“Yes! God.” Say a Dom thing, idiot. “But don’t make her come until I say so. That’s when the clip will come off too. I’m going to enjoy the feel of you milking my cock while you scream, pretty sub.”
He gave himself a mental high five and leaned back on his hands to watch events unfold. Sadly, with Delia’s luscious body in the way, he couldn’t see the licking itself. But her guttural sounds and the almost painfully tight clench of her body around his cock were pretty good signs that she was enjoying it.
In fact she was possibly reaching a limit of her own, Daniel thought. And as much as he loved being the one to make her zone out from pain and pleasure, he felt very keenly the responsibility of making sure she returned safely from space. So after a few blissful minutes of feeling her at the brink, he spoke again.
“Dee, tell me when you’re ready to come.”
She nodded and then whispered, a nearly incoherent stream of something like, “Now, now please, oh please, Master, now, now please . . .” And so on.
“Come when you can. But when you do, Mara takes the clamp off.”
She nodded, more aware than he’d thought. “I know, Master. Oh God. Oh godohgodohgodNOWohgodohg—”
He assumed that was when Mara took the clamp off. There was more or less a sonic scream, but he couldn’t really care when Delia’s pussy was squeezing him harder than his own hand could. When the blood was rushing away from his head to his cock. When a hot, clever tongue was licking its way around his testicles . . .
Oh. Holy. Fuck.
Daniel was well aware that a Dom shouldn’t let that sort of thing happen without permission. And that Mara had blacklisted sex with him, which he’d assumed included oral sex, and this was perilously close to that. But the sensation of one woman fucking him with raw enthusiasm while another licked his balls was enough to make any notions of what should or shouldn’t happen fly straight out of his head. He came so hard he wasn’t even sure he could remember his own name. He was pretty sure he’d shot some brains out along with the semen. And it went on and on, Delia’s shivering body dragging out his pleasure as she came again, another spurt of wondrous testicular joy when he felt the distinct huff of hot, happy laughter against his sac.
And then there was a hiatus. Silent and sated and sticky. Him, flopped back on the wide couch. Delia, slouched over with her hands on his knees, trying to catch her breath. A silky brush of short hair against his thigh, where Mara was leaning.
So that’s how threesomes work.
Daniel had to wonder why anybody ever did it any other way.
Delia pretended to fall asleep in the car on the way home. Not that it was much of a stretch. She was drowsy, and fuzzy, and had practically needed to be carried out of the club.
Her ass hurt. Her thighs hurt. She felt wobbly. The real world was too shocking, too harsh on her eyes with the headlights and trees and passing street signs.
She hadn’t wanted to leave. She had never wanted to leave. That place, that room in particular, seemed as if it had existed in a magic bubble, and by leaving the club they’d broken the bubble. The magical pixie had vanished into the night. The man who looked like Daniel but was a Dom had faded away again. And she, Delia, had lost that astonishing sensation of being, finally and for the first time, fully and completely who she was meant to be.
“Here.”
She opened her eyes to see Daniel thrusting a travel pack of tissues at her. His car was like that—miraculously clean, but he could procure any sort of useful item within seconds from one of the many scrupulously organized compartments. Tissues, pocketknife, complete tool set, once even a car-sickness bag.
“What are these for?”
“Because you’re crying.”
She felt her face, felt the tears, and realized she had indeed been crying. It was that sort of night. She couldn’t even say whether they were tears of elation—at last, at last!—or of grief at having to stop.
It was clear what kind Daniel thought they were.
“I fucked up. I just . . . Fuck.” He banged a fist on the steering wheel for emphasis, or to try to knock some sense into the car. They were nearly home, she noticed. The drive had seemed to last only seconds. Maybe she had fallen asleep.
“What are you talking about?” The last thing she could handle right now was complicated emotion from Daniel, who was usually so stalwart and considerate. She wanted to figure out what the problem was, but her brain simply wasn’t in residence.
She watched the muscle in his jaw pop out. He was clenching his teeth. Delia considered reminding him that the dentist had warned him about grinding, but decided against it. They were pulling into the garage now, and Daniel yanked up the emergency brake hard enough that it seemed ready to come off in his hand.
“Daniel? What were you talking about?”
He looked at her like she’d gone nuts. “What am I talking about? Jesus, Delia. You’re sitting there weeping and you’re asking me what . . .”
She started to reply, then realized her lips were flapping from habit. She had no idea what to say yet. And no energy to talk her way into whatever idea might come along. She punted instead. “Let’s go inside.”
Daniel was out of the car and around to her door before she could even finish opening it. He handed her out of the car like a gentleman, supported her at the waist as if she were an invalid, and walked her straight back to their bedroom.
“What are you doing?” She was bemused enough to chuckle as she asked, because he looked so solemn and determined. Taking her coat off and draping it over the back of the armchair in the corner. Carefully removing her halter top and skirt, then arranging them neatly over the coat, which reminded her of the club. Pulling her feet out of her shoes one by one, supporting her so she didn’t topple over during the process. And then picking her up and laying her in the bed so carefully, as if she were a piece of bone china.
“I’m taking care of you,” he explained, somewhat after the fact. “And I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“I wasn’t crying because I was upset, Daniel. Or, well,” she corrected, “I was upset that it had to end, I guess. Letdown tears, or whatever. But not because of what happened. My God, honey, that was . . . I don’t even have words.”
If she’d had more energy, she would have cracked up at the look on his face.
Now I finally know what “gobsmacked” means.
“You liked it too?”
“Too? So I gather you liked it.”
“If I had liked it any more I would have probably needed medical attention afterward.”
“Well, I’m glad.”
“But you’re crying . . .”
Delia dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, then made a futile attempt to be subtle about blowing her nose. “I think it’s that . . . endorphin thing. Like they get built up, then you crash.”
“Aftercare. I need to work on aftercare.” He said it very solemnly, and almost as though he were reminding himself for later, in the abstract.
“Now might be a good time.”
“Oh! Yeah. Uh . . . hot bath? Hot . . . tea?” He held up his hands, balancing the air as if it would help her weigh the options. “I feel like I should be providing something hot, for some reason.”
She smiled, marveling that all the brilliant communicating they’d done earlier in the evening was so effortless when this, a normal conversation with talking and no blindfolds or role-playing, was so often difficult and led to misunderstandings.
Potentially disastrous misunderstandings. Because if Daniel had gone on thinking she hadn’t enjoyed the scene, and had therefore avoided a repeat, that would mean—
“Mara!”
“It’s okay, I got her number,” Daniel reassured her. “And she has ours.”
“I just realized. She didn’t get to come.”
They were quiet for a moment, contemplating this. That Mara had joined them, become such an integral part of what happened that Delia couldn’t imagine the scene without her, yet they’d n
eglected her in such a shocking way. Because somehow, weird though it seemed, she was still only a stranger who’d happened along at the right time.
Isn’t that how the best love stories go, though?
They’d been missing something for a while. Delia hadn’t ever allowed herself to think that the something might be a third person. Being open to that in theory—identifying as poly in online discussion groups, an “experimental stage” threesome in college that had started as a one-night stand but evolved into a six-month relationship—was a far cry from actually doing it as a grown-up in the real world. This wasn’t college anymore. Her life with Daniel was so settled, so easy; they were happy. Why rock the boat? Their façade was perfect.
But it was only a façade. It didn’t mean their life was perfect. Something had clicked with Mara there. Everything had been easier. Everything had felt right. Whatever it was . . . maybe it was worth taking some risks for.
Delia yawned. The bed was pulling her down. “I really liked her. I mean really. She seemed just right to me. I feel so bad about the no orgasm. That’s not right at all.”
Daniel tucked the covers around her. “We’ll make it up to her next time.”
“As long as you know there needs to be a next time.”
He kissed her forehead. “Definitely.”
It wasn’t until the next day that a new set of doubts started to creep into Delia’s head. Late that afternoon, she saw Daniel pick up his phone and put it down a few times, obviously trying to decide whether to make a call.
Did he really want this? And what was this, exactly, anyway? What were Mara’s expectations? Delia wished she could talk to Mara outside the club setting, find out what kind of person she was. If she was really the impish pixie she seemed, full of whimsy and deviance. Or if, in real life, she was perhaps less enticing. Delia didn’t think that would be possible.
She had the strangest urge to call her like she might a girlfriend, to go shopping or grab coffee. To talk about the amazing rose-and-candlelight décor they’d enjoyed so much. To hang out. As if she knew her already. But that was ridiculous. They’d barely spoken.
We met one time. I was blinded by lust.
“I’m going to call,” Daniel announced.
She nodded. Waited with him as the phone rang a few times. Met his eyes with an eager smile when Mara picked up.
But she couldn’t quite make out both ends of the conversation, though she stood on tiptoe trying to listen.
“We are,” Daniel was saying. “How are you?”
So formal. It was nerves. Daniel was using his business-call voice, although she didn’t mind that. She found it oddly attractive.
“Absolutely. At eight. We’ll need to talk first about limits.”
That sounds more promising.
“Yes, I did. Oh, and I meant to reassure you about that last night. Dee is too. We’re both using that app to share results . . . oh, good, text me the info and vice versa. I’ll also bring condoms, though, if you’re more comfortable— Oh, okay.”
Wait, wait, bring WHAT now?
He must have heard her thinking, because he gave her a stern look and did the eyebrow thing. Kept a straight face, snapped his fingers at the floor and nodded his head at her.
Delia slid to her knees, wrapped her arms loosely around Daniel’s calf, and felt a deep and thrilling ease possess her as his hand came to rest on her head. Hope, nebulous shimmering hope, swirled around her. A third night in a row. It seemed like a charm in the making.
Of course, playing on a Sunday night meant they’d all be bleary and sore in the morning. It would be hard enough to focus on editing textbooks with a head full of memories about this weekend; sitting on a thoroughly whipped ass would make it nigh impossible. Not for the first time, Delia thanked whatever deities might exist that she worked from home instead of an office. If she had to, she could put her iPad in a Ziploc and work from a warm bathtub. It wouldn’t be the first time. She was the least stoic masochist ever once the scene was over.
“Seriously?” Daniel sounded a lot less formal all of a sudden. “What server? Wait, text me your character name and I’ll find you on the database.”
No . . . “Computer games?” she hissed up at him. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
“It’s okay, honey,” he whispered with a wink, “she plays on the good-guy side.”
By the time they arrived at the club that evening, Daniel had already spent hours playing his favorite online game with Mara. Delia knew the two of them would have plenty to talk about. Mara was sitting at the bar waiting for them, and when she turned and waved, Delia’s heart gave that funny lurch again.
She was wearing a nothing of a black wrap skirt and even less of a red lace underbust corset. A black crochet shrug kept her shoulders warm and her breasts covered enough to walk down the street, but Delia could see enough to imagine the rest.
And imagining it made her feel all wobbly again.
She wanted Mara. Wanted to taste her, wanted to be tasted by her again. Wanted more than anything not to be blindfolded this time, so she could see what the other woman was doing.
A persistent image had haunted her all afternoon, of going down on Mara while Daniel did various lewd things to her from behind. It wouldn’t leave her. She had needed to resist an almost constant urge to disappear into the bathroom and ease the physical consequences of the image. But she knew she would enjoy herself more if she waited. The idea of having to wait, of needing to hold off until Daniel told her to come, only enhanced her mood.
And yet here were her two would-be lovers, talking in a language she could barely recognize as English.
Oh, sure, they’d started out right when they all arrived at the club. They’d laid out limits for the scene. Talked some more about the app and all of their completely nonremarkable test results. Then things had drifted into app development, and then to operating systems, and finally—perhaps inevitably—into game-speak.
Daniel kept it up as he led them to the playroom. “Are you planning to go resto with that cleric? I haven’t played that class much in this game yet, I usually tank.”
“Probably. My main is spell DPS, but the guild needs more heals so I’d probably get to raid more that way. But I’ve just started leveling this, so I haven’t really decided yet. I wish they hadn’t nerfed druid resto in the last expansion. I don’t know. I really need to study the talent trees some more, read up on it.”
“Cool. I’m still trying to get Delia to play.” This last, as if he’d belatedly realized they were leaving her out of the conversation. He’d slipped, calling her by her full name instead of her scene name, but Mara hadn’t seemed to notice the gaffe.
“Oh, you totally should,” Mara urged her. “You get to run around and whack things or kill them dead with fireballs, stuff like that. It’s very therapeutic. And, of course, you can also gather flowers or mine for precious metals if you want to do that sort of thing. Make potions. Enchant things.”
They were already to the door of the Rose Room. Daniel ushered them in, and once again they all three stopped on the threshold to take in the view.
It was still rosy and candlelit. It still sported the low, very useful couches and chest of goodies.
A very large, somewhat Victorian-looking device had been added close to one corner, however, and that was what primarily drew their collective attention.
Gleaming, polished wood with delicate brass filigree inlay; a soft, rounded top of distressed, saddle-colored leather. Matching wrist and ankle straps with shiny brass buckles.
“Is that an antique spanking horse?”
Delia nodded, and noticed that Mara did too.
“Yes, Master,” she added, when it looked as if Daniel hadn’t seen their nods because his gaze was still transfixed on the horse.
At least it had taken his mind clean off computer games.
“Giddy the fuck up!” Mara exclaimed, clapping her hands and bouncing on the balls of her feet. Delia recognized the
gesture, the same one she’d made when she saw the toy store. It was odd, like watching a bizarro version of herself.
Daniel wolf-whistled. “Tally-fucking-ho. I like it. I can work with that.” He turned and observed them both, manic glee transforming his usually much more impassive face. “Oh, I can most definitely work with that.”
Mara had almost made herself late trying to figure out what to wear. Somehow it seemed much more important tonight, despite her suspicion that she would be taking all or most of it off pretty early into the evening.
She had decided on the red because it would expose more without her even having to take it off. And because the idea of removing her skirt and shrug, standing in front of Master Daniel and Dee in only the constraining red lace around her rib cage and waist, was enough to drive her to distraction most of the afternoon.
Though she hadn’t played too badly, despite being distracted. And it had been a sweet surprise to find Master Daniel played too. They’d had so much fun that after a few minutes they’d forgotten to flirt in game chat and simply gotten on with raiding. Which, in her mind, had a certain sexy appeal all its own. She liked the way he planned and then implemented his plan, then tried again with the same calm determination if the first effort didn’t pan out. Trying new things, experimenting, communicating what he wanted very clearly. She thought if Dee had first met him in the game, she might have had no trouble at all picturing her husband as a Dom from the start.
Mara wondered where they had met. What their history was, what their expectations were. What their jobs were.
Silly. It’s not like you’re dating them.
But she sort of wanted to, was the thing. Each of them.
Both of them.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” Master Daniel was saying. He had moved to the chest of drawers and was taking things out, laying them in readiness on the end of one couch. The tawse. A cane, pulled not from the drawer but from a tall vase full of them standing beside the chest like a big, kinky flower arrangement. Something else from his pocket, removed carefully from a zippered plastic bag and set to one side with a bottle of lube. He had sniffed the bottles cautiously before selecting one.
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