Controlled Couple

Controlled Couple

 

 

By Shame12

 

I first met Tom and Jihn-Jee at a Fetish Ball sponsored by a large sex shop in Fort Lauderdale. It was supposed to be a costumed event, but I have an aversion to costumes and wore a vintage double-breasted tuxedo I had fitted in Palm Beach where I live. I was sitting in the VIP section observing the costumed dancers. Some were tightly wrapped in shining latex; some were dressed as dogs or cats; some as aliens; some were completely naked.

I was nursing cheap champagne in a plastic flute, something I hate. There was a lot of tempting young flesh on display. A wide variety of sexual practices and fetishes were played out in the darkened corners of the large night club and on the second floor and balcony above. I liked watching.

Most of the patrons were quite young and nubile, but my attention was caught by a well-dressed, darkly Latin couple in their forties leaning against the bar. He had lifted her short yellow flowered dress and was spanking her well-formed ass for all to see. Her black silk panties cupped hr vulva and rode above the contours of her generous cheeks He was nonchalant as he stuck each blow and those sumptuous cheeks quivered in pleasure. I wondered what their home life was like.

I would have liked to be part of that.

I had returned to Florida after a month in Berlin where I was a regular visitor of the notorious Kit Cat Club, so well-known for its sexual abandon. The club was in an old warehouse near the River Spree and was a successor to the cabaret of the same name during the debauchery of the early 1930’s. It had been portrayed in Christopher Isherwood’s stories and the art of George Grosz and the Lustmord painters and also in the sanitized modern film starring Liza Minelli. It was a wild time in those old Weimar days filled with perversion, prostitutes, naked dancers, artists, morphine shooters, artists… an appealing decadence.

After an hour or so of voyeurism, I went upstairs to see if there was anything further to whet my appetite. That’s when I first met them. I was standing at the bar when I was approached by a well-groomed man of about fifty with graying hair. He looked reasonable, dressed simply in black silk shirt and black trousers. He introduced himself to me and gestured to the svelte Asian woman with long shiny black hair twirled in a long braid, almond eyes and amber skin tone reflecting her mixed Vietnamese and African-American heritage.

I deduced she was an Amerasian or con lai, exotic and erotic. The spoils of our long miserable war there, con lai were outcasts in their own country.

She wore a tuxedo with a bolero jacket, a ruffled white shirt unbuttoned to her waist which barely shielded her small breasts and a long skirt, slit thigh-high in the back similar to the outfit worn by Chinese waitresses in fine Hong Kong restaurants. It was tight enough to show a charming little belly and an excellently shaped legs encased in black stockings. She looked a bit like AhnLai Hong in the classic film, “Five Lives of the Moon.”

Very tasty, I thought.

“This is my wife, Jihn-Jee.”

We nodded a greeting. They made an attractive couple. The back-slit dress was enticing. It begged for the insinuation of a slyly sliding, exploring hand. The dress was form-fitting, and I didn’t detect any panty lines.

“Jihn-Jee, like the song?”

“But spelled differently,” she spoke in my ear. Then she raised her voice which had a sandpaper on silk quality to be heard above the thumping dance music.

“My mother loved the song it because she said it reminded her of my father, a G.I who could, she said, play it on his harmonica. Sadly, he was killed in Khe San during the American War.”

“Jihn-Jee thought you looked terrifically chic in your tux and wanted to meet you. She wondered if we shared similar interests,” said Tom.

“Quite possibly,” I replied.

Neither of us were ready to divulge any further information just yet. We exchanged pleasantries. Turned out they lived in Boca Raton, several notches below Palm Beach in status, and were friendly with Glen and Joanne, a pair of pharmacists who also owned the sponsoring sex shop. I knew them too. They were an odd couple. Glen fancied himself a vampire and Joanne a virginal victim.

Tom and Jihn-Jee were not new to the scene. I told them about the Kit Kat Club. “Marvelous…a lot of public sex with very attractive people and I enjoyed myself.”

“You must tell us more,” said Jihn-Jee. There was a leer in her husky voice. Our eyes met suggestively. She reached out and patted my arm possessively. She moved her leg against mine seductively. Instinctively, I pegged Tom as the cuckold to a wanton Jihn-Jee. Depravity slurred the air.

The music was too loud for intimate conversation, so I suggested we meet for dinner in Boca at my favorite boutique hotel there on the coming Tuesday. “Say, seven?”

I looked forward to the adventure.

On Tuesday. I checked into the hotel with my bag of goodies and showered, slicked back my clubby long brown hair and dressed casually for dinner. I wore a blue and white striped shirt, blue blazer, khaki chino pants and brown Tod’s driving shoes without socks. Going sockless had become a Palm Beach trademark. I recall once telling my shrink about that and he had mused: “Does that mean they are so rich they can wear their shoes once and then throw them away like an old sock?” Though he was terrifically smart about me, he was very naïve about fashion, an old sweater type.

I went down to the lobby in the elevator and got an extra key card from the desk according to my plans, then entered the small restaurant.

The dining room was near empty since it was a Tuesday, so I chose a table in the back facing a red leather banquette. The table was dressed in white linen which covered its front to just above the terrazzo floor and was laid with heavy silver and a small bud vase sprouting a sprig of pussy willow. I ordered a champagne cocktail for myself and bottle of Perrier Jouet which the server brought in a bucket of ice. I would wait until Tom and Jihn-Jee arrived before I asked to have the cock, er, cork popped. Of course, I had a bit of anxiety. Would they show up? How would this play out? I ran over my lines from my fantasy, but I didn’t know theirs.

The hostess swept them to the table. Jihn-Jee wore a long, loose fitting sea-green gown with a black Mandarin collar that framed her fine features. I guessed it was custom made for her. It flowed down to a pair of black patent leather Roger Vivier mules. I always thought mules were the sexiest of women’s shoes: there and not there, exposing the slim, back bone of the vulnerable ankle and the hollows beside it. Her nipples pointed the thin fabric. Again, the gown was split thigh-high in back, Asian style. I saw the shadow of her panties. She had donned a pair of black near-shear Falke nylon stockings, hold-ups I expected, just a tantalizing whisper to frame her pussy. Tom was dressed like a Boca Raton realtor, complete with sockless white Gucci’s, a patterned blue and white paisley shirt with turn back cuffs of a contrasting solid blue and no jacket. No self-respecting Palm Beacher would be caught dead in such an outfit.

“I ordered champagne,” I said, “in real glasses.”

Jihn-Jee kissed my cheek and the effeminate server arrived to uncork the bottle and pour with a flourish. As the bubbles settled, I lifted my glass and toasted.

“To our first adventure,” I said.

‘I hope it is only the beginning,” Tom replied.

The server brought the menu, but I waved it. away: “No need, I’ll order for us.” I was establishing my power. “I know the restaurant. Let’s eat lightly. Jihn-Jee will have the Dover sole and Caesar’s salad: tuna tartare and toast points for Tom. I’ll have watermelon gazpacho and the tuna carpaccio. ”

Jihn-Jee wanted to know more about the Kit Kat Club, and so I described a few exciting scenes of public sex, spankings, whipping and bisexuality to set the mood and raise expectations.

“I particularly liked the girl who squealed like a puppy when her tummy was stroked, Jihn-Jee.”

She reacted by licking her lips, seductively. Tom said nothing.

It was clear to me that Jihn-Jee had the power in the relationship, but I asked the question anyway.

“Who has the power in your relationship?”

“Isn’t it obvious,” she responded. “Tom is very happy to be ordered about. He does anything he’s told to do like the good little boy he is. Don’t you, darling?”

Tom was silent but nodded his head.

It was going the way I imagined, and I felt my cock beginning to stiffen. I briefly entertained the thought lovely Jihn-Jee — a dragon lady in disguise — was out to take her racial revenge on American men, one happy cuckold at a time,

The linen table cloth was draped so no one might see what was happening below.

“Take out his cock,.’

Languidly, Jihn-Jee leaned over, unzipped his fly, and pulled out his cock. The server brought our dinner, poured more champagne and we dined appreciatively, all the while Tom’s cock was secretly exposed. I purposely lifted the table cloth a bit from time to time as a tease and he reacted nervously. I saw his fear.

Jihn-Jee laid one hand on my crotch and felt my own hardening cock, then lifted the table linen to look at Tom’s. “Your cock is so tiny, Tommy, compared to his. I can hardly see it. I need a spotlight. ” She took her iPhone from her black silk Judith Lieber clutch and turned on its light, pointing it at his cock. “Oh, there it is. How cute.”

She turned back to me, squeezed my cock and kissed me on the lips. slipping her tongue into my mouth and dropped the cloth back into place.

I said, “You’re on my turf now, so we play by my rules,”

Jihn-Jee sighed: I thought she was glad to be relieved of responsibility for a change. Tom remained silently obedient.

“We’re game, she said with a wicked smile, and little Tommy will do what he’s told,” She reached over and patted his head. “He’s an obedient little boy with a tiny cock and knows his place.” She spread her legs wantonly so I could relish the sight of her shapely, gracefully muscled leg connecting with mine.

“Very good. So now reach under the table and fondle his cock until it gets hard.”

She did and his face displayed his pleasure and embarrassment. Or rather the pleasure of his embarrassment. This was refined humiliation.

“His little cock is growing. It’s almost big boy’s size, isn’t it Tommy?” she laughed.

He groaned and she put her index finger to her lips, shushing him. “Be good now.”

The server flounced back. “Dessert?…we have a lovely creme brute.”

“Cappuccino for Jihn-Jee and myself….and the rest of the champagne. Nothing for our boy; he’s been a bit naughty. ”

The server left after refilling our glasses. We had put paid to the whole bottle of champagne.

“Now, what color panties are you wearing?” I asked Jihn-Jee

“White lace.”

“So I want you to go to the Ladies, into a stall, pull up your lovely green dress, sit on the toilet and piss into your white lace panties. Then take them off, scrunch them up and bring them to me as an offering of your sincerity.”

I slid out of the banquette to let her pass, and she went to the Ladies. She was excited and I was sure I could smell her pussy. I imagined her doing exactly as I said as Tom waited silently. I savored the unfolding scene.

“Is your cock nice and hard, Tom?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good boy….think of her pissing into her lace pantries for me. Visualize it. Wouldn’t you like to watch that on your knees? You could smell her juice, wet your fingers in her stream. Be a good boy and maybe you’ll get your chance,” I said, smiling lewdly. “Tell me Tommy, what did you hope to happen here while you were getting ready to meet me?”

Tom was self-conscious and uncertain. “I was hoping you would fuck Jihn-Jee, and I could watch…maybe help.”

“Does she want that, too?”

“Yes.”

“Good. But there will be more.”

Tom shivered.

“Do not cum without my permission. Just think about it. Jerk your little cock a little. Just around the head of it.” He was leaning back against the red leather banquette and the bud vase was trembling.

Jihn-Jee returned, her wet panties crushed into a silk puddle, and I got up to let her slide past me to the table, I could smell the sweetness of her piss. I liked it.

The server returned with our cappuccino.

“Isn’t this a lovely picture, ” I said. “You with your pissed white panties in your hand and little Tommy with his baby boy cock in his hand….a family portrait?”

Just as the server turned to leave, I extended my hand to Jihn-Jee and said, “Give them to me. darling.”

She gave me her wet white lace panties and I unfurled them and placed them under the bud vase. The enticing aroma of her urine wafted across our table. Pussy juice and pussy willow perfume.

“Very nice.”

I don’t know if the server saw them, but he said nothing.

“Poor Tommy, he has no dessert. Let’s fix that.” Jihn-Jee and I sipped our cappuccinos. “Pick up the panties. Tommy, roll them into a ball and put them in your mouth. Chew slowly. Keep jerking your cock near its head.” He did as he was told.

“Do you approve so far, my dear?” I reached under the table, parted her gown and stroked her wet pussy. She gasped, “Oh yes.”

“Good. Now Tommy, keep them in your mouth. Take this key card, go up to my room 412, take off all your clothes, Get on all fours with your head to the door. Keep the panties in your mouth like a dog. Drool. Wait for us. We’ll be along after a nightcap in the bar.”

The bar was quiet. There was a table of five men in gray suits who looked like business executives and a few single men.

I ordered two snifters of Calvados. “Put your foot on the rail, Jihn-Jee.” A brass rail ran along the bottom of the bar and, as she lifted her delicate foot to it, the back of her dress opened. I slipped my hand inside to caress her bared ass, exposing a bit of amber flesh atop her black stockings. That part of her body combined the best features of her mixed race. I could sense all the men the table turning to watch.

“Does it excite you, knowing you are being exhibited, so exposed to those glances?”

Her response was a deep appreciative sigh.

“I thought it would.”

The ornately mirrored elevator was empty, so I immediately turned her around for a passionate embrace. I felt her nipples through the loose silk, pinching them sternly.

“Harder,” she begged, thrusting herself at me. On the one hand, she seemed so fine-boned, so delicate; on the other, as fierce as any wild animal. A cobra of a woman.

At my room, I turned her to face the door. I expected Tommy to be there listening as I had commanded. I parted her gown and invaded her ass with my middle finger, twirling it around her asshole, and pushing up inside the canal, feeling the inside of her body, claiming it.

“Tommy is listening; tell him what’s happening and how you feel.”

She opened the door a crack to show Tom on hands and knees, his head pressed to the space there, her pissed panties filling his mouth, drooling.

“Tell him..”

“Oh, that’s wonderfully depraved. I love it. Listen Tommy, his finger is inside my ass, he is fucking me with his finger… Oh Tommy, it feels good, but I want a cock in there, please. He is taking me from behind. I am so wet I am dripping pussy juice down my legs. I want your mouth to suck it all up. My clit is as hard and red as a cock. I want your mouth on it. It’s bigger than yours Swallow me. Suck my girl cock. ”

Tom grunted through her wet lace. My own cock was hard now, and I unzipped my fly and pushed against the entrance to her insides. She reached back and took me in hand.

Tommy could hear us, as could two men from the bar who walked by, astonished.

“Crawl back away from the door on your hands and knees,” I said. “I want your wife to see your humiliation and I want you to see her see it.”

I steered Jihn-Jee back into the room, my finger still inside her. “You see, Tommy, I am driving her with one finger.”

We walked around him. “Don’t move; just listen.”

He seemed perk up his ears like a dog as I unzipped Jihn-Jee’s silk dress which rustled down her slim body to the floor. She was not wearing a bra, nor did she need one. Like most Asian women, her breasts were small with sharpish nipples. Her panties were still bulging Tom’s cheeks. A little belly and lovely black stocking-framed ass.

I admired her naked body, running my hands up her flanks. Her cunt was clean shaven, and her pink lips were tight for a woman of her age. I opened them. She stood in her mules like a proud mare, glowing in the soft pinkish light of the room which faced the Intercoastal waters. She was sweating and stamped her feet and shook her head like a thoroughbred. I had once seen an angelic blonde with an afro, wearing a Supergirl onesie do that in ecstasy while her boyfriend was snaping a bullwhip against her ass.

If I didn’t know better, I might have taken Jihn-Jee for a seventeen year old boy, a lanky lean crossdresser, but pedophilia’s not my thing.

I sat down in a wing chair upholstered in a green and white striped silken fabric and drew her back to sit on my lap with her stockinged legs between mine and steadied her with my arm at her back and one hand on her thigh.. “Make yourself cum. I want Tommy to hear you.”

She leaned back against me and began to caress her clit, increasing the tempo to reach a climax. She pushed and pulled one finger from her cunt. Her body quivered as she neared her tipping point, her breath increasingly shallow.

“Cum for us you bad girl,” I commanded. Her pussy made squishing sounds and her breath quickened. Finally, a long and wavering moan extended up from her throat and escaped her lips, signaling her orgasm.

As she nestled against me, I took out my cock and she wrapped her hand around its girth. She brushed her palm across the soft skin of its sensitive helmet: “Make it hard. Make it suckable for your baby boy. You can turn around Tommy. Crawl to us. Spit out the panties before us…your offering and say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

His cock was growing, Jihn-Jee curled her lips into something resembling a smile of great superiority and gently patted him on the head. She was definitely wicked. “Open your mouth for his cock, like a good little Tommy.”

She slipped my cock between his lips.

It was not the first time I had gotten a blow job from a man. Just this past summer I had been with an alluring transsexual in Berlin who looked very much like Marlene Dietrich, waves of blonde hair falling over one eye, a haughty Aryan nose. She was beautiful until she answered the phone in a deep male voice and destroyed the illusion. She told me it was another two-hundred Euro to fuck her, but I demurred, settling for a sweet suck and I reciprocated, sucking her little cock into my mouth. “I can’t come,” she said, “because of the hormones.”

I had fucked a girl in the ass in Thailand once, but I wasn’t sure she was a girl because I had a bit too much to drink that night. I kept trying to see if she had an Adam’s apple and she only wanted me to fuck her in the ass.

After the Marlene lookalike experience, I remember walking down the street from Savigny Park where fresh strawberry wine was sold in a kiosk and then around the corner by the front of the Gainsbourg, the neighborhood bistro I frequented, wondering if anybody on the café patio cold tell I had just sucked a cock. Gunther, a photographer of erotica, invited me in for a glass of beer.

Had I changed in any way that was obvious? No one looked at me differently. Did that make me a homosexual? No, I was still the same man. Maybe something in my psyche had changed, but I wasn’t aware of it, though I knew it would remain in my memory.