fold, he had drawn a heart, surrounded by other hearts, and written, “Happy Birthday Dad.” I opened the card to find a drawing of stars and planets, with a colorful pyramid topped by the words, “I love you.”
“Now, isn’t that the sweetest thing?” I gushed. I took his cheeks in my empty hand and cooed. “My adorable, tender boy, so sweet to his dear loving daddy . . .”
“Uh, Dad,” Collie grimaced through puckered lips. “Not in the schoolyard, dude.”
“Oh, right.” I dropped my hand. “Gots to be cool, hep cat.”
“Whatever!” he giggled.
We gathered our belongings to head to the bus.
On the day after my birthday, I woke and fucked Mitzi before sending her home, thus temporarily putting the brakes on my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex. After five days, I was back with my kids, providing a hiatus and respite from sex with my friends and lovers.
Just in time, too: I needed a break. It would be nice to rest up with my progeny.
Jason was meeting us at home later. He had an appointment with his mother, who was taking him for a haircut after school.
Haircuts are a sensitive matter for Jason. At twelve, he is newly attuned to his appearance. For the past two years, he had emulated his cousin, my cool eighteen-year-old nephew, by growing his hair long.
Jason’s straight chestnut hair split at his forehead to cascade to his shoulders, framing his angelic face and deep chocolate eyes. He looked adorably spacey, which rather suited his dreamy, slightly out-to-lunch personality.
Every now and then, his mother takes him for a haircut to trim the edges. Jason endures this glumly, always watching the mirror as his hair is cut, complaining that he didn’t want it to be trimmed too short as his mother directed the barber to take off just a little more here, a little more there.
My ex Lucy insists on supervising the children’s haircuts. She feels I would indulge their preferences too much.
Lucy remembers when my hair grew past my shoulders. She thought my long hair was sexy back then, but that history discredits my judgment concerning the children now.
She would much rather be in control of the children’s appearance.
I was reading on the couch when the front door opened. I looked up to see a boy’s head pop in the doorframe, grinning.
It was Collie.
No, wait: it was Jason.
With a very short haircut.
“Jason! Oh my gosh, I didn’t recognize you!” I closed my book. “Come here, let me look at you.”
Jason walked in and closed the door. His grin stretched from one newly exposed ear to the other.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“You look . . . very handsome,” I said, stunned. “But it’s so different!”
“I know. Mom thought I should try it short for a while.”
“She did, huh? Well, what do you think about it?”
“I don’t know, it’s okay, I guess. Do you think it looks, you know, babyish?”
I looked him over. “No, not at all. It actually makes you look older, really. Like, longer. Taller.”
He nodded, still grinning.
It was true. He looked very grown and handsome. It was a fine haircut.
I swallowed my resentment. My ex thinks nothing of radically altering my son’s appearance without my input. Here was evidence that my opinion doesn’t matter in the least to her.
I can imagine her reaction if the situation were reversed.
Of course, the situation would never be reversed. I know better than to question her presumed authority over most things.
Jason stooped over his backpack. “So Dad, did Collie and Lillie give you their birthday cards?”
“Yes, they sure did. Those were sweet. Did you see them?”
“Uh huh, they made them last night. I have something for you too.”
“You do? How sweet, honey.”
“Yeah, where is it . . . okay, here it is.” He pulled a yellow bag from his pack and hid it under an arm. He stood and walked to me. “Okay, are you ready?”
“I’m ready, baby.” I smiled.
“Okay, so here it is.” He swirled an arm to present me with small bag from Tower Records.
“You got me a CD?” I asked, taking the bag.
“Yeah. After my haircut, we went to Tower ‘cause I wanted to get something for you. I used my own money, too. It took a long time, because I wanted to get something I knew you would like, but that we would like too, so we could all listen to it.”
“That’s very smart,” I said. “That way, we can share it.”
“Exactly,” he said.
I took the CD in my hand. “Oh wow, it’s the White Stripes. I do like them.”
“Yeah, I know. It has that ‘doorbell’ song. I know you like that because you always play it.” He paused. “Wait, you don’t already have that CD, do you?”
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He was so sweet to think of the White Stripes for me, but . . .
“Um, well actually, hon, yes, I do have it. That’s why I keep playing it.”
“Oh, that’s cool, I thought you might. That’s why I saved the receipt—you can take it back and get something else.”
“Oh, good thinking, kid. So did you have second choice?”
“Um, yeah. Mom said I should get you the new Death Cab for Cutie, but I didn’t know if you had it.”
“You know what? I don’t have it. So that is just what I’ll do. I’ll take this back and get the new Death Cab for Cutie. That’s a great gift. Thanks!”
I stood and kissed him.
“Well, you know,” he said.
“I know baby. I love you. So tell me about school.”
He talked about a friend at school, eventually sitting on the floor as his story grew more elaborate. We talked for a half hour before I had to get started on dinner.
A few days later, I returned the CD and brought back Death Cab for Cutie.
It caught Collie’s ear. He began to sing along.
“Hey, did you steal this CD from Mom?” he asked.
“No, actually, your brother got it for our collection,” I said.
“Oh. Well, it’s Mom’s favorite too.”
“Do you like it, honey boy?”
He shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“Nice.”
That night, we spun the CD again as I prepared dinner and Jason typed his homework. He was asked to write the first chapter of a fictional story based on a true event.
For a source, he went back to the central trauma of his young life. Fiction offered a way to revise an unalterable memory, exchanging one set of facts for another.
“Brett, will you come downstairs for a moment?” As I walked down the stairs, I knew what was coming. I was prepared for it. “Ed, Lisa, you two come down too!”
As my brother, Ed, and my sister, Lisa, rushed down the stairs, I looked in their eyes. I saw happiness and joy. They had no idea that the next words that would come out of our parent’s mouths would crush their hearts and drastically change all of our lives forever
It wasn’t as though I hadn’t seen it coming. My mother always tells me that when her parents got divorced, she had no idea it was coming. My parents had been fighting for what seemed like forever, but in reality had only been three months. At first, it was just petty fights. After that . . . it got much worse.
The first time they ever fought, it was about something small and stupid. My father was home fifteen minutes late, and my mom asked why he was late.
“Traffic was a killer,” he replied, and proceeded in to the kitchen to make dinner. But my mom was not going tom let him go that easily. You see, my father has problems with being late sometimes, and my mother had heard on the radio that there was no traffic.
“But sweetie, I heard there was no traffic.”
I’ll be straight with you about my mom. She’s a fundraiser person, so she’s a bit of a nag. She simply does not leave a conversation without getting the information she wants. And also, she does not lose arguments.
“They must have been wrong, honey,” my father said.
“I heard what the radio said. They would have been wrong three times,” my mother said.
“Maybe you misunderstood them.”
“Are you calling me old?!”
“No, I just said . . . “
“If you are going to speak to me like that, I don’t want to talk to you at all!”
I’m still walking down the stairs. You know how they say that when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes? That’s sort of what’s happening to me, only I’m not thinking about my life, I’m thinking about their life. And I’m not dying, I only feel like I am.
My father is a man who works in a corner office, like one you see on TV. He calls himself the above average man with the world’s most average job. He works for Microsoft, which means he works for Bill Gates, which means his salary is rather healthy. It also means he gets pushed around a lot, which is why he never gets mad or raises his voice. He can’t, or he’d be fired in two minutes. At least, I thought that he couldn’t get mad.
My mother, as I said, is a fundraiser lady. She knows what to do, why to do it and how to do it at all times. She’s not a bad fundraiser person, either. She gets calls from companies everyday asking for her services. You might think that she’s away a lot, but she’s really not. She’s with us most of the time. I thought she could handle anything. It turned out she couldn’t handle one thing: a husband.
Those petty fights lasted for about two months. I never really got worried about them. They made up right after their fights. But for the last month, I was worried. Very worried.
Their last fight, which happened a week ago, pretty much summed up their last month of fighting. It went something like this:
“I’m tired of you being late and lying about why you’re late!,” my mother yelled.
“I’m tired of you not listening to what I say! I’m not a liar,” my dad retaliated.
”You’re an irresponsible old man and I never want to see you again!”
“Fine!” my dad shouted, and grabbed some clothes and his toothbrush and was out the door. My mother immediately began crying. My father spent the night at a hotel. My mother begged him the next morning to come home, which he did. But never was there an apology by either of them. Never.
I get down the stairs, and sit down. I look around me. My brother and sister were anxious to know what they were going to say. I was not. I shouldn’t have been. I knew what they were going to say.
“Kids,” my mother said with a shaky tone. “Your father and I have been thinking, and we’ve decided . . . to have a baby. I’m pregnant.”
This was probably the biggest surprise of my life. As my siblings celebrated, I reflected. I guess I was to pessimistic. It takes longer than three months to decide to get divorced. So our family is safe.
For now.
We ate supper shortly after he finished. The kids bathed before bedtime.
I tucked them in and did the dishes before reading over Jason’s homework.
He hadn’t mentioned the subject all night.
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White Stripes
Death Cab for Cutie
Lillie broke from her class line and ran to me. She pulled a backpack from her shoulders as she dodged kids and parents standing between us.
“Hey sweetheart,” I smiled, bending on one knee to hug her. “You are so excited!”
“I have a birthday card for you, Dada,” Lillie said, a babyish tone slipping into her voice. She unzipped her backpack and fished inside. “Here you go!”
I looked at the paper she handed to me. On the outside fold she had written, “Happy Birthday Dad.” Inside there was a drawing of the two of us—Lillie with bright red hair, me with yellow hair, no necks on either figure—dancing on green grass under an orange sun. A gray kitten watched next to a flower.
“That’s very sweet, honey. Thank you so much.”
“Look at the back,” she giggled.
On the back fold she had written, in brown, “You are stinky just like poop.”
I lowered my arms in mock exasperation. “Why, Lillie? Why must you be such a rotten child?”
She giggled. “You’re old.”
“And you are an ill-mannered cur.”
“Hey Dad,” Collie said from behind me.
“Hey, handsome boy.” I hugged him. “How was school?”
“It was fine. Here,” he shoved a note in my hand. “I made you a birthday card.”
He suppressed a grin, trying to play it cool.
“Oh, how sweet is that? Let me see.” On the cover fold, he had drawn a heart, surrounded by other hearts, and written, “Happy Birthday Dad.” I opened the card to find a drawing of stars and planets, with a colorful pyramid topped by the words, “I love you.”
“Now, isn’t that the sweetest thing?” I gushed. I took his cheeks in my empty hand and cooed. “My adorable, tender boy, so sweet to his dear loving daddy . . .”
“Uh, Dad,” Collie grimaced through puckered lips. “Not in the schoolyard, dude.”
“Oh, right.” I dropped my hand. “Gots to be cool, hep cat.”
“Whatever!” he giggled.
We gathered our belongings to head to the bus.
On the day after my birthday, I woke and fucked Mitzi before sending her home, thus temporarily putting the brakes on my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex. After five days, I was back with my kids, providing a hiatus and respite from sex with my friends and lovers.
Just in time, too: I needed a break. It would be nice to rest up with my progeny.
Jason was meeting us at home later. He had an appointment with his mother, who was taking him for a haircut after school.
Haircuts are a sensitive matter for Jason. At twelve, he is newly attuned to his appearance. For the past two years, he had emulated his cousin, my cool eighteen-year-old nephew, by growing his hair long.
Jason’s straight chestnut hair split at his forehead to cascade to his shoulders, framing his angelic face and deep chocolate eyes. He looked adorably spacey, which rather suited his dreamy, slightly out-to-lunch personality.
Every now and then, his mother takes him for a haircut to trim the edges. Jason endures this glumly, always watching the mirror as his hair is cut, complaining that he didn’t want it to be trimmed too short as his mother directed the barber to take off just a little more here, a little more there.
My ex Lucy insists on supervising the children’s haircuts. She feels I would indulge their preferences too much.
Lucy remembers when my hair grew past my shoulders. She thought my long hair was sexy back then, but that history discredits my judgment concerning the children now.
She would much rather be in control of the children’s appearance.
I was reading on the couch when the front door opened. I looked up to see a boy’s head pop in the doorframe, grinning.
It was Collie.
No, wait: it was Jason.
With a very short haircut.
“Jason! Oh my gosh, I didn’t recognize you!” I closed my book. “Come here, let me look at you.”
Jason walked in and closed the door. His grin stretched from one newly exposed ear to the other.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“You look . . . very handsome,” I said, stunned. “But it’s so different!”
“I know. Mom thought I should try it short for a while.”
“She did, huh? Well, what do you think about it?”
“I don’t know, it’s okay, I guess. Do you think it looks, you know, babyish?”
I looked him over. “No, not at all. It actually makes you look older, really. Like, longer. Taller.”
He nodded, still grinning.
It was true. He looked very grown and handsome. It was a fine haircut.
I swallowed my resentment. My ex thinks nothing of radically altering my son’s appearance without my input. Here was evidence that my opinion doesn’t matter in the least to her.
I can imagine her reaction if the situation were reversed.
Of course, the situation would never be reversed. I know better than to question her presumed authority over most things.
Jason stooped over his backpack. “So Dad, did Collie and Lillie give you their birthday cards?”
“Yes, they sure did. Those were sweet. Did you see them?”
“Uh huh, they made them last night. I have something for you too.”
“You do? How sweet, honey.”
“Yeah, where is it . . . okay, here it is.” He pulled a yellow bag from his pack and hid it under an arm. He stood and walked to me. “Okay, are you ready?”
“I’m ready, baby.” I smiled.
“Okay, so here it is.” He swirled an arm to present me with small bag from Tower Records.
“You got me a CD?” I asked, taking the bag.
“Yeah. After my haircut, we went to Tower ‘cause I wanted to get something for you. I used my own money, too. It took a long time, because I wanted to get something I knew you would like, but that we would like too, so we could all listen to it.”
“That’s very smart,” I said. “That way, we can share it.”
“Exactly,” he said.
I took the CD in my hand. “Oh wow, it’s the White Stripes. I do like them.”
“Yeah, I know. It has that ‘doorbell’ song. I know you like that because you always play it.” He paused. “Wait, you don’t already have that CD, do you?”
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He was so sweet to think of the White Stripes for me, but . . .
“Um, well actually, hon, yes, I do have it. That’s why I keep playing it.”
“Oh, that’s cool, I thought you might. That’s why I saved the receipt—you can take it back and get something else.”
“Oh, good thinking, kid. So did you have second choice?”
“Um, yeah. Mom said I should get you the new Death Cab for Cutie, but I didn’t know if you had it.”
“You know what? I don’t have it. So that is just what I’ll do. I’ll take this back and get the new Death Cab for Cutie. That’s a great gift. Thanks!”
I stood and kissed him.
“Well, you know,” he said.
“I know baby. I love you. So tell me about school.”
He talked about a friend at school, eventually sitting on the floor as his story grew more elaborate. We talked for a half hour before I had to get started on dinner.
A few days later, I returned the CD and brought back Death Cab for Cutie.
It caught Collie’s ear. He began to sing along.
“Hey, did you steal this CD from Mom?” he asked.
“No, actually, your brother got it for our collection,” I said.
“Oh. Well, it’s Mom’s favorite too.”
“Do you like it, honey boy?”
He shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“Nice.”
That night, we spun the CD again as I prepared dinner and Jason typed his homework. He was asked to write the first chapter of a fictional story based on a true event.
For a source, he went back to the central trauma of his young life. Fiction offered a way to revise an unalterable memory, exchanging one set of facts for another.
“Brett, will you come downstairs for a moment?” As I walked down the stairs, I knew what was coming. I was prepared for it. “Ed, Lisa, you two come down too!”
As my brother, Ed, and my sister, Lisa, rushed down the stairs, I looked in their eyes. I saw happiness and joy. They had no idea that the next words that would come out of our parent’s mouths would crush their hearts and drastically change all of our lives forever
It wasn’t as though I hadn’t seen it coming. My mother always tells me that when her parents got divorced, she had no idea it was coming. My parents had been fighting for what seemed like forever, but in reality had only been three months. At first, it was just petty fights. After that . . . it got much worse.
The first time they ever fought, it was about something small and stupid. My father was home fifteen minutes late, and my mom asked why he was late.
“Traffic was a killer,” he replied, and proceeded in to the kitchen to make dinner. But my mom was not going tom let him go that easily. You see, my father has problems with being late sometimes, and my mother had heard on the radio that there was no traffic.
“But sweetie, I heard there was no traffic.”
I’ll be straight with you about my mom. She’s a fundraiser person, so she’s a bit of a nag. She simply does not leave a conversation without getting the information she wants. And also, she does not lose arguments.
“They must have been wrong, honey,” my father said.
“I heard what the radio said. They would have been wrong three times,” my mother said.
“Maybe you misunderstood them.”
“Are you calling me old?!”
“No, I just said . . . “
“If you are going to speak to me like that, I don’t want to talk to you at all!”
I’m still walking down the stairs. You know how they say that when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes? That’s sort of what’s happening to me, only I’m not thinking about my life, I’m thinking about their life. And I’m not dying, I only feel like I am.
My father is a man who works in a corner office, like one you see on TV. He calls himself the above average man with the world’s most average job. He works for Microsoft, which means he works for Bill Gates, which means his salary is rather healthy. It also means he gets pushed around a lot, which is why he never gets mad or raises his voice. He can’t, or he’d be fired in two minutes. At least, I thought that he couldn’t get mad.
My mother, as I said, is a fundraiser lady. She knows what to do, why to do it and how to do it at all times. She’s not a bad fundraiser person, either. She gets calls from companies everyday asking for her services. You might think that she’s away a lot, but she’s really not. She’s with us most of the time. I thought she could handle anything. It turned out she couldn’t handle one thing: a husband.
Those petty fights lasted for about two months. I never really got worried about them. They made up right after their fights. But for the last month, I was worried. Very worried.
Their last fight, which happened a week ago, pretty much summed up their last month of fighting. It went something like this:
“I’m tired of you being late and lying about why you’re late!,” my mother yelled.
“I’m tired of you not listening to what I say! I’m not a liar,” my dad retaliated.
”You’re an irresponsible old man and I never want to see you again!”
“Fine!” my dad shouted, and grabbed some clothes and his toothbrush and was out the door. My mother immediately began crying. My father spent the night at a hotel. My mother begged him the next morning to come home, which he did. But never was there an apology by either of them. Never.
I get down the stairs, and sit down. I look around me. My brother and sister were anxious to know what they were going to say. I was not. I shouldn’t have been. I knew what they were going to say.
“Kids,” my mother said with a shaky tone. “Your father and I have been thinking, and we’ve decided . . . to have a baby. I’m pregnant.”
This was probably the biggest surprise of my life. As my siblings celebrated, I reflected. I guess I was to pessimistic. It takes longer than three months to decide to get divorced. So our family is safe.
For now.
We ate supper shortly after he finished. The kids bathed before bedtime.
I tucked them in and did the dishes before reading over Jason’s homework.
He hadn’t mentioned the subject all night.
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White Stripes
Death Cab for Cutie
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Gift
Mitzi wanted to give me something special for my birthday.
Like most of my friends, she knows that I am generally more interested in experiences than things.
Bridget had given me a weekend in the country.
Anna had made me a nice dinner topped by a much-anticipated blowjob in my new chair.
Shelby had given me a tour of her life down home.
Mitzi put her mind to the task and came up with a fine idea: she would give me a submissive boy.
She did not take up this project lightly. She knows my ongoing frustration in finding a suitable candidate for this position.
One would think that the boy who serves as my submissive would be a lucky fellow. He may be granted many assignments that would enhance my life as a parent and pervert. He may be rewarded with my generous use of the strap, my creative finesse with discipline, my insatiable demands for sexual gratification.
And yet, most boys get distracted. They pony up as submissives only to gallop away once they take a spanking and get laid. They don’t get the idea that being submissive is not the provenance of thrill seekers. It takes dedication and responsibility.
Mitzi knew better that to spring a boy on me without my input. She knew there are some gifts that are not appropriate as surprises. Giving slaves is one of those acts of generosity best discussed in advance.
Once she had done some footwork, she let me in on her scheme.
Mitzi: I have a special surprise for your birthday. Do you want to know what it is?
Jefferson: You shouldn’t have! But if you’d care to share it, I’m all ears.
Mitzi: I’m finding you a submissive boy.
Jefferson: What a great idea! Thanks. But you may be beating your head against a brick wall. I’ve had bum’s luck shopping for one in my size.
Mitzi: I know, it ain’t easy. But I’ve uncovered a few guys who may work. You wanna see?
Jefferson: You’ve already found possibilities? Wow, you are on the ball.
Mitzi: Aw, thanks. Check your inbox.
Mitzi sent me her correspondence with the leading contenders, as well as their photographs. I was impressed to read back over her interactions.
She had combed online ads and put up several of her own.
She had garnered basic statistics and looked over photographs to ensure that each candidate would be a physical specimen appealing to my tastes. She knew I would want someone easy on the eyes.
She had explained the circumstances to each of the boys. Any submissive would need to be bisexual or bi-curious, and understand that while he may serve at an orgy, he is not to touch anyone except at my bidding.
Mitzi dismissed out of hand anyone who seemed more interested in sex with her than in serving me.
She had made it clear that I preferred a commitment to submission over a one-time encounter.
I went over the finalists Mitzi recommended. “Let me know if you want to see others,” she offered. “I can keep looking.”
I poured coffee and reviewed my options.
There was a Korean who was more interested in men than women, but was willing to be used in front of a mixed group.
There was a cute farm boy new to the city and eager for new experiences.
And then there was Benjamin.
Benjamin’s notes to Mitzi were respectful and humorous. He claimed very little experience with men or submission, but seemed to have a good attitude about undertaking this role.
His photograph looked great. He was standing on a rooftop in a leather jacket, squinting into the sun. His hair was black and longish. He had the air of a Dennis Leary type, minus the asshole attitude.
Jefferson: This Benjamin is a cute kid.
Mitzi: You like? He’s my favorite too. He says his hair is shorter now, so he looks a little different . . .
Jefferson: Shall we just go with Benjamin then? We can try him out before the orgy on my birthday. If he’s good, he can stay for the main event.
Mitzi: That’s all I need to hear. I’ll take care of it.
Jefferson: Thanks, Mitzi. That’s a great gift.
Mitzi: Of course, Jefferson. It’s my pleasure.
Mitzi arranged for Benjamin to meet us at my place before the orgy.
I hoped that Benjamin passed muster and we would allow him to stay, but I harbored some concerns about how well I could supervise a novice submissive while tending to other guests.
Mitzi offered to make the boy her responsibility.
We discussed details and made our plan.
There were late adjustments to this plan.
After Shelby returned me to the city that afternoon, we got to fooling around and she decided to stay for the orgy. That was unexpected, as she had come to eschew group sex. Still, she likes our friends, and it had been awhile since she had seen them, so she opted to stick around for a bit.
I let her know that Mitzi and I were planning to audition a submissive beforehand. Even better, Shelby said: she enjoys a good show.
I contacted Mitzi to clear this.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” she sighed. “Benjamin is held up at work. He can’t come before seven thirty.”
“The orgy starts around eight, though,” I pointed out. “Not much time to do anything with him.”
“Should I cancel him then?”
I pondered this. A submissive who can’t make a prearranged appointment may reasonably be dismissed. But it wasn’t his fault he had to work late, and above all, Mitzi had done so much work to make a present of him. I didn’t want to disappoint her.
I decided to go ahead.
“Good,” Mitzi said. “This should be fun! See you a little after seven.”
“Super, honey. See you then.”
I hung up and went back to making out with Shelby.
Seven o’clock rolled around. Mitzi arrived, a little nervous about her charge.
“I really hope you like him,” she said as we sat for drinks on the terrace.
“Above all, I appreciate your efforts on my behalf,” I said, my hand on her knee. “It’s a very thoughtful birthday gesture.”
“Yeah, and his picture was cute,” Shelby added. “As long as he’s not an asshole, it’s all good.”
The guests began to arrive. My friends were sweet about making the effort to attend my birthday orgy.
Dacia came with her boyfriend Seth; it was the first time he had been to one of our parties, and only the second time we had met. He was a little nervous. Dacia, for her part, was in fine form.
Farahnaz arrived, having left a class early to be with us. She looked stunning, as usual, apologizing as we bussed cheeks that she did not have time to truly dress up for such a special occasion.
Linda kissed hellos to Shelby, Mitzi and me before sidling up to Mark. It was her first time at one of my bisexual parties, and she was quick to appreciate the charms of the man we all refer to as mmmmm-Mark.
John arrived earlier than usual, along with a new couple he had recruited to join our gang. I had corresponded with Nicole and Giancarlo many times via email; it was nice to finally meet them in person.
The living room was filling up, but still no delivery of my birthday present.
Mitzi bit her thumb, anxious and peeved.
She jumped when there was another knock at the door.
“Hello,” she smiled as she opened the door. “You must be Benjamin? I’m Mitzi.”
“Nice to meet you, Mitzi,” Benjamin replied, looking around as he entered. “Sorry I’m so late. Work and all.”
“No problem. May I take your coat? I would like to take you to meet Jefferson.”
Mitzi hung Benjamin’s coat and walked him into the living room.
“Everyone?” she announced. “This is Benjamin. Benjamin, that’s Jefferson on the couch.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I stood, extending my hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he grinned. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Jefferson, may I see you in the kitchen?” Mitzi asked. “We can leave Benjamin to get settled.”
“Of course.” I stepped over Farahnaz’s legs and followed Mitzi to the kitchen.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Mitzi lowered her voice. “That is not the same boy as the photograph!” she fumed.
“What? Benjamin, you mean?”
“Yes! He sent a fake picture. He looks entirely different.”
“Are you sure?” I tried to match his face to the photograph I had seen. “I mean, he’s cute enough.”
“He looks like every boy I went to Hebrew school with,” she complained. “I should make him leave.”
“Well, now, hold on,” I said, taking her shoulders. “Maybe he will prove himself. I mean, I think he looks good, so let’s keep him around. All right?”
Mitzi looked up at me. “If you say so. He’s your gift anyway. It just pisses me off that he sent a fake picture.”
“That is bad behavior,” I agreed. “But let’s see how he pans out.”
I returned to the couch and sat next to Farahnaz.
“Oh, you remind me,” she said, reaching for her bag. “I have a little something for you, Jefferson.”
She produced a small envelope. Inside was a card featuring an Orientalist harem scene by Edwin Longsden Long. Farahnaz’s elegant script graced the card with the promise of a massage at my convenience.
“Oh, thank you!” I said, kissing her. “That’s the loveliest gift.”
“I am also all yours tonight, to do as you wish.” She waved her long hands over the length of her torso. “At least, until eleven, when I turn into a pumpkin.”
“That’s an even better offer,” I smiled.
“Yeah, I didn’t get you anything,” Dacia interjected. “And I’m not fucking you either.”
“I don’t expect anything from you except a whole lotta lip,” I jibed. “Anyway, who needs your crummy trinkets when I have a massage from Farahnaz and a submissive from Mitzi?”
“What submissive?” Dacia asked.
“Benjamin.” I indicated the tall boy across the room chatting with Mitzi. “He’s my toy tonight.”
“Really?” Farahnaz turned.
“Huh,” Dacia said. “What, and he’s just sitting there? You are a lousy dom.”
“You’re right, I could do better.” I raised my voice. “Benjamin? Could you come here, please?”
Benjamin quickly stood and approached the couch. “Yes, Jefferson?”
“Benjamin, these are my friends Dacia and Farahnaz. We would each enjoy a drink. Bourbon, ladies?”
“Just what I was thinking,” Dacia said.
“I really shouldn’t but . . . yes, please,” Farahnaz nodded.
“On the rocks, three fingers,” I instructed Benjamin. “You’ll find what you need in the kitchen.”
“Yes, of course, Jefferson.” Benjamin turned and left for the kitchen.
“He’s a cute toy,” Farahnaz admired.
“Yeah, if badly used,” Dacia teased.
I could see where this was going. I shared the couch with two other doms and they were eying my submissive.
“Back off, sisters,” I admonished. “He’s my birthday present.”
“You are good to share,” Farahnaz said.
“You are wasting him,” Dacia said.
“We’ll see,” I replied.
Benjamin returned with our drinks. He handed them over with care.
“Thank you, Benjamin,” I said, taking a sip. “Now, would you mind undressing?”
“Of course. Here?” he asked, looking around at the room at the expectant faces.
“Yes, please,” I nodded. “I want to look at you.”
Benjamin unbuttoned his shirt and put it in chair. He pulled off a t-shirt and unfastened his pants. He stooped to remove his socks. He stood, wearing only underwear.
“All of it, please,” I gestured.
Benjamin stepped out of his underwear, tossing them into his pile of clothes.
“Turn around, please,” I asked. Benjamin raised his hands and turned so that I could survey his nude body.
He had a lean physique, with a strong upper body and a thick stout cock.
“Not bad, right?” I asked Shelby.
“Yeah, he’s all right,” she nodded.
I smiled at Mitzi.
“Benjamin, I’d like you to massage my feet, please,” I said. I stretched my legs over Farahnaz’s thighs and propped my feet in Dacia’s lap.
Dacia scrunched her nose. “Oh hush,” I said. “They’re clean.”
Benjamin dropped to his knees and took my feet in his palms, his eyes momentarily distracted by Dacia’s fishnets under my heels.
His hands were strong, though he trembled slightly.
I took another sip of my bourbon, enjoying his nervousness. Here he was, nude in a room of clothed people he didn’t know, rubbing the feet of a man he had just met but had committed to serve for the evening.
Not bad for his first half hour as my sub.
“I hope you enjoy your foot massage, great white master,” Farahnaz said. “Afterwards, I am making you my first of the evening. My day’s virginity is also my gift to you.”
“Oh, thanks, sweet.” I closed my eyes and focused on Benjamin’s hands.
A few moments passed.
“Okay, come on,” Dacia said, taking Farahnaz’s hand. “Enough of this lame ‘foot massage’ crap. I’m going to fuck you with my strap on.”
Dacia stood, knocking my feet to one side.
“But wait,” Farahnaz said as Dacia tugged her to stand. “I promised Jefferson he would be my first.”
“Go, it’s all right,” I waved, putting my feet back on the couch. “She can be your first woman, I’ll be your first man.”
“Oh Solomon, you are so wise.” Farahnaz managed as Dacia tugged her into the hallway.
Benjamin began to rub my feet.
“Well, I am not watching a foot massage when there’s hot girl-on-girl action in the next room.” Linda said, standing.
“Right behind you,” Shelby said.
Everyone began to move toward the bedroom.
“Let’s not fight the trend, Benjamin,” I pulled my feet back. “You can continue my massage in the other room.”
“Yes, Jefferson.”
Benjamin followed me into the bedroom. We maneuvered past Mitzi, Linda and Shelby, who clustered near the door watching as Dacia, stripped to her underwear, stepped into the harness of her strap on.
Farahnaz pulled off her dress and reclined nude on the bed.
“Jefferson, do you see what a display we are?” Farahnaz asked. “Surely I am not going to be the only nude?”
“Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” I pulled my shirt over my head, and removed my jeans. I sat in a high backed chair. “Benjamin, would you please undress Mitzi?”
“Jefferson!,” Mitzi began. “I don’t want him to . . .”
“Shhh, shhh,” I said. “I’m trying to watch the show.”
Benjamin stood before Mitzi. “May I?”
She looked at me. “Fine.” She dropped her hands as Benjamin pulled off her top and unhooked her bra.
Dacia crouched on her knees, leaning forward to kiss Farahnaz. Seth watched from a corner.
Benjamin unfastened Mitzi’s pants and tugged. “I’ll take it from here,” she demurred. She stepped from her jeans and lowered her panties.
“Benjamin, could you bring those panties to me?” I asked. He delivered them. I tucked them behind my back.
Shelby laughed. I caught her eye, glad that she was enjoying herself. I knew she couldn’t stay much later, so I wanted to be sure she got an eyeful for the ride back home.
Farahnaz sighed as Dacia entered her.
Mitzi stomped a foot. “Jefferson, I feel a little ridiculous standing her naked.”
“Perhaps because you are rather alone in your nudity. Perhaps you need company. Perhaps you should undress Linda.”
Linda smiled and stood erect.
“Do you mind?” Mitzi asked.
“Be my guest,” Linda said.
Mitzi lifted Linda’s shirt, her hands grazing her soft flesh.
Shelby’s eyes drifted from the women on the bed to the women by her side.
“Benjamin,” I beckoned. “Thanks for taking care of that. I’d like you to suck my cock, but can you do me a favor first?”
“What is that, Jefferson?”
I indicated a chest of drawers. “Open the third drawer down on the right side. Inside you will find my socks. You can ignore my socks. In the left hand side, at the back, you will find black lace panties and a pair of black hose. Would you retrieve those, please?”
“Of course, Jefferson.” Benjamin rummaged through my drawer.
Mitzi stooped as she lowered Linda’s pants.
“Does that feel all right?” Dacia asked.
“Yes, you treat me very well,” Farahnaz responded.
John, sitting opposite me on the other side of the bed, took out his cock and stroked it.
Shelby watched Benjamin return with his hands full of dainties.
“Are these what you wanted?” he asked me.
“Yes. I’d like you put them on, please.”
“Finally,” Dacia said, looking over. “You are doing something with him.”
Benjamin examined the panties. He found the back and stepped into them awkwardly. He pulled them up.
He turned to face me.
“You look fetching, little Benjamin.” I smiled. “But you didn’t do such a sexy job putting them on. You need to look like you really enjoy it. Now, when you put on the hose, put your heart in it. Extend your legs. Give it the full Mrs. Robinson feel.”
Linda passed her panties to me. “Oh, thanks honey,” I said, tucking them behind my back.
Benjamin sat on the edge of the bed. He extended his right leg.
“Point your toes . . . that’s it,” I said. “And take your time.”
I reached for my bourbon.
Benjamin slipped the hose over his toes and slowly rolled them up the curve of his arch, over his heel, and to his ankle. His eyes were on mine as he passed his calf. He snapped them into place mid-thigh.
“Good,” I nodded, my throat a little hoarse. “Now the other one.”
Mitzi watched my reaction as he rolled the other hose up his leg, even more slowly than the first. I was growing hard.
“Fucking hot, man,” Shelby nodded.
“Benjamin, you are a very pretty girl.” I nestled my bourbon in my palm. “I’ll take that blowjob now.”
Benjamin lowered himself to my knees. I spread my legs and watched his mouth descend to my cock.
He took it full in his mouth, gagging slightly.
“Take your time, Benjamin.” I placed a hand on his cheek. “Savor it.”
Benjamin slowed, pulling back slightly. He soon speed up again as his mouth pumped up and back. His blowjob was messy and disorganized, rushed by his hunger to taste cock.
“That’s some blowjob you’ve got there,” I said, petting his hair. “It’s like getting a quick one in a bus station.”
He dropped my cock and gasped. “Thanks. It’s only the second time I’ve done this.”
“This is your second blowjob?” I asked.
Dacia paused in her thrusts as she overheard. “Aw! His second blowjob!” she exclaimed. “How sweet.”
Everyone joined her in cooing.
Benjamin blushed.
“That really is sweet, little girl,” I smiled at him, stroking his cheek. “Now, suck my cock.”
He went back to his task.
I surveyed the room.
Linda and Mitzi were nude, talking near the door. Shelby stood nearby, clothed and watching the clock. Dacia was fucking Farahnaz on the bed. Seth watched; he wasn’t going to do anything with anyone other than Dacia. John masturbated in a chair.
I needed to mix things up a bit.
I cupped Benjamin’s chin in my hand. “Little girl, I want you to stop and listen.”
My cock popped from his mouth. “Yes, Jefferson?”
“I want you to crawl to the chair on the other side of the room. There, you will find my friend John. Ask him if he would like you to suck his cock. If he says yes, you may give your third blowjob.”
Benjamin looked past the tangle of limbs on the bed. “Yes, of course.” He turned and crawled away, his ass swaying in his pretty lace panties.
He found John receptive to his offer.
Shelby came and whispered in my ear. “Baby, I need to get going.”
I kissed her cheek. “I know, let me get my pants on and I’ll walk you out.”
Mitzi’s eyes followed as I led Shelby into the living room.
“Did you have a good time, sugar?” I asked.
“I did,” she smiled. “It was fun to watch you be all butch and shit. Though you know I can still kick your ass.”
“You and I both know that,” I nodded.
“So Farahnaz told me the next party is on her birthday.”
“Yeah, that’s right, actually.”
“Cool. Maybe I’ll make it back to that one.”
“Really? Well, hopefully you can stay over.”
“Maybe. But this doesn’t mean I want to do group sex, man. It’s just fun to see everyone and watch.”
“Whatever you like, baby,” I beamed. I put my cheek to hers. “Thanks again for the trip south.”
“No problem. It was fun.” She hefted her bag over a shoulder. “Okay dude, I’m outta here. Happy birthday.”
“Bye honey.”
I closed the door behind her.
I turned to find Mitzi watching from the hallway. She was wearing her panties and top.
She pulled me aside. “Do you like your present?”
“I do, yes. He’s fun, don’t you think?”
Mitzi nodded, shaking the hair from her eyes. “It’s fun to watch you use him.”
I smiled, resting my hands on her hips.
“Will you use me tonight too?” she asked.
“You can count on that,” I kissed her.
“Mister Jefferson,” Farahnaz called. “Where have you gone off to?”
“In the hallway,” I answered.
Farahnaz appeared in the doorway. She rested a long arm on her door jam, and jutted her hip to one side. “Oh, hello Mitzi. Mister Jefferson, may I remind you that I am all yours, but only until eleven?”
“Oh, yes, thank you, Farahnaz. And I know it is getting late.”
“Indeed. Mitzi, do you mind if I borrow the birthday boy?”
“Anything for you, Farahnaz.” Mitzi stepped from my hands.
“You are kind to princesses,” Farahnaz smiled to Mitzi. She took my hand. “Come on, this room is busy. Let’s try the other.”
I glanced into the bedroom. John sprawled across the bed as Benjamin blew him. Dacia rode Seth’s lap in a chair.
Mitzi stayed to check on her charge.
Farahnaz and I found Nicole and Giancarlo in the back room. I’d all but forgotten they were at the party.
They were fully dressed. She sat before him, sucking his unzipped cock.
“I hope we’re not intruding,” I said, removing my jeans.
“No, s’cool,” Giancarlo nodded.
Nicole looked over at us, then back up to Giancarlo.
“Now, Mister Jefferson,” Farahnaz began as she reclined on an empty bed. “You know very well how I like to be taken.”
“Yes, I do,” I said, taking a condom as I lay next to her. “You would like this slow at first, then building in intensity.”
“Yes, you remember me so well,” she said, touching my hair.
“You are very memorable, lovely. Would you enjoy being bitten?” I rested my fingertips on her ribcage, just under her breasts.
“Let’s see once we get there.” She offered her lips to mine.
I felt myself growing hard against her thighs.
I took her face in my hands as we began to fuck. My eyes were on hers, watching for her responses.
“You are taking me very well, Mister Jefferson,” she said, her voice calm. “But really, is that the best you can do?”
“I think I can do better,” I smiled. I pulled back and pushed a little deeper, a little harder. “Is that better?” I asked.
“I think you are refusing to do better,” she taunted.
“Oh, do you think some other man could do better, then?” I retorted.
I sat back on my haunches and pushed back her thighs. I went fast but not too deep, aiming for that place in her body I have found before.
I am still taking mental notes when making love with my transsexual girlfriend, drawing maps in my memory of her erogenous zones. She is like other lovers in some respects, like no one other than herself in others.
Apparently, I was doing better.
“Yes,” she whispered. “You can bite me now.”
I nodded and took her shoulder in my teeth. My cock stayed on course—fast, rhythmic, shallow.
“Jefferson?”
I looked up.
Mitzi stood in the door with Benjamin. Both were fully dressed.
Mitzi looked a little stricken.
“Benjamin has something to tell you,” she said, standing to one side.
“Yes, Benjamin?” I slowed my cock in Farahnaz. She craned her neck to look back at the boy.
“Look man, I hate to do this, but I need to cut out.” All pretense of submission had vanished from his voice. He held up a cell. “I just got this call from one of my best buds. He broke both of his legs, so I need to get to the hospital.”
“Oh dear!” I said.
“I don’t understand,” Farahnaz said. “Your friend broke two legs?”
“Yeah, it’s crazy shit.”
“Imagine the odds,” I nodded. My eyes caught Mitzi’s.
“Yes, I felt Benjamin should tell you this news himself,” Mitzi said.
“Yes, I appreciate that,” I agreed. “Well, Benjamin, thank you for your service tonight.”
“My pleasure, man. I’ll definitely be back,” he nodded.
Not likely, I thought, if Mitzi’s face offers any clues.
“Cool. Well, Mitzi, would you mind showing him out? I’m sort of . . . caught up with Farahnaz.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be back.” Mitzi ushered Benjamin from the room.
I returned my attentions to Farahnaz.
“You don’t believe that, do you?” she asked. “I mean, come on, who breaks two legs and needs his friend to rush over?”
“Now, Farahnaz,” I shook my head. “Why ever would he lie?”
We fucked until she turned into a pumpkin.
The rest of the night progressed smoothly. Around two, I found the party’s remnants gathered in the living room.
Dacia was in her panties, huddled under a blanket. She talked with Seth and Linda, who stretched her nude legs across my desk chair.
Mitzi came in from a smoke on the terrace.
“So,” I asked. “Anyone up for bacon cheeseburgers?” I was in a mood to cook.
This was greeted as a fine idea. Mitzi joined me as I fired up my grill.
“Can you believe that bullshit about the friend’s emergency?” she asked, still steamed about Benjamin. “That, and the whole fake picture thing. What a loser.”
“Yeah, but you never know,” I said, taking bacon from the refrigerator. “If this was all new to him, he may have felt the need to disguise himself in layers of falsehoods. You know? Whether to protect his identity, or to allow himself to come here at all.”
“Whatever. You know, he lied, so he’s a loser.”
“I suppose. But when he let himself go, he was all right.” The first patty sizzled as it hit the grill.
“It’s shame, though,” I said, clucking my tongue. “You’d think that making dinner after an orgy would be fun for a good submissive.”
“Yeah, too bad his friend broke his legs,” Mitzi laughed.
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Like most of my friends, she knows that I am generally more interested in experiences than things.
Bridget had given me a weekend in the country.
Anna had made me a nice dinner topped by a much-anticipated blowjob in my new chair.
Shelby had given me a tour of her life down home.
Mitzi put her mind to the task and came up with a fine idea: she would give me a submissive boy.
She did not take up this project lightly. She knows my ongoing frustration in finding a suitable candidate for this position.
One would think that the boy who serves as my submissive would be a lucky fellow. He may be granted many assignments that would enhance my life as a parent and pervert. He may be rewarded with my generous use of the strap, my creative finesse with discipline, my insatiable demands for sexual gratification.
And yet, most boys get distracted. They pony up as submissives only to gallop away once they take a spanking and get laid. They don’t get the idea that being submissive is not the provenance of thrill seekers. It takes dedication and responsibility.
Mitzi knew better that to spring a boy on me without my input. She knew there are some gifts that are not appropriate as surprises. Giving slaves is one of those acts of generosity best discussed in advance.
Once she had done some footwork, she let me in on her scheme.
Mitzi: I have a special surprise for your birthday. Do you want to know what it is?
Jefferson: You shouldn’t have! But if you’d care to share it, I’m all ears.
Mitzi: I’m finding you a submissive boy.
Jefferson: What a great idea! Thanks. But you may be beating your head against a brick wall. I’ve had bum’s luck shopping for one in my size.
Mitzi: I know, it ain’t easy. But I’ve uncovered a few guys who may work. You wanna see?
Jefferson: You’ve already found possibilities? Wow, you are on the ball.
Mitzi: Aw, thanks. Check your inbox.
Mitzi sent me her correspondence with the leading contenders, as well as their photographs. I was impressed to read back over her interactions.
She had combed online ads and put up several of her own.
She had garnered basic statistics and looked over photographs to ensure that each candidate would be a physical specimen appealing to my tastes. She knew I would want someone easy on the eyes.
She had explained the circumstances to each of the boys. Any submissive would need to be bisexual or bi-curious, and understand that while he may serve at an orgy, he is not to touch anyone except at my bidding.
Mitzi dismissed out of hand anyone who seemed more interested in sex with her than in serving me.
She had made it clear that I preferred a commitment to submission over a one-time encounter.
I went over the finalists Mitzi recommended. “Let me know if you want to see others,” she offered. “I can keep looking.”
I poured coffee and reviewed my options.
There was a Korean who was more interested in men than women, but was willing to be used in front of a mixed group.
There was a cute farm boy new to the city and eager for new experiences.
And then there was Benjamin.
Benjamin’s notes to Mitzi were respectful and humorous. He claimed very little experience with men or submission, but seemed to have a good attitude about undertaking this role.
His photograph looked great. He was standing on a rooftop in a leather jacket, squinting into the sun. His hair was black and longish. He had the air of a Dennis Leary type, minus the asshole attitude.
Jefferson: This Benjamin is a cute kid.
Mitzi: You like? He’s my favorite too. He says his hair is shorter now, so he looks a little different . . .
Jefferson: Shall we just go with Benjamin then? We can try him out before the orgy on my birthday. If he’s good, he can stay for the main event.
Mitzi: That’s all I need to hear. I’ll take care of it.
Jefferson: Thanks, Mitzi. That’s a great gift.
Mitzi: Of course, Jefferson. It’s my pleasure.
Mitzi arranged for Benjamin to meet us at my place before the orgy.
I hoped that Benjamin passed muster and we would allow him to stay, but I harbored some concerns about how well I could supervise a novice submissive while tending to other guests.
Mitzi offered to make the boy her responsibility.
We discussed details and made our plan.
There were late adjustments to this plan.
After Shelby returned me to the city that afternoon, we got to fooling around and she decided to stay for the orgy. That was unexpected, as she had come to eschew group sex. Still, she likes our friends, and it had been awhile since she had seen them, so she opted to stick around for a bit.
I let her know that Mitzi and I were planning to audition a submissive beforehand. Even better, Shelby said: she enjoys a good show.
I contacted Mitzi to clear this.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” she sighed. “Benjamin is held up at work. He can’t come before seven thirty.”
“The orgy starts around eight, though,” I pointed out. “Not much time to do anything with him.”
“Should I cancel him then?”
I pondered this. A submissive who can’t make a prearranged appointment may reasonably be dismissed. But it wasn’t his fault he had to work late, and above all, Mitzi had done so much work to make a present of him. I didn’t want to disappoint her.
I decided to go ahead.
“Good,” Mitzi said. “This should be fun! See you a little after seven.”
“Super, honey. See you then.”
I hung up and went back to making out with Shelby.
Seven o’clock rolled around. Mitzi arrived, a little nervous about her charge.
“I really hope you like him,” she said as we sat for drinks on the terrace.
“Above all, I appreciate your efforts on my behalf,” I said, my hand on her knee. “It’s a very thoughtful birthday gesture.”
“Yeah, and his picture was cute,” Shelby added. “As long as he’s not an asshole, it’s all good.”
The guests began to arrive. My friends were sweet about making the effort to attend my birthday orgy.
Dacia came with her boyfriend Seth; it was the first time he had been to one of our parties, and only the second time we had met. He was a little nervous. Dacia, for her part, was in fine form.
Farahnaz arrived, having left a class early to be with us. She looked stunning, as usual, apologizing as we bussed cheeks that she did not have time to truly dress up for such a special occasion.
Linda kissed hellos to Shelby, Mitzi and me before sidling up to Mark. It was her first time at one of my bisexual parties, and she was quick to appreciate the charms of the man we all refer to as mmmmm-Mark.
John arrived earlier than usual, along with a new couple he had recruited to join our gang. I had corresponded with Nicole and Giancarlo many times via email; it was nice to finally meet them in person.
The living room was filling up, but still no delivery of my birthday present.
Mitzi bit her thumb, anxious and peeved.
She jumped when there was another knock at the door.
“Hello,” she smiled as she opened the door. “You must be Benjamin? I’m Mitzi.”
“Nice to meet you, Mitzi,” Benjamin replied, looking around as he entered. “Sorry I’m so late. Work and all.”
“No problem. May I take your coat? I would like to take you to meet Jefferson.”
Mitzi hung Benjamin’s coat and walked him into the living room.
“Everyone?” she announced. “This is Benjamin. Benjamin, that’s Jefferson on the couch.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I stood, extending my hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he grinned. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Jefferson, may I see you in the kitchen?” Mitzi asked. “We can leave Benjamin to get settled.”
“Of course.” I stepped over Farahnaz’s legs and followed Mitzi to the kitchen.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Mitzi lowered her voice. “That is not the same boy as the photograph!” she fumed.
“What? Benjamin, you mean?”
“Yes! He sent a fake picture. He looks entirely different.”
“Are you sure?” I tried to match his face to the photograph I had seen. “I mean, he’s cute enough.”
“He looks like every boy I went to Hebrew school with,” she complained. “I should make him leave.”
“Well, now, hold on,” I said, taking her shoulders. “Maybe he will prove himself. I mean, I think he looks good, so let’s keep him around. All right?”
Mitzi looked up at me. “If you say so. He’s your gift anyway. It just pisses me off that he sent a fake picture.”
“That is bad behavior,” I agreed. “But let’s see how he pans out.”
I returned to the couch and sat next to Farahnaz.
“Oh, you remind me,” she said, reaching for her bag. “I have a little something for you, Jefferson.”
She produced a small envelope. Inside was a card featuring an Orientalist harem scene by Edwin Longsden Long. Farahnaz’s elegant script graced the card with the promise of a massage at my convenience.
“Oh, thank you!” I said, kissing her. “That’s the loveliest gift.”
“I am also all yours tonight, to do as you wish.” She waved her long hands over the length of her torso. “At least, until eleven, when I turn into a pumpkin.”
“That’s an even better offer,” I smiled.
“Yeah, I didn’t get you anything,” Dacia interjected. “And I’m not fucking you either.”
“I don’t expect anything from you except a whole lotta lip,” I jibed. “Anyway, who needs your crummy trinkets when I have a massage from Farahnaz and a submissive from Mitzi?”
“What submissive?” Dacia asked.
“Benjamin.” I indicated the tall boy across the room chatting with Mitzi. “He’s my toy tonight.”
“Really?” Farahnaz turned.
“Huh,” Dacia said. “What, and he’s just sitting there? You are a lousy dom.”
“You’re right, I could do better.” I raised my voice. “Benjamin? Could you come here, please?”
Benjamin quickly stood and approached the couch. “Yes, Jefferson?”
“Benjamin, these are my friends Dacia and Farahnaz. We would each enjoy a drink. Bourbon, ladies?”
“Just what I was thinking,” Dacia said.
“I really shouldn’t but . . . yes, please,” Farahnaz nodded.
“On the rocks, three fingers,” I instructed Benjamin. “You’ll find what you need in the kitchen.”
“Yes, of course, Jefferson.” Benjamin turned and left for the kitchen.
“He’s a cute toy,” Farahnaz admired.
“Yeah, if badly used,” Dacia teased.
I could see where this was going. I shared the couch with two other doms and they were eying my submissive.
“Back off, sisters,” I admonished. “He’s my birthday present.”
“You are good to share,” Farahnaz said.
“You are wasting him,” Dacia said.
“We’ll see,” I replied.
Benjamin returned with our drinks. He handed them over with care.
“Thank you, Benjamin,” I said, taking a sip. “Now, would you mind undressing?”
“Of course. Here?” he asked, looking around at the room at the expectant faces.
“Yes, please,” I nodded. “I want to look at you.”
Benjamin unbuttoned his shirt and put it in chair. He pulled off a t-shirt and unfastened his pants. He stooped to remove his socks. He stood, wearing only underwear.
“All of it, please,” I gestured.
Benjamin stepped out of his underwear, tossing them into his pile of clothes.
“Turn around, please,” I asked. Benjamin raised his hands and turned so that I could survey his nude body.
He had a lean physique, with a strong upper body and a thick stout cock.
“Not bad, right?” I asked Shelby.
“Yeah, he’s all right,” she nodded.
I smiled at Mitzi.
“Benjamin, I’d like you to massage my feet, please,” I said. I stretched my legs over Farahnaz’s thighs and propped my feet in Dacia’s lap.
Dacia scrunched her nose. “Oh hush,” I said. “They’re clean.”
Benjamin dropped to his knees and took my feet in his palms, his eyes momentarily distracted by Dacia’s fishnets under my heels.
His hands were strong, though he trembled slightly.
I took another sip of my bourbon, enjoying his nervousness. Here he was, nude in a room of clothed people he didn’t know, rubbing the feet of a man he had just met but had committed to serve for the evening.
Not bad for his first half hour as my sub.
“I hope you enjoy your foot massage, great white master,” Farahnaz said. “Afterwards, I am making you my first of the evening. My day’s virginity is also my gift to you.”
“Oh, thanks, sweet.” I closed my eyes and focused on Benjamin’s hands.
A few moments passed.
“Okay, come on,” Dacia said, taking Farahnaz’s hand. “Enough of this lame ‘foot massage’ crap. I’m going to fuck you with my strap on.”
Dacia stood, knocking my feet to one side.
“But wait,” Farahnaz said as Dacia tugged her to stand. “I promised Jefferson he would be my first.”
“Go, it’s all right,” I waved, putting my feet back on the couch. “She can be your first woman, I’ll be your first man.”
“Oh Solomon, you are so wise.” Farahnaz managed as Dacia tugged her into the hallway.
Benjamin began to rub my feet.
“Well, I am not watching a foot massage when there’s hot girl-on-girl action in the next room.” Linda said, standing.
“Right behind you,” Shelby said.
Everyone began to move toward the bedroom.
“Let’s not fight the trend, Benjamin,” I pulled my feet back. “You can continue my massage in the other room.”
“Yes, Jefferson.”
Benjamin followed me into the bedroom. We maneuvered past Mitzi, Linda and Shelby, who clustered near the door watching as Dacia, stripped to her underwear, stepped into the harness of her strap on.
Farahnaz pulled off her dress and reclined nude on the bed.
“Jefferson, do you see what a display we are?” Farahnaz asked. “Surely I am not going to be the only nude?”
“Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” I pulled my shirt over my head, and removed my jeans. I sat in a high backed chair. “Benjamin, would you please undress Mitzi?”
“Jefferson!,” Mitzi began. “I don’t want him to . . .”
“Shhh, shhh,” I said. “I’m trying to watch the show.”
Benjamin stood before Mitzi. “May I?”
She looked at me. “Fine.” She dropped her hands as Benjamin pulled off her top and unhooked her bra.
Dacia crouched on her knees, leaning forward to kiss Farahnaz. Seth watched from a corner.
Benjamin unfastened Mitzi’s pants and tugged. “I’ll take it from here,” she demurred. She stepped from her jeans and lowered her panties.
“Benjamin, could you bring those panties to me?” I asked. He delivered them. I tucked them behind my back.
Shelby laughed. I caught her eye, glad that she was enjoying herself. I knew she couldn’t stay much later, so I wanted to be sure she got an eyeful for the ride back home.
Farahnaz sighed as Dacia entered her.
Mitzi stomped a foot. “Jefferson, I feel a little ridiculous standing her naked.”
“Perhaps because you are rather alone in your nudity. Perhaps you need company. Perhaps you should undress Linda.”
Linda smiled and stood erect.
“Do you mind?” Mitzi asked.
“Be my guest,” Linda said.
Mitzi lifted Linda’s shirt, her hands grazing her soft flesh.
Shelby’s eyes drifted from the women on the bed to the women by her side.
“Benjamin,” I beckoned. “Thanks for taking care of that. I’d like you to suck my cock, but can you do me a favor first?”
“What is that, Jefferson?”
I indicated a chest of drawers. “Open the third drawer down on the right side. Inside you will find my socks. You can ignore my socks. In the left hand side, at the back, you will find black lace panties and a pair of black hose. Would you retrieve those, please?”
“Of course, Jefferson.” Benjamin rummaged through my drawer.
Mitzi stooped as she lowered Linda’s pants.
“Does that feel all right?” Dacia asked.
“Yes, you treat me very well,” Farahnaz responded.
John, sitting opposite me on the other side of the bed, took out his cock and stroked it.
Shelby watched Benjamin return with his hands full of dainties.
“Are these what you wanted?” he asked me.
“Yes. I’d like you put them on, please.”
“Finally,” Dacia said, looking over. “You are doing something with him.”
Benjamin examined the panties. He found the back and stepped into them awkwardly. He pulled them up.
He turned to face me.
“You look fetching, little Benjamin.” I smiled. “But you didn’t do such a sexy job putting them on. You need to look like you really enjoy it. Now, when you put on the hose, put your heart in it. Extend your legs. Give it the full Mrs. Robinson feel.”
Linda passed her panties to me. “Oh, thanks honey,” I said, tucking them behind my back.
Benjamin sat on the edge of the bed. He extended his right leg.
“Point your toes . . . that’s it,” I said. “And take your time.”
I reached for my bourbon.
Benjamin slipped the hose over his toes and slowly rolled them up the curve of his arch, over his heel, and to his ankle. His eyes were on mine as he passed his calf. He snapped them into place mid-thigh.
“Good,” I nodded, my throat a little hoarse. “Now the other one.”
Mitzi watched my reaction as he rolled the other hose up his leg, even more slowly than the first. I was growing hard.
“Fucking hot, man,” Shelby nodded.
“Benjamin, you are a very pretty girl.” I nestled my bourbon in my palm. “I’ll take that blowjob now.”
Benjamin lowered himself to my knees. I spread my legs and watched his mouth descend to my cock.
He took it full in his mouth, gagging slightly.
“Take your time, Benjamin.” I placed a hand on his cheek. “Savor it.”
Benjamin slowed, pulling back slightly. He soon speed up again as his mouth pumped up and back. His blowjob was messy and disorganized, rushed by his hunger to taste cock.
“That’s some blowjob you’ve got there,” I said, petting his hair. “It’s like getting a quick one in a bus station.”
He dropped my cock and gasped. “Thanks. It’s only the second time I’ve done this.”
“This is your second blowjob?” I asked.
Dacia paused in her thrusts as she overheard. “Aw! His second blowjob!” she exclaimed. “How sweet.”
Everyone joined her in cooing.
Benjamin blushed.
“That really is sweet, little girl,” I smiled at him, stroking his cheek. “Now, suck my cock.”
He went back to his task.
I surveyed the room.
Linda and Mitzi were nude, talking near the door. Shelby stood nearby, clothed and watching the clock. Dacia was fucking Farahnaz on the bed. Seth watched; he wasn’t going to do anything with anyone other than Dacia. John masturbated in a chair.
I needed to mix things up a bit.
I cupped Benjamin’s chin in my hand. “Little girl, I want you to stop and listen.”
My cock popped from his mouth. “Yes, Jefferson?”
“I want you to crawl to the chair on the other side of the room. There, you will find my friend John. Ask him if he would like you to suck his cock. If he says yes, you may give your third blowjob.”
Benjamin looked past the tangle of limbs on the bed. “Yes, of course.” He turned and crawled away, his ass swaying in his pretty lace panties.
He found John receptive to his offer.
Shelby came and whispered in my ear. “Baby, I need to get going.”
I kissed her cheek. “I know, let me get my pants on and I’ll walk you out.”
Mitzi’s eyes followed as I led Shelby into the living room.
“Did you have a good time, sugar?” I asked.
“I did,” she smiled. “It was fun to watch you be all butch and shit. Though you know I can still kick your ass.”
“You and I both know that,” I nodded.
“So Farahnaz told me the next party is on her birthday.”
“Yeah, that’s right, actually.”
“Cool. Maybe I’ll make it back to that one.”
“Really? Well, hopefully you can stay over.”
“Maybe. But this doesn’t mean I want to do group sex, man. It’s just fun to see everyone and watch.”
“Whatever you like, baby,” I beamed. I put my cheek to hers. “Thanks again for the trip south.”
“No problem. It was fun.” She hefted her bag over a shoulder. “Okay dude, I’m outta here. Happy birthday.”
“Bye honey.”
I closed the door behind her.
I turned to find Mitzi watching from the hallway. She was wearing her panties and top.
She pulled me aside. “Do you like your present?”
“I do, yes. He’s fun, don’t you think?”
Mitzi nodded, shaking the hair from her eyes. “It’s fun to watch you use him.”
I smiled, resting my hands on her hips.
“Will you use me tonight too?” she asked.
“You can count on that,” I kissed her.
“Mister Jefferson,” Farahnaz called. “Where have you gone off to?”
“In the hallway,” I answered.
Farahnaz appeared in the doorway. She rested a long arm on her door jam, and jutted her hip to one side. “Oh, hello Mitzi. Mister Jefferson, may I remind you that I am all yours, but only until eleven?”
“Oh, yes, thank you, Farahnaz. And I know it is getting late.”
“Indeed. Mitzi, do you mind if I borrow the birthday boy?”
“Anything for you, Farahnaz.” Mitzi stepped from my hands.
“You are kind to princesses,” Farahnaz smiled to Mitzi. She took my hand. “Come on, this room is busy. Let’s try the other.”
I glanced into the bedroom. John sprawled across the bed as Benjamin blew him. Dacia rode Seth’s lap in a chair.
Mitzi stayed to check on her charge.
Farahnaz and I found Nicole and Giancarlo in the back room. I’d all but forgotten they were at the party.
They were fully dressed. She sat before him, sucking his unzipped cock.
“I hope we’re not intruding,” I said, removing my jeans.
“No, s’cool,” Giancarlo nodded.
Nicole looked over at us, then back up to Giancarlo.
“Now, Mister Jefferson,” Farahnaz began as she reclined on an empty bed. “You know very well how I like to be taken.”
“Yes, I do,” I said, taking a condom as I lay next to her. “You would like this slow at first, then building in intensity.”
“Yes, you remember me so well,” she said, touching my hair.
“You are very memorable, lovely. Would you enjoy being bitten?” I rested my fingertips on her ribcage, just under her breasts.
“Let’s see once we get there.” She offered her lips to mine.
I felt myself growing hard against her thighs.
I took her face in my hands as we began to fuck. My eyes were on hers, watching for her responses.
“You are taking me very well, Mister Jefferson,” she said, her voice calm. “But really, is that the best you can do?”
“I think I can do better,” I smiled. I pulled back and pushed a little deeper, a little harder. “Is that better?” I asked.
“I think you are refusing to do better,” she taunted.
“Oh, do you think some other man could do better, then?” I retorted.
I sat back on my haunches and pushed back her thighs. I went fast but not too deep, aiming for that place in her body I have found before.
I am still taking mental notes when making love with my transsexual girlfriend, drawing maps in my memory of her erogenous zones. She is like other lovers in some respects, like no one other than herself in others.
Apparently, I was doing better.
“Yes,” she whispered. “You can bite me now.”
I nodded and took her shoulder in my teeth. My cock stayed on course—fast, rhythmic, shallow.
“Jefferson?”
I looked up.
Mitzi stood in the door with Benjamin. Both were fully dressed.
Mitzi looked a little stricken.
“Benjamin has something to tell you,” she said, standing to one side.
“Yes, Benjamin?” I slowed my cock in Farahnaz. She craned her neck to look back at the boy.
“Look man, I hate to do this, but I need to cut out.” All pretense of submission had vanished from his voice. He held up a cell. “I just got this call from one of my best buds. He broke both of his legs, so I need to get to the hospital.”
“Oh dear!” I said.
“I don’t understand,” Farahnaz said. “Your friend broke two legs?”
“Yeah, it’s crazy shit.”
“Imagine the odds,” I nodded. My eyes caught Mitzi’s.
“Yes, I felt Benjamin should tell you this news himself,” Mitzi said.
“Yes, I appreciate that,” I agreed. “Well, Benjamin, thank you for your service tonight.”
“My pleasure, man. I’ll definitely be back,” he nodded.
Not likely, I thought, if Mitzi’s face offers any clues.
“Cool. Well, Mitzi, would you mind showing him out? I’m sort of . . . caught up with Farahnaz.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be back.” Mitzi ushered Benjamin from the room.
I returned my attentions to Farahnaz.
“You don’t believe that, do you?” she asked. “I mean, come on, who breaks two legs and needs his friend to rush over?”
“Now, Farahnaz,” I shook my head. “Why ever would he lie?”
We fucked until she turned into a pumpkin.
The rest of the night progressed smoothly. Around two, I found the party’s remnants gathered in the living room.
Dacia was in her panties, huddled under a blanket. She talked with Seth and Linda, who stretched her nude legs across my desk chair.
Mitzi came in from a smoke on the terrace.
“So,” I asked. “Anyone up for bacon cheeseburgers?” I was in a mood to cook.
This was greeted as a fine idea. Mitzi joined me as I fired up my grill.
“Can you believe that bullshit about the friend’s emergency?” she asked, still steamed about Benjamin. “That, and the whole fake picture thing. What a loser.”
“Yeah, but you never know,” I said, taking bacon from the refrigerator. “If this was all new to him, he may have felt the need to disguise himself in layers of falsehoods. You know? Whether to protect his identity, or to allow himself to come here at all.”
“Whatever. You know, he lied, so he’s a loser.”
“I suppose. But when he let himself go, he was all right.” The first patty sizzled as it hit the grill.
“It’s shame, though,” I said, clucking my tongue. “You’d think that making dinner after an orgy would be fun for a good submissive.”
“Yeah, too bad his friend broke his legs,” Mitzi laughed.
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