Lieutenant

by Lesli Richardson

  Off come the panties, discarded on the floor. I think he’s going to plow me hard and deep but he surprises me. He trails sweet, gentle kisses from the inside of my right ankle, all the way up my leg, to my inner thighs. Then he skips completely over my pussy and down the inside of my left leg, to that ankle.

  My shoes stay on as he drops to his knees and pulls me forward so he can bury his face between my thighs.

  I’m…undone is the only word to describe it. My boy’s technique has come a long way since the first time he ate me out back in college. While Carter might still be better at sucking Owen’s cock than I am, Owen is better at eating my pussy than Carter.

  Not that I have complaints about Carter’s technique, it’s just a subtle difference in the motivation, perhaps? I don’t know.

  What I do know is that with my legs over his shoulders and his hands clamped around my thighs to keep me from squirming free, Owen’s sweet mouth quickly sends me to heaven time and again. No vibrator can compare to the wet heat of this man’s oral skills.

  Twenty minutes later, when he’s satisfied he’s made me come enough, only then does he pause to toe off his loafers before he climbs onto the bed and shoves my legs back. My legs are still draped over his shoulders, and now my thighs are pressed against my chest while his cock slides inside me, filling me. He cages me with his body and his fingers lace with mine. I’m practically bent into a pretzel—thank you, yoga classes—and he slowly starts grinding.

  Wow. A sweet, sexy smile fills his face. In this position he can last a long time, and I can’t exactly complain because he just gave me joy.

  Like this, Owen knows he can eventually fuck one more orgasm out of me, because his body rubs against my swollen, throbbing clit with every stroke.

  In this way, too, my men are different. Carter has his favorite position that he enjoys grinding on me like this, on our sides, facing each other and with our legs scissored together, one of his arms wrapped around my waist.

  I taste myself when Owen slants his mouth over mine. I love kissing him. In the early days, I loved sitting on his lap, facing him, fucking him and kissing him. I could kiss him for hours.

  Although there were times I sat on his lap like that and kissed him for hours with us both fully dressed, just to tease and torment him.

  Hey, he admits he’s a masochist in several different ways. We both are, or we wouldn’t be with Carter.

  Speaking of, he still hasn’t joined us. Usually by now he’s made his way in, at least to lie on the bed and watch us, reach out and touch us, or kiss us.

  That he’s still not joining us means he really feels Owen needs this time with me right now, and even greater shame fills me.

  Our boy isn’t complicated. He’s really not. I quickly learned from Carter not to take Owen for granted, or carelessly let words fly. To immediately recognize and take ownership of any unintended and stinging verbal barbs, and to apologize, love the hurt away.

  I’m sure I’ll be punished by Carter at some future point for this.

  Not right now.

  Not around Owen.

  He never punishes me for these kinds of infractions in front of Owen, and rightfully so. Whenever Carter feels I’ve done something against Owen worthy of punishment, he makes sure I make it right with Owen first, and later evens the score in private with me. Otherwise, Owen will feel guilty for me incurring punishment on his behalf.

  We also never tell Owen about those times. That is completely between me and Carter. Owen doesn’t even know about that particularly strict set of rules I agreed to.

  There is no converse to that, either—no consequences for Owen for violating any rules against me in that way.

  Owen never does, never has.

  He truly is our good boy.

  Even if he did, one of the secret rules I agreed to back then, before Carter married me, was that there are some permanent inequalities in our relationship.

  Owen always comes first, for both of us, because he doesn’t get legal recognition the way we do as a married couple.

  Because his mother was a fucking cunt and abused him.

  Because he’s a sweet, gentle soul who doesn’t have the stable foundation Carter and I did growing up.

  I wouldn’t be here if I thought it was unfair—it’s completely fair and voluntary, on my part.

  Sure, we’ve “funished” Owen countless times. Not to mention he’s endured the sadist’s amusement ever since we started doing this. But Carter was adamant about that with me at the start. One of his ironclad rules for me was that Owen could never be “punished.”

  Ever.

  Talked to, gentle corrections, sure. And Owen does have rules and consequences. But they’re set rules with set consequences that Owen not only expects but in his own way welcomes, because he knows it means we’re paying attention. They’re also consequences he agrees to.

  If today had been reversed and Owen let loose with an outburst and drew me in like that? No way would Carter have punished him for it, even though Carter and I both know Owen would expect punishment.

  Owen trusts us, because Carter was careful and smart in the beginning. Carter took the time to learn our boy inside and out, including the bullshit Owen’s mother put him through as a kid.

  The first time I accidentally ran afoul of that rule, Carter nearly called an end to our relationship as a whole and walked out with Owen right there, although Owen will never know that.

  Again, that’s between me and Carter. It was the first time I truly realized how much Carter loves Owen and has devoted his life to him.

  It’s one of the reasons I fell so hard for Carter and knew I could spend the rest of my life with him. Because devotion like that doesn’t come cheap.

  It’s only wrenched from the bottom of a person’s soul, and is sometimes carved out of their flesh.

  And Carter has already survived both extremes more than once.

  Chapter Eight

  Even when making love, my men have different “feels.” They could both do the exact same thing to me, and a different emotional painting takes shape.

  If it’s only Carter and me making love like this, as equals and without any sadism involved, Carter stills wears a thick shell with me. He can’t help it. I’m not even sure if he realizes he does it. It’s a shell I’ve seen disappear when he makes loves to Owen, though. Maybe he feels Owen is physically stronger than me and better able to hold Carter’s demons in check, I don’t know.

  It’s not a feeling of a lack of love when Carter’s with me, though. It’s like there’s an openness and vulnerability in the way he makes love to Owen that’s not present with me. I’m positive it’s an indescribable, intangible artifact left over from trauma Carter suffered long before we met, one which he refuses to discuss in anything but vague hints.

  The most I could force him to confess to was that it had to do with whatever happened to him in Germany, when he was in the Army, and that it involved the woman he got a vasectomy for—a relationship that didn’t work out, in the end.

  A bitch whose name I don’t even know but who I wouldn’t piss on if she was on fire.

  A woman I’d love to hand a gasoline cocktail…and then toss her a lit match.

  Because of what she did, Carter and I can’t have kids. I know he would love to have kids. I thought about Owen fathering them for us, able to co-parent with us, because Owen also wants to be a father.

  Until Carter gently pointed out to me during one of our private conversations that we ask enough of our boy already when it comes to publicly denying who he is to us, and that we will be asking even more of him throughout the years. That it would be cruel to add this sacrifice on top of that pile, to force him to watch his children be publicly claimed as Carter’s.

  And he’s right.

  I don’t want to put Owen through that, either. Because then the issue is compounded—how do you explain to the kids not to call Owen “Daddy” around others? How do you ask children to keep their entire liv
es a lie?

  Or how do Carter and I even pretend Owen isn’t the father of all our children when all either of us want is to include him in all ways as our husband?

  We can’t. I can’t. I won’t ask Owen to endure that, either. It also means I won’t pick IVF or other methods of parenthood, because then it’s like we’re rejecting Owen, and Carter agreed he’d already thought of that, too.

  Carter did give me a choice—kids, or politics. That he’d toss my birth control pills himself and we’d settle down together, the three of us, as an openly poly triad.

  Except…

  I want what I want. I wouldn’t be happy leaving politics this early in my life, before I even have a chance to make a run of my own for any office.

  Carter permanently closes that discussion with one caveat—that unless I change my mind about kids versus politics, I won’t discuss the subject of having children with him or Owen again, unless Carter brings it up to me first.

  It’s the only time I think I really felt a crisis of conscience regarding our chosen path.

  There’s a seductive emotional pull when I imagine a houseful of kids, and the three of us sitting by the pool while watching them splash around together. Of carpools and PTO meetings, kicking back at the end of a day, or on a Friday after leaving work for a weekend with our family, and just being a family together.

  I know Owen would be an amazing dad, and so would Carter.

  Unfortunately, I was seduced a long time ago by my first love—politics.

  Its siren song is far stronger and more hypnotic than any what-if thoughts about the three of us playing house together.

  While I have no doubts about my husbands’ ability to be great parents, I’m not so sure about my own.

  I was an only child of doting parents who raised me well, if I do say so myself. Unconventionally in some ways, but that’s because they were rich and because of Daddy’s chosen career path. I learned to work hard to get what I wanted, and that drive has always been there.

  But it also means I’m not used to giving up my dreams for others. Stepping aside and being magnanimous and sacrificing myself. I can drop to my knees for Carter when I feel like it, but he’s the only man I’d ever think about kneeling for.

  And he knows when to back off.

  Owen, however, has a pure slave’s heart, if you could ever categorize such a thing. He lives to serve us. He truly is happiest living in ways beneath myself and Carter that would make me miserable if I had to live like that all the time.

  Add to that the fact that Owen wants to be governor and never thought he could make that dream come true, until he met us.

  I’d be taking away his dream of higher offices, not just my own, if I asked for us to switch course now. No, we haven’t talked about this with Owen. It’s a “command decision,” as Carter calls it. Owen wouldn’t complain, I’m sure, but Owen literally will not complain about anything that doesn’t make him violate Carter’s most unbreakable rule—Owen will always protect himself first and foremost, in all ways, even if that means protecting himself from me or Carter.

  Right now, with the two of us alone in bed together, Owen is relaxed and focused on me, on us. I feel it when he settles into his rhythm as he fucks me, one he can maintain for as long as he needs to. Every driving thrust he takes makes his cock and his body hit every perfect place inside and outside me and mine. My climb starts again, too.

  With his forehead pressed against mine he makes love to me, kissing me, sucking my lips, nuzzling my nose. When Carter and Owen kiss—meaning more than just a quick, gentle peck—for any length of time, it looks like they’ve barely survived an orgy, both of them ending up with swollen lips and reddened cheeks. I love watching them kiss.

  When Owen kisses me, even at his most passionate, it’s sweet, gentle sunshowers, hot chocolate on cozy winter nights, the whisper of lace and satin across skin.

  When Carter kisses me, it’s straight bourbon and the dirty growl of an electric guitar while a tropical storm roars outside.

  Like this, completely corralled and pinned down by Owen’s body, I know I can come. Years with Carter have taught me I need the bite, or the restraint, the same way Owen does, in his own way.

  He’s still being of service and giving me what I need, even if what he’s giving me is himself.

  My sweet, gentle boy.

  I rub my cheek against his, the slight scratch of his afternoon stubble rasping against my flesh. He nips my earlobe, tugging. It’s the deliciously desperate edge to his breath filling my ear that trips me over unexpectedly. Carter’s trained me too well in too many ways, including my own sadism. I love having my boy needy and wanting me.

  I arch my back as his lips close over mine again. He pounds into me, wanting to catch up, to fall with me. It’s something we don’t get very often like this, and it’s so much sweeter when we do. I’m swirling around that funnel, heading down, when I hear his deep, desperate gasp, and I know he’s there.

  My hands squeeze his as my body lets go and pleasure rolls through me once more, not as intense as his mouth on me, but lasting longer. Every stroke prolongs it, until he finally falls still inside me and we’re both lying there nuzzling each other once more.

  “Love you, Susa,” he whispers.

  I wait until he’s looking me in the eyes. “Love you, too, Owen. Are we okay?”

  He nods, kissing me again. He’s not allowed to lie to either of us, even if it’s an uncomfortable truth, so I know we’re okay.

  The rest remains unspoken. I have promised him that, once we are both out of politics, we will reveal the truth and live openly. It won’t be a secret to some by then, I’m sure, but that goal lays unseen years in the future.

  That is my vow to my boy, and I damn sure will keep it.

  * * * *

  Owen’s still inside me. He’s released my hands and is resting on his elbows when I feel the mattress dip next to us.

  I don’t break eye contact with Owen. “Did you enjoy the show?”

  The bastard extraordinaire chuckles. “Beautiful, as always, pet.” Carter kisses Owen first, then me.

  Always Owen first, like this.

  I never mind, because there will be countless future times where it’s just me and Carter, or where Carter won’t be able to kiss Owen in front of others. I will never begrudge our boy being first whenever we can put him there.

  Like now.

  Carter reaches over and strokes Owen’s head, rubbing his scalp in that playful, tender way that immediately drops Owen into subspace.

  Like now. I smile as I watch Owen’s eyes fall closed, his body relaxing even more on top of mine.

  The bastard extraordinaire might be many things good and evil, but I cannot deny he knows our bodies even better than we do, sometimes.

  “Although you both have too many clothes on,” Carter pretend gripes.

  Owen’s eyes are still closed. When I look at Carter, his gaze is fixed on me.

  “We got distracted.”

  “So I see, pet.” I can also see Carter’s fly is tented. I’m sure he stood in the doorway and watched, squeezing himself through his slacks as he did, the handsome perv.

  He loves to watch.

  I love putting on a show for him with Owen.

  But now we’ve also fired him up, so I wonder which one of us he’ll choose to slake his lust with, and how. Unless he specifically asks for one of us to volunteer, I’ve given up trying to outguess him, in that regard. I’m never right, it seems.

  Sometimes, I think he does it just to fuck with me.

  Damn, I love the sadist.

  He stretches out alongside us and kisses Owen again. I see the way Carter’s arm tenses and I know he’s just fisted Owen’s hair. A soft, sexy moan from Owen a second later confirms that for me.

  Carter holds Owen in place and kisses me, then tips his face to bring Owen in so we’re all kissing each other.

  Hey, don’t knock it.

  “I think I want you both to stay
right there,” Carter finally says before he releases Owen and sits up.

  Oh, I know what he’s decided.

  Seconds later, Carter shucks his slacks and kneels next to us, his cock sliding between our mouths as he holds his shirt out of the way. Owen and I automatically start licking, sucking, as Carter rests a hand on Owen’s back and begins fucking the space between our mouths. Together, we take turns deep-throating him before he’s back to using our lips pressed together to stroke his cock. His cock is already leaking pre-cum and is that kind of steely-hard engorged that tells me he was way more than just turned on by watching us—he was halfway to coming.

  When he finally unleashes a deep, sexy groan I know means he’s hit the point of no return, instead of burying himself inside my mouth or Owen’s, he opts for one of his favorites—painting both our faces with his cum as he starts furiously stroking his cock with his hand. He smears it all over me, over Owen, our foreheads and cheeks and chins, making both of us take turns sucking every last drop from the head.

  Then he sits back and watches, smiling as we lick each other clean, both of us now giggling, laughing, kissing, our usual balance restored.

  The bastard in charge.

  Believe me, we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t love it, and Carter, or weren’t certain how much he loves both of us.

  Chapter Nine

  Now

  It’s a great inauguration ball. I eat too much, dance too much, talk waaaay too much. I’m stuffed, my feet freaking hurt, and I’m going to be hoarse tomorrow.

  And I’m sure I still have a panty violation caning to endure at some point tonight.

  It’s just past midnight when the remaining guests start getting a gentle hint from the waitstaff that they don’t have to go home, but they can’t stay here, when they start clearing the tables, removing tablecloths from empty tables, and quietly stack chairs. At midnight we switched over to piped-in music from the hotel so the bands can pack up and go home. Some of the FSU students have classes tomorrow, although the high school students have excused absences.