Every so often I’m newly in awe of my girlfriend, Julie. She’s 34, you can tell only from the finest of lines starting to creep from eyes to ears. Not that they are imperfections- on the contrary they lend an aged mystery to an otherwise almost obscenely nubile figure- 105lbs of perfect with a narrow waist, medium sized breasts that swell a cup-size monthly and a nonsensically round ass. Her body is pure sex; her face impossibly complex- deep brown eyes too big for her vaguely Asian features, pouty lips, a smattering of acne scars from a hormone addled-youth, a nose from her Jewish father, a certain sadness etched into even joyous expressions from wounds one can only imagine. I’ve been staring at it for years and appreciate it anew each time. It’s my favorite face on Earth.
This particular night, I was admiring her at a bar in Greenwich Village. It was a classic Indian Summer evening, the leaves blazing yellow in sweltering heat and falling already crisped to streets freshly alive with tens of thousands of college students crammed into the various towers NYU had turned into dorms. We love the area- its diversity, vibrancy, the bizarre scenes that eddy around the fountain, there and then gone in the blink of an eye- a 70 year old woman on a skateboard, a shirtless boy of 13 playing Pokemon Go, a beagle chasing a bird, splashing into the water. It also reeked, figuratively, of sex. Summer should be the sensual apex, by rights, but a fall day was a strong echo and the legions of sweaty co-eds returning in their prime had an amplifying effect. It was our hunting season.
I knew Julie was bisexual before she did, or at least before she admitted it. I saw how she looked at women, the way a disinhibitive of one form or another stoked that interest to lust. I carefully collected anecdotes: crushes, college explorations remembered fondly, little wisps of tension in social settings. As you can imagine, a woman like her attracts sexual interest from most everyone, young and old, man and woman. It was intoxicating sometimes to just be in her presence and experience vicariously the raw power of that attraction, so wanton and indiscriminate. There are plenty of advantages to being a man but the raw experiential power of being a beautiful woman in her prime is something else entirely.
We’d been together for about a year when, in one of those pleasantly disinhibited states, I mentioned the idea of picking up a girl together. At first, she resisted, suspecting it was a declaration of boredom, of some latent desire of mine to explore outside the relationship. She took it more seriously than I and I respected that tendency of hers, as someone who sometimes follows impulses to destructive ends. After some weeks, long conversations and my most strident assurances, the wriggling part of her that had always wanted to came alive and we put our plan into action. It took two months to meet Catherine, a story I’ll save for another time.
This particular night, we set out for a bar known for being lax on identification and long on women in the early throes of their 20s. It was dark, pulsing, with that New York summer smell, busy but not overwhelmed on a Wednesday night. Per normal, I made a point to make a long visit to the bathroom- Julie, ever leonine, hunts alone.
When I emerged she was deep in conversation with someone who looked a little too fresh-eyed for our purposes. She was white and pale with brown hair so curly it extended almost comically in both directions from her ears. I’ve yet to mention my own unremarkable appearance but I share her complexion, along with just-above-average™ height, deepset eyes and a body lean and muscular but genetically antiadonic. The girl was laughing at a joke of Julie’s, looking up at her the way women sometimes do at someone they feel surpasses them. Julie already had a hand perched delicately on her slender shoulder. As I neared I got a better look at her face which was gorgeous in a sort of rounded, cherubic way. She was dewy, brimming with youth. There was no sadness in that face, no shame, no weakness. This woman was from money.
I approached with an almost practiced air of confidence and swept my arm around Julie possessively. You could tell from the little surprised look on the girl’s face that I hadn’t come up in conversation yet.
“Hi there, I’m James. I see you’ve met my paramour, Julie.”
I’ve found that college students don’t know what to do with the word paramour- it’s simultaneously undescriptive and evocative.
“Oh… yes… hi- I’m Marie. Nice to meet you.”
“Same. Sorry to interrupt you two, I’ll just grab a seat over here.”
With that, I placed myself on the other side of Marie at the bar, sandwiching her and listened intently as Julie spoke about her work investing in biotech companies. Marie paid me little mind until she mentioned idly that she was studying computer science and my own background investing in software companies became relevant. Julie and I tire easily of worktalk, so with the requisite signaling aside we bore into Marie. She was, indeed, from money, though not as much as I had presupposed- her parents were doctors in Connecticut, she was a Junior at the college studying computational biology, she was sipping a gin and tonic. A superpower of Julie’s is that questions that would seem invasive and leading from me seem almost motherly coming from her: in half an hour we had learned that Marie had lost her virginity just a few months ago, that it had been a classically uninspiring college experience, that, yes, she had some curiosities about women, her preferred vibrator (a magic bullet) and that she sometimes watched porn featuring hung black men but still felt a sort of innocent guilt about that. As the moments wore on and the locus of the conversation lingered on sex, I could feel Marie start to squirm, not uncomfortably, in her seat. She wasn’t drunk- we hadn’t so much as ordered another round, but her legs had spread subtly on her stool such that one was touching each of us. Julie knew it was time to go in for the kill.
“Say, Marie, it’s a little loud in here. What do you say we go back to our place? It’s just a block away and we have a rare Gin I think you’ll love. James makes the best gin and tonics.”
She hesitated, just a smidge, because of me and the open endedness of it all.
“Oh, and we have a hot tub.”
Sold.
Our place is, if I can be immodest, stunning. It’s set on the highest floors of a twelve story tower and comprises three levels- bedrooms on the bottom floor, a huge entertaining area / kitchen on the second and then a marble floating staircase up to our rooftop with downtown views, seating for 20 and a cabana area with an oversized hot tub. It isn’t necessarily ostentatious, certain not gold plated or Trumpian, but it certainly leaves little about our lifestyles to the imagination. Julie showed Marie up while I made drinks. I arrived with three gin ‘n tonics on a copper platter and set them down.
“What do you think, Marie, up for a dip?”
Julie had shrugged off her top and was already down to her bra.
“Umm, I don’t have a swimsuit with me.”
Julie’s bra dropped to the floor.
“It’s okay sweetie, it’s private up here and this is New York after all.”
Marie and I collectively lost focus on her words. Julie’s breasts are a sight to behold. So perky they seem the be pointed skyward in defiance of gravity, with a perfect apple-ish shape and nipples that protruded a full centimeter and a half from narrow, slightly puffy areolae that had never stopped reminding me of a particular mesa in Sedona. Marie, who had no doubt imagined what they might look like more than a few times already that evening, was entranced. She glanced over to me, then back at Julie who was shimmying out of her pants as if it were the most normal thing in world (it was, of course, for us), then back to me.
Sometimes people need permission, even from a biased source. I nodded to her and said “Go ahead” firmly. It was adorable how she shyly unbuttoned her top, then started to fumble with the rest. I made my way over to her in three short paces. “Here, let me help” and with one deft wave of my hand her bra joined Julie’s on the floor. Her breasts were stunning; I couldn’t help but gawk a little- huge for her frame, round, almost globular, with pink areolae the size of an English muffin taking up almost half of the visible area. You could almost miss her nipples amongst them- small little buttons the size of a penny that raised just barely from the plains around them. The three of us lounged mostly naked in the hot tub, sipping drinks for another tension laden 20 minutes. Marie had adorably opted to keep her panties on, perhaps unaware that they would almost necessarily have to come off after being so drenched. For awhile, the conversation lingered on breasts- their differences, sensitivities, textures. Marie’s eyes were fixed on Julie’s while, in a drink-grabbing reshuffle she ended up with her legs drawn over my lap and my hand on her stomach. We all knew the destination, it was just a matter of time.
“Would you like to feel them?” Julie asked sweetly, and Marie nodded, eyes glazed with lust and adventure (her drink sat full in the cupholder). As Marie kneaded them curiously, Julie gestured to return the favor and Marie assented. My partner’s small tan hands were soon grabbing fistfuls of milky flesh. In seconds they were kissing. Julie broke away and turned to me. “Honey, these are the most amazing breasts I’ve ever felt. Just perfect. Marie, you’re perfect. Is it okay if he feels?” She looked at me, bit her lip and nodded. Things broke down into the two of us working Marie up and down in every way we knew. I chewed her soft, springy lips while Julie left a trail of bruises down her neck and across her chest. Our hands roamed everywhere, lifting her off the hot tub seat. Along the way she felt, without a doubt, my arousal.
Soon, we migrated from water to our second bedroom, wrapped in fluffy oversized towels. Marie’s underwear came off, of course, her neatly trimmed bush just as curly as the hair on her head. She was flushed now, a red triangle tracing from neck to bosom. As she used the bathroom Julie and I did our usual check-in. “Same rules” she told me smiling- oh yes, Julie was quite in charge here, “let’s have fun.”
When Marie came out, her breasts were bouncing merrily. Julie strode up to her.
“Sweetie, we have simple rules here. Everything goes, but if anyone doesn’t like something they say ‘lime’ or tap three times and everything stops. Unless you say it, we’re going to assume you’re okay, okay?”
Marie looked puzzled- clearly she hadn’t used a safeword before. Julie went for clarification.
“Marie, if you want us to stop or you feel uncomfortable, what word do you say?”
“Lime.”
“Good girl. And what if there’s something in your mouth and you can’t say lime?”
Her eyes widened.
“Then I tap three times.”
“Good girl.”
Together we arranged her on her back on the bed and spread her legs. Julie threw a playlist onto our sound system. Fuck, Marie was gorgeous. Julie settled herself gently over her face and lowered herself onto it. Marie’s first taste of pussy. I set to work eating her out in a cautious, practiced way. She was soaked in no time, her hips writhing, the poor thing had no idea what to do with her hands and groped around for one of Julie’s breasts.
“That’s it, darling, suck me. Move your tongue back and forth, yes, faster, like that.”
Julie loved to be eaten out and wasn’t afraid to teach. She might even prefer it. I kept at my work, gently rimming her sweet little ass with a finger. Her arousal had leaked down, providing the lubrication I needed to slip a tip in. Her hand raised slightly off the bed, as if to tap, but a long slurping lick had it back to grabbing the bedsheet. Marie didn’t know it then, but she was well on the way to being ours. Julie came, then, after perhaps 10 minutes, moaning Marie’s name and soaking her face and hair. She pulled herself off and laid down and I abandoned Marie to snuggle her. We always snuggle post-orgasm. Marie seemed confused, unsure of herself, and was relegated to watching as I gave Julie the post-orgasm spoon and pound she often craved. She slammed her beautiful ass back onto me, moaning “James, James, fuck, yes, James, fill me, thank you, thank you.” As I stopped at a plateau, she remembered Marie for the first time since rolling off her face. “Play with yourself while you watch, precious.” And so Marie did, one hand at a breast and the other between her legs, flicking and rubbing as I turned Julie onto her stomach and lifted her ass up to take her from behind. Marie was transfixed, she seemed on the cusp of cumming, eyes closed and jaw slack, when I pulled out of Julie, still aroused, and the two of us turned to Marie.
“Marie, stop touching yourself.” I said, firmly. Her eyes opened but her hands didn’t stop.
“What a bad girl” Julie said knowingly. “James told you to stop.”
“Please… I’m so close.”
“We don’t know if you can have multiples, yet, darling” and with that Julie grabbed Marie’s hands by the wrists and held them above her head “so we need to keep you in check.”
The handcuffs clicked on before arousal-addled Marie even noticed they were there. The usual emotions crossed her eyes- a bit of fear, some confusion, but lust overcame all.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why don’t you call me Miss Julie.”
“Yes, Miss Julie.” She settled into obedience so well.
“Now, Mr. James is going to administer a punishment to you for you ignoring his order.”
She lifted Marie’s legs up such that her ass was exposed. Her pussy glistened. Julie brought her mouth to Julie’s ear. “Have you been spanked before, Marie?”
“Yes, Miss Julie.”
That surprised us. It’s not common for someone who has just lost her virginity, after all.
“By whom, sweetie?”
“My daddy, when I was eight.”
“Ahhh… James is your daddy, now.”
With that, I brought a hand down hard on her linen-white ass. She yelped, a perfect red handprint left behind, and I moved to the other cheek. As I said, I don’t consider myself particularly attractive, but I am fit, and the sight of a bulging forearm, veiny and glistening with sweat, imparting punishment on flesh so pure put me into a lather. Julie checked in with her eyes, looking for undue fear or pain. She wasn’t shocked to see that Marie was enjoying herself.
So the blows continued, ten in all, until Marie’s was spreading her own legs to their widest. Her labia were engorged now, clit poking out, sweat ran down her face. Her cheeks were bright red. She was ready to be fucked.
I maneuvered my body between her legs and looked down on her face, my tip nestled in the folds. I live for the begging. She looked up at me, wanting to be taken but doubtless she’d never begged in her life, she’d told us herself that the virginity loss was a result of unfortunate, sophomoric pressure rather than genuine desire. The body begs before the mind, I’ve found. Her hips swirled and she starting inching herself down the bed. I aped her movements, staying exactly where I wanted to be. Julie left her cuffed wrists above her head, now tied to the bedpost with a simple black rope and began licking her neck and nipples.
“Ummm”
“Yes, Marie?”
She closed her eyes, wincing a little. I suppose I’ve forgotten to mentioned that she was on the board of the NYU young feminists’ society. Not that anything we’d done was in violation of feminism but there’s a certain reticence about begging in those circles.
“Please…”
“Please what?”
“Please, Mr. James, please.”
“Please what? And call me what I am?”
Her mind spun into overdrive, seeking the right combination of words that would give her the only thing she cared about, the only thing she could even think about wanting in the whole world.
“Please, fuck me daddy.”
Those were the right words, but I wasn’t ready yet.
“I’m not sure I want to.”
“You have to- please daddy.”
“I don’t have to do anything, men get to consent too, Marie.”
Her eyes widened- consent, as carefully considered has it had been in this scenario, seemed a foreign topic to her mind. Especially male consent. Who considers male consent?
“Please, please, I’ll do anything, anything at all, anything you want, please, what can I do.”
“Let’s see” Julie said. She moved down to Marie’s exposed ass and thrust a finger in. Marie convulsed. She traced her way up, leaving the tip of her finger at Marie’s mouth. Julie nodded and Marie, after a brief moment, sucked.
“Good girl, Marie. Here’s something you can do” Julie was in rapture. “You can live with us for awhile, sweetie. We know you’re sharing a double with a woman who does smell the best. There’s a spare bedroom here, you can use, as long as we can use you.”
The zaniest concepts can seem so straightforward in the state Marie was in. Of course, we’d never hold her to a commitment made in such straights, but it’s a great time to incept an idea for future consideration.
“Ummm… what?”
“You’re be our little live in Marie- so long as you’re a good girl and do what we say, you can stay with us, play with us and stay out of the nasty dorm.”
“Umm, okay, yes, sure Miss. Whatever you want.”
“Doesn’t it sound nice, Marie?”
I gave her a sudden half inch and she gasped, audibly.
“Oh yes, thank you, I, I, I’ll do what you say and oooo”
“Tell Mr. James.”
“Yes, Mr. James, daddy, I promise I’ll live her and do whatever you want and let you two use me and I’ll be your… be your slut…”
I like to reward initiative so at her introduction of the word slut I fucked her silly. I usually prefer to start slow and work my way up, judging the optimal stroke rate but once I could tell she was deep enough to take my full length I pinned her legs above my shoulders and demolished her.
She came after about 30 seconds, a devastating, body-wracking orgasm that seemed to last for a full minute. I kept going and after five minutes she came again, an aftershock but, she would later tell us, still the second most intense she’d had to date.
Then, I pulled out. Julie has her rules. Marie catatonic beside me, I rolled onto my back, Julie rode me and milked me to the sort of elongated orgasm that comes when a women is exercising the utmost control and keeping just the correct level of friction.
The three of us cuddled then, whispering sweet nothings into Marie’s ear and bringing her up gently from whatever first tier down of subspace she had visited for the first time. I looked at the clock- 11:30pm and Julie and I had taken the day off tomorrow. Marie, we knew, was out of classes as well. Julie, draped in a sheet in a hilarious display of modesty, bounced to the bathroom and came back with three pills in hand.
“Have you ever had molly before, sweetie?”
To be continued…