Asarotica

by Asa Akira

  They both know now exactly why they’ve felt so unfulfilled, and they both know now exactly who and what they really are meant to be.

  Please let this happen again, Steve thinks. And as he looks in her eyes, he sees she feels it too.

  HUSBAND AND WIFE

  BY NINA HARTLEY

  The Husband made his living as a writer, director, magazine editor, and author.

  The Wife made her living in front of the camera.

  They were Dom/Sub-oriented, and loved entertaining other power-exchange loving women. Their dungeon had been seen in many videos, but the most fun happened off-camera, after hours, when The Couple could fully explore each of the letters in BDSM, in any way they chose. Husband was dominant, Wife a bisexual, top-heavy switch; their playmates had two experienced people working on them simultaneously. He loved having another him to help show their guests a good time, and She was equally thrilled to put on her riding boots and butch it up. Always clear about what they offered, one would be surprised—or perhaps not—at how many women thought that an evening spent as their “love slave,” followed by a home-cooked meal, sounded like a simply splendid time.

  Husband and Wife particularly appreciated service-oriented, sexually masochistic women, much like Wife, allowing them all to explore the event horizon between pain and pleasure.

  They’d done it so often over their sixteen years together they had the whole experience down to a science. First, everyone was tested at the clinic the professionals used in order to play Porno-Style: condom-free, coupled with external ejaculation. On the morning of the appointed day, Husband and Wife spent some time planning out the future for their guest, taking into account a) what she liked, and b) what they liked.

  During many years together, they’d mastered the art of the predate negotiation, making the actual date feel effortlessly smooth, like Fred and Ginger taking a turn around the dance floor. They then set up the dungeon space according to the agreed-upon parameters before eating a nice lunch. Afterwards, they pulled toys, gear, cuffs, wardrobe, collars, butt plugs, whips, floggers, canes, and of course, some good smut with which to transition out of the normal pace of the day and into the Dream Time of BDSM.

  The Couple preferred minimal, yet evocative costuming to set the mood. Wife was usually in a leather collar, leather body harness, and tall boots. Husband donned high, shiny riding boots (the better for kissing), and a leather military-style envelope hat (aka a “cunt cap”). The guest arrived at five p.m. sharp to play before dinner, as one rarely felt sexy on a full stomach. Besides, eating after playing gave one so much more to talk about, especially when everyone remained naked.

  Tall Girl recently visited the Couple on an afternoon. She stood five-foot-ten, with strong, long legs, a pretty shaved vulva complete with a perfectly meaty clit, small firm breasts, silky dark hair, and a sparkling smile. Due to her height, she was permitted to remain barefoot, instead of wearing the six-inch fetish pumps the Couple put on their more petite guests. She arrived right on time, as was her way. The Couple’s first move was to strip her naked before kissing her hello. Once the pleasantries were over, Tall Girl put on her collar and cuffs, which had been laid out on the table, while the Couple took turns distracting her by fondling and stroking her tender bits. Because of her athletic build, their favorite costume for her was a ribbed white tank strategically cut off just above the legal limit. It was very hard to be modest in such an outfit. Her fresh, dark maroon pedicure was well suited to her brunette good looks. Enforcing the house motto of “Everything is permitted except modesty,” Tall Girl sat between Them, one of her legs draped over one of each of theirs, conveniently displaying her assets. The Couple perused a pile of hard-core illustrations from the folder marked “Faves.” It amused them to see which images made Tall Girl squeal, sigh, laugh, point, or wiggle, one or the other maintaining a hand on her pussy at all times, idly keeping her engine revving for later.

  People who enjoy impact play usually prefer either a “thumpy” or a stinging sensation, though some are quite happy with either. “Thumpsters” like to feel the impact deeply in the muscles, while sting-lovers crave the sharpness of a surface hit. Tall Girl loved a good thumping, allowing the Couple to use their heaviest implements on her. They took turns employing their fists to hit her pectorals above her perky boobs, her stomach, her ass, and her thighs. Wife particularly enjoyed the blissful look on Tall Girl’s face when she was hit with thumpy things. Of course she endured stinging things too, knowing Husband loved them, and the reward for enduring them was more fucking. But with her, the thump was where it was at.

  Wife found it very liberating to hit someone really hard in just the right place, only to see their face get all dreamy while hearing them giggle and sigh. Tall Girl had six inches on Wife, allowing Wife to use almost all of her might; while Husband, on the other hand, needed to pull it back a bit. Still, Tall Girl loved to be between them, being punched by both at the same time. Wife loved working out on her, finding the activity much more fun than going to the gym. By the time the thumping was over, everyone was breathing heavily and grinning in anticipation.

  After the warm-up in the living room, the Couple clipped Tall Girl’s hands behind her using a carabineer and walked her back to the play space. The room spread out before them: the cage, the shiny black rubber floor, the bondage bed, electric vacuum pump, suspension bar, spanking horse, and, of course, the thickly padded bounce wall with the fucking stool already placed in front of it. Lube and baby wipes were set out wherever they might be needed, as well as Magic Wand vibrators, all plugged in with the business ends covered in fresh condoms. Every detail had been attended to, the better to pull off a flawless experience.

  As was their way with Tall Girl, she first was splayed on the dungeon bed with her hands clipped above her head to some loose chains, limiting the use of her arms. Wife lay on top of her, kissing her hungry mouth and grinding her thigh into Tall Girl’s pussy, while Husband lay beside them, soaking up the vision of her relative helplessness. Wife put on sexy black latex gloves (“Sanitary is a state of fact while dirty is a state of mind,” she always said), lubed up Tall Girl’s smooth outer parts, before handing her the control valve for the suction machine. Placing a long, clear tube with a three-inch diameter opening just so on her vulva, Wife flipped on the motor and had Tall Girl occlude the valve. This immediately sucked her moist, pink flesh into the tube.

  “Up or down?” Wife asked, to check on proper placement. It took only one or two minor adjustments to find the perfect spot. It was easy to tell when it happened, as Tall Girl let out a little yelp of pleasure and surprise. Then it was up to her to torture herself as hard and as long as she wanted. Tall Girl, like most of The Couple’s play partners, was always meaner to herself then they’d be to her, but they were her parts, so she’d know. Said parts slid up the walls of the tube a good three inches, puffing up obscenely and making them more tender for afterwards, while the motor whirred tirelessly away.

  While Tall Girl essentially sucked her own pussy, Wife lubed up the outside of her thigh so Husband could use Tall Girl as a masturbatory object while enjoying her efforts. After ten minutes, Wife popped the tube off and Husband got on, having been ready to fuck her for a while by then. Tall Girl made lovely sounds when he entered her eager pussy and her pretty bare feet were exposed in mid-air above his shoulders. Only one thing for it: foot caning! Husband loved to see the emotion in the faces of the women while Wife hurt their feet. He could feel their insides clutch his hardness with every stroke of the cane. Masochistic women seem to find the sensation particularly intense due to the concentration of nerve endings in such a small area. Foot caning had a long and honorable tradition in BDSM sex play, and an even longer (if not so pleasant) history as a punishment.

  It even had a name: bastinado.

  Wife held one foot in her hand and asked Husband if he was ready for her to cane Tall Girl. When he said he was, she caned Tall Girl’s left foot five times, stopping only when there
was a specific tone to the yelp emitted. Tall Girl complained that Wife was mean, to which she replied that it was only in the service of pleasing Sir. Tall Girl accused Wife of lying, which was a bad move, as Wife now had Tall Girl’s right foot in her hand. Five more strokes of the cane ended with a pitiful yelp when Wife was mean-for-real, but not too much so. In their world, a masochist calling a dominant “mean” is a compliment. Besides, it only took a few more thrusts from Husband before Tall Girl was asking permission to cum. He gave it, of course, not being the kind of dominant stupid enough to deny orgasms to his partners.

  After that first fuck, Husband used his fingers in Tall Girl’s pussy (they liked to go back and forth between fingers, dick, and toys as penetrating objects,) while Wife donned a fresh pair of latex gloves and started warming up Tall Girl’s butt. Tall Girl was not averse to butt play, but because she didn’t get much of it, hers felt like a virgin butt once again. No worries. All butts needed to be coaxed and seduced each time, no matter how often they saw action. Husband lay on his side and used his right hand in her pussy as Wife rolled onto her stomach and used her left hand in Tall Girl’s butt. It didn’t take long for her to relax enough to allow two fingers in easily.

  That was when Husband and Wife started a dance between their fingers, easy to do through the thin membrane of Tall Girl’s perineum. Tall Girl said it felt like she was being double-penetrated without any of the awkward body mechanics. Next, Wife slipped in a small stainless steel plug, blotted any excess lube, and she was good to go, tidy on the outside while being stuffed on the inside. Butt plugs were great for sex as they made the dick feel different in the pussy and the pussy feel different to the dick. It was like all the fun of swapping partners, without all the drama.

  The rest of the date was devoted to fucking Tall Girl doggie-style, missionary, in the bar stool set to hip level, pushed up against the bounce wall (all the fun of fucking in a sling with none of the hassle of setting one up). Wife wore her favorite strap-on harness and used Tall Girl’s favorite dildo. Husband and Wife did a mini-gangbang, each of them fucking Tall Girl on each piece of equipment.

  But then, something interesting happened after Husband whipped Tall Girl (strung up on the suspension bar on tiptoe) to tears: he got a hankering to fuck and hurt Wife, too, instantly changing the double-Dom/single-sub action to a solo-Dom/sister-sub scene. Tall Girl jumped up and down with glee; she was so eager to see Husband hurt Wife.

  Husband got his favorite cane and Wife sat down on the dungeon bed. Knowing what was coming next, she held up her tits as he caned the tops, laying down four or five bright red stripes before hitting his final target: her nipples. That always made Wife yelp in the frequency that said, “That’s it!” Meaning, just the right combination of genuine, that’s-enough pain, and sexy adrenaline rush (Wife knew hurting willing partners turned Husband on). Just for good measure, he caned her ass, too, which she always loved. He then had their guest put her tail in the air while Wife put her pussy in Tall Girl’s face and watched in the mirror the lovely line from the Wife to Tall Girl, to him, all fucking and sucking in perfect syncopation. Tall Girl, outside of playing with the Couple, was a dedicated lesbian and an advanced oral expert, to put it mildly. It was amazing for Wife to feel Husband’s energy come through Tall Girl’s mouth, being fucked by proxy. Tall Girl was ecstatic, being penetrated while having her face buried in the promised land of pussy.

  After the train action on the bed, Husband had the women nose-to-tail over the sides of the spanking horse. That way, Tall Girl could get an up close view of him fucking Wife, and Wife could do the same when he came around to the other side. He fucked Tall Girl and then had Wife suck Tall Girl off of him before fucking Wife and then doing the same to Tall Girl. He also had each of the women suck her own juices off of him before plunging into the next. They couldn’t decide which was hotter, tasting the other, or tasting herself.

  Since porno rules dictate external ejaculation, there eventually came the time when the guest was put on the floor, and her mouth was put to good purpose. Tall Girl blew Husband while Wife used her favorite dildo and a Magic Wand on herself, surfing the energy so Husband and Wife came at the same time. Husband gave Tall Girl a load on her tits.

  Whew! What a blast! Tall Girl took off the Couple’s boots, and they all relaxed on the bed in a happy heap before Wife got up to make dinner, leaving Husband and guest to clean up.

  The guest of honor was fed, showered, dressed, and on her way by eleven that night, and the Couple was ensconced on the couch watching the news, a happy smile playing about their lips. All in all, it had been six very well-spent hours.

  MID-TWENTY-TEENS

  BY DANA DEARMOND

  It’s a hot August night, but there’s a breeze; it’s the third year of the California drought.

  I’ve been single for about a year. Free food and awkward conversation is pretty much all dating in LA has to offer, and I’m starving for more. More regularly than not, I lurk Instagram for beautiful, shirtless, self-absorbed model-types. Sometimes I just look, and sometimes I leave them a heart-eyes emoji in the comments section of a bathroom mirror selfie. I don’t really expect any attention in return, it just feels nice to objectify an attractive young man—it’s my mid-twenty-teens! Aka: being a single creative in my thirties, residing in the downtown of a major metropolitan US city alone with my two hairless cats. Don’t worry, it doesn’t carry the stigma of “lonely cat lady” that it would have a decade ago. Think of me more as Michelle Pfieffer’s Catwoman in the Tim Burton 1992 Batman, right after her boss tried to kill her (spoiler alert).

  At any rate, the weather is right, and tonight I go out to stalk my prey.

  Wearing high-waisted jeans and a flannel shirt from J. Crew, I try to blend in meekly. I’m comfortable enough with my androgynous femininity to pull off this look I like to call the “Lumber Jill.” Unlike the other girls who show up to this 1980s-themed club on a Thursday night, I fucking remember the eighties. I was there.

  The children of the nineties bop along with the music they might have heard in passing as a suggestion on their Pandora Prince station. They try on the costume of the era: American Apparel disco pants paired with off-the-shoulder tops, complete with jelly bracelets or a single plastic statement earring procured from Etsy. In the crowd I see someone I recognize: an Instagram boy. We’ve direct messaged back and forth before, and he looks different with his shirt on but I am still pleased with his face. I move toward him.

  His name is Billy. And he is such a Billy. Effortlessly messy curls in his hair, a devilish smile and the flippant air of not really giving a shit that was ushered in by the millennial generation. His body is nearly perfect; probably because at his age he’s still producing human growth hormone The definition in his biceps peeks out from the sleeves of his bootleg eighties band tour T-shirt. I’m picturing the rippling six-pack abs under this threadbare “vintage” shirt he lies about getting as a hand-me-down from his dad, when I notice he’s not alone.

  I approach the boys, sandy-haired, surfer-type Billy complemented perfectly by his cliché tall-dark-handsome friend—a Jared, apparently—who has an olive complexion and is well-dressed in a suit. I learn the childhood bestie is just visiting from New York which is perfect for me, because this guarantees that if I bang him, I will not run into him at my favorite local dives and get repeatedly cock-blocked by him. As a … let’s say, sexually empowered and uninhibited woman, getting cock-blocked by past fucks has been a huge problem for me. Los Angeles is a much smaller town than one might think.

  Introductions are not necessary because Billy recognizes me from the internet, too. Cheekily, I express my excitement that he’s brought along a friend and ask if they are going to kiss later. They laugh. I laugh. We are breaking the ice. Drinks are consumed. The boys take turns flirting with me while the other’s back is turned. They compete for my attention, and I am living for it. As Billy talks to a girl he knows from one of his DJing gigs in West Hollywood, Jared caresses
my ass through the pocket of my dark denim mom-jeans. He close-talks in my ear, some bullshit about his life on the Upper West Side, which I utterly do not give one shit about. I just hope his friend will see the way he’s touching me, fall into a fit of jealousy, inciting the boys to fight over me.

  Another round of drinks, and now it’s pretty boy Billy’s turn flirting. He’s a little rough around the edges; I want to mommy him, I want to fold his laundry. But mostly, I want him to fuck me really hard in his parents’ house where I assume he lives. I deduce from the fact he lives in this town that he’s probably completely emotionally unavailable and good for approximately three bangs. Three bangs, that’s the limit—five if I really, really like their dick. After five, I ghost on a guy completely, block their number and all social media. If I were a man and did this sort of thing to ladies, I would definitely be branded a total asshole and misogynist. Good thing I have a pussy.

  Now it’s just a matter of choosing. Both guys have a lot of pros going for them, including being on the dumb side and most likely having very young girlfriends. Although I wouldn’t fuck a married man, I have no issue fucking somebody else’s boyfriend.

  Billy perkily suggests, “Let’s go to your house!”

  Oh, I don’t think so. I’m not letting these heathens into my house. There is no way I’m letting either of them know where I live. My home is private, off-limits to fuck boys like these. There is a hotel literally upstairs but we have drunk past the point of negotiating something as logical as checking into a room. Besides, I’m not completely certain either of these jokers would be able to afford a night’s stay at this upscale boutique hotel in Korea Town.