by Selena Kitt
“Caleb, baby. Let me explain.” Damara wrapped the covers around her waist and went to him. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”
“Did you really marry him?” Caleb asked. “You didn’t really marry him, did you? Damara, tell me you didn’t do this.”
Damara could see the pain in his eyes. “Yes. We exchanged vows six months ago.”
“Well, I guess it’s up to me. Since you won’t, I’m going to end this charade once and for all.” Caleb raised his hand and the room lit up like a fireworks, the sound of gunshots shattering the silence.
The End.
About the Author
JL DILLARD is the author of The Ménage Ménagerie, Sinful Pleasures, All of Nothing, Any Time Any Place, If Only You Knew, Say Yes and Irresistible Desires. JLD and her blistering sagas are full of passion, lust and desire in every sense of the word. His and Hers and His is a snippet from the upcoming tale Consequences of Love set for release 2017.
You can find JLD at the following social media sites:
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Anniversary Gifts - Dahlia Lovejoy
Anniversary Gifts - Dahlia Lovejoy
When you asked what I wanted to do for our twelfth wedding anniversary, I had trouble deciding between something tried and true and something totally new.
“Why not have the best of both worlds?” you said. “You deserve it. You’re the best wife a man could want.”
So here we are tonight, in the opulent honeymoon suite of a downtown hotel. We kissed the kids goodbye earlier this evening; your parents are taking care of them for the weekend. Soon you’ll be in the corner, wrists and ankles bound to the desk chair. I’ll in the bed, wrapped between two of my anniversary gifts: Ed is tried and true, and Tommy is something new.
Having two men at once—that will be something new for me, as well.
The hotel has laid out everything beautifully, and you took the afternoon off work to make it even better. Silk is the traditional gift for twelfth wedding anniversaries, and it is present throughout the room, from the silk bondage rope draped gracefully across the back of the desk chair to the black satin sheets on the king-size bed.
“Get them wet tonight, Claire,” you said when you presented them to me. “I want you to stain them with your honey and their come. Every time we fuck on these sheets, I want to remember this night with you.”
You lead me to the dresser next, where two red boxes tied with black satin ribbon wait. “For you,” you say meekly, your eyes flitting to the floor. You always get this way before a scene: anxious and eager to please, nerves tight from anticipation.
I pull the ribbon off the larger box and lift the lid. I forget to breathe for a moment when I see what’s inside—mounds of raw, red silk embroidered with a matching abstract pattern that makes me think of roses and thorns. I pull the cloth out and start to unfold it. It’s a dress, sleeveless and hourglass-shaped to show off my curves, with a skirt that ends midthigh.
Two smaller bits of silk fall to the floor as the dress unfurls. You bend to pick them up, still half-kneeling as you hand them to me. “These are for you to wear tonight, if you like.” Your eyes twinkle as you look up into my face as I inspect these other gifts: a pair of red silk thong panties and a matching bra.
“Thank you, Henry.” I run a finger down the crotch of the panties. “I think Ed will like me in these very much. As for Tommy, well …” I trail off. I’ve fucked Ed many times before, let him ravish me over and over with his satisfying cock as you’ve watched from the corner of the room, unable to touch. You love the way Ed fucks me, the way he makes me scream and tear at the sheets, the way his young, virile dick primes me through a half-dozen orgasms and then a few more, leaving me happily wracked and wasted, satiating me in a way that you can never achieve.
Hell, I love it too. Knew I would that first time I met him, back when he was a college intern at my office. I liked him because he was smart and funny, but even more because he was taller than you, with harder, more muscular lines, a strong jaw, and an aquiline nose I knew would press perfectly against my clit if he went down on me. His thick blond hair was streaked with sun and he always smelled like summer and youth. He and I kept flirting by the copy machine, then after work by text and phone. He told me the things he wanted to do to me, the places he wanted to put his tongue and cock, how he wanted to kiss my breasts and taste my cunt, wanted to eat me out through orgasm after orgasm, how he’d only fuck me when I was begging for it and he was sure I’d be satisfied.
“When are you going to let me finally fuck you?” he asked after weeks of verbal foreplay.
“As soon as you want,” I told him. “As long as you let my husband watch.”
He flinched at first, but it only took a few more phone calls and a wet pair of panties stashed in his messenger bag to bring him around. Since that first time together, Ed’s been one of the best bulls in my stable. With the body of an Adonis and an eight-inch cock that gets hard again quickly after he comes, he never fails to satisfy me.
Tommy, on the other hand, I’ve never even met. You picked him out for me just for our anniversary, exchanging emails and doing background checks, demanding his measurements and gauging his temperament to ensure he’d be a gift I would enjoy.
I trust your judgment when it comes to men who’ll please me, but I’m nervous anyhow, the way I always get in the face of the unknown. Will Tommy love my body the way my other bulls do? Will he be as good as them?
“Tommy will adore you, Claire,” you say. “In these lingerie and out of them. You’re gorgeous. There’s not a man in the world who wouldn’t want to fuck you.”
Your words help reassure me, and I have the impulse to kiss you, but I don’t. I never kiss you before a scene. Neglecting you is all part of our erotic dance, a back-and-forth that turns us both on, connects us in a deeper way than our vanilla lovemaking ever did.
You stand to your full height—an inch short of mine—and for a moment I regret not having chosen high heels for tonight. You’re self-conscious about your height, and when I wear heels you feel more self-conscious. You feel inferior to other, bigger men. And you love feeling inferior.
I turn to open the other box and am surprised—though shouldn’t be—when I find what’s inside: a pair of red satin stilettos, the heels at least four inches long. I get wet just looking at them.
I glance down at your trousers. Your erection forms a hard line against the zipper. “You want to fuck me, don’t you?” I move my hand toward you as if I’m about to touch it, but I grab your wrist instead, cuffing it tightly in my grip. I lean toward you, my lips an inch away from yours. I’m purposely teasing you. “But you can’t have me until I get my fill. You’ll have to watch me while I come again and again on the cocks of men who are bigger and better than you.”
You shiver. “Yes, Claire.”
You’ve drawn a bath for me and offer to press the dress while I wash up. I don’t know the first thing about ironing silk, but I trust you with the task; you’ve learned countless mundane skills just to keep me happy. I draw the sliding doors that separate the whirlpool tub from the rest of the suite closed. They’re clouded glass, allowing us to see each other’s movements through it but not exactly what the other is doing. I plan to use this feature to its best advantage—to tease you, to withhold from you what you want. You won’t get the pleasure of seeing me naked until my lovers do.
I undress, touching my breasts in front of the mirror, imagining Ed’s and Tommy’s hands on me. I’ve been thinking about Ed’s huge cock all week and nervously anticipating Tommy’s, which from the pictures looks even bigger. I’m wet with anticipation, my clit throbbing. Both men are in their mid-twenties, the perfect age for fucking, when men are full of testosterone and their refractory perio
ds are still short enough that they’re often able to come inside me multiple times during one session. They have a stamina that you, in your mid-forties, simply can’t match.
The scent of my arousal mingles with the bath oils you’ve added to the whirlpool’s rushing water. I step into the tub and sink into its warmth. You’ve set the jets to the perfect speed, so that their rushing water feels like tongues against my skin. I gasp and open my legs, letting one hand drift over my swollen labia while the other caresses my breast. I moan, shivering with pleasure, and circle a fingertip over my clit. It’s a hard bead already, eager for orgasm, and I won’t deny it. Sex is always better when I’ve come first. I feel looser and more turned-on, the subsequent orgasms cresting more easily, like aftershocks following an earthquake.
I turn in the bath to face one of the jets head-on, draping my calves over the tub edge and spreading wide so the water beats against my clit. I use my fingers to expose more of my tender cunt to the pulsing stream. I moan along with its rhythm, my sighs crescendoing into cries.
I hear a tap against the glass door and look up to find your shadow directly on the other side. “Claire.” Your voice is muffled and tinny through the glass. “Let me help you.”
“Have you finished pressing my dress?”
“Not yet.”
“Then you know the answer.”
“Yes, Claire.” You try to sound downtrodden, but I can hear the smile in your voice. You love being refused.
And I love that you love it.
I turn the knob on the whirlpool to increase the speed of the jets. Water throbs against my clit and labia. I slide my fingers into my cunt and rub them against my G-spot. I’ve been on edge all day, hungry to be fucked, nervous and aching with anticipation.
I don’t hold back my cries. I’m so close, right on the edge, my heartbeat focused like a pinpoint inside my clit, ready to explode.
You tap on the door again. “Claire, let me help you.”
“No.” Speaking the word ratchets up my arousal. I wasn’t always so comfortable refusing you, but now I’m eager to. I move my fingers faster and shove my clit closer to the water jet. “No,” I say again and come like a rocket, my juice pumping out into the tub.
* * *
After I dress, we go down to the hotel bar to meet my other anniversary gifts. Tommy arrives first, and as soon as I lay eyes on him I approved of your choice. Even though I’m wearing the stilettos, he’s several inches taller than me, with massive biceps, broad shoulders and tight abs on a body that’s lean and athletic. His dark, wavy hair is full and soft without a hint of the balding or grayness you’ve started to show. His whiskey-brown eyes sparkle with interest, lingering on the short hem of my red silk dress. You smile knowingly, excusing yourself to sit alone in the corner.
I’ve fucked enough men to know this for a fact: Tommy would take me to bed right now if I let him. Hell, he’d take me right here in the middle of the bar if it wouldn’t get him arrested. But you’re not the only man I like to keep waiting and, besides, Ed hasn’t arrived yet. We told him to come later, to give me time to get to know my new lover before he entered the mix. Ed balked at first when I gave him this instruction—he’s cocky and selfish, certain his is the only dick that can truly bring me pleasure—but ultimately, he’s like you. He needs a queen, and he defers to my wishes.
I feel your eyes on us as Tommy orders me a cocktail and we make small talk over our drinks. I ask him questions about himself but don’t immediately start flirting with him despite our obvious mutual interest. I enjoy making bulls work for my approval, and I enjoy knowing that you’re watching. I want you to understand I only give my body to those who earn it.
Ed joins us after the first drink. “Hello, Claire,” he says, his broad hand settling possessively around my waist as he reaches the other out to shake Tommy’s hand. “And Tommy, I presume.”
Tommy gives Ed a firm grip. I can see the muscles in their forearms flex as each tests his strength against the other’s. “You ready to teach me what Claire likes?” Tommy says.
Ed chuckles. Apparently he wasn’t expecting that. “Are you ready to learn?”
“Everything you want to teach me.”
That’s apparently all the cue Ed needs, because the next thing I know he’s kissing me, and it’s not a light peck. It’s deep and dirty, the way we kiss in the bedroom. I open my mouth to him, let him slip his sweet flesh inside me—a foretaste of what’s to come. Ed’s an incredible kisser, and within five seconds my thong is soaked with arousal.
But it still isn’t time to go upstairs. I want to tease you—and my bulls—some more. So I turn around and kiss Tommy, too, plumbing the depths of his mouth with my tongue. He tastes different from either you or Ed, a mixture of his brand of toothpaste and the whiskey sour he’s been sipping. I pull him closer, his hardening length pressing against my groin. I pat his ass before I let him go, then turn to look at you through the dim light of the bar. You take a swig of your beer, pretending to be unaffected. But I see your hand had slip beneath the table, and I know you’re stroking your own erection under there.
I cluck my tongue and shake my head. You flush red with the embarrassment of having been caught and put your guilty hand on the table where I can see it. I smile my approval.
Tommy and I have another round with Ed. Having the attention of both young men is more intoxicating than the drinks. Combined with your lustful gaze on me, I become almost punch-drunk with power. Before I’m halfway done with my second cocktail I’m ready to take them to bed. My phone buzzes with a text from you: How about giving them a preview of your delicious snatch before we go upstairs?
Tommy’s hand is already on my bare knee. I wink at you across the bar as I spread my legs under the table and pull Tommy’s fingers up my silken thigh until they’re pressed against the damp fabric of my thong. I lean into his ear. “I’ve been wet like this since I first saw you.” He shudders and slipped his fingers under the silk, collecting my honey on his fingertips before sliding up to my clit. I bite my lip to suppress a groan, turning to Ed and saying with all the calmness I could muster, “You, too. Get me ready for tonight.”
His hand joins Tommy’s under the table. He sinks two fingers into my dripping cunt. “It’s not so bad sharing you if it gets you this wet,” Ed whispers. “Kind of hot, actually. I think Tommy might have as much to show your husband about how a real man fucks as I do.”
I watch you as they finger-fuck me. Your muscles strain with the effort to keep still. One hand grips your beer glass. The other clutches at the saltshaker. Two phallic objects in your hands, and neither of them your hard little prick. As I stroke both bulls’ cocks through their trousers, I feel a little sorry for your untouched cock—but not enough to stop what I’m doing.
Ed’s fingers are relentless. He finds my G-spot and works it with the pads of his fingers, all the while whispering instructions to Tommy about the best way to work my labia and clit. I breathe deeply, trying to hold off the orgasm, afraid of losing control in public—but not afraid enough to tell them to stop. Your eyes are wide, your mouth hanging open as if you’re about to start panting. I spread my legs to let Ed in at a better angle, and suddenly I feel another finger slide in—or is it two?—so much pressure and fullness that my thighs start to shake.
“You sly dog,” Ed says approvingly to Tommy, and I know immediately that they’re both inside me, their thick fingers spreading me wide and fucking me.
I bite my lip to keep from screaming, but I don’t close my eyes. I keep watching you, the arousal and shame warring in your eyes. Come, Claire, you mouth silently across the bar, and I do.
* * *
We finish our drinks as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. This is part of the game: to keep you aroused and unfulfilled, while I come again and again.
Tommy tells a long, humorous story about his work. Ed tells raunchy jokes. They’ve warmed up to each other, and I grow more confident that their dynamic won’t fail me when
we move this to the hotel room.
I send you a text message: Get ready.
Immediately, you stand up from your table and go to the bar to sign the bill. Then you’re off to the lobby.
I give you ten minutes. When I arrive at the hotel room with Ed and Tommy, you’re already in the desk chair, your ankles bound to its legs, your hands resting on its arms. Ed is eager to tie your wrists to the chair, and I let him, enjoying the feel of Tommy’s hand up my skirt too much to be bothered with it myself.
By the time Ed has you secured, my dress is off and Tommy is completely naked. “Oh god!” I gasp when I see his cock. It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen outside my dildo collection, easily two inches in diameter and mouthwateringly long.
Ed growls at my reaction, tearing off his clothes to reveal his own flush, purpling dick. He kisses up my spine and presses his erection against my ass. “But I’m the one who knows how to fuck you, Claire. I’m the one who’s going to teach him all the ways to please you.”
