The threesome aftermath: standing to lose

I wrote about my first threesome here

It was one of the highlights of my life, and ever since I’ve been drawn to threesomes. But they can cost you. I know several relationships that broke up shortly after the threesome. 

When I told the story, I mentioned two clues I’d missed at the time, about what was going to happen next. The first was that Amanda had somehow developed impressive cunnilingus skills, and enthusiasm, though she was in a relationship with me, and we were supposed to be being faithful.

I’d held up my end of the deal. That doesn’t make me morally superior, by the way. It was just how it was. It’s maybe also a reason why I’ve since been less interested in sexual exclusivity. Though I’ll do that when it’s important to the girl I’m with and she’s important to me. 

The other clue I should have spotted was when Amanda kissed Miranda. I kissed Miranda like I was fond of her, and pleased she was there. Amanda kissed her as though she desperately in love with her. Which she was. 

So I organised the next night for the three of us. I’m not going to write about it, or not now, but it was every bit as hot as the first night. Hotter.

But the next time, after that second threesome, that I took Miranda to bed she was on her own, and she’d sneaked over to my place while Amanda was at a meeting.

She mentioned that she and Amanda had been fucking a lot, at Miranda’s place. She thought I knew. That hurt, not because they’d been fucking but because Amanda had been secretive. 

Anyway, we struggled along for another couple of weeks, and then Amanda moved out, into an all-women, no boys allowed, house. And Miranda slept with her most nights. 

Miranda, I think, would have preferred to be in the threesome, because she fancied both of us, and she wanted something warm and open-ended more than she wanted an obsessional love. But obsessional love has its power. I was her relief from Amanda’s intensity. Also, I had a cock, and no demands on exclusivity with her. She liked both of those things. 

But Amanda didn’t like Miranda fucking anyone but her. At the end of the year, she went to a feminist event in London. And paid for Miranda to come. I never saw Miranda again. That wasn’t so sad, I liked Miranda a lot, and I loved having sex with her, but I wasn’t in love with her. What was sad was that I only saw Amanda one more time, two years later.

I’d been in love with her, my first love, and my heart was broken. I still loved her when I saw her two years later. I passed over the things she’d left behind when she’d moved out, and stored with me when she went to London. 

And that was that. No-one was to blame. Amanda was in new love, and that made her ruthless. But that’s a human need.

Amanda had, I’m pretty sure, loved me until she switched to Miranda. I’d been the best boyfriend-of-a-feminist I knew how to be. And Miranda was just a sexy woman exploring and having fun. 

So I was left alone, with just some memories. Well, “left alone” doesn’t last long, for a guy who’d been a virtuous boyfriend, mildly and locally famous, and unattainable for the four years I was with Amanda. I learnt a lot about female sexual enthusiasm afterwards. But I stayed in love with Amanda for years. 

There’s no moral. Just, nothing is safe. Enter it with your eyes open. 

Sinful Sunday: Without a word

“Arr-ffaa!”

As the first pain reached into her body she sobbed, not with the hurt but with relief. Her long, longing wait was over. 

He said nothing. He hadn’t spoken yet. But there had been two canes resting beside her right flank. Now there was only one.

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Kink of the Week: My first threesome

It started with a sort-of-sexual sevensome. I was twenty-one, and I had a huge bed at the time, and I was known to be interested in girls and being nice to them, and to be interested in sex, and in political issues affecting women. Though I wasn’t available, because I was being faithful to my girlfriend.

My girlfriend, who I’ll call Amanda here, had by now become the Women’s Rights Executive Officer at the local university, so feminist women often came round to our place to plan things, or stuff envelopes for letter-writing campaigns and so on. So it happened that one night we all crashed into bed together, and I had six women sleeping with me. 

In the morning there was a lot of flirtatious slithering and cuddling and rolling over each others’ bodies. Even though some of them were, in public, very anti-male, most of them were happy for there to be an erect penis, with young man attached, in that bed. I got a lot of rubbing, and my cock found its way between the soft parts of two or three girls at once, or between the thighs of one girl, and so on. But there were too many people, and no-one was game to actually have a boy-on-girl or even a girl-on-girl fuck in front of the others.

As well as my girlfriend Amanda there was another girl in that bed who I very specifically wanted. Let’s call her Miranda. Miranda was beautiful, in a young-Lauren-Bacall kind of way, while my girl thought, of herself, that she was “merely” pretty (though I thought she was beautiful even if Miranda, inescapably, was more so), so we were both a bit in awe of Miranda. 

It turned out that Miranda was in awe of us. I was a political figure who turned up on radio and tv locally, saying good and noble things. Amanda was not just a feminist but actually got paid for it. And there was another thing: I’d been Miranda’s probation officer for a while, after she’d got caught spray-painting a wall. There’d been a certain amount of sexual tension between us, but I’d managed not to take up any of her invitations, and that had also gained me some respect.

(There’s a long story about my probation officer days elsewhere on this blog. It tells about the time I finally succumbed and spanked and then fucked one of my clients. For, um, not entirely discreditable reasons. You can find all the episodes of that story by clicking on this: The Probation Officer’s Tale. )

Anyway, Miranda’s probation was finished, so she wasn’t my client. I stared at her until she looked at me. She nodded, and I kissed her. Then Amanda rolled towards us and kissed Miranda too. 

The other women were starting to get up. Eventually there were just four people: Amanda, Miranda, me, and one other woman. That woman said, “I can smell breakfast. You coming?” Then she noted that under the sheet Miranda had her hand on my cock and was squeezing hard at the base, because I was leaking pre-come and she’d read some article about how that was supposed to delay male orgasm. “Oh.” She left. 

And then there were three. I’d decided it wasn’t unfaithful if Amanda was in it too. I was kissing Miranda, who’d switched from trying to delay my orgasm to stroking my cock gently up and down. It was excruciating, and wonderful. Amanda stroked Miranda’s cunt. Then I was on top of both of them, kissing Amanda while sliding as naturally and easily as anything in the world into Miranda’s sweet, wet cunt. 

We fucked for a long time, while Amanda lay beside us, and I kissed and licked Amanda’s cunt while I moved inside Miranda, mostly very slowly and gently. Sometimes we’d speed up and I’d have to stop, suddenly, for several seconds until I calmed down again. Miranda was on her back, so she couldn’t pleasure Amanda except with one hand, fingers working inside Amanda. Her fingers occasionally got kissed by me, because that’s where my face was. 

I wanted Amanda to climb up and put her cunt on Miranda’s mouth, but we were all too young, too shy and too silly to make that happen. But eventually Miranda came, with one long, drawn-out wail. There were tears in her eyes. She was immensely moved and happy. I kissed her fervently, because I was so pleased with her and so proud of myself for managing this without coming in her. This was ill-advised, unprotected sex, I’m afraid.

Then Amanda turned onto her front and raised her arse. I’d kept my interest in bdsm from her, mostly, but she knew my enthusiasm for her ass. Miranda watched, and then slid herself down, thighs open, to Amanda’s face. Amanda did Miranda very gently, lovingly. Amanda’s sexual career, as far as I knew, was entirely heterosexual, but it didn’t occur to me to wonder where she’d developed not just know-how but serious skills.

I wasn’t doing any thinking. I fucked my girl, rocking, pressed against her delicious ass, and divided the rest of my attention between kissing Amanda’s neck, and Miranda’s inner thigh. Eventually Miranda came again, just as noisily, and somehow that started Amanda, pushing back at me to get more of my cock, and then at last I let myself come, too, with great bear-like male grunts.

We heard laughter, from the kitchen. We looked at each other, wondering whether to be mortified. Then Miranda shrugged. So we lay together, resting, until Miranda’s hand on my cock, just affectionate holding at first, got more purposeful and I started to respond. Then she sucked me till I was entirely hard. For a while it was just Miranda and I, in a sort of vague, not quite joined up 69 position, waiting for Amanda to wake up.

Eventually Amanda did, and grabbed Miranda’s face for her very own, looking deep into her eyes and giving soulful, loving kisses. 

Amanda rolled onto her back, and so I helped Miranda into position, face in Amanda’s cunt, ass up, legs spread for me. I slid back into Miranda, and found myself riding her, pulling her hair, which she’d said – back in probation officer days – that she liked, and this time we fucked hard and desperate, the three of us, pushing ruthlessly on, hard and fast as we could, for our release and each other’s. 

Afterwards we lay in each other’s arms, gasping, the sheets wet with sweat. And so on: repeat. When we finally did get up, the other women had gone. It was evening.

Of course, in the longer run that morning didn’t turn out so well for me, which is another story. Even so, I still treasure that morning, and the next time the three of us were together, as among the most goldenly magical moments of my life. What I learned from the pleasure and the beauty of it, and later from pain, changed me and re-set my life.  

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Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 138: Kissing Lynette

Beside me, Lynette sighed pleasurably. Languorously, with shining eyes. She was taking a video of the whole thing on my phone camera. She was enjoying watching Raylene’s anguished movements, her toe-clenched kicking and the writhing of her ass and thighs.

I wasn’t sure if she liked the fact that Raylene’s arse hurt, not the way I liked that knowledge.

But at the very least that consideration didn’t interfere with her pleasure. She was also enjoying her flirtation with me. Actually we’d passed flirtation. She’d kissed me with tongue and enthusiasm. Back in the corridor, she’d put her hand on my cock.

That was the other puzzle in this room. Lynette had only come to this house because she’d been trying to get Dorabella into bed. Her first reaction to my presense, doing perverted things to Raylene on the stairs, had been openly hostile. I expected she had a fine line in “all men are bastards” conversation. I also suspected that she’d leaned on it while she was chasing Dorabella. And yet she was coming to bed with Raylene and me at mid-night. I was sure she’d demand penile, as it were, penetration.

I shrugged, mentally, and tapped the cane across the roundest, fullest, curves of Raylene’s bottom. The next two strokes would be the last of her two dozen. I was letting her know where to expect them. Raylene expelled a breath. “Master? God, it hurts… I’m so sorry, Lynette, I wish I hadn’t been rude to you.”

Lynette looked at me. A little earlier I’d encouraged her to be hard and unforgiving when Raylene asked for forgiveness. I smiled and nodded, giving permission. Lynette made her voice icy. “I know you’re sorry now, Raylene. But that’s only because you’re getting punished.”

Raylene made a shocked, nasal noise. Her arse rose and fell still, driven by burning pain. And lust.

Lynette frowned, a little unhappy with herself. Being cruel was fun, but as she’d found earlier, it was hard. She looked at me again. I made the OK symbol with my cane-free hand. “And it serves you right, Raylene. You were being a real bitch last night. Tell me again how sorry you are when he’s finished with you.”

Raylene wailed. I kissed Lynette again, for the sweet sake of it, and to let her know that she wasn’t a horrible person. She’d said the right thing, for Raylene’s pleasure and entertainment. Raylene said, “Master? Please, Master?”

She knew she was interrupting Lynette and me, and she was hesitant. In any case, she was about to ask a question, and I suspected she was scared of the possible answer.

I put my hands on Lynette’s ass, and she reciprocated. We kissed like people about to fuck. “Yes? Raylene?”