Summer Swap 3.14

The stranger in the suite had left Lily gasping and panting on the bed. He’d done terrible things to her backside, things she was to timid to admit to her Master. But she would. She would confess the dirty things he had done, as shameful as it might be. She lay now with her face smooshed into the bedding, her hair damp and clinging to her cheeks and back and shoulders, bound and tied in such an undignified and unforgiving position. A froggy. A defenseless little sex froggy.

But the man wasn’t done.

No, up to this moment had been foreplay. Foreplay of all things. Why wouldn’t he just come into the room and get it over with quick, have his way with her and get back to cocktails with the others?

The leather glove he wore stroked her haunches. She was spread wide, her stuff jutting up into the air. She could tell the overhead lights were on. The man—Cody—would see every stark detail of her sex. The restraints cut into her, not enough to hurt, other than a dull ache. She writhed against them to relieve the kinks in her back. The man must have seen her struggling; he rubbed her back for her, big leather grip kneading her shoulders and caressing the stretched muscles of her lower back.

But then she could feel... it. His thing. His man thing. Touching her legs, her bare legs, bumping against her inner thigh. What might seem like the offer of comfort was just more foreplay. He wasn’t done. His thing was hard and straight and he would put it inside her now.

At least she would be returned to her Daddy soon.

His tip nuzzled into the slick cushion of her opening and her sore back stiffened—and for reasons she supposed she could never fathom, she steadied herself for the man’s entry. And enter her he did; inch by slow inch. Another man’s organ invaded her most sacred space. Her husband’s space. Her toes curled, her eyes rolled back in reluctant ecstasy. It felt incredible and awful and sinful. What would her husband think knowing another man could deliver such pleasure? Would he be happy for her or alarmed? It wouldn’t matter, because when this man left the suite finally she would bound into her husband’s loving arms and bury her face in his neck.

The man’s thing was thick. And it was long, too. Sinking deep inside her canal, filling her up, stretching her. The man was as big as her Daddy. She thought he might be. She’d seen Cody’s. How could she not see it? The way he flaunted it around in front of everyone. Her Daddy kept his gift hidden. It was only for her.

And because of that, this was where she was. Subjugated, bound and displayed before another man because she would never in a thousand years—even under threats of violence—share her Daddy with anyone else. No one. No one, not ever.

And in the end, this predicament her Master had arranged was the best of all her possibilities. It showed her Master how she would obey him. It showed her Master she would never share him. It showed her Master even though this man could deliver astounding physical pleasure, she would have to be restrained. She wanted no intimacy with Cody.

And in return, even while she endured the stranger’s deep thrusting, loved the liquid pleasure that swirled deep in her belly where the man’s swollen cock head plunged over and over, she’d discovered a connection to her Daddy. Her Master. Her husband. Arlo.

For the man—she was sure it was that raconteur Cody Weber—knew how to please her. Cody knew what she liked. His leather palm rested on her tailbone, his large manhood easing in, then withdrawing, her petals clinging to his latex-covered shaft, and he would dip in a way that allowed his length to go deep without bumping her cervix.

Her Master, her husband, had instructed this other man—Cody—on what his wife liked best. Looking out for her. Knowing how much a violation this was and working hard to ensure his baby Lily was cared for and satisfied.

With that warm thought glowing in her mind like sunlight through a farmhouse window, she relaxed and smiled, comforted by the knowledge her Master was with her in spirit. It didn’t matter whether her Master was in the room, he was in her heart. With this relief she succumbed to the deep pleasure another man delivered in the style of her husband: careful, thoughtful, interested in his length probing all her secret pleasure spots; even the deepest one.

It didn’t take long for her legs to tremble, her stomach to tighten. Her insides went gooey and her eyes rolled up behind her mask. A rumble shuddered through her, getting her moaning, making all the sounds that came with the impending thunderous arrival of an overwhelming orgasm. She wished to kick out, stretch her body, luxuriate in the enormous pleasure that tumbled her way. But all she could do was twist and writhe against her restraints as the man steadied his length deep inside her and she squeezed and milked it, shimmying her tush against him.

When at last the orgasm spiraled up from the eddying currents of pleasure, forming a water spout, a pirouetting tornado of inner lubricity that danced from an intense point somewhere near where the head of the stranger’s cock throbbed and flexed; a pink pocket she imagined curled behind her cervix, a complex of her most favored nerve endings that her husband taught this man, this Cody, how to find.

She cried out and babbled vowels and half-words as the orgasm claimed her in complete sexual sheathing, every part of her body set to electric tingling. She cried out Arlo’s name, wishing he was in the room, that he had the courage to stay, that he would know no matter who she was with it would only be him she thought of.

But as the whirlpool hit its peak, she remembered Cody in the beach town, the two of them gone to shore, Cody trying on cowboy hats and asking her which one she liked. As she rode out the orgasm that cocooned her, she could see him like a bronco buster, naked, his bronze muscles glowing in the amber lamp light from the suite’s bedside table lamps, and he’s naked but he’s got cowboy boots, and he’s wearing the hat, and as she cried out even louder, crying out Arlo, Arlo, Arlo, Cody took the hat off and whooped it around him, taking her from behind, swatting her ass with the cowboy hat as he claimed victory of her as he left her shaking and panting and drooling with his big cock buried inside her.

* * *

Scarlet’s tongue slipped and slithered over Philippe’s large, swollen—but oh-so-supple—cock head. She loved its shape under her tongue, and hoped Sully enjoyed the show she performed.

He must have; his cock was hard as a crowbar as he rocked against her, almost fully inside. Sully felt amazing. What was this called, spit-roasted? Is that what Philippe and Sully would tell their friends later? They’d spit-roasted Scarlet. They wouldn’t say that, but she liked to fantasize they would and then try to picture each of her friend’s responses when they’d been told. Spit roasted? Scarlet? No way.

Yes way, ladies.

Spit-roasted and loving it. Her husband—who knew what she liked—fucking her while she sucked another man’s huge cock. Another man, Scarlet? Who is he? You don’t know him, she would say. Nice guy, rich, good-looking, masculine. Great beard.

They’d say, How did this happen? . . . Oh, I saw the guy’s huge penis and kind of got turned on, and my husband told me to go for it if I wanted. . . . Your husband? . . . My husband. . . . Wait, Sully? . . . Yes, Sully. My Sully. . . . Sully? Sully like Sullivan Hill Sully?

The one and the same. Sully and their friend Philippe, watching her naked, spread on the bed between them, claiming her mouth and her pussy in incredible ways. A sex toy for two men, one she loved, and the other she liked very much. The pleasure was wild and forbidden and so fucking good. Permission to be bad. Like real bad. Naughty, naughty.

Above her, the end of his cock in her mouth, Philippe said to Sully, “Show me how she comes.” Like she wasn’t even hear, just a play thing for the two men to enjoy.

She slurped her lips to a point on his fat cock head, so she could say, “Sully makes me come so good.”

Sully groaned with delight from her words, smacking her haunch. Philippe scooted up, his cock leaving her, coming to her side. “I want to watch her come.”

Sully pulled out, and she moaned with disappointment. She patted her own pussy, complaint, “What are you doing?”

Sully jerked his own cock, eyes eager. “Get up on your knees and face Philippe.”

She wanted to ask more questions, but time was of the essence; she was surfing a sexual high. So she rocked upright, Philippe took her arms and helped her up until they faced. Fuck, his big strong hands felt good on her. Their eyes connected in a strange and lustful way. All the charm and good humor was there from before, yet something was new. Wasn’t hard to figure out why, given what they were doing, but the eye connection tightened her core.

“Hey,” she said.

“How you doing?”

“Pretty good,” she whispered. Then gasped as Sully entered her from behind. She collapsed against Philippe’s muscular chest, slinking arms up to circle his neck. His warm hands comforted her back.

Sully took hold of her hair, easing it back to lift her face off Philippe’s hairy muscle. He said, “Kiss him. I want to watch you kiss him while I fuck you.”

She could barely see her husband in her periphery, but his tone of voice told her this wasn’t a joke. He wanted to watch her kiss another man. It seemed so wrong, and yet it was an easy thing to do, and she turned back to Philippe. Sully eased in deep as he would go, pressing against her bottom to encourage her mouth closer to Philippe’s.

Before their mouths connected, Philippe whispered, “I can’t wait to watch you come.”

Then her lips pressed Philippe’s. So different from her smooth-shaved husband—though Sully had grown a goatee one time that she’d made him shave off because it looked too Satanic for the finance business and none of his friends had the courage to tell him. She gave this other man her tongue and he took it, his own slipping along hers, twining, their lips suckling. He was a good kisser. Her fingers played through the hair at his neck, explored the muscles of his shoulders and collar. He was bulk. He was strong. And the whole time, Sully gave it to her just the way she liked it; the right pace, the right depth, the right angle. All for Philippe’s benefit, her husband showing off how he knew his wife’s body, how he knew her pleasures, how he could play her favorite melodies.

It wasn’t long before he had her brow furrowing, her focus stolen, her chin dipping as her panting increased and gained the creak of a pleasured moan. Sully knew what worked and he was having a good time showing off his trick. And, she liked to think, showing off his hot wife.

And just as the big bad orgasm chain came rumbling down her tracks and she had no more time to let out of the way, Sully pushed deep and held his thick cock inside her because she loved to hump it that way when she came— But Philippe sensed it coming, too, holding the back of her neck with one hand while the other spread wide on her back and stroked down to where Sully impaled her. His finger teased at her back hole, exploring, curling her toes and making her sex sounds go whistle high and breathy. And just as the train hit her with full thundering force, Philippe curled inside her anus with a gentle sweep and she bucked and cried like never before, getting owned and dominated by two amazing men.