Packing Heat: Femdom Strap-On Stories

Tahoe Tease ^{by Thomas S. Roche}

She wore them on purpose: those goddamn shorts. They make her ass look amazing. They drive me crazy. They would at the best of times, even if I hadn’t been spending my every waking hour for three weeks contemplating that perfect ass with its perfect curves and its perfect shape and its perfect texture and that perfect little hole, tight as can be—never entered, barely even touched. Trina’s shorts would make me go nuts with desire even if she was just my garden-variety girlfriend this week. If these seven days in Lake Tahoe were exactly like any others, she would just be my saucy tart of a lover, nothing more. She’d be the girl who cuddled up against me in the mornings and purred, “I want you to fuck me every way a girl can be fucked” (except that way) or sprawled out in bed and murmured softly, “Yes Sir, Master, this slave lives to do whatever you want, Sir” (except that), or grabbed me and threw me down on the bed fresh from a night out and still smelling of smoke and scotch and dug her fingernails into my chest and growled, “Tonight I wanna do everything” (except that).

Even then, Trina’s ass in those shorts would make me drool. If this week was just a week like all the others, just a wiggle and a stretch, and I’d be crossing my legs and tucking my business out of the way—or trying to, before somebody noticed.

But this week isn’t like any other, because it’s the week… the week she’s giving me her ass.

Trina knows this; she’s been tormenting me the whole week in Lake Tahoe. It’s a game for her, and I’m always the loser, and the winner, and something in between. This game is the Tahoe Tease—making me wait until exactly halfway through the week-long vacation… halfway to the minute. Exactly.

Which is exactly tonight at midnight, and then the Tahoe Tease can finally end… and I can have my sweet baby’s ass.

For her it’s a game, the Tahoe Tease. How many boners can I give him, and not have him disintegrate into a puddle of goo? The answer is “lots,” but I come pretty close. The answer is “plenty,” with plenty more to come. The answer is that eight weeks into the Tahoe Tease, Trina owns me. She knows how to work that Tease like a stripper craving green stuff, and my tongue is a hundred-dollar bill.

All it takes is a wiggle of Trina’s perfect ass and I’m putty in her hands.

Just a sashay of that derrière… and I’m on my knees.

I run up behind her while she’s mounting the path toward the cabin. I can’t resist. I reach for her from behind and she just melts into me, knowing I’m there without looking. It’s not just that she can hear my footsteps; she senses me. Witchy little Trina knows exactly where my hands are going—her ass—and exactly where my lips will end up: that perfect slope of her neck, right by her ear, the place where a softly-growled “I wanna fuck” can make her as wet as I am hard.

But she’s already wet. She’s wet from teasing me all up and down the mountain paths surrounding Lake Tahoe. She’s wet from showing me the ass I want so very badly to fuck, then keeping it locked away in camel-toe shorts for another twelve hours. In those tight shorts, she’s simply dripping—at least, I think so. I’m guessing, I’ll admit, from the posture of her body and the way she rubs her ass against my hands.

I’m not as sexually gifted as her; she can smell a hard-on from San Francisco when I’m away on business in New York. Three words on the phone and she’ll sigh, “Quit stalling, you’re calling for phone sex. In fact, you’re already hard, aren’t you?” Eerie.

Me, I’m not a psychic like that. I have to work out that she’s extremely turned on by the way she pushes her tight buns into the fervent caress of my trembling hands. I have to guess at how juicy her perfect, tight pussy is from the way she arches her spine, tips her head back, and opens her mouth for a kiss. I give it to her and she takes it. Trina is gifted at so many things, and one of them is getting from me exactly the kiss she wants, even when I’m the one starting things. Right now, on the path, with Susan, and Jen having jogged up ahead and Matt, Ben, Carrie and Liz having lagged well behind, I get not just a kiss but a kiss. It’s not the chaste kind, which is all she allows me when we’re around her family. It’s also not the simple, suggestive kind, like I get when we’re with her friends, as we are this week. Trina’s not afraid to let her friends know we have a good sex life, but she draws the line at slurping and drooling and grunting.

What I get right now, today, twelve hours before I possess that perfect ass at long last, is a kiss of the open-mouth, tongue-y, juicy biting horny ravenous variety. I go rock-hard in an instant feeling her tongue work its way against mine. It only lasts a moment. Then she bites at my lower lip and her tongue withdraws; her lips leave mine. She grabs my wrists and pulls my hands around her body, planting my palms on her tits.

Such a move would not supply hard-on help under any circumstances. At the moment, I’m obsessed with Trina’s ass, and such has proven a lasting obsession (as it surely will into the future). But Trina’s tits? Well, shit. That’s another four thousand words at least, or maybe forty thousand, or even four hundred, more likely. They’re pert and firm and just the right size and not big enough to inhibit her vigorously athletic nature, and she pours them into these ultra-tight sports halters and her nipples get hard like they are right now against my hands and she clutches my fingers tight and rubs her ass against my shorts and I swear I can almost feel her butthole. My brain goes all fizzy. If I was a cad, I’d push her down to the rock-strewn path and pull her shorts to her knees and take my cock out and—no. We had a deal. And, sure, maybe Trina’s a bit of a bitch for teasing me, but there’s no claiming I haven’t asked for it.

Even when she mewls, “Right here in public, baby? Right here, on the path, in broad daylight where everyone can see? And no lube? My poor little butthole, darling, my poor little virgin—”

I try to tell her to stop, but all that comes out is a pathetic bleat. She wriggles out of my grasp at the moment that Ben, Matt, Carrie and Liz—or some combination thereof, and who gives a fuck?—come around the bend with joy in their voices. Trina laughs merrily and jogs on ahead; she glances behind me to see my discomfort, taking pleasure in it.

I jog after her. She knows this annoys me, but she can’t resist shooting pleasured glances at me—mostly down at my boner, but also at my face. I’m breathing hard in a minute, and barely keeping up with her. But she paces me, and gives me a teasing little pout.

“It was the ‘virgin butthole’ that did it,” I panted.

“Isn’t it always?” she said back, seemingly effortlessly. She’s barely breathing hard at all. She looks sadly at the dwindling front of my shorts and says with studied, overwrought innocence:

“Just twelve more hours.”

“You’re really going to make me stick to that?”

She shrugs.

“Or you could cave, and we’ll have to start all over again the next time you have something I want.” As she says it, she glances at my cock. It’s a really nasty way to put it, but I don’t take offense; on the contrary, in about three seconds I get the very same problem I had a minute ago—bonerus publicus.

“Damn it!” I say.

She sees it, giggles merrily and races up ahead of me.

I pace myself and think desperately about nuclear engineering, German grammar, organic chemistry, opera. I get it down to maybe twenty percent, my pre-come drizzling into my jockeys.

Trina’s on the deck doing her post-run stretch when I get back to the cabin; her legs are spread wide and her ass is in the air and her hands grabbing her ankles… more of a caress than a grab, and that position is not a coincidence.

I race past her and sprint for the bathroom; a good long piss never failed to ruin a hard-on, but this one’s a long time coming. Half of me wants to take care of my “problem” instead of fighting it. Two strokes, I swear, that’s all it would take with the way she’s been teasing me. I’d squirt my load all over the cabin’s downstairs bathroom, and if I didn’t get there first with the tissue, they’d probably need to call up the crime scene cleaners.

Of course, with a girlfriend like Tina and an unforgiving travel schedule, I’m an expert with the tissue, so… no chance of that. I could wank right here in the bathroom, and none of her friends would be the wiser.

But like I told you, Trina’s boner-psychic. She’s got as uncanny a sense for when I’ve jerked it as she’s got for when I want to jerk it. And she’s got the best sense of all of exactly how bad I want her.

The slightest relief will tip her off… and we have a deal.

It took me ten minutes to piss—painful at first, then hugely relieving. It felt good to have a soft-on even if I had to defeat the laws of physics to get it.

I exit the bathroom. Jill, Steve and Rory cooked lunch. They’ve got it ready, and we all sit down for chow.

Trina looks innocent and tells everyone, “I’m on a fast.”

She glances down at my cock, gets up for water, leans in close, puts her arms around my shoulders and whispers warm and sexy in my ear: “Wanna take our daily nap?”

I groan; I whimper. I look at the clock. Two in the afternoon. Ten more hours. How can I say no? How can I say yes?

I growl, “Hell yeah I do,” and gobble lunch like a starving man… which I am, in every respect except the food part.

Of Trina’s friends, only Emily gets it. Em’s a dirty little tomboy with short hair and small tits and a storied history of female lovers; she’s supposed to have piercings, somewhere, but always plays coy when you ask her. She’s the perv of the bunch (other than Trina and me), and she and Trina are pretty good friends. I see Emily shoot Trina a dirty look, like she knows we’re going off to fuck. If she only knew the truth.

“Have a nice nap,” she singsongs as Trina leads me down the hallway toward the eight-bed room we share with half the group.

With the hand that’s not casually holding the front of my waistband and leading me, Trina makes a bunch of gestures and mouths some words. It seems pretty obvious what she’s indicating. Emily makes an “OK” sign with her thumb and forefinger, indicating she’ll spot for us. The doors in the cabin don’t lock, so that’s extra-special important. Emily’s been the one spotting for us every time we’ve done this, in return for Trina’s jokey promise to do the same if Em hooks up with some ultra-sexy Truckee guy. I’ve you’ve ever been to Truckee, you might find that vaguely amusing, as Trina and Em did.

Her Praetorian guard placed on duty, Trina leads me into the bedroom and throws me at the bed like a pitcher hurling a fast-ball.

She’s a ravenous little minx before my ass hits the mattress.

All that teasing really gets her worked up, you see.

It’s kinda her thing, like asses are mine.

Please let me explain. My darling Trina is not quite the bitch that she seems. Or perhaps it’s that she’s a bitch because I let her.

Trina and I found out more or less on our first date that our sex drives are matched. This was a thing heretofore unheard of in both our relationship lives.

Unfortunately, I have to travel fairly often for work, with the result that we spend a lot of weeks apart. Being on opposite coasts so often, believe it or not, tends to spice things up. Webcams and phone-cams and VOIP and chat rooms are the business traveler’s friend. What’s more, they can illuminate lovers in entirely new ways.

Some of these ways are expected, predictable, comfortable.

Other ways? Not so much.

The exposure of my complete ass-obsession was unplanned, but Trina swears she achieved it with virtually no pre-planning; I gave her the “opening,” if you’ll forgive me, and she filled it up with extreme and juicy prejudice.

Two months ago, I was on assignment on the East Coast. I hit upon the idea of trading porn clips on a tube site and watching them “together,” wearing headsets and talking about what we saw.

Trina, however, is not the pornhound I am. Since the things she likes best—more about that in a moment—are not effectively communicated through video, she prefers to watch only porn that I select. She says it turns her on to know that what she’s seeing is my thing.

As it turns out, this was also a deeply clever way to expose my perversions. We were about nine clips into the evening when Trina said with a hint of the Domme in her voice:

“You’re really an ass-loving butthole slut, aren’t you?”

Sitting in a New Jersey motel room, I turned seventeen shades of red and practically choked.

“What the fuck?” I said.

“I’m sorry, was that rude? I mean you’re a horny butt-craving pervert, is that a better way to put it? You’re completely obsessed.”

I squealed out something pathetic by way of an excuse, about how “Most porn nowadays has anal in it” and “Sure, it’s a turn-on, but I mean not like an obsession,” and “Lots of guys are into that…”

It was a pathetic attempt to deflect my embarrassment. We both knew it, but Trina—to her credit—knew it better than I did. She listened politely to my stammering, then sighed and said:

“That’s garbage. You want to fuck me in the ass.”

I said, “Okay, all right. Of course, if you’re into that.”

“No,” she said. “Not if I’m into it. You want to fuck my butt. Do you think about it often?”

I did, in fact. I thought about it very often. I struggled of a politic way to tell her, but none presented herself. Besides, Trina was purring along with her motor in fifth. She said:

“I bet you think about it all the time, don’t you? Sliding your hard cock up into my tight little butthole… taking my virgin back door—”

I stopped her then, as I would later stop her on the path to the cabin. “Virgin butthole.” I just couldn’t handle it. I made a squealing noise and gulped.

“Okay. Sure, that’d be hot,” I admitted. “That’d be fucking hot. Are you into that?”

“Not at all,” she said happily. “That’s what makes it such a turn-on. You know, you brought it up on our first date. Remember that? I should have known then…”

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay, I remember. You said you’re not into that.”

“What I said,” she laughed lightly, “is that I’ve never done it, and I don’t particularly feel the need. But if some horny butt-fucker with something I really wanted were to, say, make it worth my while… if he had something I really, really, really wanted…”

She had her nasty voice on, now, her in-charge voice. It was as different than the sex kitten voice I heard whimpering in my ear when she laid back and begged me to do dirty things to her ’cause she was bad… she was very, very bad. But trying to “flip” Trina was utterly hopeless. She’d put her Domme boots on without warning.

“Like,” she said, “Lake Tahoe.”

I made a strangled sound.

“I already said I’d go,” I growled dejectedly.

“Uh-uh,” she said. “You have to go and be happy about it.”

Trina has a group of friends, ten or fifteen in number—the size of the group grows and/or shrinks from year to year—who always get a cabin in Lake Tahoe in August. This tradition had been going on for ten-plus years. Trina had skipped the last two.

I am not an event-friendly boyfriend. I don’t mind Trina’s friends in particular, but group vacations with friends or family are less fun for me than root canals. It was our third year together, and Trina was after me to finally attend. I’d grumpily agreed.

“You have to really, really enjoy yourself,” she said with sadistic pleasure. “And make it obvious to everyone what a good time you’re having.”

“All right,” I said cheerfully. “That sounds good. I’ll go to Lake Tahoe, I’ll enjoy myself, and…” I thought about Trina’s perfect ass.

Her tone of voice was nasty: “I don’t believe you.”

“How come?” I asked. Truthfully, I’d been thinking about how easy that was. I would have done far more to get Trina’s oh-so-perfect ass.

“Because it’s too easy,” she sighed. “You’ll paste a smile on your face, pretend to be happy… that won’t do it. You have to really be happy. And I only know one way to do that.”

Instinctively, I knew what was coming.

Dubiously, “What’s that?”

“You have to agree not to come.”

“You mean when I fuck you?” I said hopefully. “You mean when we… uh… do anal?”

“Of course not,” she said. “Between now and then.”

I just about choked on my tongue.

“The trip is two months away.”

“I know,” she chortled. “Isn’t it wicked?” She spoke with casual matter-of-factness. “I think that’s about what my virgin ass is worth, don’t you?” She said “virgin ass” with such pleasure that it would have been positively pathological if it hadn’t made my cock jump. She continued pleasantly: “You have to go without coming, then be a bright, shining little beacon of happy on the Tahoe trip, and… once you’ve done both of those things, I’ll give up my ass.” She dropped her voice half an octave and made it all breathy. “I’ll let you fuck me in my tight… little… untouched… virgin—”

“Stop,” I said. “You’re telling me you want to go two months without sex?”

“Oh,” she said. “I never said that. Let’s keep having sex… you just don’t come.”

“I told you,” I said. “I’m not into tease-and-denial.”

Trina was; in fact, it was her very favorite thing. I’d told her right off I wasn’t into it… the very same conversation, in fact, where she’d told me she didn’t do anal. Right before we had sex. Neither of us suffered then (or would suffer, now) from an excess of first-date propriety.

On the tease and denial, Trina had slowly “brought me around.” There was the eight-week “lap dance class,” ostensibly for fitness, which she said she absolutely had to practice with me following every rule, like sitting on my hands. There were the progressively skimpier outfits when we were places we couldn’t possibly get alone and have sex; you have never seen a girl dress as slutty for her boyfriend’s great-uncle’s funeral as I saw Trina do.

“I know you’re not into it,” she said. “That’s what switching’s about, right? I mean, it’s not exactly whips and chains.”

“I think it’s worse.”

“I know,” she said happily. “Aren’t I evil?”

“What’s to stop me from jerking off in the meantime?”

She made a disgusted noise; she took pride in her psychic powers that allowed her to detect recent male orgasms.

“I can’t do two months, and we have to do it before the trip.”

“Too bad, and no,” she said.

“My prostate will swell!”

“Fine, then. Let’s say monthly handjobs.”

“Monthly!”

She cackled. “You’ve already said yes, baby. Now we’re just arguing details…”

We argued details, all right… well into the night, and with great exactitude. Trina had me pussy-whipped in ways I’d never even dreamed. My body responded to her demands and my brain conjured up intricate, vivid images of her promises. By the end of the night I’d agreed to totally forgo masturbation entirely, and orgasm with two exceptions. Trina would give me a blowjob when I got home from my trip in three days. And she would give me a handjob four weeks after that, “To make sure your, whatever, prostate doesn’t swell or whatever.” Other than that, I said I’d go dry until the halfway point of the Tahoe trip.

“Once I’ve put up with your friends and enjoyed myself for half the trip—I want what I’m owed.”

“Ooooh, so forceful,” chortled Trina mockingly. “You mean, like, down to the hour?”

“Down to the minute,” I growled.

“Dirty,” she said. “You know everyone bunks together.”

“Tough,” I said. “We’ll lock the door.”

“All right,” she said. “But I’m not going celibate.”

“Fine,” I said.

“And I’m not taking matters into my own hand.”

“What, you’re going to go two months without masturbating?”

Trina’s voice had that Dominant quality as she said, “If you want my ass, darling, then for the next two months I shouldn’t have to masturbate.”

My cock was throbbing at this point. I could barely keep my eyes from crossing.

“You expect me to fuck you and not come?”

“Darling, of course not. That would be cruel. Besides, I wouldn’t trust you. After a week you’d blow your load on my thigh. You have to get me off another way.”

“What way?”

She said coyly: “One way.”

“How?” I growled.

“Every single day,” she said.

“How?” I growled.

“In this one particular way.”

“How?”

“Once a day, if I want it.”

“Okay.”

“And once a night. This one particular way.”

“Trina, how?”

She told me.

She could be a very dirty girl, my Trina.

“What if I come?” I asked her. This was the clincher.

“What, accidentally?”

“Sure,” I said. “Or if you make me.”

“Well,” she sighed. “If I’m teasing the hell out of you and I accidentally get you off, then… let’s just start the clock all over, shall we?”

“Ugh,” I said. “I should have known. Are you trying to trick me?”

“Darling, trust me. I’d never get you off intentionally. That would be evil. But of course, if you jerk off or something, or let yourself, you know… while you’re doing things to me…”

That’s when Trina’s imagination really got going. She showed what she’s made of. She showed that this tease and denial stuff is just the start of her pervy Domme-y games.

I still can’t believe I agreed to get my ass fucked if Trina’s not the one who makes me come.

But then, by the time she talked me into taking my hand off my cock and not coming that night… I was more than just pussy-whipped. She had me wrapped around her finger.

Hey, don’t get me wrong. I wanted that ass, almost as bad as Trina wanted to give it to me. She wanted a chaste little boyfriend who’d play at being wrapped around her finger. It looked like we could both get what we wanted.

But why did I finally let my velvet-voiced girlfriend talk me into taking my hand off my cock at the end of our conversation… and leave it off, rather than coming on that very last night before my “sentence” began?

I’ll admit it. I wanted to hear her sexy voice tell me, “Good boy.”

I got my homecoming blowjob. I got my “monthly” handjob, after a month of horny teasing, suffering, blue balls to end all blue balls. Getting off has never felt so good.

And Trina got my tongue in her ass, deep in her ass, me rimming her hard and hungry and horny while she rode her vibrator till she came. Progressively, she started moving my hand insistently onto the vibe, and then letting me “drive” so she could clutch at the sheets and push her face into the pillow to stifle her cries of pleasure, and push her ass high in the air while I obediently rode her.

For two months, she’s been offered daily and nightly rim jobs from me, with steadily growing enthusiasm as I got used to the task and started to like it… then to really like it. She almost always exercises her option. She’s been getting deep, eager lickings while I try very hard not to reach down and stroke my cock and come all over her feet.

Which would be a disaster, since that would put me in the position of… well, of having to be the one who gets fucked. If it sounds like a sick twist of an “indecent proposal,” well… that’s because it is.

I never thought I’d be such a subby little slave… and all because of Trina’s perfect ass.

How did I come to this? How did I find myself more turned on by trying not to come than I ever did from trying to come? How did I find myself with my tongue in my girlfriend’s ass, worshipping her perfect butt with my mouth, all so I could slide my dick inside it when after two months—a month, I guess, allowing for that solitary handjob—I was so addicted to the high of constant arousal that I almost didn’t want to come?

For two months, in return for her back door virginity, Trina got daily, nightly, sometimes thrice-daily rim jobs with vibe in hand, or in my hand, a state of affairs that became constant as my licking became more enthusiastic, deeper, and more of a turn-on… for me, as much as for her. In the last two months, Trina’s ass has become central not just to my fantasy of fucking her ass… but to the whole of my sexuality.

Afternoon, evening, and sometimes morning, I eat her ass with great enthusiasm and a vibrator in my hand.

Which is exactly what I’m doing when Emily walks in on us.

Maybe “accidentally,” on purpose.

How it happens is this:

Trina leads me into the bedroom.

One of her thumbs is hooked through the waistband of my shorts, very close to my dick.

She slams the door behind us and drops to her knees; she has my shorts on the floor before I know what’s hit me. My jockeys, all tangled up with L.L. Bean cotton, glisten with what looks like a pint of slimy, shiny pre-come.

Trina teases me. She loves to do this; she gets off on teasing me. She does it as often as she can. But this time she’s totally out of control; she’s got me wrapped around her finger. I’d drink her bathwater. She uses her mouth to torment me. Trina doesn’t really suck my cock, because she knows if she did I’d pop fast. She just breathes all over it, licks a little, drizzles, drools, flickers her tongue.

It’s torture.

A month since my last come—and that from a handjob—Trina’s breath and the tiny gentle flicker of her tongue is almost enough to get me off. It’s surely enough to make my eyes roll back and my mouth pop open and little pathetic squeaks of agonized pleasure come leaking from my tormented body. But in case that’s not enough to really make me suffer the delicious torment Trina so gets off on, she lets her tongue slide out and runs it gently up my shaft, over my head, lapping pre-come from my tip and looking up at me with big blue eyes and mewling, “Will you shoot it up my ass?” while she caresses my balls—and then grabs them, pulls them, kneads them. I just about lose it, hands flailing—I can’t decide whether to grab her shoulders and push her away, or grab her hair and shove her mouth onto my cock. Would that count as her making me come, or me making me come?

I don’t want to risk it, of course. I let Trina do her worst, licking my balls and my glans with alternating pressure, careful not to push me too far.

Then she stands up, looks me up and down, and goes to bed.

As to when she found time to shuck every last item of clothing while she was down on her knees… I admit to drawing a blank.

All I know is, she’s stark naked when she plants herself on the creaky single bed with her ass shoved up high in the air, waiting for her “daily nap.”

I step out of my shorts, strip off my T-shirt, and get the vibrator out of my backpack.

I join her on the bed.

It’s possible I haven’t described Trina’s perfect ass with sufficient detail. By “ass,” I do mean her gorgeous buttocks and upper thighs, which are tight and taut and toned from yoga, swimming, running, stair-climbing. It’s not that she wants a nice ass; she just can’t help it. The freak actually loves to fucking exercise. Whether she’d still put all that work in if she didn’t, just to get guys like me wrapped around her little finger, I can’t really surmise. What I know is that every time I look at it I hear a klaxon sounding in my head—always did, even when the most intimate act I performed with Trina’s ass was a little spanking. Since I’ve started worshipping it daily, well… it’s hard for me to gauge if her ass is actually perfection made flesh, or if I’m just so fucking horny I’ve started to lose it. Probably a combination of both.

But her buttocks, her thighs, the small of her back—that’s not really what I mean. What really makes me drool is her butthole. It always did, even when I’d see it as I entered her—you know, the “conventional” way—doggy-style from behind. There’s something so dirty about a woman’s butthole, when you’re deep inside her pussy—not that you’ll do anything to it, necessarily, but just that it’s there. Sometimes that’s plenty good enough. And Trina’s always had a sweet tight pretty pink asshole… all the more yummy because I knew it was off-limits. I’ve always liked anal sex—both the fetish and the activity. Once I started sliding my tongue up into that snug back door of the hottest girl I’d ever slept with, I was a goner.

It’s also more than a little smooth—in some ways arrestingly so. For all her tomboyish behavior, Trina has a remarkably girly little butthole. When I rimmed her the first time—which was, suspiciously, just a few weeks before she made her “offer"—she had barely responded; I would only find out later that she’d liked it a lot. but been embarrassed by liking it so much. Go figure—it looks like we both needed a little nudge to do what we craved.

There in the cabin bedroom, I do what I’ve been doing regularly for two months now—mouth at her ass, tongue working, two fingers of one hand in her pussy, another hand guiding the battery vibe back and forth on her clit. Trina rarely fails to climax using this combination of stimuli; it can take her anywhere from two minutes to twenty, and she often wants a second.

That part isn’t technically part of the agreement… but I never say no. Has she really whipped me that good?

She must have. She must have whipped me better.

Because I’ve been going at it five minutes or more—more aroused than ever, because I know my ordeal is close to its “end,” if you’ll forgive me—when I hear the door click-squeak open, and I pull back, instinctively moving to cover myself with my hands. The vibe comes away from Trina’s clit as my fingers leave her pussy and my tongue leaves her ass.

But Trina moves faster than I do, and faster than Emily—which is who it is, I see as she comes through the door with her mouth open wide, pretending (or maybe—just maybe—not pretending) to be shocked. Is she really surprised to discover Trina and me in flagrante delicto? Was there some sort of misunderstanding in the “Keep the others out” gesture Trina gave her? Or—far more likely—has Emily decided to invite herself to a threesome… and she’s just shocked to see how dirty we fuck?

“Sorry,” says Emily, but her voice has a quality that tells me she’s not sorry at all. “I thought—”

I never get to hear what she thought—or claims she thought. Trina gets her hand on my head and shoves it back down toward her ass—a move requiring a twist and a squirm possible only from a yoga fanatic.

“You,” hisses Trina, addressing me. “Don’t stop. You—” addressing Emily “—close the door. Drafts! Naked people!”

“I noticed,” says Emily filthily, and I hear the door close.

I think we’re alone again, so I let Trina hold me there with my mouth on her ass, and I figure I’ll deal with my humiliation later. After all, Emily’s hip, right? It’s not like I have to be embarrassed. I put my tongue and my fingers and the vibe right back where they all belong—asshole, pussy, clit. Trina never takes her hand off my head, holding me there.

Then Emily says, “You don’t mind?”

I instinctively pull back, though less firmly this time. It’s easy for Trina to hold me there, her hand on the back of my head, her hips grinding her body so I have no choice but to continue to lick her ass. My cock gives a throb. Emily’s here. She’s watching. My cock pulses. My tongue works. My balls swell. Trina laughs.

“Do I look like I mind?” Trina asks.

I can’t see much, being focused entirely on my task(s). But I do have peripheral vision, and Emily’s close enough now to engage it. I see the soft fluttering swirl of her limbs as she lifts her T-shirt and drops it on the bed next to me. Her shorts are next, and she’s not wearing underwear. But then, she wasn’t wearing a bra. She isn’t wearing shoes, either, so when she eases onto the bed and starts to make out with Trina, her foot feels gentle trailing up my bare back.

She lets it rest on the back of my head, and Em’s the one to hold me in place as I lick. That frees up Trina’s hand, which seems to have been Em’s whole idea. Trina starts to play with Emily’s teacup tits, while they kiss… at least, as far as I can tell, because Emily’s perfect bare foot is shoved against the back of my skull, now, forcing me to service Trina.

Trina’s moans are mounting rapidly; Emily’s arms go around her and she hooks her leg so she can hold me down with her calf instead of just her foot. It’s a surprisingly secure hold, as his her grip on my girlfriend. Trina moans louder and louder, and her hand has found its way into Emily’s crotch, I think. I hear a wet sound, and Emily moans and says something very filthy, squirming and writhing up against Trina.

My cock throbs close to release as I struggle to take this all in. I knew my girlfriend had female lovers in the past—two of them, plus a one-night stand—but that was years ago. It was all behind her, she’d told me. Threesomes? Not so much. Maybe someday, she said. With two guys, baby. I think I’d be up for that.

Or maybe today, apparently, with Emily—hot, brunette, skinny tomboy Emily, geeky-gawky and cute, and oh my God she fucking smells good. I can smell her leg, hooked over my head and holding me down with my face in Trina’s ass; Em smells like lotion and fruit and flesh and musk, and Trina’s trying not to orgasm. I can tell because I know it so well; she loves this fight, the struggle not to climax. She likes the very last moments before orgasm almost as much as I do. Maybe my weeks of denial are sort of like the seconds of Trina fending off her orgasm by clawing sheets and pounding mattresses and begging—or ordering—“Slowly, baby… slowly!”

But that’s not what she says this time. A whispered word goes quickly between them—Trina and Emily. Or maybe it’s not quite a whisper. Sort of a moan, nice and low, sort of sexy. Almost loud enough for me to catch, but not quite. Something about “Handjob.”

My eyes roll back in my head as Emily slides off the bed, the metal frame creaking, the springs going Bounce! as she makes her way behind me, and I try to pull back. She won’t let me; Emily has her hand on my head and is pushing my face into Trina’s asshole, holding me in place while she reaches down and slides her slim, perfect tomboy hand over my cock.

She gets a good grip and puts her lips to my ear; her breath is warm as she tells me:

“It’s all right, little ass-licker. Give it up. You were doomed from the—”

And that’s all I hear, because Trina is moaning at the top of her lungs, climaxing hard as Emily strokes me off. Em doesn’t even “jerk” me, exactly; she doesn’t even have to. It’s just a series of gentle caresses, up and down my shaft, barely even touching me.

I see stars as I jizz, my whole naked body shuddering as Emily seizes my balls and pulls; whether it makes me come harder or spoils my climax entirely, I don’t even know… because my mind is as blown as my load.

I just keep licking Trina’s asshole as my girlfriend howls at the top of her lungs—not even caring that all of her friends can probably hear us. Her asshole tightens and clenches against my tongue; her pussy, too, around my fingers. I hold on tight and keep the vibe on full and my fingers against that spot she likes. I get her off obediently, like I’ve done for two months… and then it hits me.

The bed isn’t very big, but Em’s a petite chick, and Trina doesn’t mind me on top of her. Turns out neither does Em, especially when Trina takes me in her arms and purrs, “You came before the deadline, baby. Sorry. You know what that means…”

Yes, I know what that means. So does Trina. As to whether Emily does, or she needs to be told, or this was planned all along—maybe even before Trina made her “indecent proposal,” I’ll have to wait to find out. Emily’s giving nothing away, other than that whatever the fuck is happening, she likes it.

I look in her grey-hazel eyes and try to suss her out. Have I been set up or just played with?

Emily’s not telling. The little tomboy stares at me enigmatically, half a smirk on her pale pink thin tomboy lips, and a lazy sexy curve to her pierced tongue as the smirk breaks into a broad, evil smile.

There’s an argument ahead, if I choose to make it. Trina wasn’t the one who jacked me off, of course. That technically means, I suppose, that my ass is hers, but that really seems like sticking to the letter of the agreement, in strict contravention of its spirit.

Whether Trina concedes that point, I plan to find out later. After all, it’s impolite to argue in front of company.

And Emily looks as happy as Trina when, after Trina says again:

“You know what that means, baby?”

I don’t throw a fit. I just swallow and nod.

“I know what that means, Ma’am,” I say.

Em looks from Trina to me and then back again.

“Ma’am? This is even more fun than I thought.”

Trina’s eyes go from Emily’s face to Emily’s bunk—where she’s got her gym bag stashed. Em gets the picture immediately. How those two always communicate without words, I’ll never know. They’re sort of orgasm-psychics.

Inside Em’s gym bag there’s a thing with straps and buckles and…

…well, let’s just say I didn’t have to wait another two months for another orgasm.

Sometimes losing the Tahoe Tease is even better than winning.