“No, Jim. You can’t do that.” “Yes, Sandy, I can. You cannot
do anything about it, except enjoy it. There is no room in this
car to do anything, but explore, so don’t worry.” “I…I don’t
think we should.” “All right, just a few brief moments. It
won’t hurt.”

Kristin apparently has also of late been thinking a lot about Dianne.
The signs are obvious — daily phone calls, visits to her apartment, her name
being brought up in our conversation, etc. Last week, Dianne and Kristin went
backpacking by themselves to the local wilderness area while I kept our two
kids at home (it is important for my wife, a financial planner, to get away
from the daily grind and enjoy her friends apart from me)….

Last Friday, Dianne called me up and wanted me to meet her for lunch at
our favorite restaurant. After a light lunch with some equally light but
strangely forced conversation, Dianne looked into my eyes with a look that
I’ve never seen before, a look of fear combined with a look of desire, and
asked, “Mark, it is difficult for me to say this, but I have fallen in love
with both you and Kristin.”

I didn’t know how to respond to this. On the one hand, my sexual desire
for her was burning bright, and I got excited about what was soon to
transpire, yet her simultaneous love for my wife confused, scared, and
intrigued me. What could I say? I looked at her for a moment, and without
thinking I said, “Does Kristin know your feelings for her? As far as I know,
Kristin is straight, and has never in our relationship stated anything to the
contrary. All I know is that my desire for you is very strong, and that I
have wanted for several weeks to make love to you.”

“I know about your feelings for me,” Dianne replied, “I could see it in
your actions, in your words, and in your eyes. And my feelings for you are
just as strong. Kristin knows about my love for her and for you, and she is
in love with me as she is in love with you. It was during our backpacking
trip that we expressed our love for one another.”

I didn’t know what to think, I was really confused by my feelings. “But
why are you telling me this? What do you want from me if you and Kristin are
lovers?” I asked.

Dianne replied, “Kristin wanted me to tell you these things if I felt
from our conversation that it would not damage your marriage relationship –
she wants me to tell you that she still loves you deeply. She has known for
awhile that you were infatuated with me. You know, women can see these
things. I desire you so much and I want to make love to you. Let’s go back
to my apartment and there we can enjoy one another and talk more about this
crazy situation.”

Making love to Dianne that afternoon was heavenly. Her body, though
short, was well proportioned, more like a 21 year old rather than her real age
of 35. Her breasts were not large, and not small, but were of the right size,
firm and did not sag one bit — taking her brassiere off, which was a low-cut
front snap design, was an experience I’ll never forget. When I cupped her
breasts in my smallish hands, I wished that I could become her brassiere so I
could cup her breasts all day. And Dianne was sexually free, boy, was she
free. She was even more open about her sexuality than Kristin, and Kristin
has always been a tiger in bed.

What was even more surprising to me was that my sexual excitement was
greatest whenever I fantasized my wife Kristin making love to Dianne while I
was watching. In these fantasies, Kristin and Dianne totally shared their
bodies — there was no inhibition of any kind. The number 69 appeared often
in my mind. And I imagined my throbbing, erect penis being inside Dianne’s
vagina from the rear, while Kristin, my beautiful wife, was in front massaging
Dianne’s clitoris and sucking on her breasts, and that Dianne was massaging
Kristin’s swollen clitoris. And I imagined that we all came to orgasm at the
same time this way. What a fantasy!

After one hour of sheer erotic sex (I have never made love to a woman
who could have several strong orgasms in a row like Dianne could), we lay
together exhausted. I asked Dianne, “When did you and Kristin first make
love?”

She said, “During our backpacking trip. It was cold, and we were close
to each other in our sleeping bags. And we just talked, and slowly we got
closer, more intimate, touched each other more, and finally we were making
love. Kristin said to me afterwards that that was the first time she ever had
sex with a woman. She never consciously realized before that she was
bisexual, although she said that she recalled having strong feelings for other
women before. Her greatest fear was that you would reject her for being
bisexual and for making love to me.”

I said, “If she made love to a man, I would have been jealous and a
little angry — I’m sounding a little hypocritical here — but the thought of
her making love to another woman, especially you, excites me, and I don’t know
why. Maybe most men would be turned off and very angry if they were faced
with this situation, but I’m not. I really would like to watch you and
Kristin make love and I want to share in your lovemaking, for I want Kristin
to be happy and I know that you and I can sexually fulfill her in ways that I
cannot alone.” Dianne smiled, hugged me, gave me a dreamy kiss, and said, “I
would like that. I love you. And tell Kristin when you see her that I love
her, too.”

When I came home in the evening, it was, suffice to say, a very unusual
conversation. I told Kristin that I was with Dianne that afternoon, that we
made love, that I knew about Kristin’s love affair with Dianne, that I am not
angry or jealous, that I loved both of you, and that I would like all three of
us to make love to one another. Kristin was quite taken aback by what I said,
but she quickly recovered with a look of anticipation and desire that I have
never seen in her before. Kristin then said, “Let’s send the kids to my
mother’s for the weekend, I’ll think of a good excuse, and invite Dianne to
stay with us.” I agreed to this, we called Dianne, she readily agreed and we
were all excited. Needless to say Kristin and I made passionate love that
evening and we later talked very openly about the different ways we could make
love together with Dianne.

….Watching two passionate women, who love each other, mutually gratify
their sexual desires is something that every man should see — and I’m not
talking about those loveless scenes one sees in most X-rated films. Men can
learn an awful lot about how to please a woman sexually by watching how a
woman does it to another woman. After all, who knows more about a woman than
another woman?…

Kristin and Dianne were obviously very much in love with each other.
You could feel the passionate heat they generated even before they touched
each other. They made me sit in a chair while I watched them in bed. They
each wore a negligee, and I could see the outlines of their breasts and of
their black triangle of hair where female sexuality resides. They obviously
loved the way they were dressed, since they looked at each other just as I was
looking at them. They started with slow kisses, which became more passionate
as time went on — it seemed like an eternity. Their hands, which started out
being fixed on each others back, became more and more mobile. There was no
part of their bodies that their hands did not touch. Kristin, my beautiful
wife, was gasping at every caress given by Dianne. Dianne, being very turned
on by now, loosened Kristin’s negligee and took it off, gloriously revealing
Kristin’s body to both of us. “Your breasts are so beautiful,” Dianne said,
“please let me kiss them.” Kristin pulled Dianne’s head to her breasts and
moaned “more” as Dianne eagerly yet tenderly licked them.

Dianne then broke the kisses, got on her back, and told Kristin, who was
sitting upright on her knees, to move forward until her vulva was near
Dianne’s mouth, as she has done for me several times. Dianne eagerly thrust
out her tongue to Kristin’s moist clitoris, and licked and kissed and sucked
it in a way I’ve never done for Kristin before. You could see Kristin’s body
slowly swaying, like a pendulum, which started to speed up as Dianne speeded
up her tongue motion. Then, in a frantic way that I have never heard Kristin
say, she said, “Please… more.” At that moment, Dianne inserted one finger
into Kristin’s vagina and another finger from the other hand into her anus and
began to earnestly and rhythmically bring her down the home stretch with her
tongue and lips and fingers. Kristin exploded into a orgasm that I have never
seen in any woman before, even Dianne on Friday. She gasped and fell limp on
the bed, exhausted, and content. I was in awe.

As Dianne was slowly caressing Kristin during her short time of
recovery, my passion arose to a height I’ve never felt before. I walked over
to the bed, took my clothes off (so I could relieve the pressure of my
super-erect penis) and got on the bed next to Dianne and started to kiss her.
I helped Dianne take off her negligee, revealing her beautiful breasts with
very hard and erect nipples; I could feel the animal heat emanate from her
vagina, begging for satisfaction. She then took hold of my very hard penis
and began to rub it firmly, and then went down on me and began to lick and
suck it. I could feel the moistness around her mouth, no doubt from Kristin’s
vaginal juices. Dianne then completely inserted my penis into her mouth as
far as it could go and really began to suck. It was a beautiful experience.
As I approached an explosive orgasm, but before it was too late, she let go of
my penis, leaned back on the bed, with her beautiful breasts pointing
majestically upward, and begged Kristin to come down on her.

Kristin, whose passion was beginning to come back again, got on her
hands and knees and began to lick Dianne’s clitoris with her tongue. Kristin,
being very flexible, had no trouble with this position. Kristin’s
super-swollen vulva revealed itself to me in all its splendor in this
position, which I could not resist; I entered Kristin from the rear, reached
around her to massage her swollen and moist clitoris and her erect nipples.
When I did this, my wife began to moan, and increased her tempo on Dianne.
Dianne began to moan wildly, too, and Kristin reached up to cup Dianne’s
breast and knead them vigorously. For one minute this went on, and as I
approached ejaculation, Kristin sensed that, quickened the pace, and brought
Dianne closer to ecstasy. We all reached climax at about the same time. My
orgasm was the most intense I have ever experienced. I felt as if I filled
Kristin up to the brim.

This did not end here. Kristin continued her oral caress on Dianne’s
clitoris in the most loving, tender, and yet vigorous manner, and from this
very delicious stimulus, Dianne had four more orgasms in the next few minutes;
each orgasm was more intense than the previous one. Her last orgasm was so
intense and obviously so pleasurable that Kristin broke down and cried for
Dianne in happiness. We all then fell into a long and dreamy sleep, snuggling
close together, to recharge for another round several hours later (I’ll spare
you the details of our subsequent lovemaking, except that it was even better).

Many would say that nothing good could ever result from a bisexual
menage a trois such as ours; however, Kristin’s and my love for each other was
enhanced by this experience (which, by the way, never happened again with
Dianne, for reasons that will remain unsaid to the outside world). I also
learned how to become a better lover to Kristin, since my teachers were two
beautiful women who passionately loved one another and understood one another
in ways that men can never fathom.

“I want you to come to the dining hall and have breakfast with me.
Also, I want you to wear a skirt today. Above the knee, I think. And your
stockings and garter belt.”

“Why?”
“You’ll find out after English. You can wear flats if you want, but
bring your heels along in a bag. Oh, and if you wear underwear, it has to be
something that comes off easily. Wear your silk ones with the bows.”
“OK, sir,” she said, wondering inside what he meant. She would be glad
in an hour for having eaten, but right now she wanted more than anything to
crawl back into bed and sleep. She had half an hour before class. But she
obeyed, wondering why all the while.
He was no more tractable at breakfast. He allowed her to get three
bowls of Captain Crunch, something he usually forbade on the grounds that it
was junk, but anytime she asked why he wanted her dressed that way he only
answered, “You’ll find out after English.”

English. Short Story Writing, specifically. The last class she had on
Fridays, the only one she had with him. So many times, that had been the last
thing she did before spending a weekend in erotic submission to him. The
simple thought made her belly turn over.

The whole day she was unable to keep her mind off it. What did he have
planned? A weekend of submission? Maybe. But that was hardly uncommon. So
why all the secrecy? And why the costuming? In classes, she found herself
writing his name and WHY? WHY? WHY? on her notes. She tapped her feet
incessantly and waited for the class to end. She supposed people were
looking at her. She didn’t care.

After lunch, which she ate with some friends, for he was on the other
side of campus, she headed back to her room and got the required heels. Patent
leather pumps, with a locking ankle strap and five inch heels. She wrapped
them in paper towels and put them in a shoe box, which she put in her backpack.
Three more hours! She would never make it.

Well, two more. Class started at two and ended at three. She had an
hour before her one o’clock class, so she tried to call him but the answering
machine picked up. Was he there, grinning broadly at the answering machine,
laughing at her curiousity, or was he really not there? She could picture
either. She wished he would let her see his schedule.

After trying for the third time she decided he was either not there or
not going to answer. She tried to read the short story someone had written
which was going to be discussed in class, but she couldn’t concentrate. She
was too curious about what he had planned for her.

She glanced at her own reflection in the mirror. Deciding she ought to
look nice for whatever he had planned for her, she applied some mascara and
blusher and lipstick. This took up most of the time remaining.

If he blindfolds me after the work I did on that makeup, I’m gonna be
pissed, she thought as she bounced across the quad.
In the last class before English she found herself looking out the
window. Was that him out in back of the building, watching her? It had to be.

No one else would lurk outside so boldly, as if they had every right to be
there. Was he looking at her? Smiling at her? She couldn’t tell.

The hour dragged on. And on. She was growing quite impatient.
Finally the bell rung and she was free.

English was absolute torture, she decided. She sat next to him as she
always did, and kept trying to whisper in his ear. He would merely grin
evilly, and conveniently stretch so that he wouldbe out of range of her
whisper. She passed him notes, as if she was a high schooler. He merely read

them and put them in his notebook. When she dared say something aloud, he
hushed her and suggested that she quiet down and pay attention to class.

The small, androgynous boy whose story was being presented that day
gave her a nasty look. She frowned back at him. Under the table, his hand
touched her skirt and pulled it up slightly, just enough so that he could feel
her leg.

She leaned in close to whisper in his ear, and he let her this time.
“I obeyed,” she said.
“Good,” he said, and grinned again, that annoying satisfied
cat-got-the-cream grin he had that he gave herwhen he knew something he did not
intend to tell her. Sometimes it made her want to scream and jump up and down.
Now was one of those times.

Finally, the class was over. He got up and headed for the door
immediately. She threw her things in her backpack and raced after him.
He was heading into an empty classroom. She ran in after him just as he was
closing the door and turned to face him, breathless.

“Okay, it’s after English. So tell me.” she said.
For answer he merely took her arm and spun her around so that she was

in front of him, facing away. His grasp was not painful but irrevocable. She

felt handcuffs clamped onto her wrists. Then the slight click of the double

lock being engaged on each. These were police handcuffs, and gave her very

little room. Then he bent her over a desk, got something out of his bag, and

spread her legs. She was surprised but pliant, not wanting to resist unless he

hurt her. First his hands untied the bows on the hips of her panties and took

them off.

She felt an assplug slip into her, and an admonishment; “Don’t let go

of that until I tell you you can.”

Then he was taking off her shoes and putting her feet into the

five-inch pumps, locking each ankle strap with a small lock. Afterwards he

scooped up his own bag and hers, took her wrists in the other hand, and marched

her neatly to the elevator. She was grateful he did not make her try the

stairs with these shoes and her wrists cuffed behind her back.

In the elevator, he hiked up her skirt and checked her; she was

already moist in the excitement and surprise.

“What are you doing?” she asked for the first time since after English.

“Don’t ask. Don’t say a word.”

His car was parked in the lot nearby. He got her in the passenger

seat, and then got in himself. He locked both doors, an unnecessary precaution

since she could not open the door anyway, and then put her seat belt on.

Donning his own, he started the engine and drove away.

Anytime she spoke, he immediately responded with an order to be silent.

He hiked her skirt up to her waist and fondled her freely. This was dizzying.

She was restrained, kept in a car, being taken to God knows where, and not even

allowed to speak. It was incredibly exciting.

When he got to the Interstate, he stopped for a moment to put a pair of

Gargoyle sunglasses on her. He had painted these with black paint, and she

could see very little, but no passersby in cars would have any clue.

Without being able to see, she had no real way to gauge time, since the radio

was not playing and he was being fairly silent.

After maybe an hour, maybe two, maybe ten years, he pulled off the

Interstate, and a short time later pulled over completely. He got out of

the car, went around and let her out, and led her forward. She felt gravel

clicking under her heels. Then, up three steps, and onto a porch of some kind.

It sounded like concrete when she walked on it. She heard him fumble briefly

with a key, and then she was being led indoors. Then he took the blindfold

off.

She was in a wood-paneled den, with a fireplace and a few hunting

trophies on the walls. There were two doors leading from the room. One looked

like it led to a bathroom, the other to a bedroom. She glanced around at

the place curiously.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Like it?” She walked around briefly. “It’s beautiful. But how did

you get it?”

“It was my grandpa’s house,” he said. “I’m in the process of getting

it. Some yap about probate. Some other people in the family want it, I think.

But it’ll be mine soon.”

Will it be mine too? she wanted to ask, but didn’t have the courage

to.

He came up behind her and unzipped her skirt, pulling it gently but

irrevocably off her. Then he removed the handcuffs, only to replace them with

leather cuffs. Then he buckled and locked a wide leather collar around her

neck. He removed her blouse and bra, and then locked her wrists behind her

back. Then he buckled another pair of leather cuffs on her ankles.

“Let me show you the basement,” he suggested, as if none of what he had

done before had happened. But she was very wet now, very excited as he forced

her down the rickety stairs to the basement.

There was a door at the end of the stairs. He pushed her through

this and locked it. Inside, the basement was finished. She saw a room on

her which he propelled her into, and she could see in the dim light several

toys up on the walls and a spanking horse and a bed in the corner of the room.

“You like it?” he asked, his voice betraying an edge of sharpness.

“Yes-oh God, fuck me-,” she choked.

“Not yet.” He took her over to the spanking horse, spread her legs and

fastened them to the legs of the horse, then freed her arms briefly to bend her

over the horse and attach her wrist cuffs to the legs on the other side.

She heard him shuck off his pants and then he had a fistful of her

hair, pulling her head up. In his hand she saw a riding crop. Her head could

not rise far with her body spreadeagled and secured down.

His penis was stiff and dancing about, and she was wet and ready for

him. But he forced her to lick it instead, lick it and suck it while he

whipped her ass with the crop. This was a game she knew. She was to suck him

while he whipped her until he came. Until he did, the whipping would get

steadily harder.

She did what she usually did. She delayed him so that he would whip

her harder. Eventually she passed into a sort of out-of-body experience: she

could still feel the whip striking her, but it didn’t hurt anymore. She felt

the cock in her mouth, everything seeming to happen very slowly, and she

thought, I’m a cocksucker. And it seemed very good.

Finally he came, and she licked him clean, feeling tired and limp.

He came around to her welted ass, and rubbed it gently.

“Why so tired?” he asked. She felt his cock slip into her from behind,

but was too well bound to fight it. It felt good, slipping into her dark and

wet depths. Her welts stung as he touched them. They had both broken out into

a sweat.

“So tired already?” He began to pump slowly. “It’s gonna be a long

weekend, sweetheart.”