The two guys are laying on their bellies across the bed watching TV, faces propped in their hands, elbows sticking out. There’s something incredibly cute about the contrast of their bare butts. There’s also something endearing about how Dance rests his thigh against Drin’s, and rubs his bare foot along Drin’s calf, and there’s still a good length of Drin’s leg left sticking out way beyond Dance’s reach. It makes Drin’s ankle look kind of bony and naked and forlorn, not having any of Dance long enough to touch it. She just can’t resist resting her hand on it as she sits on the end of the bed nearby in her robe. He looks round and smiles, and rests both of his long feet across her lap, and flings his head down into his arms with a happy sigh when she starts rubbing the soles of his feet gently. He has little tiny freckles across the joints of his toes and on the top of his feet, all over, not just where the skin got tanned wearing sandals during the summer. His ankles are pretty pale, but the freckles resume marching across his shins, marking contours when the muscles tense and shift.

She reaches for the massage cream on the shelf nearby, and begins smoothing it on.

“Ahhhhhh,” Drin says.

Dance smiles, lifts the remote and turns the sound down, and rolls onto his side, stretching out his arm. Emma puts some of the cream in his palm, and he starts massaging the back of Drin’s neck, down onto his shoulders. Sometimes he leans down and licks Drin’s skin, or spreads his fingers across some of the more interesting freckles, as if he delights in the look of them. Emma thinks he’d rub his face on Drin like a cat if she wasn’t watching him. She’s known him to do that with her when he’s breathing on her skin and kissing her like this. Dance rises up onto his knees to one side of Drin and starts working his way down to meet Emma’s rising hands, smiling at the way Drin groans again. Dance has strong enough hands to persuade or force any knot he encounters, but he’s always careful.

Emma isn’t surprised to see his cock is stiffening rapidly, either. He’s easily aroused by touching or smelling them. Dance glances up at Emma, and chuckles, making a wry face as his prick swings upward.

“Hey, Freckles,” Emma says, “take a look,” and she leans into Dance’s shoulder, and starts kissing Dance on the mouth. Dance is still gently stroking Drin’s shoulders as the taller man rolls onto one side, looking at them.

“God,” Drin says, and he puts up his hand and lifts aside the shoulder of Emma’s robe. A striping of dark brown leather straps wraps in broad bands down Emma’s arms and legs and torso. It makes her skin look even paler, more translucent, as she’s kissing Dance, leaning into him.

Drin’s big hands slide around on the leather, across her skin, making her feel the difference. His hand slides down Emma’s shoulder, cups a nipple, thumbs it reverently, and then he sits up and starts kissing it, suckling it. When she gasps, he draws back, and looks at Dance, and kisses Dance in the same way. Dance lifts his face away from Emma’s mouth, arches his back, pushing his chest upward into Drin’s mouth and spreading his knees apart.

Emma slides her hands along their thighs, marveling at the differences, and then she grasps their penises, cups their testicles, strokes their hips, around onto their butts. If Dance is smooth as caramel melted in the heat, then Drin is a red-headed leopard, dashed and spotted with speckles and dashes and dots in all sizes and a variety of coppery tones, every inch of it unique as a fingerprint. The band of fine freckles across his nose is darker than Dance is, actually, when he lowers his face against Dance’s skin and begins kissing his way down Dance’s belly, eyes closed, concentrating on what he’s doing. He rubs his face against Dance’s crotch, bumps gently into the foreskin drooping over the head of Dance’s solidly erect prick, and then he actually grips it carefully in his teeth and pulls at it. Dance shudders in place, mouth falling open. Then Drin lifts his big rawboned hands and strokes that flushed skin back along the shaft, pressing it back into Dance’s crotch. Dance groans, thrusting. “He’s not going to last long, and neither am I,” Drin murmurs. “You turn us on something fierce, little lady.” And he smiles at her.

Emma puts the condom onto Dance’s cock, while Drin rubs lube and fingers into Dance’s ass, and then she puts another condom onto Drin’s cock, and then Drin comes up on his knees behind Dance and pulls Dance back into him, and penetrates him in one long driving push. Dance groans, eyes shut. Then he gasps, breathing hard, and opens his eyes, and looks at Emma. His pupils are enormous.

He rolls his head, looks back at Drin, and then he stretches out forward between Emma’s knees, and slides his hips home into her cunt in the same sort of long, driving, simple push as Drin used on him. She’s so wet and excited that he slides easily into her, her muscles are open and receptive as he penetrates her. It feels… amazing.

Then she tenses, gripping him as he draws back, gripping hard enough to wring another groan out of him.

“Give yourself to me,” she says, huskily, and Dance cries out, flings his mouth onto hers, and loses himself in a series of wild acrobatic rolls and thrusts, pushing back into Drin and then pushing forward into Emma.

He’s sobbing down into her lungs when Drin grips his hips and enforces a heavy, steady thrust that bangs into both their bones. It might as well be Drin who’s fucking that prick into Emma’s happy place, she can feel so clearly how Dance shudders under the impact on his prostate. Five bashes into that, and Dance is climaxing, and there’s no mistaking how he loves it.

“Ohhh,” he groans. Then he’s rolling limp onto her shoulder, breathing hard onto the pillow, and she can feel Drin pull out of him in another simple, smooth motion, hanging onto the condom.

“Stay,” Emma says, kissing Dance’s forehead. “It feels so good.”

“I should…” he blinks, muscles easing. “I should kiss you down there–”

Drin has already got himself cleaned up, rolled an a new condom onto his prick. “My privilege, madam, I’m in the mood for cunt-kissing tonight. But first some other fun things, just to make it last better for everybody.”

And he tugs on Emma. Dance rolls onto his side, withdrawing his organ from her body with a slurpy silly noise of fluids, and he smiles at Emma.

Emma is half-expecting Drin will not be able to resist the invitation of her open thighs, and roll right into her, pushing himself into her where Dance’s prick was moments ago; some nights that makes him come in moments.

But tonight, he tugs her to roll over onto her belly, sprawled across his thighs. His prick is up hard, the condom on it wet, sliding against her belly. The leather outfit leaves broad swathes of her back and buttocks bare. She pushes her ass up, and says, “You want to spank it, don’t you?”

Drin smiles. “It’s very tempting, yes. Do you want it spanked?” His big fingers spread out over her glutes and squeeze them, gripping the muscles, appreciating the size of her ass, making her know how it’s going to feel to have that much hand whacking her skin. She makes a tight little noise, pleading for it. Then he spreads a little lube on his hands, with sticky, silly noises from the bottle, and she draws in a tight breath as he rubs it over her ass. “You ready for your spanking?”

“Oh yes,” she says, huskily, and who needs to say anything about games or role-playing when she uses that voice to make demands like that?

When she strains her neck far enough to look up, she sees Dance has rolled onto his side, very close to her, and Dance smiles a long, slow, wicked smile. She’s in for servicing by both of them, thoroughly, if he’s smiling at her like that so soon after he just orgasmed.

There’s times when Dance will come several times in a row, hungry for skin and kisses and lots of licking her cunt, when he’s reacting like that. When he’s reduced her to a heap of limp, then he’ll turn back to Drin and fuck the bigger man down to total satiation. His pupils are dilating big again, so soon?– they’re both in for a ride tonight.

Dance’s hand comes out and strokes across her side, along her back, over the leather, making her more aware of the straps pulling close on her skin.

That touch distracts her enough that the first noisy smack of Drin’s hand on her damp ass is a complete shock. She jumps, surprised, crying out, “Oh!” and then the next loud moist smack, and the next, those big hands bringing up the heat and then the sting. “Ouch!”

He smacks her in quick regular noisy open-palmed whacks that are hard enough that the heat comes up first in her skin, and then it starts tingling.

“Give it to me,” Drin says, “talk to me here,” and he’s watching her wiggle, each blow of his right hand as even and regular and controlled as the next, striking just so.

“Ah! It tingles, ah! It stings! Ah!” Emma exclaims, shocked, because it does sting, quite a lot.

He stops, and rubs both hands roughly over her butt, and then he switches to the left hand, which hits more strongly, thumping into her more. “Don’t wiggle so far, or I’ll stop,” he says.

“Please… don’t stop,” Emma gasps, feeling her body rocked forward across his thighs with each thump.

Then she feels another hand touch her, slide up her side. Dance shifts around in front of her, standing in front of her head. Dance’s hands slide along her body, and then he’s stroking her breasts, gripping her nipples, and his bare prick is half-hard again, right in front of her face. She strains up, puts her mouth on the bare prick, hears him sigh. She kisses it, suckles it, groans around it. Not truly safe sex, that, and knowing it intrudes on her enjoyment. The back of her mind does like to comment she might not love sucking cock so much if it gives her herpes. She tells it to shut up. She’s not that worried. Drin’s got tested several times, since they talked about whether Drin might be a carrier even if he’s got no symptoms of it.

“Nice pink skin,” Drin says then, and he stops walloping on her, and again rubs his hands roughly over the throbbing heartbeat in her ass, making her cry out around Dance’s prick. Dance’s balls and hair tickle against her chin and her face, and he’s sliding in and out of her mouth, still bent far over her, gripping her breasts.

Then she feels a gloved hand smack her ass, and cold lube drools down her crack, and a latexed finger is sliding into her ass. “You want to get fucked up your ass tonight, like I just fucked Dance?”

Emma groans her answer, lifting her ass as high as she can. The finger probes, pushes around. Another finger slides into her ass, pushing in, widening her. Then his other gloved hand is sliding around her belly, sliding down onto her vagina, slipping into the open moisture of her cunt, and she groans even louder as the fingers touch her clitoris and keep going. The the fingers in her cunt slide along her, exploring her, dragging at her clitoris sometimes. He’s fucking her with both hands. She groans. Oh, he knows her fantasies, and he’s been busy trying to fulfill them.

“Spread her for me,” Drin says, and Dance’s hands come up off her breasts and grip her buttocks, spreading her glutes. Drin pulls his fingers out of her ass and her cunt. Then Drin is lifting her whole body up, shifting her across the corner of the bed, with her thighs spread wide around his hips. Then he’s pushing something larger into her ass, while his cunt-hand is also diving inside her.

She groans and tries to relax to let him penetrate her ass, and then he slides in suddenly, and he’s huge. Drin pushes his prick into her ass, and then his thumb is pushing onto her clitoris, and she’s pushing herself upward into him, groaning, with Dance’s cock come up hard in her mouth, making it hard to breath. Dance strokes her breasts, squeezing her nipples, while he thrusts his prick into her throat in little short jerky motions.

Everything is full of man, she’s squirming around prick she can’t escape, and then Drin smacks her butt again, and his hand in her cunt pushes up firmly against her clitoris, and a wave of such need rolls out of her pelvis that her whole body roars with it. She gulps and drools and rocks up her ass to meet Drin’s thrusts.

Drin and Dance have some agreement going, because they’re thrusting into her on the same beat, together, and pulling out together, in long, slow dragging motions that make her yell all the more. They start increasing their speed. Drin rocks his hand into her cunt more forcefully, pushing against her clitoris, and his prick is sliding easily in and out of her ass, she’s wide open for him, and then his free hand comes down in more open blows on her glutes, setting the whole thing alight all over again. She groans.

She’s grunting around Dance’s prick helplessly when Drin says, “Okay, stop,” and everything does stop, Dance pulls his cock out of her mouth, Drin pulls out of her rudely front and back and drops her on the bed, and she’s abandoned on the bed, buttocks and cunt aching with each heartbeat, about five strokes from coming.

“Bloody hell!” Emma gasps, rolling over. Her butt throbs as she touches the sheets, and she hisses, pushing herself over. Then Dance is right there between her thighs, licking his way up her legs, and she groans, arching up into the maddening soft touch. Dance knows exactly how to bring her with his mouth, but he’s not doing it. Dance keeps it soft, knowing his tongue is too wet and easy and undemanding to bring her over into such a hard climax. He’s not pressing or biting, all he’s doing is maintaining her level of frustration.

“Good,” Drin says, grinning at her and rolling a fresh condom onto himself. “You want something?”

“Fuck me!” Emma demands, pelvis straining up in need, and she feels Dance shudder, licking harder at her.

Drin just keeps grinning. “All right, now for the triple crown,” and he hands Dance a condom. “I lubed up for you, so whenever you want to climb on top and fuck me, I’m ready.”

Dance nods, and shifts away from Emma’s thighs, with a smack on Emma’s leg that makes her howl all over again.

“You ready for this?” Drin says to her, fingering her nipples, cupping her breasts, and she gasps, nodding. Then he’s kissing her, hard, climbing on top of her and sinking into her cunt with his cock, bringing more of his weight down onto her, and then he grunts as Dance pushes into him in one long absurd shove that drives Drin’s hips into Emma. Her thighs are long enough to feel both their bodies moving against each other, and her shins are rubbing against Dance’s hips, feeling his muscles work as he’s driving his prick into Drin’s ass.

Emma feels Dance fucking Drin, shoving him so powerfully into her that he’s fucking both of them. Drin only rocks his hips slightly, raising himself toward Dance sometimes. Most of the force is coming from Dance himself, just as they did in reverse some moments before.

Drin starts kissing Emma’s nipples, halfway nipping at them, and he’s groaning down into her, and her butt rocking on the bed is burning hot. Her hips slam up into Drin’s, meeting the shock of their push, and she hears Dance groaning above them both. Drin comes first, making that hollow cry, and that brings Emma in a fierce yell of triumph, and then Dance gives them both another hard push, and he is shuddering into them.

“Oh,” Dance cries out loudly.

Then they’re all three panting hard, their arms braced up around Emma’s body.

“God,” Drin says, and he kisses Emma’s breasts, each in turn. “Whatever I did to deserve this, I am… incredibly… pathetically… grateful.”

Dance chuckles, and kisses Drin’s shoulder, lifts one hand from the bed and strokes Emma’s hair back from her sweaty face. “Yes,” he says, smiling down at her.

As the bottom of the stack of bodies, she’d normally feel short of air, quite crushed, with her lower back shrieking in pain, but Drin has kept most of his weight lifted off her chest, and the spanking did something that cuts the pain from her back, or the loosening of sex did it, and she feels waves and waves of pleasure still echoing the roar of ecstasy through her pelvis. She feels damn good. She lifts her hands, from where she’s been clenching her paws on Drin’s shoulders–she’s left red marks on his skin–and strokes back his hair out of his eyes too, she strains up to lift her head, and she kisses him on the lips. Then his breath pants onto her cheek, and he kisses her back, gently.

She says, huskily, “I feel so goddamn much better, guys, yeah, grateful is a good word for it.”

“And now get the hell offa you?” Drin says to her, chuckling.

“Yeah, but you can hug my stuffings out, I’d like that,” she says.

“Just not on the butt,” Drin says, and makes her chuckle.

Dance moves, and then Drin is sliding down on the other side of her. There’s something quite amusing about handing wipes all around, and watching both men take off those condoms and clean themselves up. Something proud, or possessive, or something. My guys, she thinks, with a smile. Both of ’em fucked right down to a standstill, ready to fall over. She flings one leg over Dance’s knee.

“Ahhhh,” Dance says, flopping onto his side next to her, and kissing her on the cheek, and ruffling her hair back from her face. “You are looking very smug and satisfied.”

“She does,” Drin says, from the other side, rolling up against her back. He rests a hot arm along the hollow at her waist, between her ribs and her hip. “I love this crazy curve here,” he says, fingers spread flat on her skin, so it isn’t ticklish. Oh, he knows exactly how to tickle her to helpless snorts too. “And the belly. God, I love that soft little belly line in the dresses? Oh man.” And he kisses her trapezius muscle, just below the neck, and breaths happily into her.

“Or your legs,” Dance says, with his hot hand resting on her calf. “I love the way you legs look when you’re mad and you’re walking very fast in heels.”

Well, there are other days when she’s feeling totally mauled and manhandled and tired of toilet seats left up and way fed up with all the testosterone, too. Drin, at her back, must be mind-reading again, because he chuckles. He kisses her, and murmurs, “Hey, you’re so much of a dame that it takes two of us just to keep up our end, right?” He slides his hand down onto her butt, and makes it throb especially hard, enough to echo with a thump in her cunt, all over her pelvis, and she draws in a sharp breath.

“You guys did a good job on me tonight,” she agrees, kissing Dance on the lips.

Dance murmurs, “Your mouth tastes of semen,” and sighs.

“You keep it up, you’re gonna get yourself fucked with toys,” Emma says, “because my little loaf is just all done.”

Dance licks her neck, down onto her breasts. He’s gentle about it, and she relaxes into it, trusting him, know it’ll stay within her wincing tolerance, and it will make him incredibly happy.

“Dance? Wow. You’re kidding me. You are fucking amazing,” Drin says.

“Dance is quite a girl, in all the ways that count,” Emma says, “and I love him all to bits. I just don’t have his stamina!”

She reaches out, rubs her hands along Dance’s body, and he groans and flops onto his back, legs spread wide. “Oh God,” he says, arching up.

“Okay, we got you, just enjoy it,” Drin says then, and snaps on more gloves. “Straddle his face, let him get a good smell of your cunt, and he’ll be halfway there.”

Emma grimaces, hoists herself tiredly around so she’s facing down the length of Dance’s body, with her knees on either side of Dance’s head. “Well, hell, he really is up hard–” and she winces as Dance starts licking her thighs. But then it’s all right. No demands, it just feels nice. Loving.

Drin puts lube on his hands, and slides one hand along Dance’s belly, grips his penis, starts stroking it in long rough strokes, and she can see the jolt in Dance’s body when Drin’s other hand has penetrated his ass, and again when he finds that special little prostate spot that both of them have come to know so well. It’s amazing to watch Dance’s belly muscles working, thrusting in hard regular motions, pushing himself into Drin’s grip on his prick. Emma reaches out and pours on more lube for them, and then she runs her hands over Dance’s chest, gripping the muscles, stroking his nipples, and then pinching them. At the same timing she’s using on Dance’s nipples, Drin pushes his fingers inside Dance’s ass, shoving at him, making the jolt visible through Dance’s whole body.

Three good hard thrusts like that, and they’ve brought him. Dance is curling halfway into a ball, pelvis pushing upward, his hands curled around onto Emma’s thighs as if that’s his only anchor. And he hangs there, like that, for a good long time, with his prick drooling and shaking in Drin’s steady grip. It’s perfectly obvious when he’s crested past it and is sliding down again, because he starts breathing again, panting hot air into Emma’s pubic hair, and his belly loosens slowly, and then his hands relax off her thighs, and he’s sprawled out limp on the bed. He just shudders a little as Drin moves, pulling his hands away, pulling off the gloves, using a wipe to clean up Dance’s limp prick, lifting his knee up and around, and wiping his ass, and laying down the leg gently when he’s done.

Emma shuffles her knees back and peers down at Dance’s flushed face. “Better?”

He nods, panting. “You… turn me… on so much.”

“Sorry, baby,” she says sympathetically, and kisses him on the forehead.

Drin pats the smaller man’s leg. “Ready for a shower?”

Dance groans, and they both laugh. They hoist him up, and tease him, and get all of them into the shower and lathered and cleaned up and dried again, with Drin clearly suffering a bad case of the tenders, wanting to kiss them both a lot and hug them all to bits–and she and Dance are just as happy to hug him back–but finally they make it back to bed. They change the sheets together, yawns all around.

Emma is spooned happily between the two of them on nice clean sheets, with Drin’s body keeping her lower back warm, when she says, “You know, my butt is still throbbing!” and Drin chuckles. Then she finds Dance in her arms is already out cold, hair still damp around his tired face. “Wow, he’s wiped out already.”

“Good, he needs the rest,” Drin says, yawning. “So do we! I figure he’ll be feeling like this again tomorrow, dunno about you.”

“What?” Emma says.

“Oh yeah, he’s got a three-day peak every month or so when he’s blind horny, he’ll come if you just touch him too long,” Drin says. “I guess he really wasn’t like that before I came along, so I can see where you’d be surprised too. Gave him a good big hug in the elevator at work, the first time he went through this, he was gone before the doors even opened.”

“Don’t tell me, you’ve done him on your desk at work already,” Emma says.

“Well, it was pretty stupid–you want the honest truth, he did me right across that damn desk, I loved it!” Drin admits, and laughs into her neck. “So do you get the blind horny three days too?”

“That’s what’s so strange, yeah, only mine runs about a week, and then I hit my period, and I’m all grumpy. You know that part perfectly well!” Emma says. “I mean, I try to be a grownup about it, but it’s really hard sometimes.” She takes a deep breath. “Matter of fact, I’m about two days in on the hot and horny Siamese cat yowling right now.”

“So Dance says he never used to be like this, and now he’s got this heat where he’s mad crazy to suck me off, and get fucked, and he wants you so desperately he’ll do crazy things–”

“Well, maybe he’s more of a grownup about it than I am, he never pulls anything stupid, not like I do to him sometimes,” Emma says.

“Okay, where did you do him that was kinda silly?”

“Oh, well in the park outside the Archives–there’s a handy piece of sculpture, gotta say I’m not the only one who’s commented on that one– oh wait, you know about it?”

He laughs. “Um, yeah, waiting for you to get off work,” he admits, grinning. “Makeout central, practically!”

“And of course I drag him into the unisex bathroom up top sometimes at the Metro when I can’t stand it any more–”

He just nods.

She tells him, “The janitor will unlock the door and come right in, though, she doesn’t care who’s in there yelling, rude old fart.”

He laughs. “I’m warned!”

“Oh, and that wierd little alcove around that last corner from my office, ” Emma says.

He laughs. “I thought that might come in handy! But I’m too big, somebody would see my butt hanging out there. Maybe you and Dance can get away with it if you’re careful, but man. That’s desperate. Wait till I pick you up in the car, you can nail him in the back seat, and do it right.” He chuckles. “Where I can watch!”

“What, and distract the driver?” Emma says, laughing.

“Bring me around in time for round two of the amazing Dance sex marathon,” Drin says, kissing her again, and sighing. “I never expected anything like this. Never. Happy like this? Wow.”

Emma sighs too. “I didn’t expect we’d make you happy for so long. I mean, so many guys can’t keep it down to just–well, just two partners–”

He looks at her, and laughs. “You two? That’s enough of a handful for me!”

“I don’t know, maybe it was watching too many guys who just want to score and move on, I guess,” she says.

“Damn fools,” Drin says, and kisses her, and hugs her stuffings. He kisses her neck.

She hesitates, and added, “I know this is such a tiny little place, there’s no room to breath, and I’m not the easiest person to live with–”

“Oh, damn, here I was gonna talk to you about us all getting married, and making you organize the whole damn thing so we don’t drive you crazy by doing it badly,” he murmurs, very quietly.

She hears herself give a tiny squeak. “When? Did you ask him yet?”

“Tomorrow,” he promises. “After we’ve fucked his brains right out his ears and he’s calm enough that he can think. I mean, I don’t want to push him into a biased decision, right?”

“After you’ve just laid him within an inch of his life, doing him really righteously. Uh huh. How did he say it the other day? ‘The whole Messiah chorus with trumpets and hosannas’,” Emma says, chuckling.

“Yeah,” Drin asks, sounding smug.

“And it’s not all about the sex?” she says, teasing.

“Oh hell no, it’s about the fact the Metro won’t take good enough care of him, and the fact he’s so fucking adorable I don’t dare look at him right now, and watching the two of you just cooking together in the kitchen makes me go all weak in the knees. I’m such a lazy slob I just want to make sure he gets some decent health care and that kind of stuff, without stopping to fight through the courts for the right to marry both of you, all of us together. If it was different, I’d ask you, but you already have yourself pretty well-covered at work– which is very unflattering, I know, but you also said you were pretty leery of getting tied down, and I don’t want to make you feel tied down–”

Which makes her laugh. She’s not publicly tied to Dance, but on a practical level, on a financial and personal level, their lives are so intertwined it’d amount to a divorce to clear out. She’s tied to Drin now nearly as closely, and she hugs the arm draped around her. “And it’d be a lot easier to marry me, but you want to make sure he’s taken care of, and I am entirely happy with that. I love you to bits for thinking of that.”

“Emma,” he breathes into her neck. “I love you just as much. It’s about both of you. I wanted to be Dance’s husband. If you want to be my wife, I want to be your husband too. I would love to have a private ceremony for us three, same as we did before, just nice, not a huge event. Would you marry me like that?”

Emma blinks, and feels hot tears sting her eyes. Has she ever, any time in her life, ever trusted anybody to spank her ass hard enough to make her come like a freight train? Has she ever trusted anybody else with Dance’s well-being and his soul and his affection? Has she ever, in her life, ever dreamt of trusting anybody enough to plan for getting Dance married to them? “Silly, of course,” she says, and hugs his arm. “If you don’t give me every detail, so it can be planned right, I will spank you myself, and not in a good way!”

He hugs her tight. “Silly, of course?” he quotes hoarsely, and starts laughing into her neck. “Oh God, Emma, you’re a one and only.”

“So are you! I mean, trying to vet it with me while Dance is asleep! I mean, what if he doesn’t want to be my husband too?”

There’s a little chuckle that makes both of them jump, and Emma lifts her arm from Dance’s waist, and then he’s moving. “Oh shi–“Emma says.

Dance laughs again. He rolls around, putting his arms around Emma, sliding one leg over hers. He smiles at her. “I wanted Drin to ask you first.”

She thumps him on the shoulder. “Why?”

“You already know me so well, you help me, you know how I want to make you happy. But Drin has not had so much time to show you.”

Emma looks into the solemn dark eyes. She reaches up and grips his ear, and drags his head close, and says, “Dance, will you marry me?”

He smiles. “Of course, silly,” he says, and then she’s kissing him, plundering his mouth as deep as any time she’s been hot on fire to fuck him through the mattress, and he’s laying back, offering himself, letting her take whatever she’ll have. She draws back, and glares at him. Then she glares up at Drin. “You two jokers–”

And then Drin is rolling her around on her back, into the support of Dance’s arms, and he’s plundering her mouth just as she took Dance’s, with his big body all over her, and Dance is laughing softly into her ear, kissing the side of her face. Drin draws back at last, sighing.

“I think there’s one more thing I need to hear,” Emma says then, sternly, looking into Drin’s eyes.

She hears Dance chuckle, and then his hand comes up past her and strokes down Drin’s arm. “Drin, will you be my husband still? Will you marry me again?”

Drin looks at them both, smiling wider and wider. “Of course, silly–” and he’s laughing as he leans down and kisses Dance. Dance is kissing him back, hard, for a long time, and Emma can feel both men’s pricks are stiffening a little, pressing into her skin. She might get tired of the wear and tear on her joints, one of these days, she thinks, but she is never going to tire of the pressure of them both feeling happy like that.

“So the woman who doesn’t want to be tied down is going to saddle up two husbands,” Drin says, wryly.

“Ride ’em cowgirl,” Emma says, spluttering into laughter. She kisses both of them, and it’s not just a peck on the cheek in either case.

Dance looks up at them both, and his face is serious again.

“What is it?” Emma says.

He smiles a little. “Those organizing thoughts, as you say it. I do not–” he pauses, and takes a deep breath, “–want to cause issues for either of you at work, if you–”

Drin shuts him up by kissing him again, before Emma can demand somebody should smack him. Emma slides herself gently out of the way and lets Drin flatten Dance with that amazing full-body crushing hug he can exert when he wants to. Drin lifts off after awhile and lets Dance breath, and he says, “You’ve already met all of the coworkers that I would ever consider inviting to any meaningful event or ceremony of any kind– and whether you want to invite your favorite tyrant, Maestro Young, is entirely up to you.”

Dance makes a wry face. “It might be hard to avoid,” he says. His eyes are suddenly gleaming with tears. “People will want to– I know my section at least will want to–”

Drin smiles slowly. Oh, he knows, Emma thinks.

The people Dance works with were the guests who showed up right on the courthouse steps for the two men, with the horns and drums playing ragtime and all the string sections throwing rice and rude remarks and stopping traffic, marching around in silly outfits with signs.

She can imagine various first chairs conniving with Dance to make it all more than usually disruptive when they do this polyamorous party thing for her. They’re going to want to show Dance what they think of his utterly unconventional marriage. There’s an odd sort of fondness popping up there which Emma had not expected, ever.

Partly this is because Dance has been putting Drin’s suggestions to very good use, along with his own developing reflexes for stopping problems at the source. Nobody shows much gratitude, they never did. But they come to Dance when they need help, or need ideas on sorting things out; they count on him.

They’ll show up to see him get all embarrassed, just to tease him to bits. That’s for him, not even counting on the fondness people have shown, instantly, for his big low-key masterful Drin, one of their favorite patrons.

Emma waves her hand. “Pfehh, Young? Leave it to me. I’ll sort him out. Introduce him to one of my nasty distinguished library patronesses who’s been toying with the idea of symphony-coordinated charities–I’ll include a request for her to torture him properly–and he’ll be too busy trying to charm her to get in trouble. Or, for that matter, any other damned conductor we might have to handle, if Young doesn’t last that long. And he might not, the kind of rumors I’ve been hearing.” Emma arches both eyebrows.

Dance leans in and kisses her again. His hair smells of that lavender shampoo that Drin loves to buy him. She feels that pressure against her thigh increase quite a bit, and she smiles. Dance the marathon man! She rolls him onto his back and kisses her way down his neck, licks his nipples, and feels his chest arch up. Drin shifts around between Dance’s knees, chuckling, and then she hears familiar slurping noises. Dance sighs, and his belly muscles tighten up, and then he gasps. Emma grins, and begins using her teeth, carefully, on his nipples. “Oh,” he gasps, “oh, oh–”

Drin slides up his body, and Emma moves aside to give him space, stroking Drin’s back. My God, the freckles are amazing, she thinks fondly. The skin shifts as his muscles tense under her touch. Drin thrusts against Dance’s body, just bringing his weight to bear, not even trying to penetrate him, and Dance gives that long expiring groan that means maybe he’s finished off for the night. Maybe. She smiles, and feels Drin relax, loosening as well. Dance isn’t the only one who gets his heat on, she thinks, amused.

The Internet is for Porn

The ancient laptop gave another dying wheeze. Hal was used to this noise — the computer had been making it for five years now. But if you knew how to baby it, it still worked just fine. Well, it worked okay, at least. He jiggled the lid to make the screen brighter and flicked a long strand of black hair out of his face, licked a bead of sweat off the corner of his mouth. His people lived in this swamp long before the Cajuns ever got here, so why didn’t he have some sort of immunity to the heat? He’d read somewhere that Native Americans weren’t bothered by heat or cold, didn’t get sunburn, and weren’t ever bitten by mosquitoes. Now that was just purely bullshit. Goes to show you that you can’t believe everything you see on the Internet. Hal twisted his long hair up off his nape and grabbed his tee shirt by the collar, pulling it up over his head and wiping his face with it before tossing it to the foot of the bed.

The website he was browsing was simple, informative, and full of eye-candy. He’d been online for almost three hours, sifting through pages and pages of absolute crap before arriving here. All he’d learned for sure was that BDSM stood for bondage and discipline, domination and submission, sadism and masochism. Now, browsing this site, he felt like he was getting somewhere. His real-life introduction to this world had been informal and brutal. He didn’t even know most of the terminology, and he hadn’t cared. All he’d wanted to do was escape. But now he was here, trying to learn more, for the sake of a woman. He loved her, and he had to find out how to give her what she needed.

Slave positions — now that was a topic. And there were pictures. Hal looked hard at the beautiful slave girl with the creamy white tits and the legs that went on and on. Her hands looked long and elegant coming out of those thick black cuffs, with that pearly pink nail polish. There was a picture of her kneeling demurely with her hands on her knees. There wasn’t a mark on her smooth pale skin, and Hal could see the cords of muscle just underneath, running up her legs, her hips, to the soft slope of her belly. The indentation of her navel and hollows of her palms seemed painfully erotic, hinting at some hidden truth that he couldn’t quite see. The lace thong she wore hugged her pussy, hinting at something else that he couldn’t see, but could imagine pretty well. He bet that pretty pink pussy was shaved clean under that black lace. He imagined running a finger down the strap at her hip, pushing the soft stretchy lace aside. Had she gotten wet, posing so explicitly for the camera? A slow warmth trickled down his stomach and settled in his groin.

He shifted the laptop to one knee so that he could tug at the crotch of his blue jeans. Damn, his cock rubbed against the fly, and it hurt. He worked a few buttons loose and freed himself. His cock sprung out, halfway erect already. He couldn’t resist scrolling down to the next picture — same girl, on her hands and knees, ass presented. Despite the heat rolling in the open window, Hal shivered, remembering his girl, how his palm stung against her ass cheek as he spanked her, how her throat vibrated around his penis as she tried to cry out in pleasure. She’d swallowed him whole, until he could feel his balls brushing her chin and he could fuck her mouth. He ran the tips of his fingers up his swelling cock, remembering that. Would his girl get on his hands and knees for him, present her her ass and her pussy, beg him to fuck her? Would she, if he asked?

Would she if grabbed her by the throat and commanded her to do it?

He had begged on his hands and knees, once, a lifetime ago. The thought angered him, but made his cock twitch hungrily. Twisting, he reached into the end table drawer for some lube, squirted it into his palm. His hand wrapped around his dick right under the head, and he began to pump his hand slowly, dragging it over his flesh. After ten agonizingly long strokes, he fisted the head and rolled it in his hand lightly. The sensation made him pant and twist on the sweaty bedsheets.

None of the pictures showed the girl’s face — it was either obscured by a spirals of camel-colored hair or a black silk blindfold. Dammit. He clicked on the credit link. Hmmm, the model for the pictures was also the webmistress. She was the submissive of the website’s owner, Daddy Max. Her name was topaz. That had to be a pseudonym. But, then again, who went around calling themselves Daddy Max?

Frustrated, he clicked on a random link. Discipline. Dear God. He pulled his foreskin back, stared at the milky drops that dribbled down his swollen dick onto his hand. The mystery girl, topaz, was stretched toward the ceiling, feet spread wide for balance, her back and ass mottled with pink. The black lace of the thong framed the twin curves of her ass cheeks, accented the hand prints on them. Hal took a big deep breath, his hair falling back over his face in a dark curtain as his head bowed forward. The very ends swung across the head of his penis, a whisper of sensation. He shifted his grip on himself, twisting gently up the shaft, palming the head and rolling his hand in slow circles. His dick felt hot and hard as a pirogue pole, little tendrils of sensation shooting down both legs until the muscles shivered in his thighs. He thought about what it would be like, to string his girl up, make her helpless. Would she struggle, plead with him? He could almost see her, her white breasts with their blush-pink nipples swaying as she struggled to keep her balance, her haunches bunching, waiting for the first blow. She might moan, waiting for him to strike her, or she might cry, or whine. Hal’s balls tightened, still trapped in his jeans.

He closed his eyes then, the callouses on his hands rasping against the ridge on the underside of his cock, moving until his hand made a muted slapping noise from the lube and the pre-come. He threw the mouse down on the bed, guided the laptop down off his knee and onto the quilt. Linking both of his hands, Hal rolled his cock between them, his hips making little twitches before settling into a short, hard thrusting rhythm, fucking his clasped hands. He whined in his throat, groaned out loud as he came. He reached for the dirty tee shirt, rubbed the sweat and the semen off his chest and belly with the soft cotton, sighed. He was still horny, even with his hard-on going soft. A trip across the swamp was out of the question, in the dark like this. And what would he do once he got to his girl’s house, anyway? Climb the trellis? Throw rocks at her window until she came out and followed him out beyond the cedar trees to have a fuck in the grass? Not likely, not in the dark with the gators and the clouds of stinging insects.

Then something caught his eye. The mouse had fallen off the bed, making the page he had been on scroll to the very bottom, to the last picture of Daddy Max’s girl topaz. Her hair was pulled to one side to accept a collar, showing the long, pale, vulnerable curve of her nape under all that hair. She had a small brown birthmark shaped like a butterfly just below her hairline. He had seen that mark before, as he raked his teeth gently over his girl’s neck. He had remembered her satisfied purr when he did that, and he had noticed her birthmark.

Topaz’s real name was Claudia, and Hal knew her. He knew her very well.

Some People Do Things Backward

“Let me take you to my gym,” Drin says. His musician is slouched back in a half-reclined leather car seat, eyes closed, blissing totally out on the sound system. “Tell me things, while I’m driving, would you please? Tell me what you’re thinking, anything you like.”

Dance blinks, opens the eyes. He looks at Drin with those eyes dilating open, that amazing soft dark look, as if he wants to get his hands on Drin all over again, right there as he’s driving.

Drin’s prick is assuring him that it really wouldn’t mind getting mauled again, not one bit. He hasn’t this many hard-ons in a row since he was on leave in the Army, and he sure wasn’t getting satisfied like this.

Dance’s knees can’t sprawl any wider. He lolls back into the support of the seat, looking at Drin, and he lifts his hands and folds them behind his head, and he just smiles, while his prick tents out his pants and swings round like the hour hand of a clock and points happily at twelve. “Yes, please, we are wanting to go swimming at our Drin’s gym,” Dance says. He pauses a moment, and then in a little rush he says, “We– I don’t know if our Drin is wanting to hear these things. Me, I am doing very rude thoughts about– you.”

“Oh? Oh yeah, tell me rude things! Things you want to do in bed, maybe?”

“Not even waiting so long.”

“Oh boy,” Drin says, grinning. “Hell yeah, tell me!”

“Our Drin’s cock getting all hard like that, and Drin’s car with the leather seats, so bad, they turn us on.” And he wiggles his rump in the seat, just a little. “We want to make our Drin feel very happy. We want to pull Drin’s trunks down in the locker room and start kissing our Drin’s penis. we– I am– I want to see if I can take–your balls into– my mouth.”

“You know,” Drin says, making the turns smoothly, not letting his outrageously sexy passenger distract him from foolish drivers in large trucks, “I don’t know that many guys ask to get fucked up the ass before they even get their first blowjob.”

“Ahh, and this made me sooo happy.” Dance gives a little sigh.

“So what kind of first blowjob do you think you’d like?” Drin says. “Say, hard and quick and fast? Or long and slow, taking breaks, really doing it for a long time, in private, no interruptions?”

“Both! And giving both, too. But it is sure not a job if we like it,” says Dance. “Yes, we want to suck your cock, and we really want our dick to get sucked, we– I want that a lot. I am not knowing if it will be much of a blow job with how we–with how excited I am. We’ve read that for some people it just doesn’t stimulate them enough, but the idea makes–me — very excited.There might be coming before you do much, Drin, you–saw how I am last night. You turn me on so much. I will be a shameless willow boy and ask for our Drin fucking up my ass some more, too. As much as our Drin wants to. Often. Please.”

“That’s just what you know so far,” Drin says, mildly. “You might find out you like being sucked off even better.”

Dance groans, and his hips roll lazily. “Well, yes, we might. I– I am wanting to kiss our Drin’s cock a lot. We didn’t give any chance to do that, I was so greedy. Drin, you–might like fucking my– my mouth even better too.”

“Oh, I might,” Drin smiles, “but I really liked taking you. A whole lot. Of course, I could do both. Start off blowing you, and then you turn over so I can penetrate you. Maybe once you’re calmer, you’re more used to making love.”

Dance gives a little gasp, hips jerking. He takes a deep breath. “Can one get used to feeling like that? Feeling cock hit us right there where it makes the head pinwheel and this whole body is ringing because your cock hits like a gong?”

“Whoah, love, I’m not gonna last, you keep saying things like that,” Drin says.

“Believe it,” Dance says, and his hands are unbuttoning his pants, “it bangs through this whole body.”

Drin draws in a sharp breath.

“Drin, are you hard too?” Dance asks, and his hand starts coming for Drin’s leg.

“Very,” Drin says, tightly. “Wait, please, give me a moment or two, until we’re not moving. Yes, I’m very hard, I’ll go off in my pants, and you don’t want me distracted in this traffic!”

“Oh, no, we don’t want to distract,” Dance says. “We can be very quiet, doing monkey tricks. These speakers are making the little man very hard too. So velvety. It’s like this car is whispering things just like you do, Drin. It feels so… so good.” And he’s got his hand down inside the boxers, not revealing anything to surrounding traffic even if they could see inside the tinted windows. There’s just the stretch of his neck, arching up from the seat support, and the way his mouth rounds open, and the way his brows frown as he gasps. He rolls his head, and looks at Drin, and his hand moves in his clothes, but very little shows.

“You’re used to hiding it, being quiet, not yelling,” Drin says.

“Oh yes,” Dance says, sounding a little breathless.

“What would it take to make you just really yell?”

“Sound-proofing!” Dance says, and he chuckles.

“I have that, at my apartment,” Drin says, with a little smile. He hasn’t even got Dance over there yet. Maybe tonight. He’s looking forward to that.

Dance gives a little groan.

“Good thing it’s the off-season now,” Drin says, smiling wider. “I haven’t even showed you my place. It’s private. You could yell, the neighbors aren’t there until late. Afternoon delight, man, me with you all stretched out naked wherever the whim takes us. I could really work on what you like, take my time. I’d enjoy that, finding out what works for your body so well that you just start yelling. ‘Yeah, do that some more!’ Or you’re so happy you don’t even need to say anything.”

He gets a whimper out of Dance for that one. The muscles of his arm are moving faster.

Drin pulls into an empty lot by an empty gas station. He clicks out of his seat belt, turns down the sound system slightly, he turns off the engine, and he looks around, a long careful look at where they are parked. “Okay, my fine spunky friend, pants down, and pull out one of those condoms I gave you, please.” He knew Dance would keep careful track of those, and keep them handy, and he has. Dance gets his pants and boxers down past his knees, and gasps as Drin grasps the stiff brown penis, tugs on it to make sure the foreskin is pulled back from the head, and then he rolls the condom down firmly into it. “Oh,” Dance says, and his hand flails up into the door. “Oh, oh– “

Drin twists around painfully past the steering wheel, lowers his upper body, and inhales the poor boy’s latex-covered tool with one of his more inspired kisses. Just because it’s covered in latex doesn’t mean you can’t torture a foreskin properly. Then Drin gets his other hand down and strokes the wiry hair on the taut, wrinkled scrotum, and down under it, reminding Dance’s perineum that they’ve have fun before, but not penetrating him, not with bare hands. Rubbing the dense muscles of the man’s butt, sliding his hand under Dance. Oh yes, the man does like feeling those leather seats on his bare bottom, doesn’t he?

He can feel the massive impulses in Dance’s abdomen, wanting to thrust, but checked instantly, knowing he can’t buck around like some bronco under Drin’s mouth, not here. Maybe another time, in the back seat instead. And yes, Dance’s penis is fucking his tonsils somewhere down there in his throat. Not a willow-sized boy at all, he thinks, and he can’t even smile around the bulk that is making him drool onto Dance’s crotch.

He already knows the warning shocks of Dance’s climaxes, he can feel it rumbling along Dance’s body, and then it’s hitting. Dance’s hips give just the tiniest uncontrolled flutter, held rigidly in place, and it’s only his prick that is shaking violently, trembling. So controlled, so careful, as he is with all that muscle in his legs, with the strength in those hands.

Drin keeps his mouth on the condom until he’s sure the last tremors are quite gone, reluctant to give up the feel of Dance climaxing. When Drin draws back, releasing the man’s cock from his mouth, Dance may still be breathing hard, but he already has some folded tissues right there for Drin. And then Dance is kissing him, urgently, gratefully, and he’s so distracted that he didn’t notice when Dance got that zipper down to slide his hand down there into Drin’s pants. Drin gives a strangled cry, and sprawls back in the driver’s seat, thrusting up into the grip of Dance’s fingers.

He thinks dimly of asking Dance to stop, to let him save it up for that moment in the locker room that Dance was fantasizing about. But he’s pretty sure that his musician is going to have him so wildly turned on, all over again, that there’s no need to conserve anybody’s manly strength. He may not climax neatly or nicely, but Dance will get a mouthful of cock to work on, at least. He’s going to want Dance to have some decent mouth-time, anyway.

Dance’s tongue is as urgently intrusive as his cock was, and a powerful reminder of the thing thrusting down into his tonsils. Drin bangs his hips about into the steering wheel, heedless of later bruising. The state Drin’s cock is in right now, he’s not going to last– oh, he’s going right about now, Dance is wringing him dry into that marvelously strong hand. Dance doesn’t want to give up on the feel of him, either. Dance keeps his hand there, stroking until he has drawn the last shudder out of Drin’s penis, and pets him after, gently, feeling him soften, feeling Drin’s body relax again.

Drin feels the other man’s mouth soften too. Dance is kissing him just because he likes it, kissing up Drin’s face, and down his neck, and along his beard, onto his ear. Tasting him with his tongue. Just because he likes Drin.

It is … amazing.

Drin pants, getting his breath back. Then he lifts Dance’s chin up in his cupped hand, and kisses him back, tasting all those places he’s been wanting to kiss the man for weeks.

Drin has been so hasty, so preoccupied by mere sex, that he has neglected kissing some of the places he’s been admiring for so long. He kisses Dance all about the face, onto his closed eyes, down onto the man’s neck, onto his shoulders. God, he smells good. It’s musky in the same way as a deep barky cinnamon, some kind of resinous wood, not quite the same as the rosin for his bow.

Drin’s left hand brushes back sheaves of long black hair, trailing his fingers into it. He feels Dance lean into the touch, twisting his body around. Drin rests his right arm around Dance’s back, rests his left hand around the man’s hot bare hip, fingers curved onto his thigh, stroking up and down Dance’s side. For some time he just kisses Dance, kisses the powerful cords of his throat, around the nape of his neck, along the collarbone.

Dance gives a little happy sigh. When Drin draws back a little to look at him, Dance is looking at him with his mouth just parted, his eyelids relaxed. He looks exactly like he’s just had the most incredible sex. It’s really quite a nice look on him, in Drin’s admittedly biased opinion. Drin smiles. A shot of his musician wearing a condom with pants down, looking like that, won’t make it into any Metro calendar. Put that pinup in a frame in his apartment bathroom! But he might be able to maneuver Dance into looking wonderfully inviting in a pair of perfectly decent swim trunks.

Dance smiles back. “What is so funny?”

Drin says, “I’ve been having outrageous ideas for a shoot for a Metro underwear calendar that’d sell like hotcakes. Draping you in the car seat, like this.”

Dance’s eyes go wide, and then he’s laughing. “That means no underwear!”

“It’d be very–” Dance kisses him again, “–very–” he grips the amazing ass firmly, “–very pretty.” And then he lets go, and he smacks Dance’s flank very lightly. They haven’t talked about levels of stimuli, or much about how hard either of them like to be gripped or pinched or smacked, or any of the more detailed negotiations that some new couples would have done before they ever got near a bed. They’ve been too busy finding out if Dance likes making love to another man. Apparently he likes making love with Drin quite a lot. His eyes are soft and wide and dilated black with pleasure.

Hell, it’s been three days, and his pupils dial wide open, receptive as all hell, whenever Drin looks into his eyes. If anybody ever wondered what they were doing, there it is, up front. Dance likes him.

Drin hasn’t bothered to figure out what his own eyes are doing. He’s gone. He likes touching the man, he likes listening to his voice, he likes hearing the guy get all excited over shared ideas, he just wants to roll in him.

Drin feels himself grinning like a fool. The sudden burst of happiness pops over his whole body like a big, fat soap bubble. He says, “Feel like going swimming?”

“We– yes, I would like that,” Dance says, and solemnly peels the condom off his relaxed penis, and ties off the latex neatly, as if he’s copying how Drin does it. God, is it idiotic to love how the man’s penis looks when it’s all soft and relaxed and rumpled, not thinking about sex at all? Dance wipes himself off on a tissue, and puts away the spent rubber in another twist of tissue into a pocket of his pants. Then he shifts around, and pulls up his pants, and smiles back as Drin makes a sad clown face at seeing all that beautiful skin covered up again. He offers tissues to Drin, too, and takes them, tucks them away in the same pocket. Then he leans in and kisses Drin’s cheek, and whispers, “Can I suck you off in the locker room, please?”

Drin chuckles. “Is it a fantasy you’ve–”

“Oh yes,” Dance murmurs into his ear, and nibbles gently up Drin’s ear. “Yes, I want to lick our Drin all over, lay back on a gym bench and ask our Drin to fuck me, but that’s probably… just… impractical.”

“We can see about testing your theory, yes, but gyms aren’t exactly set up for it. And I’m not sure about the getting me off part. After all this, I might just get all excited and go nowhere on you, can’t promise.”

Dance laughs. “Oh, excited is wonderful,” he says.

Drin looks at him. “How long have you been having this fantasy?”

Dance’s eyes go wide. Then he splutters into laughter, and leans on Drin’s shoulder, and whispers, “About six weeks.”

“Oh Christ!” Drin says, spluttering likewise into laughter.

Dance peers up at him. “And have you?”

Drin rolls his head back onto the headrest, and he sighs. Then he meets the wry gaze. And he admits it. “Yeah, it’s been about that long for me, too. Jacking off thinking about you. About you giving me the best blow job of my life. About what it’d be like making love to you, fucking you all over, having you do me, making out in some…really interesting… locations. And you know what?”


“Fantasy doesn’t even come close, love. Not by miles.” And he hugs the man tight, and kisses his cheek, and then his laughing mouth, and his ear. “You wicked thing, you, if I’d known six weeks ago–”

“Oh yeah,” Dance agrees. He puts up a hand and touches Drin’s face. “We.. I just…know so little. I want to make… you happy. Our Drin, you make me very happy. I don’t want to get all–sloppy–”

Drin grips him tightly, hard enough to surprise him. “Dance,” he says. The eyes look up at him soberly. After a difficult moment, Drin says, “If you want to be silly and romantic right out in front of everybody, or if you need to stay dignified and not let anybody know we’re involved, down at the Metro, either way, I’m fine with that. I really am. I don’t want anything messing up your music for you. I got nothing to prove to anybody about how much of a big he-man I am. I’m okay with holding hands and wearing rainbow belts and pastel shirts, God knows I wouldn’t be the first gray bear out there doing that. But if you want to be very straight, I’m okay with that too. And you don’t have to decide all that stuff today. But if you want to be sloppy and get all romantic with me, because it makes you happy, you get to. You do. Life is too fucking short to– to be so goddamn limited about what you really want to do. “

Dance puts up both hands, stroking Drin’s hair. Then he leans in and rests his head on Drin’s neck. “No towels,” he says solemnly into Drin’s chest. “But yeah, maybe some belts so we don’t take so long unzipping these pants for you.”

Drin throws back his head and laughs, and it feels good.

The gym parking lot is nearly full, when they pull in. Drin says, “Looks like Murphy’s car, that’s another guy from work. He goes to jazz clubs, likes some of the more experimental stuff, but he’ll go to the Jazz Festival and listen to everything, Dixieland, ragtime, anything, if he can. Loves live performance. Nice guy. It’d be interesting talking to him. Guess we do get to decide some things today, huh?”

Dance says calmly, “Drin, if you are liking, you can tell Murphy this name, what I do. Or anybody else. We– I– I myself have been out, at the Metro, ever since we got there, even though we haven’t done anything about it all this time. Kind of silly, yes?” He looks up at Drin. “Is that going to be okay at our Drin’s work?”

Drin smiles at him. “Oh yeah. Dance of Knives, Concertmaster at the Metro Symphony– God, that has a nice ring to it. And you’re such a fine-looking man, I just want to eat you up.”

“Good,” Dance says, grinning. “So it is worth doing all of this exercise! Well, that and having enough stamina to make it through Shostakovitch stacked on top of Bernstein. Crawled home after first rehearsal with arms like the limp noodles.”

“You got tired? Makes me wonder what that poor little pissant Robert Goldstein felt like,” Drin says, with a spurt of sympathetic laughter.

Dance rolls his eyes. “Well, he didn’t make it in our next day.”

Drin finds himself introducing Dance to a few of the other guys he knows from work, too. Drin and Murphy show Dance the gym equipment for circuit workouts, and Drin has the gym’s trainer check Dance on the machines, so he can use all of them whenever he visits.

Then Murphy tries to figure out how Dance measures up to his own standards on both the weight machines and on the jazz coolness quotient. Dance can run both of the other two men into the ground without blinking, he’s way beyond Murphy on the weights, but he’s far too polite to push either man, and he doesn’t let it show. It seems Murphy has heard Dance perform jazz, too. Apparently Dance does okay in regular guy conversation. It’s only in the restroom, washing hands, that Drin finds out what the judgment was.

Murphy says, “You went and did it, huh?”

Drin looks up at him, soaping his hands.

“Hell, I got eyes.” Murphy shakes his head. “You went and bagged yourself a cape buffalo there, man.”

“Oh, I’m aware that–” Drin pauses, unsure where Murphy is going with this.

“The Metro Concertmaster, holy crap!” Murphy says, laughing. “I love seeing him drop in to jazz clubs during the Metro’s off-season. He’ll sit in on sessions, if he likes what he hears. He’s got this severely precise ear, you aren’t gonna hear him slopping off in all directions like he’s some gospel diva, but when he does solos, he does these–these– modulations, man, you don’t think it ought to work, and then it does. It’s like he’s doing this mathematics stuff with your head, twisting your brain inside out. It’s amazing–”

“Thank you,” Dance says quietly.

“Shit,” Murphy says, “don’t give me a heart attack like that!”

“Our apologies, Murphy. We did not mean to startle anybody.”

“Okay, okay, I fess up, I was raving about your performances–”

“Why say that like it’s a bad thing?” Dance says, smiling, and tying the string on his trunks. “Hey, we could like this a lot.”

Murphy laughs, dries his hands. “So are you gonna bring Drin by some of the smaller clubs, so he can hear what you do with a decent quartet?”

Dance does an automatic pocket-patting gesture that makes Drin smile. Dance’s little notebook calendar is locked up with his clothes. “We promised to sit in with Petrovich and Dmitri next week, when they have a gig at the Blue Nile. We are uncertain of the pianist. It probably won’t involve solos from the rest of the quartet.” He blinks up at Drin. “If our Drin is wanting to hear jazz solos, we know Eleni and Markovic chalked in for the Nile next week if the club doesn’t book headliners. Last minute stuff, no publicity, not very well paid, but this keeps good relations with the club, and also good practice. But the Nile has odd acoustics.”

“Oh yeah,” Murphy says. “Some seats, clear as bell, hear every whisper. Others, it’s muddy like you’re underwater. You just got to know the good seats, or come with somebody who does know.”

“We will speak with Eleni about any confirmation, and let our Drin know, if Mister Murphy and the wife wish to hear the performance,” Dance says.

“That’d be awesome,” Murphy says. “Thanks, man, I’d love to hear that. You two off to the pool now? It’s been great talking to you guys, but I gotta run go pick up the girls from school now. Nice meeting you, Dance. See you Monday, Drin.” He shakes hands with Dance, and grins at Drin, and he bustles back noisily to his locker.

“You got jazz fans too,” Drin says. “I didn’t know that.”

Dance looks up at Drin, smiling. “We– I mean I– didn’t either.”

“Awesome. You ever remember seeing Murphy in an audience?”

“Oh yes, Mister Murphy is one of the serious listeners who comes often. He buys CD from new young performers. But he gets distracted from an ulcer or acid stomach, it gives him pain. His breath smells the same as other people who go talking about that. We don’t know if our Drin is the right kind of friends with Mister Murphy to speak about that, but we don’t think he has really tried to get help yet. We don’t know why. Maybe he is used to pain?”

Drin starts to laugh. “You got all that from seeing in him an audience a few times?”

“Of course, when he’s come up to speak with people,” Dance says. “Such a nice guy. He likes his wife a lot. When she comes too, he’s very happy. She worries about him, too. Both look tired.”

“So you said you’d sit in, just to make my buddy Murphy happy,” says Drin.

“If I get very short notice, most paid gigs of a last minute kind are just a mess, so we feel pretty safe making Murphy happy.”

Drin looks at him, and holds out his arms silently, and he feels Dance’s warm skin slide into his embrace. He leans down and kisses Dance on the cheek. “I think you are a cape buffalo too,” Drin says then, chuckling.

“Maybe our Drin is that, such a great big guy,” Dance says, leaning into him. He sighs.

“It’s still pretty noisy around here,” Drin says. Dance’s prick is rubbing against his, through their trunks, and it’s making both of them pretty happy.

“Pool time,” Dance says then.

Dance swims without trying to surface to breath at the frequent regular intervals of any normal swimming stroke. It’s obviously self-taught, much more like diving. He’s quiet about it too, almost no splash, no noisy kicking at the surface. It’s all drive with his legs under the surface, and he shoots along at a ridiculous speed, a blurred brown shape underwater. Then he surfaces in a rush, flinging back his hair with a gasp, and laughing.

The whole time they’re doing laps, or horsing around in the water, laughing, Drin is thinking of Dance’s fantasy about gym benches. He wants to make those fantasies happen for Dance, who has asked him for so little.

He’s thinking about the neglected waiting room at the top of the Metro building, where Dance used to tuck himself away to get a nap. The one where nobody else ever finds him. Drin could probably make love to Dance all afternoon up there and nobody would disturb their outrageous little fantasy encounter. Drin has an interesting image of a set of lockers and a plain wooden bench in his mind. Kill their backs doing it, too. It’s just a question whether they can clear the smell out of the room enough to keep it discreet. Some of those old ladies at the Metro, like Joscelyn, apparently can smell you thinking about having sex.

He tells himself that he’d better back off from thinking too hard about all of that when he gets out of the pool, too, or he’ll have everybody in the place cringing from the knowledge that he and Dance are quite the new item, maybe they ought to get a hotel room or something.

He manages to keep himself idling in neutral, get them both from the pool into the hot tub. The place has cleared out enough that he feels comfortable, there, urging Dance to settle back in his arms, let the boy drift up securely held in the heated water. “Mmmm,” Dance says, with his hair swirling round them like a mermaid’s. Drin can feel those neck and shoulder muscles relaxing. He should haul Dance out onto poolside, steaming hot, and massage him properly, but he’s too tired to do the job right, and the air temperature is too cold, Dance would get chilled too soon. Something to think about, arranging something that would work.

“Drin?” Dance murmurs.

“Mmmhmm?” Drin says.

“We could sleep.”

“Good. You have five more minutes on your official calluses warning clock, and then you have to shower and get dried off.”

Dance groans.

“Or you could get out now, and take a longer shower, with me in it too,” Drin says languidly.

Dance’s eyes pop open.

Drin smiles. “Guess you weren’t that sleepy?”

“Drin is wicked!” Dance says.

“Oh good,” Drin says, releasing him, stretching. He was careful about over-exerting himself in the pool, but he’s still feeling the tiredness of the workout. He’s going to sleep tonight. No shopping and dining leisurely and then taking Dance home to his own apartment, late, and staying up all night, so he won’t kick off into a nasty dream. There’s too much chance of him drifting off anyway. No, he’ll have to bring Dance to his apartment on another day, while it’s nice and bright. Tonight he’ll take Dance safely home to Dance’s crowded little bed for an early evening, and kiss him goodnight, and then go home to fall over in sodden, perfectly happy exhaustion. And if he’s fair about it, he’ll tell Dance why.

Looking at Dance, he’s thinking the musician could probably use some extra sleep as well. Hmm. Perhaps he’s been a little more physically demanding on his musician than Dance is used to, too, above his normal energetic schedule. And that’s not even trying to socialize in any ordinary way, he hasn’t had time yet to take Dance out clubbing in places where they don’t expect him to sit in, or take him to little bars for great local microbrews, or to movies.

Miraculously, the locker room has cleared out, the attendant has been through picking up flung towels, it’s quiet when they reach the showers. Dance silently crowds into the one stall with Drin, wet black hair sticking to everything.

Drin is starting to yank off Dance’s old trunks, not even bothering to untie the string, when Dance flings them down and steps out of them. Then he yanks down Drin’s trunks, and the moment Drin steps out of them, Dance flings them on the floor, and then he’s kneeling on the pile of wet clothes, and he’s got his hands around Drin’s legs, and he’s got his mouth kissing Drin’s scrotum, bumping Drin’s cock with his nose. Drin gasps, grabs onto the stall.

He sees Dance’s hand dip toward the nearby plastic bench, and scoop up a condom he must have put there moments ago. Dance rips it open without even pulling his mouth away from suckling Drin’s testicles. Then he does pull back, mouth wide, and he looks gravely at Drin’s penis, and he smiles. And he rolls the condom onto it with grave attention. He looks up then, meeting Drin’s gaze, and he smiles again.

His hands stroke up and down Drin’s thighs, grasp Drin’s hips, and urge him forward. His hands smooth around Drin’s hips, curve around onto his butt, and his fingers spread out and cup Drin’s butt. Drin can feel the wet, hard calluses gripping him. Then Dance’s mouth comes onto his penis, taking most of it in, not hesitating, not just a brief try at the head, but taking a good long stretch. His tongue moves against the underside of the latex-covered penis, poking gently at the vein, pushing at him, feeling him. Drin can feel the head of his penis hitting the back of Dance’s mouth, hitting the soft palate, making Dance’s mouth flinch, but he doesn’t pull back, either.

Drin holds still, breathing hard, letting a virgin work on him safely. Dance knows what it’s supposed to be like. He works onto the cock in his mouth, he relaxes, he lets it happen to him as he pushes his jaws onto Drin’s prick. Then he pulls back, he breathes, and then he slides onto it again, experimenting with how to arrange his jaws, how to move his tongue, coping with the strong taste of the latex in the condom. He’d like it much, much better if he was barebacking Drin, but they’re not doing that. It makes Drin wish that he didn’t have that past history getting in the way of giving Dance what used to be the most common queer experience.

Drin lowers his hands from hanging onto the stall walls. He puts his hands gently onto Dance’s head, stroking his face, letting Dance know there’s a world of gratitude in him. It’s one of the sexiest things he’s ever seen, Dance’s mouth sliding into his cock, the lips working over just the head of his cock. Then the tongue is coming out, pushing Drin’s prick up into his upper teeth, until Drin groans softly.

Dance is just getting his mouth around Drin’s prick at that point, and Drin is breathing in soft regular grunts. He hasn’t even starting really pulling any kind of suction, any kind of drag or friction, on Drin’s prick. It’s going to go slow and hard, a really long, drawn-out climax, if Dance wants to do it without any deeper stimulation, but Drin is happy to accommodate. God, he is so ready to accommodate he’ll stand there all night, if that’s what Dance wants.

He should have realized Dance has done his homework, oh yes. Dance shifts one hand off Drin’s butt, then, slides it around to grip the base of Drin’s cock, and then Dance is sliding his other hand around too, putting it down over the wet curls on Drin’s scrotum. He grasps Drin’s balls in his hand, stroking them, pulling a little on them. Then he closes his lips tight as a ring on Drin’s prick, and he hollows his cheeks, and he sucks hard as he draws that ring of lips down slowly and luxuriously away to the tip of Drin’s prick. The whole time, he tugs away in a different direction on Drin’s balls, making him feel the tug as counter-pressure to the pull, and he pushes his fingers on Drin’s prick away toward the root of Drin’s prick, pushing the ring of the condom higher up in a slow counter-drag.

Drin’s breathing sounds very loud, against the rush of water running elsewhere in the building.

Then everything happens at once. Dance changes direction. He pushes Drin’s prick deep into his mouth, his one hand starts stroking Drin rapidly up and down at the base of his prick, and his other hand strokes Drin’s testicles in counter-direction to it. And then Dance draws his mouth slowly away, sucking hard, his hands moving fast.

It isn’t going to be a drawn-out climax after all.

It’s almost painful, the rush of pressure that swoops down through Drin’s body, shaking him violently. He doesn’t forget himself, he doesn’t grab Dance’s head and thrust far down into his mouth as he would like to do. He keeps it to a tight little arc, perhaps two inches, but that’s plenty to bang into Dance’s soft palate. He feels Dance settle into it, allowing it, waiting for him, meeting it, and he doesn’t dare push it any harder, much as his body longs to just take that mouth and fuck it. This is for Dance to learn how to do it, hopefully to enjoy giving head, not to push it further down his throat than he can handle.

Drin hears a tight little noise come out of his own mouth, astonished, shaking, and then he’s leaning into the stall above Dance’s head, feeling the other man’s mouth suckling gently on him, taking in more of him as he softens.

“Ah hah hah,” Drin breathes, noisily. “Shit, I let you blow me before I even gave you any really decent chance today to feel what it’s like–”

Dance draws back, wipes his mouth on his hand, swallows, and sighs. He looks up. “Made us both come, too.”

Drin looks down at him. Breath, man. Air is good.

Dance stands up and puts his arms around Drin’s waist. “Yeah. What was that our Drin did to– to me, last night, anyway? Is that giving it the wrong name?”

Drin smiles. “Well, technically, yeah. That was you going off like a rocket before I even got near your cock. A couple of times, as I fondly recall.”

“Hmm. Do you think we’re over time on wet calluses?”

“I think you really need a shower.” Drin rubs his hand down the other man’s thigh. He can feel it slide lazily over the skin, where Dance has ejaculated all down one thigh. “You liked it–”

“–that much,” Dance murmurs, leaning into him. “I– I would like it better without condom taste, just Drin’s penis, but I am happy. I want it. I want it a lot. So much fucking man going down this throat–and we know our Drin treated us very careful, very dainty. We could tell.”


“So wanting to feel it with just letting go, when we’re more used to this penis in the mouth.”

Drin can only groan. “Every time I give you something new, you gobble it all down and ask for more, I love it!”

“Must be our Drin,” Dance says, eyelids relaxed, smiling again. “Must be you, doing me, just right.”

“Let’s get you back in some hot water, get the chlorine out of your hair. Don’t want to ruin something that gorgeous.”

They can hear voices again in the locker room when they turn the water off, and they’re quiet as they get dried off in the limited space. Dance puts his hand on the stall door to unlock it, and he turns then, tilting up his head. Drin leans down and kisses him on the mouth, briefly, and feels him smiling under his lips. Then Dance steps out, wrapped in his towel, and nods to somebody out there, and walks away. He doesn’t seem surprised that Drin waits, cautious. Dance starts whistling something Mozartian in a moment, and a door slams, and Drin steps out too. God, what a relic from the bad old days, he thinks. And Dance just puts up with this stuff from him, as if it’s perfectly natural to expect an older guy to be nervous. Drin starts pulling things out of his locker. He knows Dance is looking at him.

Dance says, “Drin is okay?”

Drin nods. “Just wishing I wasn’t such a fucking coward, some days.”

“Our big Drin?” Dance chuckles. Then he says, seriously, “I… understand. I get… frightened sometimes. Walking Emma home late. It can be scary.”

Drin looks at him. “You need a ride, she needs a ride, you guys call me first, right? Don’t let it get to the point of dangerous. There’s nothing I’ve got going on that’s gonna die if I drop it for an hour and come pick you guys up. Besides, changing gears from work, talking to you guys might help me do my job better anyway. So call me, okay?”

Dance nods. “Okay.” He glances up. “We promise.”

“Good. Another thing, tonight. I gotta crash. I don’t want to… make myself a burden–”

Dance looks at him with real distress. “Our Drin is not a burden!”

“Yes,” Drin says. “When I’m having nightmares, I am. I seriously don’t want… to create a problem. I’m okay, I swear, but I don’t want to come up grabbing somebody in the middle of some fucking flashback. Don’t want to go tackling Emma when I can’t tell where I am. You saw how I jumped in the grocery store when–”

Truth be told, they both jumped horribly when somebody dropped a tray of something in another aisle.

Dance’s eyes know way too much when they’re looking at him. Way too much. And he doesn’t argue. “Okay.” He puts out his hand, and he touches Drin lightly. “It’s okay. We– I understand.”

Drin can feel himself breathing faster. “Thank God. And I’m sorry that you do, too.”

Dance gives a crooked smile. “Welcome to the fucking brotherhood, man.” And he sighs. “We have no… no bad dreams, no bad spell, since you, Drin, you first… took us to bed. Since you took me. I can’t tell you how much…”

“You don’t have to,” Drin says.

Dance tips his head back, closes his eyes. “Well, maybe we should tell it. But not here. We don’t know where.”

“Somewhere they don’t drop breakable things,” Drin says, with a snort.

“Yeah. Plastic forks,” Dance says, smiling at him. “Or you… could just take me again. Keep taking… me.”

“I’d like that.”

“It doesn’t help… making love doesn’t help you, then?” Dance says, hesitantly.

“I don’t know yet,” Drin says. “It doesn’t hit all the time. It’s just way bad when it does. Combat-type bad. I am not going to be careless about safety with you or Emma, believe me.”

“Okay,” Dance says. “It’s okay, Drin. She… she’s talked me out of some bad shit, too. She’s tough. We can all tell Emma. It’s okay.”

“Your Emma is totally awesome,” Drin says.

“Yeah, we think so. Haven’t seen anybody deserves her, dammit. Well, except our Drin.”

Drin looks at him.

Dance waves his hands. “I thought you’d– that you’d want Emma, not me. Other people said our Drin is bisexual, and we just– I never– “

“Is that where six weeks of us both being total wankers comes from?” Drin says, amused.

“Oh, part of it is just… me being stupid tired,” Dance says.

“I’ll tuck you in and go home, and we’ll both get extra rest. Dammit.” Drin says.

Dance gives him that wry smile. “Well, my little man can still be a wanker.”

“Christ, makes me wonder if we’re not getting you off the way you really need it, if–”

“Oh, my little man is happy,” says Dance, stretching. “Very, very happy.” He turns away and drops the towel, he puts one foot up on a stool, and he dries off his toes, and he looks back over his shoulder at Drin, and he gives a long, slow grin, as if he knows exactly how he’s just flash-fried Drin’s brain. Sweet baaaby Jesus, there’s another porn shot that ought to be hanging on Drin’s bathroom wall…

“Um,” Drin says. “Mine too.”

“Oh, we are hoping so!” Dance laughs. “We didn’t know my little man was such a slut.”

“Neither did I,” Drin says. Then he blinks, and hears Dance laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that– besides, you’re only a slut if you can’t get it at home, and you have to go running around all over to find it.”

“Sounds like very sloppy organization work,” Dance says, and dries off his other foot. Smiling.

“Gaaahh,” Drin says, leaning his forehead on the locker door.

“Well, our Drin was saying to make appointments to fuck me and please this little man,” Dance says. “Like taking such expensive hooker, boy. Now my little man, it wants to go off all the time. So then we wonder how often our Drin’s little man has needs–”

“How are you on toys?” Drin says, weakly.

“Toys? Oh, that means wanking with toys? We have something in the silicon, if our Drin is wanting to see it.”

Drin stares at him.

Dance shakes a finger at him. “It was not cheap, and it’s little man’s fault, making us so horny from looking at our Drin.”

“Don’t tell me, you bought it about, oh, six weeks ago?”

“Three,” Dance says, sternly. “We held out as long as we could. Our Drin is very…” and then he’s right there, resting his head on Drin’s shoulder blades, “…very… mmmm…”

“Yeah, that,” Drin says, and sighs. It feels good having all that warm skin against him. Going home is going to be harder than ever, tonight.

“the leather sofa” redux

Drin’s got Emma at his apartment, supposedly to look at the furniture so they can decide on what comes to the house and what should be sent off to auction. But he wants to see her on that leather sofa, just once, in this space that he’s giving up.


“Christ Drin– these lamps are vintage aren’t they, the real thing. Not the replicas that came out in the nineties.” Her shoes tap quickly along the hardwood floor. “We have room for them, but if you want to sell, now would be a good time. And the paintings– are these important to you?”

“Not too terribly,” Drin says. “If you or Dance want to live with any of them for awhile, you are welcome to choose anything you like. I’ve had my time with them.”

“And the bed?”

“Where would we put it? I’ve thought about turning the living room into one big bedroom, and turning the bedrooms into little living roooms, but other than that…”

“it’s a damn good idea, we could make a parlor out of my room, and Dance can keep his to practice in,” Emma says. “And this living room furniture… ”

“That sofa,” Drin says, “Would never fit anywhere except the living room. And we’ll never fit both it and the bed in there.” He comes over to his girl, who tilts her maple-sugar head towards him as he gets closer. Her big poofy lips are opening into that irresistible smirk. He stops her with his tongue, just before she says something horrible, runs his hands all over that body, the tight little ribcage, the muscle in her legs under the smooth layer of woman. Drin gets his hand under her waistband, sliding over glorious peachy skin to get his fingers well into her crack, and pulls her hard against him, her pubic bone against his hardness.

Emma chuckles, winds her arms over his shoulders. “That the best you got big boy?” She pulls her mouth away to ask him. Well, fine. He’s tired of bending down to her anyway, so he gets himself deeper, pushing till his hand cups her labia, and stand up bringing her right up off the floor. That impresses her. She’s gasping, holding onto him for balance, rolling her hips to force her clitoris onto his fingertips, and cursing a blue streak when he stops kissing her.

Drin turns and walks the half of the length of the room to the sofa, leans her back, and half-falls onto it with her, his hand trapped in her slacks like that. But it keeps her in place pretty well, so that he can use his other hand to tug at her teeshirt and then pull her bra straps off of her shoulders, flipping the cups upside down and letting those tits of hers take a deep breath of fresh air. Emma is speaking grumbling endearments– he hopes– in German while he pays proper attention to the heavy soft flesh, tonguing a line straight across her chest under the both of them– tasting salt, and the aromatic that only registers on the back of his tongue when he breaths out. Emma’s fingers rake through his hair, trying to pull his head up. Drin wants to get her nipples hard first. He wants to bite at them, watch them shiver and rise, and then he wants to suckle at them until she groans and they’ve gone from rosy to outright red. So he does. While he’s doing that, his hand keeps busy in her pants.

“Ah Christ, you bastard!” she says at last. “You better not break the waistband, just let me unbutton–”

Drin waits untill her hands are busy together, before he grabs them both– Emma’s little hands, so strong for their size– in his one free. He gently lifts them both up over her head. “Keep them there,” he tells her.

“Oh, you’re going to make me?” her eyes are smiling the way a cat’s do, simply by an infinitesimal change in shape.

“I think so, yes.” Drin slides his hand free, and Emma breaths a sigh of relief from the tight stricture at her waist. When he brings both hands to her zipper, she does lay there, relaxed and easy. She arches up a little so that he can free her from her brastrap, and then he peels the white jeans away from her pale skin– so very pale against the smoky brown leather. She’s wearing silk of the palest possible aqua underneath, and Drin takes a moment to mouth that soft stuff and the delicious flesh it hides before he slides the panties down her legs and tosses them to the side. The little wisp of silk is well past damp at the crotch. God, she’s easy. He pushes her down against the leather upholstery.

Her eyes go wide; Emma loves the Cabretta seats in the Jag, and here is a huge expanse of the same stuff, enough for her to roll and revel in. She starts to bring her hand down to stroke it, and Drin, with an exaggerated, pompous gentleness, captures it and puts it back up. “No hands, my darling, you can feel it with anything else you like, but you leave your hands up here.” For illustration, he puts one hand on her hip bone, pushes to slide her sideways a little. Her eyes go wider yet.

“My God– you wouldn’t happen to have a kink or two hidden in that nice businessman disguise?” Emma chuckles and slowly moves one leg wide. Then she slides it back. “Oh, am I doing it wrong?” She’s all innocent blue eyes. Aggravating woman.

Drin shrugs; “Only you know the answer to that,” he comments. “But I have a vision… I’m seeing a Librarian on her belly, humping the sheets with a pillow clutched between her legs–” He chuckles.

Emma has her mouth wide open in outrage. “You didn’t!”

“Your door was open, darling.”

“Like hell it was!”

“I opened it, you’re right.” Drin admits, “I opened your door because I heard something that sounded like something I wanted to see. Leave your hands up over your head.”

“Oh, fuck off, you big, handsome, rich, self-satisfied bastard.” Emma pronounces every word of her favorite epithet with great precision. Drin makes a grab for her as she starts to slither off the sofa, blocking her with his knees, and she squirms vigorously against him. “You damned man you!” She’s laughing, of course.

Drin unbuckles his belt, pulls it free.

“You don’t get to make up the rules, love, it’s my sofa,” he tells her and wraps the belt around each wrist in a figure-eight, tucks the long end to go between, and he’s fashioned a tether that will hold her for a while. “Now doesn’t this feel good against your bottom?” he croons. Of course it does, and Emma is not shy about enjoying it. She arches her back, lifting her middle in order to get the flesh of her arse into contact, lets her thighs loll open. Drin, kneeling above her with the tongue of his belt in one hand, watches her cunt gape open in a flash of carmine between the caramel curls. He’s torturing himself here, he thinks to himself with grim amusement. But he waits, and watches.

Emma does not like silence. She’s finished rubbing her shoulders and butt, and is shifting her legs. She pulls one knee up, humming in expectation, frowns when Drin doesn’t move right to her pussy. He watches the other knee come up, smiling.

“What!” Emma says.

“I beg your pardon?” Drin returns and she growls in her “don’t fuck with me” voice.

“Goddamn it, Drin, put your hand to me, or your mouth or your prick– I don’t fucking care what you use, but do it quick!”

“Well,” Drin says, “I would like to bite your nipples again.” and he nibbles first one then the other. He runs his tongue down her heaving midriff to her bellybutton, and lifts away before he reaches her nest.

“Ill-begotten swine,” she pants. “What do you want then?”

“I want to relive my vision,” Drin climbs over her. Her eyes are hazed and drugged with lust. “I want to see you on your belly, rubbing yourself on my leather sofa. ”

“Ahhh….” Emma loves the idea. He knew she would.

“Only there’s one problem, love, you don’t have your hands do you?” Drin lets his full weight down on her, still clothed. There hadn’t been time to get himself undressed, this game had sprung itself so suddenly. He sucks her lower lip into his mouth, traps it with his teeth. Emma squirms, tries to spread her legs, tries to tilt her pelvis into him, and it’s all going to break his cock into little pieces– he’s sure of it.

“Fuck,” she gasps when he lets her speak again. “Damn– uh! — pervert. You millionaires are all alike,” which makes him laugh in delight. He can smell her, the heat of her skin, the onion-y scent of her juices, he wants them wetting the leather.

“You just let me know when you’re ready to turn ass up,” he tells her.

“All right, dammit, if you must have your fun luring poor innocent-”


“–Librarians to your lair, and forcing unnatural acts– get off of me you big ox, let me roll over.”

She’s so sinuous, twisting under him without her hands to aid her. He snatches kisses on her shoulders and neck, buries his face in her curls. He kneels up further, watching her hips swing over, shift and settle. Her shoulderblades are thrown into lovely smooth lines by her raised arms. Drin has had very little time alone with Emma; their shared obsession is so live a wire, so needy. Her hair tumbles away from her neck, like a child’s in its clean strong tendons. She’s shifting to get comfortable on those ta-tas of hers, grunting a little, and Drin has to tighten his grip on her leash.

“I need something–”

“You do, don’t you? Something you can grind against, fuck your clit into. You like to use a pillow, right? Or a fold of the blanket, held in your fist?” Drin can sympathise. “Something you can straddle.” He bends down and takes a long lick up her spine. “No.”

“No– Uh– What?” Emma gasps.

“No pillow, no hands.”

Emma groans, and looks around at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “You straddle something when you masturbate?”

“I’ll show you, on another day,” Drin promises. “Right now, you’re being set up, darling, for a bout of something special.” He slides a hand under her stomach, and down to cup her pubis. He holds her loosely, letting his hand move with her heaving, foiling her quest for pressure.

“That’s not– not nice.”

Drin pulls his hand away entirely. “Maybe you’ll have better luck now, the sofa is nicer than I am.”

Emma’s legs sprawl wide, and wider still. Her buttocks clench with the effort, and she rolls her spine in a desperate attempt to find purchase against the down-filled seat. “What’s so special about this?”

“You are,” Drin murmurs. “God Emma, you are simply gorgeous, and I’ve never had a chance to just stare at you.” Her spine undulates, the long muscles stretching and smoothing. Drin has to resist his need to touch her, cover her. Her thighs tense, fruitlessly.

“Come on, sweetheart, figure it out,” he whispers in response to her little whimper.

“Fucking– hell– easy for you to say–” Emma throws back her head to fix him with her grey-sky stare. She yanks at his hold on her wrists. “I’m spoiled, and your couch is not cooperating.”

“A little hard work is good for you.” Drin smirks. He gives up on one struggle anyway, and lets himself rub his free hand over her satiny ass, teasing her with sliding fingers between her cheeks, and her panting speeds up. She swings her outside leg wide, right off the edge of the sofa, and rides the rounded corner hard, groaning in relief. That’s what he’s been waiting for, her whole being focussed away from him or Dance– for all of Emma’s vaunted selfishness, Drin rarely sees her thinking about her own needs this way. He can smell her fluids coming. It’s enthralling, watching the way she shudders and jerks.

Drin looses the belt and frees her wrists, and Emma pulls both arms under her, fisting her hands together just under her pubic bone, and Drin wonders how she can avoid bruising herself she’s pressing so hard, her fingers have already gone white. For a moment she’s silent, unbreathing, in rapt concentration– and then a great shuddering sigh and her shoulders slump and everything about her is relaxed.

“My god,” she mumbles after a moment, face down in the upholstery. “Christ, I’d forgotten what that was like. Come here and let me suck your tongue right out of your mouth.”

“Promises, promises,” Drin says, and eases his aching cock into the valley of her ass. “That’ll have to wait. Right now, I want to just ride out your afterglow like this.” He brushes the curls away so that he can kiss the back of her neck and laughs softly at her little grumble of pleasure.


Drin and Emma one-on-one. Prompt– well that was tough, I’d meant it for “leather” but it seemed to me that “dominant” was the strongest element really, so that’s what I went with. Beta’d and cheerleadered by nagasvoice… with all that implies!

Blue Silk

His lovers are busy when Drin gets home.

Emma has Dance pushed back against the recliner, pinning him there with her body straddling his hips. From the movements of her shoulders, she is doing something very delicate, and Dance’s bare feet wiggle once in a while, the toes seeking each other out; if feet could hold each other, Drin thinks in amusement, these would. “Don’t move,” she says when Drin says hello. One of Dance’s hands lifts and drops.

“What are you doing?”

“He expressed an interest…” Emma is preoccupied. “in femininity, hold effing still, and we are about to witness…. Mmm, just one more moment… ” She shifts her shoulders as Drin moves, blocking his view of the action. “Right-o. Take a look at our princesss.”

Dance tilts his head up. Emma has lined his eyes with kohl, shimmered the flat lids in gold and a whisp of butterfly blue. There’s the faintest tint of rose over those high, sharp cheekbones, and Dance’s pouting mouth is lined and glossed. She’s taken the long straight sheaves of his hair and swirled them up in coquettish whorls and spills. He’s become some Chinese emperor’s concubine in grey sweats. “Fucking hell!” Drin says.

Dance’s smile is something else entirely under the spell of the paint. “I think he likes me to be a girl.”

“You wait here,” Emma instructs Drin, “Us girls want to change into something more comfortable.” Her raucous laugh spills out as she guides the diminutive musician into the bedroom. Drin leans against the bookshelf, and wishes he still smoked.

When they return, Dance is wearing Emma’s blue wrap dress– it comes down to his calves of course, since it was made for the taller woman– Emma behind him in the green one which reaches only to the middle of her sleek thighs. Together, they look like some skewed version of the “Mikado”, with mismatched sisters.

Emma has made no attempt to give Dance breasts, or disguise the muscles of his arms, and his abs ripple under the delicate silk. He is a man. But he moves with a sway in his hips, delicately picking up and laying down his bare feet, and his haunches roll as he comes forward. His eyes look impossibly slanted in his golden face. Emma is grinning wickedly behind him. “You look gobsmacked.”

“God, I am!” Drin gets out. “Come here Emma, Dance– give us a show.” He gets an arm around Emma’s waist, while staring at the vision in front of him. Dance raises his arms and undulates in a circle, blue silk fluttering, head poised on that strong neck as delicately as any courtesan.

“Emma, we should dance for Drin.” Dance isn’t trying to make his voice feminine, but that sultry note sounds just right. Emma leaves Drin’s side, and starts a silly hula-dance movement– except that her hips are hypnotisingly beautiful, and Dance, once he catches on, is as lithe as a cat. They do-si-do, snickering, and finish with a vaudeville step that exposes the lace and shimmer that Drin is expecting on her– and something equally lacy and flimsy being stretched by Dance’s semi erection. Drin gasps.

“Show him, love,” Emma says. She moves behind Dance, wraps one arm around his shoulders. Dance’s head tilts back, leaning against her breasts, rocking into them gently, smiling with those glossed lips. Emma runs her fingertips down his silken belly, into the valley of his groin, to the edge of the wrapped garment. Then she lifts, pulling his dress up, like he’s some uke in a yaoi manga, and exposes his lace covered crotch. Her other hand goes down as well, thumbs and forefingers framing and pressing the satin over his prick, and Dance makes a helpless little thrust, and Drin is now wondering if he will be able to replace that dress for Emma because he really doesn’t think he’ll be able to get it off of Dance without ripping it.


Dance, Drin, Emma.

For the prompt “Crossdressing” and, of course beta’d by nagasvoice; mwuah!

Et Voila!

“…et Voila!”

The bouquet of bright paper blossoms just appears in his hand, as if by magic. He presents them to her with a flourish.

“You are the most unusual fairytale King I’ve ever met,” Claudia laughs, taking the flowers from Hal. The patchy bits of sunshine feel indescribably wonderful on her face, and the air smells freshly-washed, briny even. Astringent.

“Well, yanno dat King of dah Swamp is just a story dat I tell when I’m feelin’ silly,” Hal confides. “S’really a little more complicated dan dat.”

“More complicated than being a king?” she asks.

“Well, my ancestors are dah Chitimacha Nation. We have clans — mine is Dog. And in dah old days we had nobility, but not kings, exactly, dat’s kinda Euro-centric thang.”

“But it’s very fairytale for a Frog Prince to become a King.” Claudia is smiling so much that her face muscles ache.

“Yup, and dat’s why I use it. S’funny.” He makes an outrageous face. “Remember, I’m–”

” –a weirdo. Yeah, how can I forget? You keep reminding me. So what would the Chitimacha call what you do?”

“Not sure — our language’s been lost. I think da last known Chitimacha who could speak it died in the 1930’s or somethin’. Dey think da word was ma’ta.” He shrugs. “I knew an Anishinaabe Medicine Man who gave me lotta great advice when I was a kid. He called me an ogimaa — said dat it meant “Speaker” and dat I was gonna speak for my people.” He shakes his head. “An’ den I find out dat my people want me ta speak to them, too. Ya don’t get to be dah speaker without bein’ dah leader too.”

“Ogimaa,” she rolls the new word on her tongue, then looks at Hal.

He nods. “Yup, you’ve got it.”

She reaches out, traces his cheekbone with one finger. “I like that. Maybe I’ll use it. Is that okay?”

“Sure, baby. I’ll answer ta anythin’ you want ta call me. But why not just use Hal?”

“Hmmm,” Claudia says, “on the other hand, I could use Harold.” She nods. “That would work.”

“Ok, almost anything. I love Auntie Frog, but dayumm…”

“Hmmm, I’m looking for something that conveys a little more… respect.” She mostly manages to suppress a smile. “Of course, that doesn’t mean that I’ll be forgetting what your name is.” She lets the smile grow, leaning in to murmur throatily in his ear. “Mmm, Hal.” She rakes his earlobe with her teeth before leaning back. It makes him go silent for a moment; fun to watch him come back from wherever he’d gone off to.

“Your Majesty?” Hal looks anything but majestic at the moment, wearing a lop-sided smile, and blinking in the sunlight. “My majesty, I mean. No, umm… how come it’s my lord, and your majesty?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because the majesty belongs to the king, and he’s the lord of the vassal– hence the my…” So why is she thinking, quite suddenly about all the nasty things she could do with her king? Perhaps Aunt Frog put something in that bottle of cranberry juice she’s been drinking. Or perhaps it’s just Hal, sitting on the back porch, the last of the storm wind ruffling blue and green highlights out of his long black hair. Or maybe she’s just drunk from the sunshine. She lifts her hand, lets the breeze carry his hair across her arm, the palm of her hand. Mesmerizing.

He shifts closer to her, lifting his face, and takes a deep breath. He leans closer still, eyes closed, until he can rest his face against her cheek, breathing in quick little puffs, sliding down to her collarbone. She feels goosebumps raise on her arms, feels her nipples tighten. He’s scenting her. It makes her shudder hard enough for him to notice; she can feel him smiling against her throat.

Then he tilts his head and very deliberately takes her throat in his mouth, closing just hard enough for her to feel his teeth, then almost hard enough to bruise, but not quite. A hot flush starts in her throat, runs fast down her front to settle in her groin, and she relaxes into his grip. She murmurs, knowing he’ll feel the vibrations, encouraging him to — ooh, yes– scrape his teeth gently across the skin, and giving her a sharp little nip before he releases her.

“I know what you like,” he says. His expression is smug as all hell, and it makes her love him a little for it.

“Yes,” she tilts her head, offering her neck and shoulder once more. Instead, his hands travel down her arms, and she murmurs again when he takes her wrists, moves her hands to the small of her back, and tightens his grip.

Little nipping kisses, that make her squirm and grunt, and he growls playfully; “Hold still, woman,” while making it nearly impossible for her to do so. “Mmm, ya taste goooood,” Hal’s tongue is rough, licking at her neck, pushing wetly into her ear. Now she has a cold, wet ear, and an attack of the giggles that she can’t control, no matter how many warnings he gives her.

“Yer not so good at obedience after all, are ya?”

Her stomach lurches, but Hal is looking beautifully smug, and completely happy, and she settles once more into his warm regard.

“No, Ogimaa,” she says. It’s the first time she’s said it to him. It works; his eyes go half-lidded in an animal smile, and his body relaxes against hers– she feels boneless and melting herself.

“Let’s get some practice in.” Hal stands them up and walks her back a few steps. There’s a pause while he transfers her wrists into one of his hands, and runs his knuckles over her face. “Yep,” he says, “Love at first sight, baby.”

Then she’s walking in front, down the steps, and into the tall lush grass. it’s cool, and soaking wet on her legs. Hal is talking as they go —of course— she smiles to herself.

“See baby, ya said you’d be my straight man, and dat kind of makes me sad. I got a whole swamp full of dose. I want ta have a lover, I wanna own a pet, I wanna be with a woman who needs me, so bad she can’t stop herself– and that’s what you’re gonna be. That Derleth guy, he never played with you, did he? You got a lot of hard work ahead of you, baby.”

“Yes, Ogimaa.” She can hear her voice tremble.

“Yes?  He did play with you?” Hal says sharply and very close to her ear. He’s jerked her to a stop, near the line of cypress that mark the west side of the house’s yard.

“No! No, Ogimaa, he never — played with- with me.”

“What was the yes, then?”

“Yes,” Claudia says, through threatening tears, “Yes, I have a lot of hard work ahead of me.”

“C’mere, baby.” Hal turns her around to face him. “Ain’t no reason ta cry, it’s gonna be dah best hard work ya ever done.”

“I know, that’s why… oh, Hal!”

“Shh, baby, shh.” He never lets go of her wrists, even while his other hand is smoothing over her shoulders and back. He licks at her lips, more of that wet, sloppy dog-licking, that runs up and even into her nostrils, making her gasp and jerk away. “Uh-uh, baby, you hold still.”

His free hand holds her head, and she’s treated to more of his tongue bath, over her cheeks, swirling into the orbits of her eyes. It’s gross, such a boy-thing to do, and she has to struggle not to wince or screw up her face. He takes her chin in his teeth. The hold is gentle, but she knows that if she moves she’ll be bitten. After a moment of stillness, Hal releases her.

She follows him past the cypress. Hal walks into the meadow, and circles himself into the sparkling grass, creating a round nest, and gestures for her to join him. She shivers at the brushing of wet leaves on her bare arms. The world smells like water and clean mud– the sourness of the wetlands has been flooded away– and greenness.

“You can lick me, too, yanno.” he offers. Claudia wonders if she can decline to lick him, but she already knows better; “Stick out yer tongue, cutie,” Hal orders her. “You lick everything, like I did to you.”

“You licked into my nose!”

“You do too, then.” Hal grins. “Come on, call it one of your new chores.” he lays back heedless of the squelching mud, pulling her over him. Claudia tries to ignore the soft earth cooling her kneecaps and shins, and protects her hands from the soil by propping herself on his shoulders.

“Yes, Ogimaa,” she puts as much irony into the words as she can, and runs her tongue over his lips– no chore there! His eyes close, waiting for her laving, and she obliges, sucking gently at the shifting eyeballs hidden under such thin lids. She licks up each cheek, and then without giving herself any time to think about it, over his nostrils, finding– only a faint taste of salt there, and the sensation of the delicate cartilage curves that frame each opening. His hand at the back of her head moves, cradling her, and she probes daintily into one of them, before she finishes with a wet swipe up the bridge of his nose.

“Such a good girl, such a good girl.” Hal rubs his damp forehead against hers, smiling into her eyes. It’s such a ridiculous thing to feel proud of– but his tone of voice rings true; the approval is unmistakable. His arms close around her waist, like any boy making out with his girlfriend.

And then she yelps, feeling the world swing over her; Hal has rolled her, straight into the sopping grass at their side, and onto her back. His hard body presses hers into the mud; she can feel wet seeping up the back of her head and over her scalp. Hal kneels up over her, and yanks at her shorts, and makes her yelp again.

“Shush, now, a little mud won’t hurt ya!” Hal bursts out with his braying laugh at her outrage.

“We were clean!”

“Still clean, dis is the cleanest mud you ever gonna see. I swear, but you’re a pretty woman, take that shirt off, I wanna look at your titties, too.”

“Dang it, we used up the last of the hot water, showering!” But she’s laughing right through her sense of propriety, and her beautiful man is standing, pushing Pen’s old sweats down his finely-sculpted legs. Naked and erect, he steps between her feet, and nudges at them to open. Claudia is looking up at a statue– some fantasy, an art deco figure, his sturdy legs with those thighs that belie the skinniness of the rest of him. His body can float above those legs, while they carry him tirelessly along.

She struggles out of her tank top, letting her knees sprawl open, feeling the silky smooth mud invade her butt crack. She rolls her spine a little to keep the stuff out of her vulva, she doesn’t care how clean he tells her it is. Hal looks down at the subtle movement.

“Pretty little clam,” he tells her, and drops to his knees between her thighs– she pulls them open wider, in alarm,– and splashes mud over her skin. He spits on his fingers, slides them slick over her labia and clit. “God, look at you, you’re beautiful!”

No one has ever told her that. Her former master never said anything about her genitals, when he’d command her to expose herself. He talked about the shame she must be feeling, and her squirming– neither of which were ever true. Claudia felt no shame having him look at her, and she was well-trained in holding still.

His fingers slide along into the mud on her skin, rub it around as if he’s finger-painting on her thighs, and then he pushes her knees wider apart, and he puts his forearms down right in the mud under her lifted thighs, and he leans his face in and his tongue strokes across her pubes in slow long strokes, as if he’s got all day, as if he’s not going to tire out, as if he could lick her to climax in moments, as easily as not, and he’s not. Yet.

His fingers stroke more mud gently onto her buttocks and her hips and her sides, and his tongue slides all round her crotch as if he’s seeking out the taste of her. He licks her pubic hair down in ranks, he lays his whole mouth down on the soft fold where her thigh meets her belly, he licks down her belly, and then he slides his tongue into the private places straining for touch, opening themselves to it.

Shock slaps Claudia, like a blow to the face. She jerks and cranes her head to stare at Hal in amazement. Nobody — ever — has done this to her. No shame at looking, no embarrassment, but this? She’d heard the men talking at the clubs when she and Master used to do demonstrations, arguing about whether eating pussy is nasty or not. She’s heard men rhapsodize about it, and others screw up their faces in disgust. But there he is, her prince, his face buried between her labia. She burns, and can’t tell how much is mortification and how much is lust. But she just can’t get over how good it feels, and she slumps back onto the ground, not even caring how the mud coats her scalp.

He licks in deep to feel the innermost textures and the shapes receding inward. He pauses now and then to look at her, and smile, and dive in again, eagerly, rubbing his nose and his chin on her clitoris, and licking down the cords of her thighs, and down onto the slopes of her buttocks. “Rock your cunt into it, baby,” he murmurs then, a buzz of vibration on her clitoris, and she groans. It sure seems like he’s having a good time. Screw embarrassment, she decides.

“Give me dhat woman in you,” he says. “Give me dat honey. I can taste it, ya want me in there. Show me you want it, let me lick it, let me taste how much you want to be fucked. Rock, baby, gently, just bump it up ta reach me, and I’ll suck it for you. You want yer clitoris sucked up like a dick? Ya want it? Say it, baby. You gotta ask. You can’t just lay there and be pretty and dainty and clean–but we’ll do that too, I promise–all lace and straps and little tight panties for spanking–but now you in the mud, with my face up your cunt, and I am tongue-fucking you, and I might lick your ass too. I might rim your little mud-covered ass like a dog. Dog don’t mind. Dog lick your ass till you come,” and his fingers grip into the cheeks of her buttocks, and his tongue is stroking deep into her pussy, flicking up at the tip on her clitoris, his whole body rocking absurdly into her. She arches her back and parts her knees as wide as she can and presents herself harder, and then he starts drawing back, not diving in as deep, he draws softly back, softer yet, drawing her after him, so she’s panting.

“Ask for it, baby,” he says. “Tell me what ya want. Tell us both what ya want. You’re wet, I can taste woman in there beggin’ for something, but yer strangled, ya can’t talk, that Derleth guy tied your mouth shut like a muzzle or somethin’?”

“Yes, Ogimaa,” she says, in a gasp.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” she groans.

“You don’t wanna talk to the Dogboy who’d lick ya all over? You don’t wanna tell me what your cunt wants from me?”

She wants to tell him, but she can’t force the words out. It’s too much. Something less, then. “Bite,” she gasps. “Bite me. Bite my neck, bite all over–”

“You want me to bite your cunt too?” He takes her vulva in his teeth, and they’re sharp teeth. He worries at the meat there, tugs at the hair with his mouth, until she wants to scream. But she can’t, someone might hear, it’s not allowed, so all that comes out is a thin wail. Then his muddy body slithers up hers, and he’s got the thin skin of her throat in his teeth. Just so, he nips. And again. She twists urgently, feels the mud squelch up between their bodies.

She groans. “Tell me, please…” she begs.

“No, you tell me when you’re going to give me your cunt,” he says, and he bites her shoulder.

She wails. “I can’t!”

He raises both muddy hands and he rubs his muddy hands across her belly and her breasts and her arms, and then he bites her nipples, more gently. “You can,” he says. “Maybe not now, but you will.”

And then he lowers his head between her thighs, and he drives in his tongue, and draws out. With the tip, he squeezes her clitoris hard against his front teeth, and releases it to push his tongue into her, and then presses it hard, and then pushes into her vagina again, over and over. Her brain stops, just like that, and she doesn’t have a mind, just a body that arches in time with his tonguing, slaps back into the mud.

She’s groaning in time to it, panting to catch her breath, when he stops completely. “You gotta ask,” he says then, looking over her, and kissing her nipples instead. Nipping all around them, licking even into the mud he’s put there, as if mud doesn’t bother him at all.

“Please let me come,” she pleads. “Please, Ogimaa, please.”

“Nope,” he says. “That’s not you telling me what your cunt wants. Being stubborn, that cunt is. I think I need to fuck your ass for a while. I know you got to keep your cunt pretty clean, can’t get shit for drugs in this swamp, but I can swampmud all over the rest of you. My hands are dirty, you put the condom on my cock.”

She sits up, trembling, finds his shirt pocket, and in this better light, it’s simple to roll it on. “Get the lube too, I brought some,” he says. “Lube it up. Lube yourself, show me your fingers lubing your ass. God, that’s one helluva a fine, fine woman ass. I could just bite dose butt slopes, and kiss yer sweet asshole all night. Now get on yer knees, get yer boobs down in it, lift your ass.” And he bites her there, too, wherever he can find a grip for his mouth, although mostly his teeth scrape across the slopes of her butt without finding purchase to pinch her. “You don’t like having me kiss mud off your ass? Believe me, baby, there’s worse every day. Lickin’ mud off a woman’s gorgeous white butt, I can do dat all day. Get some more lube on dere, put yer fingers in and open yourself up for me. Did Derleth ever ask you to show off dis pretty little asshole? Did he ever have you pleasure yourself, front and back? Did he ever stretch you out and let you feel something nice coming up your ass? No? Well, ain’t the same for a girl, but it’s one of dah nice things in life, gettin’ fucked by somebody who cares how ya feel when yer fucked!”

And then he’s inside her, his penis driving in, slick and hot and slow. So exquisitely, maddeningly slow.

She gasps out. “Yes. More — please –” God, it burns with heat, a welcome invasion. She keens at the first pull and stretch, making him pause. “Nonono…” She pushes back, driving herself onto him roughly. “Please… don’t stop.” It’s hot and slippery and wonderful.

“Gettin’ fucked by somebody who likes doing what pleases you. Fuckin’ you. Findin’ where you like it, doin’ you until you scream it out, it’s so good. Now you put yer fingers up your cunt, and you pleasure yourself, and I’ll feel you shakin’, I’ll know if you’re doin’ it right. I want lots of that woman honey coming out on yer fingers. Droolin’ and messy and no mistake what ya want.” And he bites her on the shoulder, on the nape of the neck gently, nipping in tiny little pinches down her back. “Yeah, baby, you’re wired this way, ain’t you?”

“Please –” she’s almost weeping with sensation. “Yes. Oh god, oh god, bite me more –”

“Yell it out, baby, I ain’t done with you,” he says, with his hips driving into her in a faster rhythm, and he bites her on the shoulder, and then he says, roughly, “Now, baby. Come when I’m fucking you up the ass. Come now,” and she does. He’s wound her up, and she bucks, and mud flies, and he doesn’t stop thrusting into her ass. “Come now,” he says again, and again she does, twisting under him, biting her own arm to keep silent. He grips her hips hard, and she feels him break rhythm, feels him bury himself inside as far as he can. He slumps over her to whisper against her shoulder.

“Come now.”

And she screams, spasming around his dick.

Hal brays with laughter at her exclamation, and it sounds joyful and glad and free. Maybe someday she’ll sound like that when she laughs. “Good girl,” he croons. He rolls then, so that he’s the one wallowing in the squelchy mud. “You’re mine now, baby, and I ain’t gonna ever let go. We’re gonna be happy, never mind dah bugs and problems and whatnot.” He regards her seriously for a long moment. “And to celebrate, you’re gonna get a new name, too, just like you gave me Ogimaa. “You move like a dancer, so I’m gonna call you Grace. You like dat, baby?”

She giggles, completely flustered. “Yes, Ogimaa, I like that. I like it a lot.”

Then Hal leaps to his feet in a spray of mud and water. It’s started to rain again, a mere drizzle now. “C’mon, baby, pick up our clothes and I’ll show ya somethin’ useful for a change.” She scoops up their muddy clothes and flip-flops, and lets the mud drip down her front. Everything else is covered in mud, so why not? Hal slides a hand through her hair and settles it on the nape of her neck. “Walk,” he demands, and the hand at her neck steers her toward the outbuildings.

Where do you go when you’re happy and naked and covered in mud? Out behind the barn, apparently.

He kisses the top of her head, oblivious to the mud, and steers her to the outhouse and its shower. He yells under the hard cold spray and pulls her in after him. Thirty shivering seconds later, their bodies and clothes are clean enough to reunite without scratching them raw. And then they’re off to feed the animals.


I had help, lots of help, from Stella Omega and Nagasvoice on the pr0n. Thank you!