Summer Swap 3.11

A breeze caressing her stuck-out ass cheeks let Lily know someone had entered the suite. She wondered if Arlo stayed. Then wondered what she would prefer. It would make her feel safer knowing her Daddy was in the room watching out for her. But then, did she want her proud, loving Master to witness his subject’s subjugation to a man who wasn’t her Master? Would her Master enjoy seeing another man use his wife like an object meant only for sex?

A hand rested on the top curve of her rump, the right side, the man’s fingers pressing the small of her back. All wonder of her Master’s consideration evaporated, wavering away like heat off asphalt. The ocean sounds whooshed and cawed in her ears.

The man’s hand was large, and she swore he wore gloves. Warm, leather; even under the ear-buds’ simulated seashore her mind conjured the sounds of creaking hide. Two hands on her flesh now, exploring the shapes of her ass. Her cheeks burned with humiliation; gosh, the vulgar way her Master had exposed her to this other man was debased and debauched. She had never been treated this way before in her life. But she trusted her Master. If this was the best he could arrange for their summer stay on this yacht of degenerates, then so be it. It didn’t change her. She was resilient. And her husband knew her value.

Still, the reduction imposed on her was awful; her, a beautiful and kind and valuable member of society, reduced to her functioning biology and what those easy biological parts could provide for some man. Not a good man like her husband. No, maybe an awful man like that hairy Philippe or perhaps some raconteur like Cody Weber, who’d flown in helicopters and shot rifles and probably killed people. She bet it was Cody who put his hands on her right now.

Awful Cody with his hey-look-at-me body all covered in bronze muscles. She’d hugged Cody’s wide back on the jet ski to shore wearing her Daddy’s butt plug, spent the afternoon with Cody, having fun—gosh, he was funny—goofing around. . . . All that before she knew about the dirty things going on behind her back. Dirty Cheyenne, and wow, even level-headed Scarlet joining in.

But not her. Not Lily Dixon, wife and lover of the greatest, most talented man she ever met in her entire life.

The leather hands peeled her cheeks apart, and she raised her eyebrows high, heart hammering in her little chest as she felt his—no, Cody’s, she knew it was Cody!—breath on her most sensitive parts. Her toes scrunched, and she bit her lower lip. A tongue licked its way up her seam, the tongue point dancing a wet circle around her back hole. Her breaths chuffed, and she emitted a dreadful mewling sound at the sweet erotic indignity of it all.

* * *

Scarlet mushed her husband’s cock head against Philippe’s cock head, watching the shiny, supple shapes glisten. Both men were aroused, both men leaking their sexual lubrication, her husband’s emitting reluctantly maybe, spurred by his wife’s indecency. At least that’s what she liked to think. Maybe old Sully boy got a kick out of Philippe’s penis. It was a weird thought, but somehow she didn’t think Sully would allow this with anyone else. Not Cody, not Arlo, definitely not Byron. Philippe had a curious and attractive male sexuality; authentic and sharp, yet somehow ingratiating or welcoming. His penis was so much larger than Sully’s—and she didn’t imagine her husband would enjoy that comparison—and yet, here he was letting his wife hold the two of them together, point blank, the size difference unavoidable. Philippe was longer by inches; Philippe was thicker, too, and Sully was already a thick boy. But she’d not been able to touch fingers around Philippe’s girth.

Sully said to Philippe, “So, we’re just going to let her keep her clothes on?”

“Let her have her fun.”

“It’s always her way.”

Philippe said, “At some point she’s not going to be able to stop herself.”

“And she’ll just strip down like she’s too hot.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m right here, guys,” she said.

Sully looked down at her. “Yeah, but you look preoccupied. Are you having fun?”

She joined in on their comical indifference to the strangeness happening between all three of them. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” she said, like it was no big deal.

Sully didn’t even believe her for a second, saying to Philippe, “Scarlet majored in dick during college.”

Philippe chuckled, his cock slippery in her slick grip. She rubbed their lengths back and forth against each other in a motion akin to sharpening a kitchen knife with a file. Both men’s cocks gleamed with their own wet. She let their penises go, Sully’s staying upright, Philippe’s monster drooping to hang heavy against Sully’s thigh. It might have been the hottest thing she’d ever seen in her life. The room was getting humid with the heat they were all pumping out of their bodies right now.

Even their balls were different in size; Sully’s tight packed and hugged near his shaft, Philippe’s much larger and hanging low. She rested both men’s scrotums in her palms. Philippe’s danglers had weight, her husband’s were self-suspended.

Sully, standing confident with his hands on his hips, hard cock thrust out, said to Philippe as she held their balls, “You ever seen a girl do this, play with dicks like this?”

“All the time,” Philippe said.

Sully called him a showoff, and they both laughed at that, their balls moving around on her palms.

Philippe said, “It’s called frotting. Rubbing cock together like this.”

“Huh. Everything’s got a name now,” Sully grumbled.

Philippe looked down at her. “Is he always so disgruntled?”

“All the time.”

Sully agreed. “Twenty-four seven.”

Philippe chuckled again. “You’re a funny guy.”

In a Long Island voice, Sully said: “What am I, am I like a clown to you? Do I amuse you?”

Philippe said, “What is that, Goodfellas?”

“Yeah,” Scarlet said. “It’s his favorite movie.”

“Not my favorite,” Sully said, “but it’s up there.”

Philippe studied him, the two of them naked and face to face while Scarlet stroked their cocks. “We should hang out sometime.”

“With our cocks touching, or...”

“That’s up to you, Sully,” Philippe said, smiling.

“Touché,” Sully said, and both men broke up laughing together again at Sully’s dumb double meaning.

“I’m glad you’re both getting along so well,” she said, lining them up again, both of their undersides resting agent each other, cock heads looking up toward the ceiling. “But I think I want you both sitting on the edge of the bed together.”

She scooted back from them and stood, putting her hands in her shorts pockets.

“If’n you say so, Miss Scarlet,” Sully said, nudging up the brim of what she figured was an imaginary cowboy hat.

“I say so,” she said, touching her hands on their upper arms, liking how they were both buck naked and compliant and she was fully clothed and in charge. Sully and Philippe stepped rearward toward the edge of the bed, Philippe’s huge and engorged penis swaying between his thighs. He elbowed Sully and said, “Was that Cody? Were you doing Cody?”

Sully chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’ve seen him play cowboy.”

“A lot of girls have a cowboy kink.”

“A lot of girls? How many girls have you guys slept with?”

Scarlet snapped her fingers. “You’re not sleeping with anybody,” she said, lighthearted, yet still a little zinged by her husband’s eager query of Philippe’s and Cody’s conquests. She didn’t want to know how many women Sully slept with before her, and she definitely didn’t want him wowed by Philippe’s numbers.

“Stay focused,” Philippe said, but gave a curt nod in a way that read to Scarlet as acknowledgement that Philippe and Sully would talk later when Scarlet wasn’t around. Sully thought it was funny but Scarlet didn’t—and Philippe recognized that and said, “Our polycule was loyal, for what that’s worth, Scarlet. I’m just joking around, and I assure you, I haven’t been with anyone in months now. . . . Literally months,” he added at the end to indicate the dry spell was torment.

“Too much ‘you guys’ talk,” Scarlet said, “and not enough ‘me’ talk.”

Philippe sat on the bed, legs apart, his penis and balls hanging off the edge, the end of his cock almost down to the bottom of the box spring. “And what is it Miss Scarlet wants to talk about?” He framed “talk about” in air quotes. Sully sat down beside Philippe, pushing his hips forward to make his cock look bigger, aware of the beef that dangled beside him.

Scarlet withdrew her hands from her pockets, brought them together before the two watching men, then drew them apart, an expanding length of tape measure between, the roll hidden in one hand. “I want to talk about measurements.”

Sully gasped a sound of shock. “Where did you get that from?”

Philippe said, “It was like a magic trick.”

She said drolly, raising one eyebrow, “I come prepared.”

Philippe said to Sully, “Your wife is very impressive.”

“You should see her without her clothes on,” Sully said, wriggling his eyebrows at her and biting his lower lip.

She said, “He has seen me without my clothes.”

Sully put his hand over his heart and winced as though wounded. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said, voice squeezed. It was like even though he and Philippe were naked and she would measure their penises in about ten seconds, the idea another man had seen her naked made him sick with jealous hurt. And she liked that.

She said now, “Philippe even had his hands all over my bare ass in the closet.”

Sully chuckled through a long exhale. She knew her husband’s heart was hammering away right now, and she loved they were doing this together. It was way better than her down here alone with Philippe, her husband sulking in their suite waiting to hear the post-game report. Sully was too good a friend to miss out on the actual doing of the deed.

With her hand on Philippe’s broad and hairy chest, she guided him to lean back on his elbows. His stomach muscles flexed and his cock fell to one side to lean against his thigh. It was such a sexy sight that she paused a second to take him in. The smile on her face was unstoppable. Her heart hammered, fun and joy played through the pleasure chemicals her brain was fluxing right now.

“Let’s get this bad boy in the upright position,” she said, lifting Philippe’s cock and arcing it upward. Past the midpoint she let it go and it fell against his hard stomach with a slap. All three of them laughed. Philippe’s penis looked ridiculous this way, his balls hanging down to rest on the mattress, the enormous flesh club laying back on his stomach. It looked unreal.

She kneeled at the side of the bed, Sully sitting, watching her, smirking, and she took the zero end of the tape pinched by finger and thumb and pushed it underneath Philippe’s scrotum, guided the tape along his shaft, his balls sagging out on either side of the tape. Sully turned up his hands in a gesture of dispute while she ran her other thumb and finger along the tape, stretching it out toward the big fat end of Philippe’s penis. She knew Sully had an objection.

“Oh my God,” she said. “It’s like fourteen inches.”

“It’s not fourteen inches,” Sully said. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I know how to read numbers, Sully,” she said, angling Philippe’s penis toward him with the tape measure pegged to it so he could read it for himself. “Fourteen inches.”

Sully rolled his eyes. “You’re like measuring it from his anus, Scarlet. That is not how you measure a penis.”

“I thought she majored in this,” Philippe muttered, pretending to be disappointed.

“I didn’t say she graduated,” Sully said, and they both laughed at her.

She withdrew the tape measure. “So sorry,” she said to Sully. “How many penises have you measured, my Mighty Measure Master?”

“Well, only one—but I measured it a lot.”

“I would love to catch you doing that,” she said.

Sully took the tape measure from her, saying, “Not since I grew up, Scarlet.”

She showed him a restrained expression on the verge of hilarious cachinnation, trying not to burst out at the image he’d put in her head of young Sully alone in his bedroom with a ruler and a hard-on.

“Well, I defer to your dick-measuring expertise,” she said, curtsying in place, bowing her head. “I hope I pick up a few things from watching one of the greats.”

Sully leaned forward, looking very serious now, like dick measuring was super important. “First thing when measuring a dick, young grasshopper, is you must be topless.”

Philippe lounged with his big proud member laying on his hairy muscular torso, eyeing her with sexual hunger. “Sorry, Scarlet. Your husband’s right. It’s in the rulebook.”

“If you insist,” she said, cocking her head, doing the coy thing with her mouth, beginning to raise her shirt higher, teasing both men.

When the shirt was lifted, they both sat straighter, scooting closer. Her knees went weak when their hands went to her stomach and back, and they both kissed their way to her breasts, working together to thumb up her bra and free her aching nipples.