What he meant was that I should get him ready, the same way he had done for me earlier.
So I kissed him. And took his nipples into my mouth and gently rubbed my hands over his buttocks. And took his soft dick into my mouth and tongued it until it stood all the way up. Opened up my esophagus and let the hard cock press deep into my throat (What would it feel like, I wondered, to have him shoot straight down my pipes, right past my tonsils?). And finally lovingly encircled the inner darkness of his anal opening with lube, fingering and massaging it until it relaxed and the sphincter muscles went slack. Then he was ready. And finally willing.
Dan's ass was warm and buttery-soft inside. It felt so much like his wife's pussy that for a moment I flashed back to last night, and in my mind his buttocks melted into hers, and . . .
I curled up behind him, spoon fashion. Holding on to his hips, I eased in and out of him with no particular urgency. A few minutes of this heated me up to the point that I needed more vigorous movement, and I positioned him on hands and knees and got behind him. That was more like it. My thrusts increased in urgency, but I was nowhere near coming. I had already come so many times in these last couple of nights that I was still at it a half hour later with no relief in sight.
"Good heavens, man, you're wearing out my asshole," he said. "My deepest apologies, but I'm just too sore to keep this up."
There was no help for it. I was still hard and horny, so I pulled out of him and got down on my own hands and knees.
"All right, then you finish me off, Dan."
"You're on," he said.
He took me doggie style, just like I'd taken his wife. He had his hand on my cock, stroking it as he began pumping in and out of me. "You're a little tight inside," he said. "Too much tension, I guess. Well, I have a remedy for that. I'm going to 'fly' you."
He moved forward, almost onto my back, and straddled my buttocks with his legs. The inward pressure from his thighs loosened my sphincter, and and the fit of his cock into me became pleasantly snug, rather than tightly wedged. He was flying me! It took only a couple of minutes before I was spurting, and then my knees gave out and I collapsed flat on my stomach with him still deep inside me. We fell asleep in that position.
"So, where do we go from here, Dan?"
We were having breakfast. Elise could have taken a few lessons from him on the art of scrambling eggs. Maybe about single-minded devotion to fucking, too.
"You made a favorable impression on my wife, you know."
Wife? Elise had told him about me? Where was this leading?
"Of course, we're very fond of each other," he continued. "In a sense, you might even call it love. But we just can't seem to . . . relate on a physical level. I have certain needs, you see, and so does she. And we just can't . . . do for each other. So, we have to turn to strangers to take care of . . ."
"Dan, I can see how that might be difficult. You're a man of certain tastes, shall we say, married to an affectionate and sensual woman. You don't want to lose her, and presumably she feels the same way. Well, good and fine. But why tell me all this?"
"I was hoping you could help us, Guy. You're the first person I've run into that we can both connect with physically. Last night as I drifted off, it occurred to me that you might just be the missing link between myself and Elise. If you could only bridge the chasm between us . . . "
So that was it. I was supposed to be the glue to hold together a broken marriage. Did I really want to get involved in something that messy?
" . . . and possibly you might be free to join us for dinner tonight to discuss this further. Elise would certainly like to see you again, and I'm sure I'd enjoy your company, too. Shall we say about eightish?"
Eightish it was. Elise was resplendent in an elaborate period gown that wouldn't have been terribly out of place in the court of Louis XIV. Dan had on a too-tight clawhammer tuxedo jacket with a starched shirt front and cummerbund. I was wearing a raggedy flannel shirt over paint-stained jeans. The food was superb.
"Well, let's see if we can work this out," Elise said. "Dan and I both have developed strong feelings toward you. You satisfy certain physical needs for each of us and . . . I guess you could say we just plain like you. That could turn into something more significant over time, maybe even -- I hesitate to use the word at this point -- love. To sum up: sure, we'd like to share you, but there might be a scheduling problem. Suppose that on a particular night I want you, but you're already on with Dan. Well, I couldn't just barge in on the two of you, now could I?"
"I take it the two of you have hangups about a threesome," I said.
"Well," Dan answered, "not that, exactly. It's just that as a gay man -- there, I've admitted it, being gay -- I'm just not comfortable with even the sight of bare female flesh. My own wife, the woman I married for chrissake, her body nauseates me. And seeing her naked -- even in your presence -- I don't know if I could take that."
"And," Elsie broke in, "while I find gay male sex sensual and exciting, Dan is embarrassed about being watched in the act. I've talked to him about it, but . . . "
"So, what is it exactly that you propose?" I asked.
Elise smiled shyly. "A proposal is just what we had in mind. We invited you to dinner and we dressed up in formal regalia so we can present you with a proposal. We'd be honored if . . . if you'd tentatively consider joining us as a member . . . as a member of the family. We're proposing to you, all right. We're asking you to live with us, at least on a trial basis."
She motioned to Dan, and they both stood up and approached. Elise kissed me on the forehead and Dan took my hand in his. In unison, they spoke, "Guy, would you do us the honor of joining with us as a partner in our household?"
Live with them? This was unbelievable . . . insane. But a part of me wanted it, wanted it more than I can remember ever wanting anything. To be a part of a family -- to share my flesh and my presence and my waking and sleeping hours with them, to become one with them. I wanted it so much that it hurt.
Growing up, I hadn't had much of a sense of family. My parents were both emotionally distant, preoccupied with themselves and their careers. I was basically an inconvenience, someone who got in the way, not someone to love. I had left home at the earliest possible opportunity and had lived by myself ever since. It had been a lonely ten years.
"Yes," I said, "yes." There were tears in my eyes.
Elise was sitting astride me in the "woman superior" position. (Women are superior in quite a number of ways, aren't they?) She had an innocent smile on her face and her eyes were shut. Her body was rocking forward and back as she rode me, and she was humming softly. We were consummating and consecrating our union. It was the nearest thing to a wedding night that I'd ever experienced.
Later Dan would get his turn. Elise had just about pumped me dry and I was thinking maybe I'd just flop over on my stomach or get on hands and knees and let him take me from behind. Meanwhile, I had this beautiful specimen of femininity lying next to me, whispering in my ear. . . .
"Of course, I knew Dan was gay," she was saying. "We grew up together, after all. His parents and mine jointly owned a publishing house. It was more or less assumed that we'd marry to keep the business in the family. Not that marrying him was repugnant to me or anything. I like Dan a lot, and if I'm completely honest, I'd have to admit that in many ways I even love him. We've always been friends, just never lovers.
"We have this arrangement, as you know. We've been satisfying our physical needs outside the marriage. It's a makeshift solution, of course, and it's about time we . . . "
I must have drifted off at that point, because I don't remember what else she said.
I startled awake as Dan touched me. Elise had left.
"Look, Guy, we can postpone this if you're too tired."
"Nope. We'll do it right. I hope you don't mind, though, if I'm not up for much more than just taking you inside me."
"I was hoping you'd let me into you. I have this fierce craving for your ass, and
tonight, of all nights, it has to have special meaning."
I slowly got to my knees and lowered my head to the pillows, supporting my weight on my elbows. My dick was limp, and I was feeling droopy and pretty much used up.
Dan spread my ass cheeks apart and gently entered me. I could feel his cock stretching my anal ring and slowly penetrating up into my interior. He held on to my hips and slowly pressed all the way in. By the time he was pumping in and out, my dick had begun to stiffen.
There was a hesitant knock on the door. In a muffled voice, Elise asked if she could come in and take a peek. Dan sighed in exasperation.
"Lighten up, fellow," I said. "It's a special night. Let's share this with her, if only for a moment."
He paused in mid stroke, then slapped my butt cheek and said, "Come right in, dear, and watch hubby demonstrate the mysterious art of ass-fucking."
"So, Elise, what did you think of my performance last night?" Dan asked at breakfast.
"Actually, I was a bit envious. Almost made me wish I had a penis of my own, so I could experience what it's like being on the giving end."
"Well, you know there's a handy-dandy little gadget that women use when they get the yen to penetrate a lover. It's called a strap-on."
"Are you suggesting . . . ?" she asked, then turned to look at me. I was chewing on a slice of French toast, and I gave her my most wide-eyed and innocent "who me?" look.
"Any time, Elise, that you get the urge to do to me what you saw Dan do . . . well, I guess it could be an interesting experience for the both of us. For the three of us if Dan cares to watch."
Elise laughed and Dan blushed scarlet.
Living together has its advantages. Not just ready access to your partners' bodies, but also potential access to the their financial resources. And of that there was more than I had expected.
Dan and Elise owned a publishing house. Armas & Associates was a medium-sized firm specializing in gaming and gambling books. In fact, they pretty much owned the market in that particular niche. A fairly lucrative market it was, too.
Just one book -- Beat the Casinos! -- had generated half a million in gross profit the previous year. Then there were all the books on handicapping races, kicking your opponent's butt at chess, winning at backgammon, poker, and all the rest.
The firm had recently branched out into popular fiction. This wasn't necessarily a rewarding market, since for every big hit there were a dozen failures. But a single mega-bestseller could produce millions in sales and subsidiary rights.
I began work there as a reviewer. It was a job I took to right away, since books had been my most trusted childhood companions. I was to sort out submissions from the "slush pile," the unsolicited manuscripts sent in by hopeful authors. From a quick scan of a submission, I had to decide whether it would go in the "further consideration" basket or the much larger "reject" bin. If something looked particularly promising, I'd write a short report directed to the attention of a senior editor.
It was a moderately important job. Every once in a while a previously unknown writer would send in something that had the makings of a hit. Mostly, though, it was a matter of filtering out the semi-illiterate maunderings that spewed from the pens and keyboards of frustrated aging spinsters, freshly-minted English Lit grads, and other assorted writer wannabes. Every one of these pitiful souls was certain their manuscript would set the world on fire. They might have been better off just setting their own precious work on fire. It got to be depressing, looking at mountains of poorly-written crap day in and day out.
I looked forward to going home at night, where I could enjoy the warmth and intimacy of Dan and Elise's companionship. Whose bed I slept in on any particular night didn't matter all that much. Mostly I let my lovers make the choice. Some nights I'd spend time with each of them, falling asleep in Dan's comforting arms, and awakening snuggled up to Elise's plush bottom, with no memory of having gotten up and changed bed partners. On one busy night, I did two switcheroos, getting Dan once, and Elise twice. Or was it the other way around? Every bedtime was a delicious surprise.
But that job! I needed that job. Needed it for my own self-respect. Before hooking up with Dan and Elise, I had been bouncing around from one shitty temp job to another. Living from paycheck to paycheck. No money in the bank. No goals. No plans. No purpose. Just drifting.
Now I had a home. A base. An anchor. But I needed the reassurance that the job gave me. I needed to know that I could be self-supporting, and that I didn't need to rely on charity from the people I loved. I needed that job to prove that I was worthy. Worthy of respect. Worthy of being loved.
I finally decided to give up my hopeless struggle with those heaps of manuscripts. I'd take a shortcut. If I could only trust my intuition and judgment rather than trying to rely on formal rules and guidelines, I might be able to get away with quick-scanning a prospective book, then letting the first thing that popped into my head determine its worth and further handling, if any.
This had the effect of dramatically increasing my "productivity" -- the number of manuscripts I processed daily. What a relief it was walking away from my desk at 5:00 p.m. with a clean In Box. And, oddly enough, my supervising editor began corroborating my judgment more and more often. I even got a commendation for recommending the publication of "Congress in the Sacred Halls," a political satire with overtones of swashbuckling adventure and bodice-ripping romance.
I was cheating, though. I had begun doing unauthorized editing of the manuscripts, indulging a previously unsuspected passion for writing irreverently bawdy dialog. So what if I tweaked a few scenes and characters? It couldn't help but improve limp plots that needed help . . .
Of course, I got caught. One of the submitting authors complained to a senior editor, and that should have been that.
It's not that I feared being fired. I had friends in high places, after all. Very high places. But there was talk about a transfer -- a transfer to the maintenance staff. I wasn't particularly looking forward to trading a desk for a mop and a broom.
That night we finally did a threesome. It was Elise's turn to be with me and I was kneeling in back of her, taking her from behind. There was a soft knock on the door, and we both yelled "Come in" simultaneously. Somehow that struck us as insanely funny, and we were choking on laughter as Dan walked in. Dan began laughing, too.
"Might I have the pleasure of joining you folks?" He asked, in between chuckles.
"Y-yes," Elise managed to say.
Dan dropped his drawers, reached for the lube, and hastily inserted himself into me. We were locked together in the flesh, the three of us.
Later on, we fell asleep together in the same bed, all three of us. Elise held me from behind, and I held Dan from behind. We were truly a family.
My clandestine manuscript revisions turned out not to be such a big deal, after all. Elise just added editing to my job responsibilities.
"You're our good luck charm, darling. Just by being around, you make nice things happen. Since you joined the firm, sales have jumped and our overall cash flow has gone up twenty percent. Whatever it is you're doing, by all means keep on doing it.
"If you're really dead set on adding to your work load, Guy, then have at it. In fact, you show real talent as an editor. But remember, you owe me one."
There was a wicked twinkle in her eye. I had a hunch what it was that I owed her.
That night, for the very first time, Elise fucked me in the ass. It felt just like taking Dan's cock into me, and when I said so, Elise chuckled, pulled out of me, and showed me the payload of her strap-on harness.
"I had this dildo custom molded from a casting of Dan's penis. It's a perfect silicone replica. Sort of a work of art, wouldn't you say?"
I just turned my back on her and told her to stick it back into me.
A writer's workshop? Well, why not? I had developed some aspirations in that direction myself. Anyhow, after seeing what many so-called writers get away with, I figured I couldn't do a whole lot
worse.
Everyone has a story to tell: their own story. All the things that have happened to a person in their lifetime, their joys and suffering, their hopes and aspirations, their hopes and ambitions, their unrealized dreams -- all this lies at the core of what makes a person, what constitutes a human life. And the story needs to be told . . . and to be heard.
I listened to several people telling their personal story, and to a couple more enrapturing their audience with intoxicating tales woven from the strands of wild imaginings. Even the made-up stories bore the authors' signatures, the stamp of their personal experience. In that moment I understood that we are all part of a greater story, the story of our interlocking lives and the pain and joy we bring to each other. And I realized that if we can tell our own little part of that story, we become more complete human beings.
The Syntax of Seduction Page 25