Summer Swap 3.8

Lily stood facing the bed like she was told, while Arlo worked behind her. Her husband was clothed, and she was naked.

Near her ear, Arlo said, “I’m sorry, Lily. This is the best I could do.”

“I trust you, Sir,” she whispered, wishing there was another way, but knowing her Master would do right by her to the death—or to meet somewhere they both could settle. Since her Master had tried, and won for her a midway point she could accept, it was her duty now to submit. And she would.

Arlo put his hands around her body, the cold steel of the handcuffs he held touching her bare thigh and getting her flinching. She held up her hands, her wrists close together so he could close the cuffs on them. Each cuff cinched shut with a quiet click, ratcheting around her skinny wrists. “Is that comfortable?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’m going to be gentle as I can be.”

“I know you will.”

“You’re a good girl, you know.” He ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek and her nipples went tight and hard. She shivered.

“I know,” she whispered.

“This might feel awkward at first.”

“We’ve done it before.”

Arlo said with admiration, “You are my brave, brave girl.”

“Thank you.”

“Now pull your wrists in as tight as you can to your tummy. . . . That’s it, Lily, tight, tight, tight. . . . Good girl.”

While she pulled her hands close to her body, trying as hard as she might to extend her bent elbows behind her body, Arlo lifted a four-foot-long steel curtain rod from where it leaned against the bed, then slid it across her back and through the triangles of her pulled-back elbows, pinning her arms in place, the rod pressing now into her back, squeezed in place against the inside of her arms. It was tight and uncomfortable, but it didn’t hurt.

“How’s that, Lily?”

“It’s fine.”

“Our good equipment is at home, but you know what we’re doing here, correct?”

“You want me to be your little froggy.”

“Not mine, Lily. Not tonight.”

“I know,” she said, sullen and barely audible.

“Be brave.”

“I am.”

“But, yes, you’re right. I want you to be a little naked froggy. Can you climb up on the bed for me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

The extra-length chain on the handcuffs she wore stretched across her ribs as she put one knee up onto the bed, then the other.

Arlo moved behind her, bringing the other matching curtain rod, laying it along her calves, then rolling it forward until it snugged up against the back of her knees. He gripped the curtain rod that held her arms in place, saying, “Now lean forward, baby. Remember to stick your tushy out.”

She nodded, leaned forward her weight, Arlo supporting her by holding the curtain rod, until they worked together to let her down face first on the bed, her cheek pressing down on the comforter.

Arlo said, “Are your hands okay?”

She tried to move them, and when they were stuck she said, “No, Sir.”

“That won’t do, that won’t do,” Arlo whispered to himself, his warm, comforting hands slipping over her back and her sides, rolling her and guiding her hands to lay out, palms down on the bed. “Better?”

“Much better,” she said. “Thank you, Sir.”

She waited with bated breath and heart-pounding patience as Arlo used two lengths of rope looped around the ends of both curtain rods, knotting the rope and securing her in place. He’d made her his little froggy. Only he’d done it for another man’s benefit. She lay face down and handcuffed; on her cheek, knees, and palms, her knees spread wide, her butt stuck out, totally naked. Her opening was fully, shamefully presented to anyone who might want it. With the curtain rods in place and tied together, there was no struggling; no escape from this exposed position.

Arlo’s hands smoothed over her naked back and hips again. “You’re so beautiful, Lily. You really are. Your body is so incredible.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, mush-mouthed, with her face smooshed into the bedding.

“What a beautiful behind. And such a narrow waist. . . . Let me take a picture.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She waited as her husband got his phone, got in position, and clicked a few shots. “Do you want to see?”

“Yes, please.”

Arlo brought her his phone, held it sideways so she could see one of the pictures taken of her naked and bound body, crouched like a frog on the bed, her rump hanging off the foot. She did kind of look good—though the sight might be a little garish, the way her most private spaces were shown, her little pink stripe and even her winky hole.

“Does it please you?”

“It does, Sir.”

“So, would you say you’re prepared?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good, Lily.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, Lily?”

“He has to wear a condom.”

“Of course, Lily,” Arlo said, smoothing his hand on her rump. “Of course, my little lady. Of course.”

Now Arlo went to the side table and rummaged through his bag of tricks. He returned, and she waited to see what he had for her. He lifted her head just an inch off the bed and fitted around her face a velvet mask that covered her eyes and blacked out her vision completely. “Is it comfortable?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“It’s not pinching your ears?”

“No, Sir.”

“Good, good. Okay, I think we’re ready. . . . He should be here now. You stay like this and I’m going out to the hall to see if he’s here yet.”

“I can’t go anywhere else, Daddy,” she said, smiling.

“That’s a good point, baby. . . . Hang tight.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She listened as her husband crossed their suite and opened their door. Arlo made a brief sound of acknowledgement, like their guest was ready and waiting in the hall. The best her Daddy could do for her was to arrange a session like this one where an anonymous man from the yacht would have his way with her and she would never know which man it was.

Out in the hall she could hear the muffled voice of her husband talking and another man answering. The other man laughed at something. She couldn’t make out any words they were saying, could hardly make the sounds out at all. Her heart galloped out of control. The door opened again and she bit on her lower lip.

Then her husband was near her ear, stroking her cheek. “Hi, baby. He’s here now. He can’t wait to come in. Are you ready for him?”

“Yeah,” she gasped, her toes wiggling, her pulse pounding in her ears.

“Okay,” he said, then fidgeted with something.

She said, “He has a condom?”

“Yes, Lily. He has a condom. He’s, uh . . . I don’t know how to say it nicely. Uh, ready?”

“You mean...”

“Erect, Lily. He’s ready to go. This might not take long at all.”

“Okay.”

Then he stopped fidgeting and brushed her hair away from her face. “I’m going to put your ear buds in now, okay, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Arlo was careful putting her ear buds in, rolling her head one way then the other, slipping the hard plastic buds into her ear holes without hurting her. He said, “Brown noise? White noise?...”

“Could I hear the ocean, Daddy?”

“Of course, baby,” he said, leaning closer and kissing her cheek. “I love you, Lily.”

“I love you, too,” she said, smiling—no, beaming—below her velvet eye mask.

Then the beautiful sound of the vast salty ocean filled her ears; waves crashing, somewhere a buoy’s bell donged, and gulls flew over her head, cawing.

She bit her lips and waited for an unknown man to enter the suite and use her for his pleasure.

* * *

First thing Sully noticed was Philippe’s suite looked like a hotel room when you first checked in. Nothing out of place and the bed made.

Sully had his hands in his pockets, looking the room over, nodding as though the reason he was here had nothing to do with his wife wanting to play around with the tenant’s giant penis. Scarlet had entered ahead of him and gone to the far end of the room where there was a step up to a raised level.

At last, Sully looked over to Philippe, sitting in a chair by the table. “Hey,” he said.

Philippe said, “Good to see you, Sully.”

“Yeah, good to see you, too.”

Scarlet returned and offered him a short glass of pale amber liquid.

“What’s this?” Scarlet told him it was moonshine and maple syrup and he shrugged and took a sip. “It’s good,” he said. Scarlet told him to have a seat on the bed and he did. She sat in the chair on the opposite side of the table from Philippe, crossing one leg over the other. Why the heck would his wife summon him into this awkward situation? He didn’t even know how to sit so it didn’t look like he was uncomfortable.

Scarlet sipped her moonshine, then said to him, “You know, Philippe here has a big secret.”

At first he thought it was some dirty double entendre, some reference to Philippe’s endowment—which was no secret at all; everyone on the yacht had seen it. Heck, people on shore could probably see it, the thing was so big.

But Philippe said, “I think my friend Cheyenne whispered something in your wife’s ear and they both think it’s something I kept hidden.”

Sully frowned, looking to Philippe. “What’s that?”

Philippe looked to Scarlet, his eyes lazy, a smirk pulling up one cheek, and Scarlet smiled a devious smile back at him. Now Sully had to know. He couldn’t have them holding secrets without him.

Sully asked again. “What is it?”

Philippe said, “Your wife is dying to tell you. I’ll let her do it. It’s no big deal.”

Scarlet’s face turned to Sully, and he showed her his casual expression, though there was something tingling up his back—like a Spidey sense—that whatever the secret was (that was no big deal to Philippe, apparently) was a big deal to Scarlet. He could read it on his wife’s face. She said, “Philippe was married to Paloma...”

“Yeah.”

“And Philippe and Paloma were married to another couple.”

“What?”

Philippe shook his head and held up a hand to stop Scarlet. “No, it’s not like that. No.”

Scarlet turned her head to Philippe. “No? Then how is it?”

Philippe said, “I was married to Paloma—I still am—but we lived with another couple. In the same house. . . . And then, after a while, another couple joined us.”

Sully said, “Six people?”

“Yes,” Philippe said.

“Six people in the same house all . . . you know, like”—he leaned forward and whispered, “swapping?”

“A polycule,” Scarlet said, crossing her arms, acting smarter, when he knew deep down she’d heard the word polycule roughly twelve hours or so before he did right now.

Sully nodded, assessing this new information, twirling it around in his mind to get a good look at it and see what he thought. He took a sip of the moonshine. Philippe was hot. Paloma was like a supermodel. Were all of them hot? A whole house in the woods full of hot people having sex with each other? Holy shit—just like this yacht. He took another sip of his moonshine and drained the glass.

Philippe stood and offered a hand, saying, “Let me get you another.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sully said, passing Philippe the glass then running his hands up and down his own thighs quick enough to start a fire. He shot a wide-eyed look to his wife, and she cocked her head and did the same to him. They both smiled at each other with disbelief.

Scarlet turned to Philippe. “So, how does all that work? I mean, six people, that’s got to be a lot of emotions to handle and feelings to take care of.”

“It is,” Philippe said, topping up Sully’s glass. “First, it’s not six people. It’s three married couples. That proved too much, maybe. But I’ll tell you how you make it work.”

Sully said, “How?”

“Honesty,” Scarlet said.

“No,” Philippe said, returning and handing the filled glass back to Sully, then setting the rest of the bottle on the table so no one would have to keep getting up. “It’s contracts.” He sat back down in his seat and lifted his glass to his lips.

Scarlet asked, “It’s not honesty?”

Philippe shook his head no. “What’s honesty other than some half-baked truth sold to you by that used car salesman known as your ego. Deception isn’t born on you tongue when you tell a lie—it lurks in the dark corners of your soul.” He smiled at them, bouncing his eyebrows, knowing it sounded like he talked out of his ass, yet serious all the same. “That’s why it’s contracts that save the day. Contracts are agreements. Spoken agreements are a bond stronger than so-called honesty.”

Scarlet said, “What kind of agreements are we talking about here? Do you need lawyers? A notary?”

“Witnesses,” he said. “Take, for example, what’s happening tonight...”

Sully’s foot was bouncing, his moonshine sloshing in the glass he held on his thigh. He took a quick swig. “What’s happening tonight?”

Philippe looked over to Scarlet, his eyes roaming up and down, face to chest and back again. “Scarlet has something in mind, but I don’t know what it is yet.”

Scarlet flashed a quick, wide smile, like she’d been busted. She said, “Tell me what you’d like to see on the menu. If I like it—if we like it”—she looked to Sully—“maybe we can come to an agreement.”

Philippe nodded. “Scarlet likes to run this like a negotiation. Okay, I like it, too. I’ll start high and then we can haggle...”

The confident way Philippe stared at Scarlet was so fucking exciting—mostly because of the effect it had on his headstrong wife.

“Go ahead,” Scarlet prompted.

Philippe rubbed his jaw, miming the act of deep contemplation. “I want to spend an hour finding out what makes Scarlet come. Then after that, I’m going to make her come, hmm, five more times.” Then he looked to Sully. Sully’s scalp tightened and tingled with a crazy never before felt erotic anticipation that raced his heart. Philippe continued. “And I want to do the same to you, Sully.”

Scarlet looked over at him, smiling devilishly.