Even though I have my own account on the swinger site now, sometimes I log onto our joint one that my husband runs. This time, he wanted to show me a chat history with someone. I’m not sure what it was about or why he wanted me to read it, but for the sake of this story, it isn't important.
I soon discover that I can’t have two different accounts open on my phone simultaneously, and as he keeps changing the password (been hacked before), I decide to lurk around and fool with the joint one for a couple of days.
I skim through a few conversations without getting involved in any of them. I find them entertaining to read because they are with men I have previously spoken to or ones we have already met. What stands out and amuses me is that the discussions they have and the tone they use with him and me couldn’t be any more different. I also love my husband’s crude, not taking bullshit style when he deals with them. That’s why he is the one running this circus. He cuts through the time wasters, fakes, wankers and dreamers like a hot knife through butter.
On the second day of my little ‘excursion’, among the handful of unread messages, I spot one titled ‘Wolf’. Wolf is my husband’s profile name, so it gets my instant attention. I feel a bit naughty to read something that wasn't meant for me, and it gives me a funny buzz. At this point, I think nothing of it. Maybe they just like the name or want to know who’s running this account or something like that.
But I get a slight shock when I open it, and the message reads, “I’m curious about Wolf’s level of experience when it comes to playing with men.”
Oh, wow, that’s a first. Someone being more interested in him than me. More specifically, this one is prying on how far the Wolf is willing to go. I like. I smell some mind-bending, kinky fun. You have my full attention, Sir.
I slut back to my own account and look him up. His profile name, 'Something28' and age confuse me a bit as he is thirty-eight. Perfect. Not too young, not too old. He later confirms my suspicion that he's indeed been on the scene for over ten years. Oh, hello, fellow seasoned kinkster. Something tells me we're going to have a lot of fun.
He has a nice body with some defined muscles but not the bulky gym type. In his case, as I find out, it is due to working outdoors most of the time. One more nice tick on my preference list. His face is not one I’d typically go for. I prefer dark-haired bad-boy types. He has a dark blond, messy, surfer-style mop of hair. He does remind me of some famous actor that I will have to look up at a later stage.
I haven’t seen his package, but unless it’s minuscule, I don’t care. Lately, I'm much more interested in what's inside. I want quality over quantity, and vanilla just doesn't do it for me anymore.
“Hi, this is K,” I write. “I’d like to go behind the Wolf’s back with this (talking about his bi experiences).”
I tell him the outlines of what we usually get into, leaving many details out, obviously. I still don’t know where this is going if going anywhere at all. Maybe he is only interested in him, and that’s not going to work either. We had one or two of those surprises. No, thanks. We need you to be into both of us, ideally. I’m kind of getting tired of being the centrepiece. It’s time to throw some wolf on the menu.
He soon writes back, “I will reiterate, I don’t want to do anything he isn’t comfortable doing, though.”
“Yes, of course, and I really appreciate that," I answer in blissful awe. I feel like I’m standing thigh-deep in a proverbial river, panning for gold, and suddenly find a fist-sized gemstone. Doesn’t happen often. "He is open to most things; we just have to take it slow and nudge him a little," I clarify my intentions. I'm not completely rotten, not that way.
He sends me a few more pictures from the ‘field’. Without going into too much detail to protect his identity, he is in full camo gear, holding a giant piece of equipment—no firearms or anything, something much better. Anyone who can handle big fancy gear like that is already in my hot books. He’s even more scruffy-looking in those pictures, with a long beard. I'm usually really not keen on that much facial hair, but in this case, it is justified. And as I said, sometimes the inside is much more important. I’m a big sucker for super kinky twisted minds. And I think he might just fit that bill.
In his next message, he asks how the Wolf feels about ropes.
“I tied him up a few times, but he wasn’t into it. He doesn’t like my dominant side, but he seems to be more submissive when it comes to playing with men. But like most males, like you probably know, he can be a bit closeted when it comes to these kinds of things. And, of course, the vibe has to be right."
“I might bring some leather straps for him and definitely some rope for you.”
Oh my god, say no more. I’m in love. This one wants both of us and speaks my language. My mind is like a slot machine with cherries flashing everywhere, jackpot ringing out loud, zeros spinning, winning tokens flying out.
***
Completely unrelated, Valentine’s Day is coming up, and I ask Quinn what gift he wants.
“A threesome,” he replies.
“One track mind much? That is already happening, hence not a real present. Think of something else.”
By tradition, I usually make a nice meal, and he buys me a new bedroom toy, but I always ask anyway, expecting a reply of ‘just something delicious’.
“Handcuffs,” he bizarrely replies. What? I already looked up where to get the best lobster tails.
“Handcuffs?” I have no idea where that came from. “We do have handcuffs, at least three different pairs.” There is no way he’s reading my single account, is he?
“Not the proper metal, lockable ones.”
Hmm, ok, let’s discuss this another time. (When I don't have a Friday deadline breathing down my neck on five different work projects.) But am I wrong to think he might be opening up to the idea of being tied up again? What the hell would he want handcuffs for? He does not tie me up. Ever. Which is a mistake.
And he never asked what I wanted for Valentine’s Day. And that is also a huge mistake, Mr Wolf!
Following Saturday, he is lazying in bed when I’m already up with the kids. Around 10 am, when I think that he really needs to join us now, I go into the bedroom and try to wake him. “Wakie, wakie, lazybones,” I whisper into his ear.
He moans quietly but doesn’t move; he doesn’t even open his eyes. He is sleeping on his back, his left arm outstretched, his forearm hanging off the bed. With my halo still in place, I watch him sleeping peacefully, admiring his handsome, boyish face. Even well on the wrong side of forty now, he still looks like twenty-five. I remember when I first introduced him to my family, he had to show them his passport because they genuinely didn't believe it that he was seven years older than me. I adore those forever-young genes, and if they weren't such hard work and bottomless money pits, I'd be tempted to create a whole pack of wolf cubs with him. But even the one we have is a super clingy little life-essence vampire. So that's where we have stopped.
He made the mistake of leaving his arm outstretched like that, too tempting not to have a little sport with it. My halo is lopsliding fast as I gently brush his inner arm with a fingertip, then with longer and longer strokes, I travel down to his wrist and knead and massage his soft pads and fingers one by one. I recall a holiday at the beginning of our relationship - still in the honeymoon period when we still couldn’t keep our hands off each other - when all through a four-hour flight (to Crete, I think it was), he was the one massaging my hands. I never felt more relaxed in my life. I think I even fell asleep.
Does he remember the days when we were still so much into each other? We still are, I guess. Or would be, if we had the time. Life is much more demanding these days than it used to be back then. We have to treasure these few peaceful moments we have. Even if it's just ten-fifteen minutes before the little velcro one finishes his pancakes and will be rapping the door. Again.
His eyes still closed, he smiles at me.
“Time to get up." I poke him with a finger into his biceps.
“I was enjoying that,” he rumbles, playfully opening one of his eyes halfway, urging me to continue.
I up the game by giving him fleeting little nibbles on all those sensitive areas. Putting a bit more teeth into my game, I clench my jaw into his soft flesh just above his elbow. Then, leaving a trail of quickly fading bite marks, I venture up to his neck, which I know will drive him wild. Halo now broken and bent, thrown into the corner I kneel on the bed next to him and whisper into his ear,
“There’s a guy who wants to tie you up. Can we do that?”
His answer is a vague, inarticulate moan. Haha, he knows not to answer things like that in a highly compromised position like this.
But I also know how to get my way. I straddle him while my lips never leave his ear. He has a rock-hard morning wood that I can’t help but grind myself onto. ‘Tis gonna be too easy.
“We really want to blindfold you, baby, and have some fun... at your expense."
He opens his dark, chocolate eyes - his expression a perfect storm. I brace myself for his "Ain't happening," which is his cut-out reply to my far-fetched fantasies. But before he could form the words, I'm back stroking his arm as a starting point to use the rest of his naked skin as a canvas for my abstract painting. My fingers follow his neckline, his jaw, down to his nipples while I keep grinding my hips onto his hardness in agonising slow motion.
"Please," I purr, "Promise it will be fun... Four hands instead of just two, in total darkness, not knowing who is touching you. Maybe we could even play a little game, making you guess which one of us is toying with you. And if you get it wrong, you'll be punished." I sink my teeth into his stubbly jaw to drive my threat home. "But," I continue my smoochy, seductive monologue into his ear, "if you get it right... Mmm. You can ask for anything. Anything you want. Do you think you’d be able to figure it out?”
“Yes, definitely,” comes the over-confident reply. Oh, so he is awake and can actually speak when he wants to...
“Mmm, you are so sure about yourself. But what if we have made a little pact just to confuse you? What if I’d told him how to touch you to fool you into believing that it’s me, and I’d do something new and random to confuse you?” Then, ominously, I add, “You don’t need to answer that.”
I lower myself onto his thighs and cup my fingers around the outline of his cock and start rubbing him slowly. His eyes are still sealed, but a provocative, playful smile lingers on his sexy, dry lips.
I alternate between stroking him and massaging his inner thighs as I continue. “Just imagine feeling all those sensations, our hands on your thighs, all over your body, rubbing your cock. Not only would you not have a clue which hand belongs to whom, but at the same time, he and I could be touching each other, doing things to each other, and you wouldn’t know. Maybe one of my hands would be wanking you, the other one stroking him. ‘Such a nice thick cock’, I’d say. ‘Shame you can’t see it. But if you’ll be a good boy, we can remove the blindfold. Only much later, though.' Maybe I'd be kissing him passionately before giving you head. Or the opposite. Or perhaps it will be his lips on your cock, and you’d have no idea." I say this with a light, evil chuckle because while he has no problem giving (especially together with me), he is not keen on receiving. But in this situation, he wouldn't know. My plan is delicious, deceitful, despicable, perfect.
"Of course, we would tease you with little snippets or pretend to do things just to wind you up.” I slide back up with my pussy lips around his cock, my breath tickling his earlobe. “Would that drive you crazy?”
“Fucking hell, please, stop.” His cock throbs with every syllable.
“I don’t think you want me to stop at all... I’d be sitting on you just like this, moaning, pretending that he is about to slide his cock into me or grunt into your ear, telling you how rough he’s fingering me and how much I fucking love it. Like with Jack. Remember?" Of course, he remembers. "You came just watching him trying to fist me (or something bordering on) and me howling the place down. Fuck, that was the best night ever. But this one can even be better. Tell me, baby, tell me you want him to fuck me on top of you while you are tied up, unable to do anything about it, unable to see any of it.”
Only my hot pants-style lounge shorts and his boxers are separating skin from skin; his length rests between my labia, his head throbbing on my clit. I'm driving both of us to insanity with my words.
“Tell me you want it,” I grind my teeth together with such force that I'm surprised not to have dislocated my jaw. “Tell me you want it, and you will not regret it.”
He opens his eyes to the sight of me shredding my skimpy loungewear, rolling down his boxers and locking the door.
“Say yes, baby.” I study his face with my best Harley Quinn impression, my silky black hair brushing against his chest as I kiss and nibble on his nipples.
“Yes, big fucking yes,” he hisses in bitter surrender - his sane and smart senses sailing away in front of my very eyes. He's mine. Just one of my toys. But, by far my favourite one.
“I want you to have a taste of what this little fantasy is doing to me.” I clamber on his face clumsily while mumbling something like, "I came up here to offer you blueberry pancakes, but I just can't help it - now, I'm dying to be your breakfast instead."
His muffled moans are a far cry from a protest. I know he loves it when I take charge like this, and the surprise element of doing it in the morning when he's just woken up makes it all the naughtier.
This bed is ill-suited for any kind of lovemaking, but especially this kind and I can’t wait to get rid of it. The mattress is too soft, too sinky, and don’t even get me started on the ugly brownish shade of faux-leather frame. But, it has a nice wide and low headboard, one that can support my body on my elbows perfectly – to get comfortable on his face.
“Just a little taste,” I repeat. “Think back to that scene. Imagine his new, unfamiliar flavour on me. I know it turns you on. I know it fucks with your mind knowing someone else just enjoyed my wet cunt, doesn't it? You perverted little fuck." He likes it when I call him that because I purr into it and my harsh, continental R’s are drilling the message into his sick little mind.
Supporting myself on my knees, I make sure I don't give him what he wants just yet. I tease him with the sight and smell of my obvious need. "Beg for it! Tell me you want to taste his cock on my pussy!"
But soul-decay fast creeping over me, I realise I don't want to hear his pathetic reply, nor his annoying voice. I sit on his chest, making sure to rub my wetness all over the small patch of chest hair, and I cover his eyes with one of my hands - he is blindfolded in my fantasy, after all - and his mouth and nose with the other one. "You know what? I don't even fucking care what you want, what makes you tick. You are nothing but one of my trashy toys, and I'm going to ride your face like a cheap fucking thrill ride. Stick your tongue out; let's see if I have any use for you." I clasp my hand on his jaw, sinking my nails into his stubbly cheek. I'm far from hurting him, but he instinctively tries to pull away, and his hands fly up to seize my thighs - just in case...
"And this is why you need to be tied up..." I shake my head at him with the ten Egyptian plagues clouding my eyes. "Keep those paws away from me, Wolf, or I strap you into those underbed restraints!" I completely forgot about those restraints because they are tucked away between the frame and the mattress, and we haven't used them for a while. But putting on a new sheet a few days ago (a luxury hotel quality one I bought, after staining the previous one badly - well, long story), I have found them and memorised where they are exactly. Just in case...
"I said hands off, open that mouth and stick that tongue out!" When he obeys, I plant my palm on his eyes again and press his tongue down with three of my fingers, hooking my thumb into the soft tissue under his chin. He is fighting it, trying to turn his face away. Which brings the absolute devil out of me.
"Keep still or I swear I tie you up!" I warn him again. "You have no idea how much I want to see his cock in your mouth. I'll be holding your jaw open for him like this. Like this..." I grip him just a little bit harder. Or maybe a lot harder because something suddenly flashes in front of my eyes. "Remember when Jack was stretching me with his big cock last weekend and the greedy piece of shit you are, you stuck your fingers inside me pulling me apart for him even more? I have no idea how the hell, I did not tear. You are a fucking animal! And this will be my payback for that." With my thumb pressed deep into his neck and my fingers keeping his mouth open unnaturally, he starts gagging, a mist of sweet panic distorting his face.
He grabs hold of my wrist, forces it away from his face then catches my other one as it comes at him too. He's wrestling me to keep them away.
"If you keep pissing me off, I will get Will over tonight." He is working so it won't happen but I love chucking empty threats at him when I have nothing else. "Be a good boy, keep those hands away and let me have my way!"
When I finally lower my body onto his face he laps at me with last-day-on-Earth urgency and I bend over the headboard chewing my arm trying to keep the barbed wire up around the Jurassic park in my head.
"Feast on me like a fucking five-course meal, baby," I plead with him.
And oh my god, he does just that. His nails digging into the soft flesh of my ass cheeks, he pulls me apart to suck on my labia, my clit, to plough all my hollow depths with his tongue. Sometimes, I can’t even tell if it’s his lips, his tongue or his teeth worshipping my lunchbox.
When he’s done chewing up all the clementine slices, gobbled up my soft taco shells and devoured all the coookies, he slides his hands up to my hip bone and lifts me up and forward. It takes me a few seconds to realise what he’s playing at - he wants access to everything, even my other, less featured, star-shaped tight hole.
“Oh boy, someone has a big appetite this morning,” I grin into the wall mirror, watching myself relax onto his face. I greedily smother him with my weight and ride his sloppy face from his chin to his forehead, using him like a thrill ride and water-coaster all in one.
Once I’m getting myself worked up and pretty close to cumming, his strong arms put a halt to my fun and games. He keeps me still and open yet again licking me into absolute bliss.
“Fuckk, fuck, fuuuuck.” I’m so not in charge here. I’m on top, yet he’s gripping me like iron shackles, keeping me still while his tongue force-fucks my every hole, teeth tear at every tiny rag of sensitive flesh I have, lips pleasure every nerve ending on edge. When he’s using his hands to rock my hips onto his tongue in a rhythm he dictates and sucks my soul out of my body, my mind melts like a lava flow swallowing the whole universe.
“Now get on my cock, you fucking psycho slut," he growls pushing me down with force I could never ever counter.
But I'm still the one on top. I will not let him get this so easily. I lean in and grab his face, my fingers wrapped around his jaw and my thumb pressing into his cheek. "Your cock is so fucking hard. You really need to cum baby, don’t you? I can feel the heavy throb inside me. So I make sure, I ride you nice and slow. Mmm, that’s it. No cumming for you yet!”
I grind my hips in every which way, enjoying all the maddening sensations of him filling me up. I sink onto him to feel that delicious depth, I pull out, for his round, defined mushroom head to rub against my G-spot as I slide back down.
“And now my favourite bit,” I smirk, the corner of my eyes twitching involuntarily. “Let’s suck him together...” Our lips clash in a desperate battle among vivid scenes of a world filled with past experiences and fantasy. And we swim and float and soar in that beautiful realm of anything possible.
“Babes,” I call out softly, and wait for him to open his eyes. When I have his attention, I simply state, “He’s going to cum in your mouth.”
Born in hell and proud of it. What can I say? Other than, “I’m in fucking love with the way you’re looking at me. Promise, you'll be a good boy and swallow. And I will let you cum inside me.”
I lift my body up until only his thick cock head remains inside me as I’m waiting for his reply. “Just say you will and you can let go.”
My twisted smirk is a siren’s call and this is not the first time I’m threatening him with this so he knows that sooner or later this will be his fate. And with Will on board, now it is going to be sooner rather than later.
“Yes, please," he slurs, exhaling a heavy breath, his eyes darting around, avoiding the self-righteous, rakehell triumph on my face.
“Perfect reply, baby." I purse my lips. "So fucking proud of you," I bust out half-jokingly while eating his face and bounce on his cock like Tigger on his coiled tail. "I want all your hot spunk inside me, now," I thrill into his ear chewing his earlobe, licking his neck. "All of it. I want to feel it leak out of me onto your stomach. And I’ll be slurping it all up like a good girl and share to sow you how delicious it tastes.”
With his irresistibly distorted face between my palms, I kiss him hard, both of us hungry for that taste, for that experience. His hotness overtakes me inside as our minds melt into something so blissful, so powerful, that I’m not even sure it’s an orgasm or something much better.
“Show me the profile of this guy, you’re talking about,” he tells me as we are getting dressed.
“Please, be nice to him. I like him.”
***
Completely unrelated again, I realise that I really really want to write a Valentine's Day story. I have a few good ideas; one with some quirky toys and another one with a silly romantic love story. Just because I haven’t written anything like that for years. Of course, by the time it’s written, it would turn into something dark and twisted. Because I don’t write romance and lovey-dovey stuff, but I like to fuck around with the idea.
It takes a few days for my mind to put two and two together or more like one and two and three together and burst out a ‘fuck all that’. This story is pretty much already written in my head. This is not the time to try crafting something new and smart. This story is all I want to write about, this is all I need in my life.
Bring on Valentine’s day!
I catch Will online later that evening.
“Hey, I have 'talked' to the Wolf. He is on board." I include one of those new grinning star devil emojis, my latest addiction.
“Good job, kitten. Now we just have to set the date. Just out of curiosity, how did you get him to come around?"
"Oh, that's between me, him and the under-bed restraints," I laugh.
Yeah, yeah, I didn't really have to use them this time but I know they are there, just in case...
