‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I forgot. I have a lovely pink peignoir set.’
‘What’ll you wear?’ Nathan asked me.
‘Same as you,’ I replied.
‘Boxers?’ asked Marguerite. She laughed, just a touch hysterically. I made a mental note to dilute her wine.
‘Nothing,’ I said.
When we got to my house we didn’t try to keep our arrival a secret. It was almost a mansion. Five bedrooms, all original. Mine was on the top floor. It had a desk and a dresser and futon and some posters and that’s about it. We were all just starting out.
My housemates were gay guys, one couple and one single. It was Saturday night. The couple was out but the single guy, Drew, was home. He gaped when I escorted my friends past the living room and up the staircase.
We burst into my room in a flurry of wet wool coats. I kissed each of them in turn as I took their outer garments and hung them in a closet to dry. When I came back I had the pink peignoir set over my arm. Nathan had one hand on Marguerite’s tiny left breast and the other wrapped tightly around her narrow waist, pressing her to his body. They kissed passionately. It was gorgeous.
She had long straight black hair and a willowy body. She was fond of a sort of East Indian look, little mirrors and embroidery and scarves and silk. It looked great on her. She was five-ten to his six-two. I’m five-four and voluptuous, but well proportioned. I don’t look top-heavy or anything. My hair is dirty blonde and curly and I have a good kissing mouth too, like Nathan, and those grey bedroom eyes I mentioned.
Nathan twirled her like they were dancing. I caught her and she and I kissed while Nathan watched. We hadn’t kissed in years but everyone knows kissing, even same-sex kissing, is like riding a bicycle. The kiss became passionate immediately. I moaned and she moaned. No giggling, not from us and not even from Nathan. Just us moaning and him breathing deeply.
‘I need a drink,’ he said.
I broke the kiss to perform my duties. Marguerite took the peignoir set from me. ‘I’ll take my bath now,’ she said.
‘I’ll bring you a glass of wine,’ I promised.
‘Thank you.’ Without another word, she left. I was proud of her for not insisting I escort her to the bathroom. She has a rules-of-etiquette list a mile long, amazing these days, and I wanted to be sure I measured up to it as much as possible. I wanted her to feel at home.
I chose a bottle of Chardonnay. Nathan and I drank in unison, each taking a fairly long, thirst-quenching draught of tangy white wine. The air seemed suffused with warmth when I set my glass down.
Nathan and I wrapped our arms around each other. I tilted my face up to his. He murmured sweet stuff about how beautiful I was but I cut him off with a greedy kiss. He made me slow down, stroking my cheek as he nibbled my lips before slipping me the tip of his tongue. What a kisser! I opened my mouth. He slid his tongue inside, where mine waited to dance with it. We sucked and teased; the ending of each kiss was the beginning of the next, and we did that until I had to lean against him for support because my knees were weak.
Nathan started unbuttoning my blouse. I stopped him. ‘I promised her a drink,’ I mumbled. I was breathless from kissing and anticipation.
The bathroom door had no lock. She’d drawn the shower curtain for modesty. ‘It’s me,’ I said when I entered.
Her hand snaked around the shower curtain for her glass. ‘Hurry up,’ I said, ‘I can’t wait.’
‘Take this,’ she said. Her hand appeared again, holding the glass. ‘And hand me a towel.’
I did. She opened the shower curtain and our eyes met. Her slender body was barely covered by the towel. Her eyes shone with anticipation. ‘Don’t watch me,’ she said, so I turned my back while she dressed. I didn’t laugh.
She said, ‘I love you.’
I said, ‘I love you too.’
When we got back to my room Nathan was under the covers.
‘Wow,’ he said when he caught sight of Marguerite.
‘You should wear the slinky look more often.’
Marguerite posed. She did look stunning. I locked the door behind her. She stretched out beside Nathan. They both looked at me expectantly. I gulped my wine.
I stripped awkwardly, not sure what to do next. It’s not that I was having a change of heart. I just wanted to make sure I did everything right. I was orchestrating this thing and I didn’t know who to put in the middle first. If I lay down beside Nathan he would be in the middle. That made sense, as there were two of us and only one of him. But perhaps I should lie beside Marguerite, since she was our flightiest member.
They shifted, making a nest between them that was just my size. ‘Well, come on,’ said Marguerite. She patted the covers between them.
Nathan did the same. ‘Here, pussy,’ he cooed. I pounced.
I don’t know how long we were at it. I know at one point the room was so dark I lit candles and Marguerite told me later that when she’d blown them out they were more than half-melted. That suggests a fair bit of time passed, maybe four hours?
It was glorious! When Marguerite saw Nathan’s erection in all its naked splendour she gasped. I swear she blanched. Her eyes became saucers. She stage-whispered, ‘It’s a club!’
Nathan blushed.
‘See, what did I tell you?’ I said.
Marguerite and I fell on it like famished sirens. We licked our way up that impressive shaft to the head and then we licked it until it was purple. I knelt over Nathan’s mouth so he could eat me while I licked him. Marguerite and I alternated between licking and sucking him and kissing each other. Big, sloppy, open-mouthed, panting kisses. Nathan worked me until I was sopping wet. I turned around and lowered myself onto his stiff cock. I rode it for half a dozen deep, satisfying strokes before Marguerite interrupted us.
‘Let me!’ she cried. I hopped off. She lay on her side so Nathan could take her a little more gently than he had me. He parted her thighs to lick her pussy first. I kissed her mouth to keep her calm. He slid inside her. I watched her eyes dilate with pleasure as he sunk inch after fat inch into her. Her moan was delighted.
Later, we attempted to initiate Marguerite into the joys of anal sex. Though both Nathan and I took turns lapping at her sphincter before he coated it with lube while I scooped more onto his erection, she screamed like a banshee when he tried to enter her. It sounded like someone was being murdered and anyway, her sphincter had tightened, not loosened, at the touch of his cock. Nathan said there was no way he could get in there without ruining both of them so we abandoned the idea.
Instead, Marguerite gawked as he mounted me from behind and fucked my ass. Anal slut that I am, I opened like a flower to the rubbery head of his big dick. He thrust it so deep, so fast, I was sure I would tear but even so, I didn’t scream. Of course, inside of six strokes I’d been reshaped to accommodate him. Then he fucked me so that his balls slapped my ass and I was driven across the bed on my hands and knees until my head touched the wall and I dropped to my elbows and lodged my head in them so I could keep taking it. I tried to slither my hand down to my clit, because I need direct stimulation to come, but it was impossible. Then I felt Marguerite’s feminine touch. She planted her fingers between my splayed pussy lips, and with each thrust from Nathan I was rubbed in the same place, the same way, hard and slick against my pubic bone. I couldn’t change a thing because Nathan was fucking me and Marguerite was fingering me, so I wasn’t in control of anything but protecting my head from hitting the wall.
Marguerite had numerous orgasms along the way. She was one of those women who actually came from intercourse. All she had to do was lie with her legs together with Nathan on top, fucking her fast, and she came for the first time. I made her come by giving her head with Nathan telling me what to do. That was hot. He’d show me and then I’d try and it was while I was eating her that she went off again, like firecrackers. Pop! Pop! Pop! She shrieked then, too, but we didn’t worry about it.
Though Nathan had three more glasses of wine t
hrough the night he was still rock-hard and horny. We’d sucked him and he’d fucked us and we’d finger-fucked each other but he never came even close to climax. I, on the other hand, had been close for so long it was bothering me.
But now, with Nathan and Marguerite working me over in tandem, I crashed helplessly into a full-tilt orgasm that shook me from top to bottom. I could hardly stand the double onslaught of his cock and her delicate fingers. I wanted to beg them to stop or go faster or harder or something, I didn’t know what, so I didn’t bother articulating real words beyond ‘Yes!’ and ‘Oh!’ and ‘Uh-huh’. It’s possible that the memory of that event is so exciting it’s colouring my recollection, but I don’t think so. It honestly seemed, at the time, that my orgasm was twice as intense and twice as long because there were two people fucking me. At first I groaned into my arms but when I kept coming and coming I threw back my head and roared with triumph.
Nathan held my ass cheeks and stayed still, his cock buried fully inside me. Marguerite kept rubbing me with her two stiff wet fingers until I finally stopped shuddering. I dropped my head to the mattress. My groans faded to moans and she slid her sticky fingers from between my thighs.
I couldn’t bear it any more. Nathan slowly withdrew and sat back on his heels. I was a boneless puddle of pleasure. Marguerite started blowing out the candles.
Nathan groaned. ‘What about me?’
‘If it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen,’ she replied. ‘We can’t be greedy.’
I laughed. ‘Easy for you to say.’
‘Maybe I’ve had too much to drink,’ said Nathan. I could tell he was disappointed. I was too, sort of, although I was also exhausted. He elbowed me. ‘Come on!’
I rolled over. ‘What can we do?’ I asked. Marguerite knelt beside me.
‘Let me come on your hair,’ he blurted.
Marguerite and I looked at each other. We shrugged. ‘Sure,’ she said, for both of us.
We lay on the futon, kissing, and Nathan stood above us. He used both hands, lubed, to pump himself while she and I languidly kissed. We kept our heads close so our hair mixed together, my damp blonde curls with her long chestnut mane, until he grunted and came. It was a delicate sensation, a man’s jet hitting my hair; I could only just feel it. His aim was true but still, a little jism trickled down my cheek. I kept my eyes closed so I didn’t see him right when it happened but a moment later, when he fell onto the bed, whispering, ‘Thank you,’ I saw the satiation in his eyes.
Someone pulled the covers up and we slept.
I didn’t get up until it was my turn to shower. Marguerite had gone first; she was already dressed and making breakfast by the time Nathan finished his. I had a fast shower and threw on the first jeans and T-shirt I could find. I wanted to get to the kitchen to make sure the morning went smoothly.
Marguerite set an omelette down before me. Nathan had finished his; he was drinking coffee and reading the paper.
It was a clear, cold morning. The sky was very blue. There were no blurry lights; all the lines were clean. We bundled up in our coats and scarves and gloves. I walked them to the bus stop. We didn’t talk. Nathan stamped his feet. I watched my breath puff white and disappear. The bus came. I pushed my scarf down and kissed Marguerite, then stood on tiptoe to kiss Nathan, goodbye.
The bus rumbled off. I walked home. There would be a little teasing from my room mates, and of course the next time I saw Nathan we blushed and the next time I saw Marguerite we giggled, but other than that, life simply went on. We’d had sex without consequences. It didn’t drive us apart, or draw us closer together.
Now, five years later, Marguerite is a journalist, not a poet. The last time I talked to her she was behind on a deadline and trying to lose five pounds. Nathan’s in America, directing motion-capture animation. He’s going bald, so I guess that big forehead was evidence of hair-loss, not brains. I hear he got married. I didn’t move anywhere. I stopped writing murder mysteries and started writing about the greatest mystery of all, people. I’m a biographer. I haven’t seen either of them for ages. We’re all still friends, though. I’m sure of it.
I’ve had ‘group’ sex since but I’ve never again achieved sex without consequences. Things don’t always turn out the way it looks like they will. Still, when something good comes along that looks like it just might turn out right, I believe it’s best to pounce.
– Connie Summers, Toronto, Canada
Annie’s Bum Deal
I suppose I ask for it. I mean, giving in to Jamie’s kinky obsession has been a painful experience for me, more times than I care to remember. I knew it from almost the very beginning. Of course, I never should have agreed in the first place, but that’s an easy thing to say now. Besides, shouldn’t a girl keep her man happy, or risk losing him altogether? And Jamie’s never been the sort of guy to settle for cosy, lovey-dovey missionary sex in bed with the lights out. No, girls! My man needs something more to bring out his true sexuality, and in his case it seems to be my bum that does it. I don’t mean that he just likes my naked buttocks in their pure and natural unblemished state. Nothing so mundane for him! He likes it when they’ve been nicely striped with crimson welts.
To begin with it was just a few humble spanks, and then later with his little French martinet whip. The silly sod bought the wretched thing on holiday a few years back, and stupidly I let him! That’s not to say I didn’t object at the time – strenuously so, in fact.
‘Don’t think for a moment that you’re going to use that fucking thing on me, Jamie!’
He grinned wolfishly. Of course, that always has a strangely irresistible effect on me. He’s got that look – sort of a cross between a naughty schoolboy and a sadistic slave-master. His eyes light up with guilty mischief and, whenever that happens, I know that I’m shortly in for an uncomfortable time. It’s that boyishly persuasive air about him that could charm the knickers off a virgin nun. His eyes narrow and crease up with crow’s feet at the corners and he looks at me all doleful and hurt if I don’t agree to his lustful demands. And then there’s all the emotional blackmail stuff – like, ‘if you don’t want to let me do it, it means you don’t love me’, and all that sort of manipulative crap.
We were staying at one of those upmarket campsites in the South of France and Jamie couldn’t wait to get back to our chalet, his suntanned cheeks glowing with illicit excitement. I, on the other hand, would have much preferred to do some more shopping in town, but he was already in a state of ecstatic anticipation at the thought of trying out his new toy. I could see that he had a hard-on even as he drove back, his mind already planning the illicit event.
He’d put the martinet on my lap, and I studied the wretched thing with grim fascination, giggling nervously. Out of the corner of his eye he was watching my face, enjoying the moment. Like a fish in a pond I was going to take the bait, and he bloody knew it! But I wasn’t about to give in quite so easily. A girl has her dignity to consider, after all. He kept begging me all the while, and of course I told him repeatedly to forget the whole idea, but as always my resistance was gradually worn down, his pleas growing ever more persuasive. With one hand on the steering wheel, he kissed me and fondled my boobs, rubbing his fingers suggestively over my thighs.
Finally, shaking my head in mock despair, I laughed and he grinned back like an impish little boy who’s got the candy prize – against all the odds. And that was that. He knew then that he’d won.
‘Hmmm. Well, I guess as you’ve taken me on holiday I’ll have to be very generous to my man, even though he’s a rotten sod … and a right kinky one at that!’ I told him, sighing deeply then as if I’d just committed myself to something I’d later regret. ‘But you’d better be gentle though, Jamie boy. And it’s only for this once, OK?’ I warned, glaring intently at him as if I really meant it.
He nodded, looking annoyingly smug and pleased with himself. Then we both giggled again, like we always do when sex is on the cards.
I was going to be a lamb
to the slaughter, but he’d be a very happy bull. And I quite like it when he’s a happy bull. Sure, Jamie always gets his wicked way with me in the end. That’s my trouble. I’m a right softie – or, if you like, a right mug and a glutton for punishment.
It’s because he’s so utterly irresistible when he’s in his spanking mode. All the more so when he knows that I’ll be submissively compliant. His whole demeanour is like a smouldering fire, quietly burning away but ready to flare up with excitement at any moment. And that cunning look he gives me! Yes, it’s the wolf about to devour Little Miss Red Riding
Hood. And I’m completely helpless, putty in his hands. I don’t really understand why, but yes, I do get a kick out of the knowledge that he enjoys spanking me. The fact that he gets so turned on also turns me on just as much. He gives me all the standard chat of how he adores me, and that my naked body drives him crazy. And I suppose I like being worshipped, even if being worshipped has its painful drawbacks. Of course, he’s very slick with his persuasive approach. He knows all my weak points, and plays on them ruthlessly. He even manages to excuse his ‘funny ways’, as he calls it, by telling me it’s all quite normal. Normal! But maybe I’m not normal either – putting up with all the indignity! He refers to it as ‘light domestic spanking’ as if it were as natural a function as doing light domestic housework!
I say ‘spanking’ because up until the time of that French holiday that was all it ever was – a few playful slaps from his long sinewy hands on my naked cheeks, accompanied by a few girlish yelps from me. When he thought that my bum was sufficiently reddened and glowing, then he’d make frenzied love to me, and I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy every moment. Despite the discomfort, I’d climax every time and he’d shout the bloody place down! But there are limits to the pain a girl can take, whereas Jamie experiences none of that – although he always says that his poor hands smart as much as my poor bum! A likely story! And, yes, of course I know it’s not fair on me. But it gets even worse. His obsession for beholding my punished rump has led him to ever greater ambitions.
Nexus Confessions: Volume Three Page 19
