“What a day,” she says with a dramatic sigh, the kind I know well. I’ve chosen a far less stressful work environment for myself—at home, consulting about technical issues with businessmen and women in other countries, who I rarely have to meet in person. When I need to socialize, I hit the gym, which is also where I’ve found tonight’s playmates.
“What a night,” I say to her with just enough edge in my voice that she looks back at me with that raw need I know so well splayed across her features. Her lips go to form a question, but I shake my head. “All you have to do right now is get naked. It’s my turn to take care of you.” The words sound gentle, like I’m about to run her a bubble bath, and maybe I will—later, much, much later, when she truly needs it.
Now, I know that she needs the exact opposite of luxury. She needs to struggle against restraints, to have hands and tongues and cocks reaching for her, touching her, stroking and beating and tormenting her. She needs things she will never ask for outright, despite me telling her a million times that she’s entitled to them. That’s just not Ivy’s way. She asks without being quite so vocal. She asks by complaining about everything from her workload to the obnoxious, overbearing sexist businessmen she has to deal with. She asks in ways I’m not even sure she realizes she’s doing until afterward.
Recently, the project she’s been working on has meant crazy hours and all kinds of stress. I try to wait until the worst of it is over before springing a scene on her, but today I know that if I don’t give her a brief reprieve, she’ll sink too far into herself. She needs me—and, today, us—to get her out of that place.
I’m staring at her, not moving any closer until she does what I’ve commanded. Only I know that two men she’s never met are also watching her. My cock is hard as can be as I wait to show her tonight’s tormentors, handpicked by me. I have a knack, just as I do for knowing when Ivy needs me to be extra sadistic, for finding guys who’d be good for her. We only play with other people a few times a year, and I’ve never sprung strangers on her like this. But a deeply kinky woman like her needs a guy like me to shake things up. I made sure we put rules in place, that Brendan and Sam knew exactly what I was asking them to do—and what I wasn’t.
Call it possessiveness or jealousy or the legacy of macho patriarchy, but I told them that the only cock she’d be sucking or fucking was mine. She could touch theirs, though, could watch them touch theirs, and their fingers could be anywhere inside her they desired, but what I really wanted was for them to make her beg me for my cock, to get her so worked up, screaming and clawing and going truly wild, that she’d do anything I asked of her. Beyond making sure that they were intimately familiar with the kinds of kinks we were into, I didn’t pause to find out too much about them beyond their health and relationship statuses. I wasn’t inviting them over to tea, just to beat and tease my wife until she screamed. Though both men were hefty, towering over my five-nine height, brawny everywhere I’m wiry, I wasn’t intimidated. I liked the idea of these big, sexy brutes taking control of Ivy, the pair of them providing the muscles while I pulled the strings—some of them, anyway.
“You still have your panties on, Ivy,” I say when she looks up at me, the rest of her clothes in a heap at her feet. “Didn’t I ask you to get totally naked?”
“Yes, but—” She stops herself, knowing how much I hate that final three letter word.
“It’s too late now, my sweet. I’ll take them off for you,” I say, my voice steely and calm, like she’s committed some grievous misdeed, when I can see she’s been going as fast as she can. It’s a game, but a game we both know and love. Her hands are still at her sides, her features returning to the ones I adore most as the workday stress eases and she settles into sub mode.
“Spread those pretty legs for me,” I say as I advance, and she does, instantly. I can tell without even touching her that she’s wet, aching, needy. The look on her face and how quickly she moves are all I need to know.
I’m grateful the panties are flimsy, because I’m able to tear them off of her. “You don’t want to keep our company waiting, do you?”
She looks up at me, stricken, for a brief moment, but I stroke her cheek gently to reassure her. “You’ll like our company, I promise,” I say aloud, then whisper in her ear, “and if you don’t, you know your safeword.”
She nods, but before I beckon our guests, I slip a silky black blindfold out of my pocket. “I think our new friends deserve a chance to fully explore your beautiful body before you get a look at them.” I don’t hesitate before placing it over her eyes. “Very good, my dear. Now you can meet your doms for the night—and more importantly, they can meet you. I’ve told them all about the dirty things you like me to do to you. I’ve even shown them photos of you tied to our bed, all trussed up with no place to go.” I used to say things like that to her just to make her squirm, but this time it’s true—I have shown them the X-rated photos I took of her with her full permission.
Whether or not to do so is one of those judgment calls I have to make as a husband, a man, and a dom. I use my discretion very sparingly, and once I knew that these guys were for real, not just some random horny guys willing to fuck any woman around, but ones who got the honor along with the perverted parts of being kinky, I was willing to show them a glimpse of our lives. They’re friends of my best friend, who started hanging out at the gym, and we got to talking. They’re both single, and both have minds as filthy as mine—I made sure of that when they told me about their wildest sexual fantasies.
I’ve planned some of what will happen tonight, but not all of it. Our marriage is so strong because we both get to experience elements of surprise. I beckon them to join us. “These are our new friends,” I tell her, turning Ivy so she’s facing them.
“Nice to meet you,” Ivy says, polite as ever. She reaches out her hand to shake each man’s, while I watch approvingly.
“Let’s go upstairs, shall we?” I ask.
I reach for Ivy’s hand to guide her up the stairs, while the men walk behind her, admiring the view of her plump ass. I’ve told them all about how much she loves being spanked, and encouraged them to bring their own instruments. I’m the mastermind behind tonight, but they’re pretty much in charge. When we reach the bedroom, where I’ve decked out the bed in new sheets, restraints at the ready, I step aside. “Ivy, you’re going to listen to your two new Masters tonight, do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” she says.
“Very good. I’ll be watching—and waiting.”
The men look to me for approval, and I nod. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, where I get to see each of these tall, burly guys, who outweigh me and out-muscle me, who look tough even though inside they’re softies, handle my wife like she’s their plaything, not mine. For tonight, she is.
What I love most about Ivy is that even thrown into this unknown situation, she’s not nervous—or at least, she doesn’t act it. She’s almost defiant, ready for anything, just about. But I don’t think she’s quite prepared for Brendan shoving his jeans-clad knee between her legs, slamming it against her pussy, pulling her long hair back, leaving her ready for the slap Sam lands across her face. A sound escapes her throat, a garbled plea that I know means she wants more, not less. Her mouth hangs open, waiting to be filled, which Sam does, shoving two thick, calloused fingers inside. She clamps down around them, sucking hard.
“She’s wetter than you said she’d be,” Brendan tosses over his shoulder at me. That’s my girl. I didn’t give them a script, exactly, but I did tell them how much she loves to be referred to in the third person, to be treated like an object—more precisely, to be made into an object. “You must love sinking your cock into this pussy,” he continues, sliding his knee down to make room for his fingers, which I can see from my vantage point slide right in.
Meanwhile, my gorgeous wife is sucking noisily on Sam’s fingers; when he pulls them out, she moans. As a reward, he slaps her again. I’m a hundred percent sure she could c
ome just from being finger-fucked and having her face slapped over and over again. It doesn’t even matter that she doesn’t know what these men look like, that I’ve deliberately withheld their names from her. She’s into them because I’ve directed them to her turn-ons, and because she’s into me. She loves me, and she trusts that I know exactly what she needs. More than any single sadistic act I could throw her way, that’s what gets me every time, makes me practically sappy, which there’s no room for right now, but hey, I’m still human.
Watching the two men, I’m aching, practically ready to send them on their way—which would be cruel, but I’m sure they’d manage—and slamming into her myself. But something more demanding than my desperate horniness supersedes that urge. I want to see what they’ll do to her, and what she’ll do to them.
“You want to come, don’t you, Ivy?” Sam asks.
“Yes, yes, please,” she replies, and I can imagine how tightly she’s squeezing Brendan’s fingers.
“Well, too bad. Maybe you can later, when you’re alone with Dan. We like watching you squirm too much.”
Her hand shoots out toward Brendan as his wet fingers slide out, but he bats it away. “Oh no. Those pretty hands need to be restrained, don’t they?” Brendan says.
Ivy is too good a sub to complain. I sit on my own hands to resist walking over there and helping them. Sometimes there can be too many doms, at least, for what I most want, which is to watch Ivy knowing that she can only feel, not see, knowing that the roughness she’s getting is my gift to her, via these strangers.
I wasn’t sure if they’d be bringing their own restraints or not, but I’ve made ours easily accessible. Brendan takes her right side, Sam her left, making quick work of her wrists and ankles with easy bondage cuffs, so my beautiful wife is spread out before them, her body a tempting X, her eyes still encased behind the blindfold. “Something’s missing, though, don’t you think?” Sam muses.
Ivy tugs at her restraints, but her bonds barely make any noise, though Brendan and Sam’s groans are unmistakable. It seems we all share a common thrill at seeing her struggle, seeing her realize that resistance is futile, and knowing how turned on that makes her turns us on. Her tongue darts out of her mouth, as if begging to be treated to more fingers, or a toy, or a cock, or anything she can lick and suck to help sate her cravings. I stand up to get a closer look, smiling as Brendan takes out a feather while Sam dangles jeweled nipple clamps before us.
“Oh honey, you’re in for a treat,” I tell her, which is true—depending on your definition of the word. Ivy loves nipple play, and can’t get enough of my biting, pinching, smacking, and twisting them. We have our own assortment of clamps, but what we don’t have are any tickling implements, because it’s something that she’s always protested against. This time, though, I have a feeling she’s so needy, so ready to drop over the edge into the kinky unknown, she won’t mind.
She lifts her head, as if to look at me, and even though I know she can’t actually see me through the blindfold, I smile back at her. Just as she drops her head back, the two start their coordinated kinky attack. Brendan’s feather flutters against her neck, making Ivy turn her head in the opposite direction, while Sam places her hard right nipple between the tines of the clamp and begins to tighten it, moving the lever up and up and up. My cock strains for release as I watch her react to each movement, garbled noises releasing from her mouth as Brendan’s feather trails its way under her arm. “Aaaah,” Ivy screams, tugging hard at her shackles as Sam moves on to her other nipple.
When the clamps are in place, I can’t help but walk over to inspect. “Very good work,” I observe. “You like it, don’t you, sweetheart?” I ask her with an edge to my voice, letting her know the answer I’m looking for.
“Yes, I love it,” Ivy replies breathlessly, at which I reward her with a bite to her lower lip, my teeth sinking into her tender flesh. I give the clamps a tug. Seeing her up close like this is even hotter than from afar.
“Then I think you should show Sam and Brendan your appreciation, don’t you?” I ask, though it isn’t really a question. “If you want your pretty pussy played with, that is,” I say, unable to resist my own exploration of that warm wetness between her legs. I allow myself one finger, dragged slowly up the length of her slit, as much a taunt as Brendan’s feather along her feet. I can practically feel her pussy begging me—or any of us, really—to enter her, to fill her, to give her some relief.
“Yes, I’m ready to say—I mean, show—my thanks,” she responds. I know there is much more they could do to her—to us, really, since their bondage play is having an equally strong effect on me—but I’m getting impatient, perhaps even more so than my beautiful wife.
“Gentlemen, you may receive that thanks,” I state, and even though I’m not interested in physically showing them in the same way, I still delight in being the one orchestrating their impending orgasms. They don’t waste time getting totally naked, standing at the sides of the bed and positioning themselves so she can stroke their cocks simultaneously. Watching Ivy give dual hand jobs, her pretty pink lips slightly open, blindfolded, arms and legs trapped against the cuffs, is one of the most arousing sights I’ve ever seen.
Even so, I can’t just stand there watching or I’ll blow my load well before the other two, which would surely feel amazing, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want to distract them, or lose my chance to be inside her. After all this time, that thrill never gets old, because she always reacts so wildly, like it’s our first time, like she can’t get enough. Knowing that I could have let either of these two men fuck her will make it all the hotter.
I can’t quite explain it, but I feel tremors pass through my entire body, just from being so close to them, from knowing my gorgeous wife, who only has so much movement available to her, is touching those cocks and about to make them come. Best of all, that she’s doing it as part of one of our games, knowing I’m watching her. “That’s it, my love, squeeze them hard. Show them how horny you are.” The room is pretty quiet save for the sound of my voice and our collective pants and gasps and breaths, but I know that all four of us are being stimulated by the way I’m talking—Ivy, because I’ve felt her react thousands of times to the filthiest of phrases, and the men are clearly eager both to release their loads into her hands, and, contrasting that urge, to prolong the delicious friction for as long as possible. It’s a similar tension to the way Ivy squirms against her bonds, loving the way they rub against her skin, the way they trap her in this web of her own desire.
I know none of us is going to last long. I whisper into each man’s ear, one at a time, “After you come, I want you to feed it to her, and smear the rest all over her pretty tits. Okay?”
It’s a question that’s not really a question, of course, because obviously neither one is going to refuse. I certainly wouldn’t if I were in their position. “That’s it, honey, just a little harder, and then I’m going to reward you with my cock. It’s nice and hard, just for you,” I tell her, though part of me is eager to join the men and unleash my jizz all over her, or jerk myself with one hand while plunging my fingers inside her with the other. That thought overtakes my mind, and I can’t help but shove three of them deep into her warm, wet tightness. My probing triggers a chain reaction, and soon both Brendan and Sam are coming, their creamy white streams of come oozing all over Ivy’s hands and wrists.
I let out the loudest groan at the sight. It’s hotter than I could have imagined, as are the moans Ivy is making. I know she needs me to be tough and strong and commanding, and I will, but right now, inside, a little part of me melts at the sight of how beautifully filthy she is—we all are, in our way. The men look at me to direct them, and I nod toward the bathroom. Their moment with us is coming to a close, while my intimate moment with Ivy is ramping up. It’s gone even quicker than I had imagined, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
I debate whether to untie her so I can feel her hands all over me, but that would be too selfish. S
he will come much harder with the restraints on than she would without them. I do take the blindfold off, because knowing she’s watching me always pushes me over the edge.
“Do you want to see Sam and Brendan?” I ask her, already knowing what her response will be. “Do you want to see the men you just jerked off?”
“Yes, please, yes,” bursts from her mouth, like she wants that more than she wants to feel my cock inside her.
I’m not as sure what her answer to my next question will be; I’m not even totally sure what I want it to be. “Do you want them to watch me fuck you?”
“Yes, yes. As long as I get your hard cock inside me,” she says, and I grab her for a fierce kiss, my tenderness forgotten as my hardness twitches, the need to be inside her growing.
“Gentlemen, your presence is requested,” I call over to the bathroom, and smile as I watch her take in Sam and Brendan. She gives them an incongruously shy smile for what just happened between the three of them. “You can stand there while I finish her off,” I tell them, pointing to the wall.
They politely move to their spots while I climb onto the bed. I shove two fingers back inside her and instantly feel her tighten, her body beyond ready for me. I could make her come with just my fingers, but neither of us would be as satisfied. Instead, I pull them out and smack a wet hand across her face. The whimper she lets out is the most beautiful sound. I smack her again, and again, the repetition of my hand meeting her flesh, followed by her decadent moans, almost enough to make me spurt.
“Let’s put that pretty mouth to work,” I say, and settle my cock above her open lips, my knees on either side of her pretty face. The moment she makes contact is the most challenging—not because it’s unpleasant, but because it feels so fucking good. I could very easily blow my load down her throat right this second, before her tongue has even made its way to the tip of my cock. Seeing and feeling her lips wrapped around my hardness, her eyes alternating between closing in concentration and fluttering to stare up at me, while, immobilized, she sucks me deeper, is the best feeling in the world—okay, one of the best. I only let her take my full length down her throat once before I pull out, lest the fun be over too soon.
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