7 comments/ 8297 views/ 8 favorites Good Man Pt. 01 By: OliviaLocke This is not the first time I've come to this bar after a long week's work and not the first time I've seen this woman here. She seems out of place, a bit older than the regular nouveau professionals, dresses simply, classically, and mostly sits alone in a corner booth drinking something deep amber, no ice. And out of all the flirty young women that litter the tables and flit around searching for a man to take them home and make them rich, she's the one that sticks in my head. Strange. And yet, logical. I've grown tired of empty-headed affairs and girls that try too hard to say yes only to move on without warning or reason. It's as if we've lost all sense of reality, though we do come here to escape. But somehow, we never land firmly again. All I feel is deflated. Empty. I face this woman who's got no business here and wonder why she comes so often. Are we so shallow we're just entertainment to her? Tight clothing and lip gloss with no substance. She doesn't belong to that club. Yet, she is attractive. But it's a different kind of beauty. One that sticks. Refined. Subtle. I call the bartender over. He's a gruff sort, the owner, I think, and probably more gruff since this is only Friday and it's a long weekend of slinging drinks for an impatient crowd. I order my regular—which he knows—and whatever that woman is drinking to send over. I'm not subtle, I realize, regretting my decision. The bartender slides the drinks over. "Take it yourself," he says. Hers is whiskey too, neat, but a whole lot more than the single ounce I get. I give him a puzzled look. "Listen, you don't want what she's offering. But at least your generosity will impress her enough that she'll leave you be." He stands back. "Don't let the quick rejection go to your head." I'm not sure what he means by all this, but I carry both drinks over to her booth and set hers down. She looks up at me, stern, and I begin to regret my decision. "Just enjoy," I say and head off. "Not so fast." I stop and she's pointing to the seat across from hers. So I sit. Surprised. Elated? "What's wrong?" she says. "These girls not pretty enough?" I don't know what to say to that. They are pretty. And available, often, at least for a night. They know love is not in the cards, just a quick shuffle of the deck to distract from the pressures of trading millions of dollars every day. None of it is our money. We just play with it, try to do well so our bonuses are big enough to pay for the racy cars and sexy electronic gadgets we all want. And a vacation to somewhere warm to beat the winter blahs. "They burn you out?" she says. I shrug, shake my head. "I'm just tired." "Bored?" "You got me." "Too bad, a man of your age. You could have your pick." Does that mean she likes me? I'm still here, not rejected: a good sign. "They don't know what they want," I say. I'm not sure I do either. "So what's the solution?" She slides her empty glass over to the edge of the table and takes the one I brought, tastes. "Am I that solution?" "You're different," I say, wondering what to say that doesn't offend her. "Old?" Thirty-five, or whatever she really is, isn't exactly old. "Experienced." I shake my head. "Constant. Dependable, maybe. I'm actually not sure. But you feel right, somehow. I guess I'm looking for more than..." I don't know. "Sometimes getting what you want should be rewarding, not just a quick yes and off we go." She laughs. It's the first time I've seen her laugh. I take it as a plus. "I don't think you want me hanging around after the glow wears off," she says. She's looking right at me, through me. She's just dared me to go for it. I think. Then again, maybe she's had a bad experience and rather not relive it for my sake. "I'm sorry I asked." "Are you asking?" "I suppose so, in a way." "To relieve the boredom." She's already done that. A girl I haven't seen before walks by. She's tall and lithe, a dancer maybe, and knows she's attractive and sexy and turns heads. "Does she make you hard?" she says. I shrug. But only to give me time to process the boldness of it. I'm not sure how to follow that. I'm used to direct statements. You get laid if you ask. Or are asked. But this isn't about us. She leans forward, stares into my eyes. "Don't be shy; does she make you hard?" Okay, I'll bite. But her tone's a lot harder than my cock. "Yes, she makes me hard." She smiles. Warmly. Totally changed in an instant. "Good," she says, and leans back. "I thought for a second your equipment wasn't working." "It works. But sometimes the rush you thought you saw turns out...stagnant." She nods, slowly, turning her whiskey in her fingers, glancing to me, to the crowd, then back to me and holds. "What if I asked you over to my place?" My heart races. "Are you promising a different kind of rush?" "That depends on you." "I don't know what that means." "I'm sure you don't." "But I should accept anyway." I give her my hand. "Cameron," I say. She takes it. "Erin." A waitress comes. She's wearing the short kilt and white blouse uniform they all wear, with knee socks and sneakers. The sneakers don't adhere to the dress code but the rest of her is perfectly put together. She's got two menu folders ready. Erin puts her hand up to stop her. "Nothing this time. But stay for a second, would you?" "Sure," says the waitress, tucking the menus into her arm. "Do you find her attractive?" says Erin to me. I glance to our waitress, then to this woman who seems to enjoy provoking me. "Yes, I suppose I do." "Would you like to run your hand under those pleats to see what she's wearing underneath?" Our waitress blushes but does not move. Erin says to her, "What's the house regulation regarding work attire under a skirt?" "I must wear modesty shorts at all times." Erin takes my hand and places it at the edge of the table. "Don't you want to check for yourself?" Our waitress freezes, watches Erin intently, seems confused as to what to do. I'm not sure what to do either. Yet, I know what I want to do. The waitress steps back. "May I go?" "Yes," says Erin, "but only after you've proved to us you've followed regulations." "Will I get in trouble if I haven't?" "I won't embarrass you." She opens her purse and gives the waitress a twenty and points to the just vacated booth across from ours. "Get back to work." She faces me. "I don't care what they wear. I make the rules so they know where to begin. If the details happen to inflate a few men and the till, I'm all for it." So she's the owner. The booth across from ours is a shambles of empty bottles, dirty plates and crumpled napkins. The waitress fills a tray with the debris and goes off. In seconds she's back with a white cloth and a squirt bottle of cleaner. She's thorough, wetting every square inch, wiping away the spilt drink and food. Abruptly, she stops. She's frozen again. "What's going on?" I say to Erin. "We'll find out, won't we," she says. The waitress is wiping up again, vigor returned, reaching now to the far back of the table, bending over. Then I see, understand, what she'd done. "Modesty shorts aren't white, are they?" I say. "Black," says Erin. "And they're a lot less cheeky." Done, the waitress, straightens, takes her gear and leaves, not once looking over. "Well?" says Erin. "Nice." "How nice?" I'm not sure what she wants. But I know the general direction she's taking me. "I reacted." "How?" She's pressing me. But a wicked smile slowly creeps up her face. She's either happy I've reacted or she's reveling in the fact she's got me off balance. "Bored?" she says. Not a chance. She takes up her drink. "Still want me?" "What do you think?" She nods slowly, turns and waves two fingers at the bartender. He rushes over two drinks—filled nicely this time. "Finish up," she says. "But take your time. Lust over all the girls. Strip them. Make love to them. Fantasize. Get horny." I am already. But something in her tone affects me more powerfully than flagrant cleavage and a tight ass in tighter pants. "I'm sorry I didn't buy you a drink years ago," I say. "You'll be a lot sorrier when you're an inch from coming and there's nothing you can do to make it happen." She's staring at me, daring me to tear myself away, daring me to dispute her assertion. I was sorry. Or was I? That interested third party, the one that hangs between my legs, seems very interested. Even though the young girls, and waitress, have a lot to offer, what sits before me is a whole lot more invigorating. Complex. And unyielding. And firmly grounded. I follow her, by car, to her place. Strange for a woman to invite a man up like that, so soon, so vulnerable. But I need to know what she's offering. Her condo's on the 34th floor of a mega-project that's still growing. Three more buildings like this one are under construction. I'd like to live here. But the condos they house are far too pricey for my bank account. Once inside, it's obvious she lives alone. Everything's just so, new, neat, unspoiled. And expensive. "Are you single?" I say. "For three years now. I was married to a man who didn't appreciate my needs." I take off my jacket. The view of the city is spectacular, the harbor below, the twinkling lights, the mountains off to one side. Suddenly, I feel bold. "And what were they?" She hangs up her coat, mine too, comes so close I can feel her heat. Her nearly black eyes draw me in with no hope of escape. "I demanded complete control over our sex life. Everything. When, how, what kind. But he didn't take me seriously." "He strayed?" "And I didn't." "Have your needs changed?" "No." "Do you expect me to submit?" I say before my brain has the decency to shut me up. "Yes." "Why do you think I'll agree to that?" "You wanted a cure for boredom, I'll give you one." She reaches between my legs, cups me. "I like you. And if you like what I do to you, then you and I can play a while. I get bored too. I'm bored now. It's been a long while since I've been with a good man." She laughs. "Any man. I'm hoping we can cure each other." I nearly ask her what I should expect. But that's a faux pas, isn't it? I should expect nothing and enjoy the surprise. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, open my eyes again, say, "Go ahead, cure me." "Good man." She moves away, motions to the couch that faces the floor to ceiling windows. "Enjoy the view for a while." She leaves me alone. The view is beyond compare but my mind is focused behind me. Then the lights dim and I see her wonderful condo reflected in the glass. She's there too. "Don't turn around." I don't have to. I can see her, how she's changed into this sexual creature, tapping a crop in her palm, her petite frame squeezed into leather and bone, and so-tight panties over sleek black hose. "Do you like what you see?" she says. "Yes." "Are you willing to play under my rules, to submit?" Was there a choice? "Yes." "Yes, 'Mistress.'" "Yes, Mistress," I say, hardening. "Your cock and balls are mine." Not a question. "They are." The crop prods my shirt collar. "They are, 'Mistress.'" "They are, Mistress." "Good man." That's the third time she's said 'good man.' I understand what that means now. It means obedience. Submission. Surrender. The crop moves on, leather on my neck, my ear, my cheek. She taps that cheek very gently. "This is your last chance before you commit to a full evening. Leave if you're afraid." I tip my head so the crop can better connect. "Harder." Good Man Pt. 02 Erin doesn't hit me, hard or otherwise. She just caresses, the warm texture of leather electric on my neck, under my ears, across my cheek. She comes before me, tosses the crop aside, continues with her fingers. She pretends to be blind, eyes closed, fingers—both hands—on my face, outlining my eyes, my nose, across my lips, testing their resilience, making me shiver. "Don't move," she says. "Just enjoy. I know I am." The backs of her fingers rasp up my cheek's day-old stubble then slide down my neck, gently massaging. My shirt's in the way. Her eyes open and the buttons become undone, top to bottom, her knuckles bumping my skin, electric. She hauls the shirt from my pants, pushes it off my shoulders, down my arms. I'm naked from the waist up. Below the waist, I react, half hard, waiting for her to decide that my pants should come off too. She stretches up, puts her lips an inch from mine, eyes on mine, glances at my lips. "Bored?" I feel myself grin, want to kiss her, touch her. "What do you think?" She brushes the sparse hair on my chest, bumps over my nipples once, twice, three times. "I don't know, tell me." "The proof is further down." It is, my cock straining. "Actually," she says, my roused nipples between her fingers, "the proof is right here." But their message flows downward, my inflated cock the response. I want her to quickly get there. And I want to touch her more than ever. I raise my hands, hover an inch from her sides, hesitate. "Do you think you need permission?" she says. "I don't know." My nipples are more alive than I ever remember. Maybe it's the repeated brushing, her fingertips nudging, circling, pinching both simultaneously. Maybe it's her and her take-charge ways, her promise of something new, something wicked. I don't know and don't care. My nipples are abruptly abandoned, her fingers on my tummy, up my sides, tracing the top edge of my pants. It's a dilemma: my needy nipples or my needier cock. "I can take my pants off," I say. "You men, you're all the same. Their almighty cocks talking, taking charge." She places the flat of her hand directly on it, firmly pushes, watches me. Moves away. "You're already hard; it doesn't need more. But if you want to touch me, go ahead." "Where?" "Come now. You didn't have that problem with our cute waitress. Where was it you wanted to touch her?" "You know I know where." She's back to my nipples. I'm going crazy with need. I hadn't realized how much they missed those skilled fingers. "Tell me. Be specific." "Between her legs." "You wanted to fondle her wet cunt through her panties, right?" "Yes, I did." "With me watching?" I don't answer. I may was well say yes anyway, Erin's sly smile proves she knows me well. "But she's not here now. I am. And I'm wearing panties too." She pecks me on the lips. "And a wet cunt, shaved." She moves her legs apart. "Or isn't it as fascinating as hers?" It is. It's so soft, so arousing. I can't get enough of it. When I run my finger up the middle she all but buckles in pleasure. "Now you're getting it," she says. It becomes a slow dance, our fingers over each others bodies. But I'm straining in my underwear, constricted inside my pant-prison. And her cunt is behind two layers of fabric. The rest of her is protected by the corset. It looks wonderful but feels inert. "Take my pants off," I say again. "No. Strip me. Touch me everywhere. Don't miss anything, inside or out." She unclips the topmost corset clasp, sticks out her breasts. "Do the rest." I unclip and fold back the corset, free her breasts, marvel at how high they sit, how pert they are, how she freezes when I skim my fingertips over her nipples, doing to her what she's done to me. I peel down her panties, her hose, confirm that her cunt and lips are hairless. An intoxicating scent fills the space between us. "Don't just stare like a schoolboy." She approaches, presses her naked body to mine, her hips forward. "Tell me how much you'd like me to suck that hard cock of yours?" "You have no idea." I press into her, make sure she knows how aroused I am. She grins up to me, holding her ground. "Take my pants off." I sound like a broken record. But I want my cock free to be touched. "What's in it for me?" I laugh. "A hard cock, what else?" A good come is what else. She runs a flat hand up and down me again. "If I was a man, I would be hard too. But this is my show." She kisses me, fierce, her tongue between my lips, my teeth, eyes closed, breathing long and deep. "I've been wanting you from the first time I saw you." She breaks the kiss, sits on the couch and pulls up her legs so her feet sit on the cushions, knees wide. "You know what to do." I kneel before her, survey the feast she's opened to me, want to plunge my cock inside. Her sweet fragrance drives me insane, folds open, dewy hot. I spread her lips with my fingers, feel the heat on my face, taste her, hear the sharp intake of air. I run my tongue from bottom to top and stop against her swollen nub and just hold. And hold. "More," she says, hands gripping my head. I nudge the hard cord of her clit back and forth, hear her draw another deep breath, her hips rolled into my face. I push back, drunk with her juices, the slippery tang, and stab her clit until she's hyperventilating. But I don't stop. I close my lips around her, suck up soft flesh, press my tongue against her most sensitive nub. It's come out to play and I'm going to give it a workout she'll never forget. After, maybe, she'll relent and make my cock happy. Until then... I feel her whole body tense, her grip harden in my hair, her breathing go long, deep, then freeze, every muscle beyond taut, legs iron and trembling. Just a few more flicks and— "Aahhh! Fuck!" she cries. I hold on, push more circles into her clit, suck so hard it cannot hide. She grips my head and forces me to her sex, thighs clamped around my ears while her orgasm wreaks havoc. I know it's a good one, hear the shrieks, muffled though they are, my lips a vice over her searing flesh until she rips my head away, pulling me to her breasts. Under the panting lungs, her heart races. She pats my head, slowly recovers, pushes me away so I sit back on my heels. "Now you," she says. There's no permission given to drop my pants. She does it herself, sitting on the edge of the couch, legs wide, shiny lips slick and inviting. I touch and strangely, despite the just-now orgasm, she lets me. My cock, long neglected, freed, springs up to meet her, wants her touch, her mouth, wants cum to spurt down either cunt or mouth, doesn't matter. "Nice," she says, pushing my hand from her sex, sliding off the couch to kneel before me. A trickle of pre-cum oozes out. She licks it up then swallows me whole, cradling my balls. I'm going to be short work. I didn't realize how ready I was, how little attention it will take to finish me. But I'm not telling her that. All I want is my seed sucked from my balls. I hold her head like she held mine. She doesn't fight it. I'm going to come and she knows. That thought has me soaring, balls tight, everything tense. She freezes. Nothing moves. I'm a hair's breathe away. "More," I say. She shakes her head. "Please." I'm hoping against hope she'll let me come. She licks at the head. The jolt electrifies me. "More what?" she says. "What you've been doing." She nods. "Oh, getting you close. That's good, because for a moment I thought you actually wanted me to let you come." I ignore that. "Please," I say. She takes me again. In seconds I don't think I can keep upright, my knees weak. But I fight, hold my position. It won't be long now. Seconds. Then my cock is cold because she's off again, a wry grin on her face. "We've got all night. And I'm going to do everything I can to drive you mad." But not come. She strokes me manually, my cock slick, her fingers magic as they slip over its length, as she squeezes the head through her fingers. "I warned you," she says, looking me in the eyes. Indeed, she has. Pre-cum spread over an overwrought cock feels wonderful. I'm shaking, tremors rolling up my body. She slows. I'm in a steady state, sort of, rock hard, everything inside me tense, ready, but she's not doing enough to push me over. I've never been denied before. It's both maddening and euphoric. I open my eyes, which means I must have closed them. Erin's only focused on my cock, my balls, speeding up before slowing, keeping me at this infernal sweet spot. Strangely, it's driving me higher and higher but doesn't trigger orgasm. My cock is so hard it hurts, my balls achy, swollen, my legs beginning to cramp from the stress. I brace, my hands on her shoulders. She stops, looks up. "Don't worry, I'm not going to go on forever. But later, in bed, this tease is going to seem two seconds long. Hopefully, it'll get a lot more intense." "Will I come?" No answer. But more attention to my cock. I'm so close I can feel the come begin its trajectory. She stops, pulls away. The need stays sharp, imminent, everything between my legs electric. I didn't reach orgasm, but it feels wonderful in a way I've never experienced. My cock, rock hard, throbs. If she ever did this multiple times I'd die of need. For sure I want this again. But I'm not going to tell her. "Only if I screw up," she says. "I see," I say, sounding pathetic. "And?" I'm not sure if that means she understands how I feel or doesn't care—my need, my balls's need, is simply what it is, nothing more. She sits back. "If you want more, I'll happily oblige." "I've never been treated like this, it's..." "It's what?" "I don't know. I'll try to figure it out, later." After she's teased me again. Maybe an extended one will solidify the feelings. Or maybe I'll just be hard for a very long time. "Make sure I understand it completely." Her face lights up, ear to ear, genuine. "Good man." She sits back on the couch, splits her knees apart. "My turn again. But use your fingers this time. Fill me up." Teasing me turns her on as much as it does me. She's beyond wet, beyond responsive. Three fingers go in easily, and a fourth. She watches their progress, how I've pulled them together, how my thumb pushes the hard core of her clit back and forth. She seems transfixed by the small movement. "More," she says. "Harder." I do that, forcing her clit to just squeeze by under pressure as I shove it this way and that. She strains but remains stoic. This can't be easy for her, filled as she is, her clit manhandled. She'll soon break. I want to see her go to pieces. "Your thumb too, inside," she says, no more than a whisper. "Everything. Please." I've never done this. "Are you sure?" I'm a man, six feet, fit, strong, big fists relative to hers. "Are you sure you want to come?" Okay then. Who am I to deny her? I fold my thumb into my palm and push in, my fingers curling into a ball. She holds her ground, legs as wide a she can make them. Her eyes are open even wider. "Fuck, I've taken your whole hand!" she says. I begin to pull back. "No, don't. Stay." She squeezes her nipples. "Use your tongue." Stretched as she is, her clit is exposed, unprotected. I flick once, gently, and she emits a moan. Again. Another moan. I'm not sure if this is good or too much. "Chicken," she says. "Give it hell." I carry her to her bed, settle in beside her, both still naked, sheets quickly pulled away. She's still winded, in a half daze. I've gone soft but a lingering need lies just below the surface. Maybe the fact that she's experienced something new will be enough to soften her resolve. She cuddles me, on her side, arm down my body, hand near my cock, head on my chest, one leg over mine. "Give me a minute," she says, looking up at me. She's obviously happy, sated. "And don't think for a second that I've lost my mind. But, that's the best orgasm I've had in years, maybe ever. You're amazing. So, I could, maybe, be talked into a reward of some sort." The ferocity of her orgasm astounded me. It made me forget about myself. She forgot about herself too, I'm sure. Unlike her first, it didn't cross directly into a full blown orgasm. It seemed to stall, hold, for a good long time, right at peak. Her body had locked, frozen, everything strained to breaking, her cunt contracted around my hand so hard I hurt. Her face showed wonder and surprise at the same time. When it finally went over, the spasms pulled her into fetal position, my fist stuck inside, her muscles clenching over and over and over. I was jealous. My orgasms never lasted that long, never sent me spinning like that. During those moments she'd become slave to it, a rag, a convulsing machine intent only on feeding her pleasure, her cunt firmly in control. I wanted to experience that level of intensity too. "I thought you'd pass out," I say. She's still dazed, shaky. "Not just you." She slides a few fingers over her sex, carefully. "I'm still sensitive, sore nearly, but not quite." She shivers noticeably. "I didn't expect you to touch me so...directly." She shakes her head. "But when you did— I must have been really turned on. Your fault." "I'm flattered, I think." I am. "But I want one of those too. Hard like that." I can't believe I've told her something so personal. She takes my cock in hand. "Are your orgasms wimpy?" I shrug. "I'm not sure about that, but... Nothing I know about myself tells me I can match yours. Maybe it's a woman thing." "Is that a challenge? Should I step up?" She glances at my cock. "Or get down?" She pecks me on the cheek, rolls my balls in her palm, pressing gently, everywhere, with the pads of her fingers, methodically, like a doctor examining. "I like these," she says. "Yeah, me too." "But I like them best when they're full of cum." "So wouldn't letting me come really hard be counter productive?" "Maybe. But let's say you did have a really good one, harder than ever before, what would you give up to have another?" "Quite a bit." A lot, if what I feel now is any indication. It won't take much to get me off. She's barely begun and I'm hard. "But you haven't proven you can give me that kind of pleasure." "True. So let me have my way with you for a while; let me try. But for now, if the teasing gets intense enough, or satisfying enough, you might not want that fabulous come at all." "Yeah, right." "But you will let me try, won't you?" An innocent question, but one that demands I answer in the affirmative. As long as I'm with her, that's my only choice. "Of course." "And if I get really good at keeping you at the very edge?" "Then I don't come." "But you might learn something." "Like what?" I say. "Like a good tease has a reward all its own." "Other than yours." "Clever boy. There's something very attractive about a horny man. You, specifically." "Is that all I am to you?" She shakes her head. "Remember you said men vote with their feet. Well, you're here and I'm here, by choice. So there's more to it than that." She likes me. I hold her close. "I like you too." "Enough for a walk on the beach?" "Yes." "But always horny, anxious for the day I let you come." "I'll be monster, wanting relief all the time." She kisses my cheek again, brushes her lips against mine. I shiver. "Then it's a monster I'll get. Now be quiet. The next hour is going to be frustrating, for you. And after..." "I'll get to come?" "I'll make you a deal. I don't want to push you over by accident. So you're going to tell me if I'm going too far. After the hour's over, if you haven't learned something about yourself, I'll give you what you want." I'm confused. "I thought I had no choice in any of this. I remember you laying down the rules." She looks at me a good long while. I imagine I can see her thinking. Something is going on I don't understand. She abandons my balls, my cock, wraps her arms around me, her lips a fraction of an inch from mine, her eyes wide, searching. But no words. Then, "I like you." Goosebumps erupt everywhere. "And you don't want to lose me." "Now you're the one being blunt." "What if I promised to do as you say, when you say, no exceptions." "For how long?" I don't know. But submitting to her, sexually, is clearly a good thing, my cock telling me exactly that. "As long as you want." "That might be a long time." "Or it might be a revelation. If you're that certain I'll learn something, something I'll want to experience again, I'll crave more, right?" She takes hold of my cock again. It's hard. I'm betrayed. "You like this, don't you?" A warm smile erupts. She kisses me, hard, probing, hot. "Wait here," she says. She slips from the bed, returns with a towel and a tube of lubrication. After stretching the towel under me, she squirts some lube on my cock, my balls, that piece of skin below them, then massages it in, thoroughly. It feels wonderful. She sits between my legs, her knees arched over my thighs so I can't pull them together. "Not a word." She slowly drags my slippery cock through her fingers. I can barely breathe. "Remember, if I misread you, let me know." I'm party to my own frustration. "Is there a reward for that too?" "I'll think of something." "You'd better," I say, trying to stay focused. Her slippery hands are heaven, my cock iron-hard, my mind going to mush. She settles into a routine. I get close, tell her that I am, and she stops for a few seconds only to begin again, slowly. Three times this happens. Three times I wonder why I'm not letting her take me over. "I got it," she says. "From now on, come if you can." Except I can't. Twice she proves it, my cock so hard it hurts, cum an instant from ejection, my balls swollen, my body, legs, rigid. Something else happens. I relax. She knows how I respond. I don't have to worry about inadvertently coming. Or coming at all. I can enjoy the sensations she's dredging out of me, the deep euphoria, without monitoring my arousal. In fact, I'm long past the point I'd normally come. It's as if each step takes me just a bit higher, makes my cock a bit harder, before reaching my point of no return. After a while everything between my legs aches, trembling, tingling, and I'm streaming pre-cum. But no imminent orgasm. I'm floating in a strange giddy serenity. This is what she wants me to surrender to. So yes, I have learned something. I learned I can get high with need. A real high without the drugs. Erin induced. Erin required. I push my arms out wide, wrists to the corners of the bed, close my eyes and say, "Don't stop, ever." I feel her shiver. "Good man," she whispers. "That will definitely earn you a reward." I'm brought near orgasm a few more times. Then too many to count, my brain incapable of reason. After every near miss she lets me slip just enough to begin again. It's mind-blowing. And I'm getting tired. The constant arousal, edge, is draining. I'm panting, heart racing, every muscle in my body laboring for a come that never materializes. "I'm not sure how much I can take before..." I can't believe I'm asking her to stop. Maybe it's the time—it's past midnight, I think. She drips cool lube on my cock, balls. I've been hard, on edge, for God knows how long. She knows my secrets, what drives me crazy, what makes me hard. Then a surprise. A finger inches under my balls, all the way south. "Yes or no?" No one's been there. And do I have the energy for that? "I don't know." It's an odd sensation, but thrilling in its own particular way. I think she's chosen to do this now that I'm so needy I'll agree to anything, too tired to resist. "Be gentle." The slow massage across that forbidden opening feels better than I think it should. She applies a constant pressure against me, a single finger focusing in. It's not unpleasant. Actually— She's in! I'm surprised it's so easy. No fuss. And so intimate. It's like she's not quite inside. Then is, the feeling to shoot almost unbearable, almost unstoppable. Then nothing. It passes. She moves again, pushes up, brings those sensations to an unbearable level. Good Man Pt. 02 I open my eyes. Her hands are down there but her eyes are on mine. "It's okay." I say. "Is it?" "Just make me come." My cock is still hard, aching from being hard so long. My balls feel twice their normal size. With the smallest of movements she has me on a fine edge, ready to come, my cock throbbing. "Was this part of your plan?" She shakes her head. "I just thought I might give you something to think about." "You'll make me come if you're not careful." She snickers. "Wonderful, isn't it?" A slight side-to-side of that one finger and I'm tensing again. "I can keep this up for a long time. It takes very little effort." She grins. "Very effective, isn't it?" No kidding. But I'm tired and she must be too. Damn, I hate to call a halt to this just when it's going so well. "I'm bushed," I say. "Sorry." She withdraws and the sudden lack of sensation is jarring. I settle back, eyes closed, grin. "It's been wonderful, trust me. But you've worn me out." But no orgasm—that in itself is new. "You're sure?" "I am." "But you haven't come," she says. "Which means you can do this all over again, tomorrow." "Mean that?" Indecision and insecurity. She knows what she wants, that's clear. But she needs someone to complement her needs. I blanche. Someone like me. "Yes." She slips off the bed. "Stay put." I hear her run water in the ensuite followed by footsteps. In less than a minute she's back, crop in hand. "Should I worry?" I say. She climbs on the bed, straddles my head facing my feet. Her cunt lips hover, soaked, then sink down to my mouth. The crop snaps my tummy, stings like hell. "Your reward," she says, before clamping her thighs around my head. I wrap my arms around them. I know she likes my tongue directly on her clit. It's in my mouth now, distended, engorged, sensitive. I suck her feminine flesh between my lips and rasp my tongue across her nub. Hard. The reaction is immediate, desperate. She snaps the crop again, but lower, on my pubic bone an inch from my cock. "No. Too much." I shake my head just enough so she notices. "Fuck!" she says. "Okay, kill me." My reward. I drag my tongue across, push hard as I can against her, get ready for her to connect her crop to my cock, directly. But she doesn't, so I continue. Every time I do, I feel her stiffen, freeze, do everything she can to endure. She's already come twice. If she wants a third it'll be my way even if she hits my cock. To her credit she doesn't object, doesn't snap the crop, just takes it. I try my best to make her pull away. She doesn't. I don't have to hold her down any more; she's got her whole weight on me, leaning forward to push her lips further into my mouth. She's sopping wet, unbelievably hot, hard clit extended. My mouth hurts, my tongue is cramping, but I won't give in. Her clit is mine. Her orgasm, if it comes, will happen my way. I swallow, her juices heady, the heat thrilling. Her legs muscles tighten, freeze. She's very close but still rising. I suck in as much juicy flesh as I can and drag my tongue across her nub with as much pressure as I can, for as long as I can. She shrieks, a long drawn out cry, and comes! Once more, I marvel at the intensity, the length, the command her orgasm has over her body. No wonder she craves this. I want that too. And right now I'll do anything for one of those. And as soon as I know she'll actually comprehend anything I say, I'll tell her exactly that. Good Man Pt. 03 Morning comes and I wonder what became of the night. Erin's alarm clock reads 8:24 and I've slept like a rock. I pad to the ensuite, try to be quiet, wonder at the woman who's naked on the bed, whose sole goal is to keep me from orgasm. It's a strange way to keep a man. I ponder that while I pee. But I am here, in her condo, in her bathroom, and I have no thoughts of ducking out because I'm willing—no, looking forward—to experience what she's going to do to me next. It's a marked departure from the women, girls, I've dated and bedded in the past. Mostly, I'd been itching to get away from them. This one knows what she wants and I'm dying to see what that is. I shiver, wash my hands, the water warm but the thought that runs through me is cold. Do I want to see this, or her, through? Do I really want to see what she's capable of, what I will take, where this will end? On my way back to her bed I stop mid-floor. She's still asleep. It's warm so the covers are down by her feet. She's indistinguishable from the myriad girls I've awakened to. Her body is still young. But it's her mind that differentiates her from any of the others. I crawl in and she rolls to me, gives me a quick kiss and goes to bathroom. Watching her, I realize last night's play is still with me. I'm normally easy to arouse in the morning. But this is different, more insistent, obvious now that I'm awake. I can't begin to imagine a week of this. I'd be—. I don't know what I'd be. Erin slips back into bed, snuggles into me. "Well?" "I slept well." "Darn, I was hoping you'd be too worked up to sleep." She slips a hand between us, holds me. "Nice." "It's coming back to me," I say. Also coming back, something else other than getting hard because her fingers feel wonderful. "I don't know how to say this, or even if I should, but..." If I do, will she think it's contrary to her needs? "I keep thinking of how hard you came." "Jealous?" "In a way." "Tell you what, getting you to come that hard will be my raison d'être. But, just so you know, what you saw is not me either, normally." "Are you saying it's me?" I'm hoping. "Obliquely." "Directly, now." "Don't worry, you'll see stars if it's the last thing I do. But it won't be this morning." Yet, she's fondling me, arousing me. The whole conversation adds to her fingers' touch. I reach between her legs and she shifts to make it easier, legs open, hot. "But," she says, "I had planned to let you come this morning." Had? "But?" "I've changed my mind. You want intensity, you'll get intensity. But it'll be my way, by my rules." She pushes me to my back, releases my cock. "Show me what a good man looks like." "On my own?" "What, you're embarrassed to play with yourself in front of me?" I take myself in hand. I'll be on edge soon, dying to come but letting someone else dictate whether that cum actually spews. All I can do is take it, feel my balls go achy, watch my desire go through the roof, satisfaction denied. She slips out of bed. "Keep yourself hard." I watch her go to her walk-in closet, disappear inside, return with a gown. "I have a spare ballet ticket. Can I pick you up at two?" "A matinee?" I'm not with it, just frustrated, half in the now, half wanting my come, half anticipating what she can drive me to. I know, it doesn't add up. Neither does wanting to be denied. "Yes, a matinee. And take-out on the way home. We'll see where the evening goes after that. Now keep that thing hard while I dress." She tosses her clothes on the bed. A bra, panties, stay-ups, a black skirt, a green blouse, and puts them on while watching me. The more clothing she puts on, the more turned on I become. It's like I'm caught masturbating. But instead of admonishing me, the woman likes it. Obviously, it works for me too. Dressed, she pushes my feet wide apart. "From now on, that's the way I want you when you play. None of this hiding-from-me stuff." She crosses her arms. "How close can you get?" I'm already close. Dripping. But I push it a bit more, then quickly slow, stop, because I can feel the cum begin its journey. It takes a few long seconds before it decides which way to go. I'm going to have to monitor myself more closely. But man, did it feel good. "Nice," she says. "Do it again." Three times she commands that I get to the edge. Three times I get there and stop, cum an instant from release as she watches me suffer. The feeling between my legs defies description. I've never dripped this much pre-cum, for so long. Everything down below is tingling, tense, on a precipice I never knew existed. And my heart races. My mind, however, wonders how it's holding on to control. She takes my hands away. "Fix us breakfast." It's not fair to deny a man so close to coming. I get up, still hard, still needy, a dull ache radiating between my legs, getting ready to dress. "No clothes," she says, grinning, then pushes me back on the bed. "My turn first." I cook eggs, slice ham, make toast, coffee and pour orange juice. She sits at the table dressed for the day, served by a naked man. I fill my plate and join her. "How was it?" I say. "Exquisite," she says. "Don't let this get to your head, the little one, but I like when you—" She looks straight at me. "I've never told this to anyone, but, what you did to me works." When her orgasm seemed imminent, I pushed my tongue, hard, against the tip of her clit. No mercy. I'd felt her try to shift away but held her in place. When she came it was— "Don't listen to me if I tell you to stop," she says. "My revenge." "I see. I guess I deserve it." She eating again, lifts her head, turns to me. "When you're done, go home. I'll pick you up at one." When I close my apartment door, a cold silence envelops me. It's not as welcoming as it normally. It's alien. Usually, when returning from some easy conquest, my place is a refuge, an oasis of peace and serenity. I can recharge and hunt again, the thrill of the next conquest heady, invigorating. With Erin, I'm conquering myself. I sit and stare out of the window a good long time. I replay our entire time together. The bar—her bar. The waitress, white panties exposed, rounding nicely over her plump lips when she bent over. Erin's reaction to me watching her. Her need to deny me, to use me, my mouth, so she gets her orgasms. Three of them. And one more while I kept myself hard on the bed, her hand under her skirt, playing with herself through her panties, nearly buckling to the floor when orgasm hit. That had nearly sent me over. I liked it when she came, when she used me to turn herself on, when she slipped off her panties and straddled my face, her lips hot, wet, her order clear. "Stay on the edge but don't dare come." She kissed me on the way out the door, a passionate, loving kiss. But sad too. As if she'd gambled and it hadn't paid off. "You will be there for ballet," she'd said, not quite a question, but one anyway. "I will," I'd said, then kissed her to signal I meant it. I still do. My cell rings just before one. She's here, waiting in her car. I'm clean, showered. And shaved down below. That order came about eleven, by text. Since I'm shaved, you should be too I responded after a few long seconds with: I will The result feels weird, as if my underwear doesn't quite fit, isn't mine, my cock and balls oddly vulnerable. I press G and head down, dressed in a near-black suit, ready for the ballet and whatever else this woman wants. Frankly, I haven't been so distracted by someone in a long, long time. If ever. The elevator doors open and I quickly scan the driveway, wondering what expensive piece of chrome and metal this women drives. I see her, her new SUV—a Chevy Equinox, nothing special, nothing befitting her wealth—and wave. She kisses me as soon as I enter. That underlying sadness surfaces again. She's glad I've come, glad to have me for another few hours, glad I haven't stood her up, but... When we drive off I look at her. In profile, she still looks my age. Her hair is wavy, a few strategic strands gliding diagonally across her face, the rest bouncing along as we go, resting on her shoulders. Her coat is more expensive than my suit, her evening dress sparkles green and blue and dollars in the sunlight. "Stop that," she says. I turn away. "I'm happy to be here," I say. "And I still want that walk in the sand." There's a smile now, a real one, then it fades, her eyes blinking too much, and a hand up to wipe one eye, then the other. "I'm sorry," I say. She shakes her head. "No, I'm the one who should be." She reaches over for my hand, takes it, holds on for dear life. "I'm just a bit shell-shocked, that's all. I thought..." There's no more. At the entrance to the theatre, a valet takes her car and she takes me in past the queue of patrons to one of the ticket takers who smiles and slides aside to let us through. "No ticket?" I say, then get it, diverting my attention to the carved steel plaque bolted prominently on the lobby wall. Her name is number two in the Builder's list—there are only four. "I see." "And if you're wondering, you're not this week's boy-toy." She's recovered enough to say this without emotion. "That's not what I was thinking." "Oh?" I face her, hold both her hands. "I know you like me more than... What I'm trying to say is—" I take a breath. "I mean, your ways are not putting me off. Rather, they're..." "I'm a complicated woman, that way. I know what I want. It's finding my complement that's been the problem. One that's a good man in the traditional sense too." She glances away, then back. "Are you that person?" "So far." "So you will walk in the sand with me?" "I suppose I will." "Good." She looks down. "And?" "Bare, as you requested." "And?" I shrug. "I hope you'll like it." She smiles broadly. "Can't wait," she says as the lights flash. The box we occupy—we're alone on it—is one of the two best ones. Figures. It has its own private entrance and a young girl in uniform who wants to know if we would like drinks. Erin orders for both of us and we sit. "Nice," I say. From here, we overlook the stage a bit, stage right. There are two matching boxes, stage left. The program says this is a modern ballet, the choreographer a member of the company. This is his third ballet for the company, the previous two successful beyond expectations. He's a star in the ballet world. I face Erin. "You realize I don't know the first thing about ballet. I don't know the language." Translation: I'll get lost, the story beyond my ability to decipher. I'm embarrassed to admit it. "Don't worry. It's pretty girls and athletic men showing off. How bad can it be?" "I thought you got off on this stuff." "I do. But I also 'get off,' as you say, on many other things. You, for instance." But in on sense, I don't get off, just want to. "Too bad reciprocity has taken a back seat." "Feel hard done by?" she says, grinning. "Just hard." I watch for a reaction. None. Then it comes. "What's wrong with that?" she says. "I don't know yet." "Listen, I know what you want. And you'll get it when I'm good and ready." Our private waitress returns, serious whiskeys in hand. I hold mine up to the light. "If these keep coming, there'll be nothing going on down there at all." I taste. "Nice." She puts her hand directly on my cock. "Very nice." The conductor strides in and the audience erupts. The orchestra fires up, tunes, and plays the prelude. Then the curtain rises and there's absolutely nothing on the stage. "Now what?" I whisper. She turns to me, pecks my cheek, says, "What would you rather see, a fancy set or sexy dancers?" "You, naked on a bed." Preferably on her knees, ass up and inviting, so I can plunge into her hot cunt and get the release I need. "Your wish is my command." Easy to say. The reality is that it is her commands that carry sway. And right now, lights down, her hand shifting back and forth across my cock, emptying into her is getting more attractive by the second despite the whiskey. The dancers are amazing. Their skill is mind-boggling. The principal dancers are in love, celebrate that love, and have a falling out just before the curtain falls for the intermission. I actually get it. "I'd be too exhausted for the second half," I say. "I assume they'll reconnect and have to dance up a storm to tell the world." "Is take-out okay for dinner?" What? "Of course." "Good." She digs into her purse, finds her cell, dials. "I'm going to the ladies. When the girl comes, order more booze." The menu remains a mystery, lost to the walls of the ladies. The girl comes for the empty glasses and returns with seconds before Erin does. "What happened to you?" I say when she does show. "Sometimes negotiating is a bitch." "Especially for someone who's adverse to it." "Are you calling me difficult?" "Dictatorial maybe," I say, "but not difficult." "We'll see where that attitude gets you." I make a smock-sour face. "So far, no matter what my attitude has been, I've gotten nowhere." "And that's just where you'll stay." Act II is more of the same, sort off, except the dancers are emotionally apart but in reality perform a complicated pas de deux that requires the utmost in coordinated skill. When they finally become one it's explosive and emotional. Love translates well in any language. Erin wipes tears away. I'm not sure if it's sadness or happiness. I'm not going to ask. I hold her hand, say nothing, lead her out through the crowd and out. Her car is waiting, the valet holding the driver's door open. He hands her the keys which she immediately gives to me. I look at her, puzzled. "What," she says, "you won't drive my car?" "What happened in there?" "I was happy for them, that's all." "You're sticking to that?" "You talk too much," she says, dismisses me, smiling at the same time, and sits in the passenger seat. "To my bar." "Really? You don't eat there often enough?" The food's good but I'd rather get food from somewhere else. "Just drive." Something's up. So I drive wondering what it is. But I'm not rejected. Yet. Parked, she says, "Listen, I'm glad you're in tune with me enough to know something's bothering me. If you weren't...well, we'd be done, wouldn't we?" "I suppose." "So I'm happy we're not." "I reach over, kiss her cheek, say, "I like you." "Like?" "This is not a two hour ballet. I haven't even had an intermission. Give it time." "I'm afraid you'll get impatient with me, with...with what we're doing." "Sexually?" She nods staring straight ahead. She's afraid of what she'll see if she looks at me. Afraid I'll show disappointment. Or indifference. I reach over and take her hand. "Listen, I haven't had so much fun in a...ever." "I'm not pushing too hard?" I shrug. "I don't know. I don't know how I'll react to more. To longer. It's not what I'm used to." Inside, two things happen. I'm hardening. The thoughts of coming only when she wants me to is thrilling. And I'm feeling close to her, loving. I pull her hand over to me, to my lap, push her fingers against me. "But it's obvious what my cock thinks about it." "What about that walk on the beach?" "I want those too." She pulls away, hands on her own lap, fingers intertwined around her phone. "I want to try something, if you don't mind." If I don't mind? I lean over, my lips to her ear, whisper, "Don't ask me, or hint, just go ahead and do. I'll let you know it it doesn't work, promise." "Free reign?" "Yes." "And when you decide you've had enough?" "You're a bright girl," I say. "Find out where that place is and stay just shy of it." She stares. My heart is racing. I've never said anything like this to another person, let alone to someone who might act on it. Actually, to someone I want to act on it. "Just do it." She messages. The recipient is someone called Mackenzie. The message says: We're here "Who's Mackenzie?" "Our out-of-uniform waitress." "Oh." She faces me. "I never thought you'd want this." This is why she's shell-shocked. "Neither did I. But you were hoping." "I was." "What did you see in me that night that made you think I would?" "I don't know. Maybe it was just something as simple as wanting to see your face after I denied you." "You've seen that face—how do you like it?" She reaches over to my lap, presses down, confirms I'm aroused. "About as much as you did." The door to the bar opens, our waitress, Mackenzie, exits, takeout bags in hand. "Our food," I say. Erin rolls down her window, takes the bags, says, "Busy?" Mackenzie shrugs, the wind blowing her hair across her face. "The usual," she says, trying to manage the hair. She leaves us and the wind takes her kilt. A narrow strip of white climbs up her cheeks. Erin faces me, disappointed. "What happened?" She shrugs. "I asked her to do something for us." "And?" "And she's refused." Mackenzie opens the bar door, hesitates, lets the door closed and returns to us. She puts her arms along the window sill. "That's what you like, isn't it, to keep him hard?" "Yes." "Explain." "I haven't let him come once, so he gets hard easy now. I'd like to make it worse." Makenzie looks me over, still no expression, as if she's afraid to show any emotion, emotion that might betray something she holds dear. "And you think I can help with that?" "Will you come with us, to serve?" "To show off." It's not a question. "Don't tell me you wouldn't love a chance to drive him crazy?" says Erin. "And drive you crazy too?" Erin stops cold. The two women lock eyes, each daring the other to reveal more. I want to hear Erin's answer as much as Mackenzie does. I take her hand, squeeze. "I've never considered women," she says. "There's a couple that comes every Thursday," says Mackenzie. "They make a thing of watching me. I—" "Like it?" I say." She stands straight. "More than I care to admit." "Do you show off for them?" "A bit." "More than you did for us?" "Sometimes." "How?" says Erin. "Sometimes I forget my underwear." She shrugs. "You know conforming to the dress code is not my thing." "But getting them worked up is." No answer. "I'll pay you for the lost wages," says Erin. "More if you can get him worked up." Mackenzie looks at me. "I'd like that." "Get in," says Erin. "I need my purse." As she goes and the wind takes her kilt again. "Don't you have a balcony?" I say. Erin faces me, all smiles. "A very private one." "You don't suppose it's windy up there?" Erin reaches over, feels my cock through my pants. I'm definitely not soft. "You know, no matter how turned on you get, there's no coming." "But you will, watching me get frustrated." "Isn't that the point?" Mackenzie reappears, purse slung over her shoulder. I watch her kilt. Sadly, no gusts come to help out. She slips in the back, fastens her seatbelt. "Okay." She looks at both of us in turn. "I'll do what you want. Just let me know what that is." I try to concentrate on my driving, but that last statement distracts me. Who is 'you'? Me? Erin? Both? Erin doesn't say a word all the way back. In the elevator, the three of us are silent. Mackenzie, carrying our food, is the third person in tonight's odd menage. I wonder what she'll feed us after what's in the bags is consumed. Inside, Erin pours herself, and me, a very tall whiskey while Mackenzie fumbles around in the kitchen trying to find what she needs to serve us. We're both on the couch, the one that has that wonderful view of the city below, just past the narrow balcony I know Mackenzie will soon occupy. The food comes, on a tray, deposited on the coffee table in front of us. She's careful with plates—one for me, one for Erin, making a point of remaining modest. Done, Erin points to the balcony. "Leave the door open," she says. "If we need something we'll let you know." Good Man Pt. 03 Mackenzie exits via the patio doors, stands at the railing directly in front of us, facing the city while the breeze sweeps across. Nothing much happens. I'm disappointed. The wind direction is not quite right, the velocity not enough. I see the backs of her legs, sometimes a bit of cheek, a rare glimpse of white. She's wearing a thong, not panties. I want to see more. Mostly, she stays covered. But Mackenzie will take instruction. I turn to Erin. "Do something." "What, you want to see up her skirt? With me here? What about my dress? My underwear? Aren't they enticing enough for you?" She rubs her hand over my crotch, then rises, food set aside, goes to Mackenzie, has a few words, returns to sit beside me and eat. "Things might improve." "For you too?" She inhales deeply. "What can I say?" There's nothing to say. But I'm positive she's never admitted being turned on watching another beautiful woman. "She turns me on," I say. "So you are enjoying the view?" "And wondering how you'll deal with a man who just admitted he's distracted by another woman." A bit of a smile appears, grows, then she kisses my cheek. "Well distracted, I hope." "What did you say to her?" "You'll see." We're done eating. The burgers and fries perfect as always. Still, Mackenzie does nothing different. She glances back, sees we're done, comes and takes the plates, everything, away, leaves us with refilled drinks then returns to the balcony, elbows on the steel railing, her back to us. The anticipation is taking its toll. I can't wait to see what's going to happen, what Erin asked her to do, how she'll will react, how I'll react. One full drink in, another in our glasses, the show is about to begin. She reaches over, tries to slip her hand into my pants, gets stuck, gives me a glare. I loosen my belt, unfasten and unzip. Mackenzie turns to watch us while she pulls her kilt higher up her waist, the kilt pin mysteriously missing. A sudden gust slides one panel of her kilt aside, exposing her white thong fully, frontal. Turning her back to us, she leans on the railing again. Hems higher, kilt looser, freer, her cheeks show more often, for longer. Erin's grip on my cock is firm, not quite stroking but moving all the time. I'm hard. "Do you suppose she's shaved," says Erin. "That would be nice." "Why?" "Isn't it obvious." "What is obvious that you're in my house ogling a woman who's not me and discussing a cunt that's not mine." "So long as I stay hard," I say. She gives me a squeeze. "Remember that. Her cunt, shaved or not, is off limits." She kisses me. "But mine isn't." That's my cue. I pull up her hem, get stuck. She shifts to make it easy. I expose her to the waist. Her thighs are milky white above the stay-ups. I run my fingers over the lace tops. Her panties hug her like a second skin, white too. I want to touch her, there. She inhales suddenly when I do, spreading her knees for me. Mackenzie turns to us. I push a finger up the middle of Erin's sex. Mackenzie closes her eyes then turns away again, one hand down to her sex. I see the tips of her fingers ride over her lips, push circles into the thin fabric, her back arched, legs spread wider than before. She's masturbating and we have a clear view from behind. "Do you think she'll come?" I say. Erin slides down a bit, her hips raised, her knees as wide as she can get them. "I don't care. Just make me." She abandons my cock, concentrates on herself. I pull on the hem of her panties, split her lips with the thin fabric, and ride my nail against her trapped clit. Her eyes close, mouth open, breath heavy. It doesn't take long. In seconds she's close, closer, coming, silent but powerful waves washing up her body. I keep at her, taking her as far as I can. When she opens her eyes, she seems dazed. "Well," she says, "that was quick." Her eyes drift to Mackenzie, watches her drag her fingers up her slit, then pushes me away, stands, adjusts her dress, kneels between my legs and takes me. I'm not fully hard. Her mouth gets me there fast. Outside, Mackenzie has stirred herself along quite a bit. She stops playing over her thong, slides her hand inside. I see the white fabric bulge, see her sink her fingers deep into herself. I'm really hard now. Erin has learned what works, what doesn't, how I react when she rasps her tongue across the head of my cock. It's all I can do to stay sane. Mackenzie, suddenly still, legs suddenly tense, knees slightly bent, goes over. It's a strangely subtle affair. Her head drops to rests on her arm, hand gripping the railing, while she quietly dissolves into bliss on the balcony. It's a wonderful sight. Combined with Erin—I grip her head, tight—I just want mine. This is my time, the orgasm that's been dying for release since I've met her at the bar. But— "No, you can't stop!" She pulls away, looks up, grins. "Doesn't that feel wonderful?" Wonderful! Everything down there throbs, slick with saliva and pre-cum, aching for release. That would be truly wonderful. But she won't have it. And oddly, again, her denial turns me on even more. I sigh, resigned, lift my eyes from hers, see Mackenzie is facing us, me, fresh from her own orgasm, her kilt parted in front, thong damp, giving me a smile that says she's relishing my predicament too. She comes inside, stands beside us. I'm still hanging out, hard and glistening. She looks at it, says to Erin. "I like this game you're playing." She unbuckles her kilt, unwraps it, tosses it aside. Erin's still on her knees, gets an eyeful of thong. I get a whiff of Mackenzie's scent. "I'll get you dessert now." She moves off, stops, faces me, says, "Too bad you're not getting much else." Erin looks up at me. "You're getting everything I want you to get. Now tuck yourself in." It's not that easy. Erin straightens, sits beside me. While we wait I hear Mackenzie open and close cupboards, drawers. I picture her doing so, her white thong my focus, how it cuts up her cheeks, rounds up her lips, her mound, hiding nothing. Erin takes my hand in hers. We're back at the bar, sort of, while we wait for our order to arrive. I'm still achy, in shock, partially, that Erin stopped just in time, just when I was about to lose control. I could have fucked her mouth to release, forced her accept the inevitable, my cum hot down her throat while I held her head to me, no chance of pulling back, hard to breathe, harder still not to choke. I want to do this to her. "What are you thinking of?" says Erin. An innocent question. Right. I look at her, meet her eyes. Orgasm suits her. Her face is glowing, not like mine. I'm not actually in a bad way. I feel good, a warm feeling suddenly sweeping over me. I like, maybe love, this woman. I can't believe I'm thinking that. She's taken a huge chance inviting Mackenzie to help tease me. Actually, she's taken a huge chance letting me into her life at all. I could have disappointed her from the beginning. I could just as easily not been the kind of guy she needs. But I am. I wonder if I knew that, somehow, when I saw her for the first time. But right this minute, it's all I can do to just sit here. I'm still eager, half hard in my pants, anticipating what Mackenzie will do next. I want her here again so I can stare at her thong, at her legs, her smile as I do so, Erin's hand on my cock. "I want to know if she's shaved," I say. "I am," says Mackenzie. She's right behind us, dessert tray in hand. Except for the thong, she's naked. She puts the tray down from the far side of the coffee table, gives us our bowls of fruit, and stands straight. "Would you like to see?" What I see already is fabulous. Nice breasts, not too small, not big either, that sit high on her chest, nipples taut. She lets us ogle her, one hand tugging on the waistband of her thong. There's no sign of hair, just a residual damp spot. "Tell me when you're done." "Does this turn you on?" says Erin. "Yes. And you?" Erin says nothing. "I think it does," I say. "Can you come again?" says Erin to Mackenzie. "Now?" Erin just stares at her. "I see," says Mackenzie, her hand shifting the top of the thong back and forth. The fabric cuts between her lips. She looks right at me. "At work, knowing the men, and women, are watching, I get turned on." There's a hint of blush on her cheeks. "Sometimes I go to the bathroom and..." "Get off," says Erin. Mackenzie nods. "I wonder what it would be like to go out naked into the crowd." "On my dime?" Mackenzie freezes. "Then you won't mind getting off here, again." One hand slips into her thong. She closes her eyes for a seconds, opens them and says, "I like to see a hard man. I don't get that chance at work." She faces Erin. "Show me yours too." Erin freezes, glances at me. "I'd like that," I say. Erin swallows. "Okay, but you too." She's already seen my cock. I'm not ashamed. I push my pants and underwear to my knees. "Show her how you do it," says Erin. To myself? "Me?" I know she's done it for us, but not naked. I take myself, begin. They're both watching me, my hand, my cock. I'm not used to being stared at. Nothing happens. It's obvious. And humiliating. Mackenzie rounds the coffee table, come directly to me, stands so her knees brush mine. "Is this better?" Yes. Abruptly, Erin leans over and kisses me. It's a deep, insistent one, tongue searching. She pulls my head to hers, holds me to her, her kiss full of passion, of love, of need. The message is clear. She wants me, wants this. I pull away. "I'll walk with you on the beach." There's a moment of...nothing...then her face softens, her eyes water. I see her try to speak. She nods instead. I know what just happened. I wipe a stray hair from her face, kiss her lips softly, once, twice. A tear slides down one cheek, threatens to on the other. "Come, you two," says Mackenzie, rolling her eyes. I come back to reality, can't believe that for a long moment, Mackenzie vanished. Erin sits back, looks at her. "Go ahead, do what you have to." She looks right at me, stern. "I want you hard." It's an order. But this time conditions have changed. I respond. Mackenzie, slips a hand behind her thong, pushes fingers into herself. Erin rises, leaves us. I stare up at Mackenzie. I can't believe she's so close, nearly naked, circling her clit with the pads of her fingers behind that so-thin white stretchy fabric, eyes on me. I'm hard, really hard, but I know I'm not allowed to come. Mackenzie has no such restriction. She will. I want to see her buckle before my eyes, barely able to control her orgasm, eyes closed, breathing hard while the contractions rip up her body. Erin returns. She's got a small vibrator, bullet shaped. "Don't let the size fool you," she says. She pulls Mackenzie's hand from the thong, from her sex, pushes both arms behind her back. "Don't move." She slips the vibrator down the thong. "Fix it for me, put it where it works best." Mackenzie does so, the vibrator bulging out oddly, resting between her lips, against her clit. "There's a switch on the back end. Push it." Mackenzie does, a dull buzzing and a sharp intake of air prove it's doing its job effectively. "Hands behind your back." Mackenzie complies. "Now stay there until you come. No, stay there until I say so. Got it?" Mackenzie's eyes widen suddenly, but nods. Erin gives her a quick smile then faces me. "How do you think she'll take this?" I can't wait to see her come. More to the point, and to what really gets me hard, I want to see how she deals with the vibrator after she comes. "Better than I will." Erin climbs on the couch beside me, on her knees, facing me, dress hiked above her hips, toying with her own sex. "You want to see us both suffer, don't you?" I say. "I'm a bitch that way," she says. "But she's come her to show off and I want to see her do just that." So do I. And I'm just as close as Mackenzie is, that sharp feeling deep in my groin telling me my balls want to unload, now. Mackenzie's thong shifts. She taken the back of it, pulled it up between her cheeks, jamming the vibrator into her lips. She's close, getting closer. And closer. Her face betrays her, mouth wide open, breathing hard and long, eyes shut, body tense, trembling slightly and low buzz keeps at her clit. "When you come," says Erin, "keep the vibrator tight, just like it is now. Hear?" It's hard to tell if Mackenzie does hear. I barely do. I have to slow down or I will come. That's hard, counterintuitive, anathema to virile man. The pressure inside my balls knows only one escape—orgasm. I'm torn, the need to explode, to obey, at odds. A rush of—I'm not sure of what—floods through me. I want to do this for her. I want to prove I'm worthy. That I love. I almost lose it, stop just in time, I think, the surge at the base of my balls almost unbearable, almost...almost, but not quite, release. I breathe, glance over to Erin, smile to show her I'm still in control. Barely. "Good man," she says. "That's just how I want you. Now stay like that." She looks up at Mackenzie. "Go ahead, come if you want to. But you know the rules." There's only one: keep the thong tugged up her cheeks so the vibrator stays jammed between her lips. Erin's pretty worked up too. I can tell; I've seen her come a few times now. But she seems to back off too. Mackenzie has no such ability. She's fighting it. She knows, somehow, that after her orgasm, the vibrator will be too much, her clit, her sex, too sensitive, already sated. It's a battle. I'm fighting the same one, sort of. But I can deny myself. She can't and knows it. It's not a fair fight, really. The desire to delay, or even avert, orgasm just makes the need more acute, more inevitable. She comes. She pushes out a barely stifled moan, long and deep, body arched, every muscle hard. Then the contractions hit. Her knees give way, slowly. But she recovers, straightens. But the spasms don't let up. They roll up her frame, one, two, three, and still the vibrator rocks her clit. She opens her eyes, faces Erin, pleads quietly. Erin just shakes her head. Her face, once betraying pleasure, now shows a mix of fear and pain. And panic. But she takes it. On and on it goes, the vibrator sending her clit into hell. And then her face goes serene and she's pulling harder on the thong, jamming the vibrator further up her slit. "Oh, my," says Erin. Mackenzie's nearly hyperventilating, gasping for air, going into another orgasm. Still, she keeps the vibrator pulled tight, very tight. So tight the fabric has stretched all it can, splitting her lips, vibrator singing between them. She shrieks. Once. Twice. How utterly entrancing. Her knees go soft and there's no hope of recovery this time. She goes to the floor, writhing, curled up into fetal position, while the spasm have their way. Erin is totally mesmerized. I've abandoned my cock. What Mackenzie is experiencing must be remembered without distraction. I have never seen a woman so utterly consumed by an orgasm. I reach over and take Erin's hand. She squeezes back, sits and nestled against me. "That was wonderful," she says. "Wasn't it." She slips off her panties and spreads her knees wide. "Now you know how this works, give me what she just had." I kneel on the floor, pull her lips apart with my fingers. Her lips are dewy wet, engorged. Her clit's extended, red, and needs a rough tongue so its owner cries out in pleasure. "I won't let up." She nods quickly. "I know. But I'm ready for it. I think." Behind me, Mackenzie stands. She's shaky, wobbly, in a bit of a daze. She's shed her thong, her lips slippery slick, shaved petals curled open. Vibrator in hand, she walks away. With the flat of my tongue, I push between Erin's lips and up, but very, very slowly. I grip her thighs, feel her tense, hear the sharp intake of air. But there's no attempt to stop me. I do it again. "I'm not going to stop," I say. She grips my shoulders. "I'm counting on it." I don't. But it's all she can do to stay still. Mackenzie returns and hands me a just washed vibrator. But that's not what I want. Then I change my mind. I take it and slid it inside, on. There's no resistance, her juices run freely, everything slippery wet. For a moment I think she doesn't even know it's up there then her leg muscles harden. And hold. I press my tongue against her clit and push, rasping it against her, back and forth, up and down. I don't stop. And won't. Orgasm is imminent. Seconds. Now. It's a good one, the spasm's abrupt and strong, her grip on my shoulders hurting me. But I keep at her, ignoring that I'm beginning to tire, ignoring she's likely sensitive. She recoils a bit, tries to slide back, then fights it, hips forward again, knees held wide. I swipe up hard, right on the tip of her clit and she screams. Mackenzie cleans up. Erin and I are still on the couch, proper, modest. Mackenzie moves around us, bringing stuff back to the kitchen, wiping the coffee table top, her clothing still on the floor, thong included. "That was amazing," I say to Erin. "Mackenzie or me?" Both. "You, silly." My mouth still tastes of her, my two-day stubble sticky with her juices. After the first orgasm subsided, she really tired to dislodge me. Before orgasm, wanting me to stay was easy. But after, her need to have all simulation stopped took over. She didn't have Mackenzie's willpower. But I'm stronger than Erin. "You don't take orders well," she says. "I was taking my orders, not yours, that's all." Her plight, her writhing as I feasted her clit, her cunt, her pleas to stop only served to redouble my efforts. "You came again." A smile crosses her lips. "Yes, I did." "Didn't you think that possible?" She takes my hand in hers. "No. But you're a magician." Whatever the reason, it worked. Once she'd resolved to just it happen, the sensitivity became arousal again. But she didn't come quickly. Orgasm held off for some reason. But when it came...whew! "You just kept coming. I figured it would do on for as long as I could keep going." "The vibrator helped." "You were just turned on." She nods. "I was. But I've never come twice like that. And never non-stop like that. I'm bushed. But happy." I look at her eyes. Her faces shows genuine happiness. My fault. I hold her close, her head on my shoulder. "Aw," says Mackenzie. "So cute." She standing before us, still naked. "I'll get a cab home." She pulls up her thong. "Just so you know, this has been a dream come true." "I owe you a big one," says Erin. "And I thought I'd be bored." She takes a deep breath, looks at us both. "I'll do this again, if you want." "I'll call you," says Erin. "There'll be an extra something in your pay next week." "I have a girlfriend, a real one. Her and I could..." Erin elbows me. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" "And two women getting each other off won't get to you?" says Mackenzie. "You're not immune either." She doesn't answer. We watch a movie. It's an old Bogart film, in black and white. "Should I be worried," I say. She faces me. "About what?" "Not being immune." "I see. You'll come home one day after work and I'll have a young girl in my bed." "Something like that." "Are you really concerned?" "I'm not sure." "So you do want to stay with me. I mean, a long time." I can't read her face. She's gone blank. Is she holding back all emotion, not sure if I'll actually be her man? "Yes," I say. "But I don't want to worry about getting replaced." Her face softens and tears well up. "You won't. Promise." She leans into me, holds my arm so I can't move away. She looks up. "Does this mean we're a couple?" Onscreen, Bogey kisses Bacall. "I'd like that." Good Man Pt. 03 "Just so you can come." "Tomorrow, you promised." "I did. And after that?" I shrug. "I'm at your service." "I'll make you regret that." There's no chance. My cock knows what it wants and it wants Erin's kind of love. I kiss her just like Bogey did Bacall. "Make me." The movie drones on. Bogart's character is a bit of an ass. Bacall's puts him in his place. "I won't mistreat you," she says, out of the blue. "If I want the same thing you do, it's not mistreatment." "No. But it might drive you crazy." "Did it drive your ex crazy." There's a long silence, then, "He hated it from day one. He screwed me, sexually at first, then royally." "I'm sorry. I promise, I won't do that." She lifts her head, looks at me. "Do you love me?" "I think so." "I'm touched. And maybe in love too." There's a silence then she says, "In university, I tried girls. One in particular. We stayed together for a whole year. I thought I was, you know, that way. We had a good time together. But the desire to bed her dried up. It was curiosity. I know this because was attracted to a young man—and made out. I'm not curious anymore. So, as far as Mackenzie and her lover go, seeing them together might be fun, for both of us. But it's a man that does it for me. What was missing in university was a good man. I don't mean that in the way I say it to you, but the men were all kids, looking for a quick lay or someone pretty to have on their arm after they got out into the workforce." "I was proud to have you on my arm this afternoon." "I should hope so. Except for the Gerards, I was the richest person there." "Should I feel inadequate?" "That doesn't sound like you." "I'm a middle manager in an investment firm. I make good money, earned the biggest bonus last Christmas—and likely will this one too. I won't starve." "And relationship-wise?" "I've got laid most weekends. Sometimes twice. But not much of that all week—I'm just too busy." "No special girl?" "No." I shrug. "You?" "I'd like to be." She snuggles in again, the movie ending. "I'd like that a lot." The credits roll, a white stream of text on a plain black background. Then the screen goes dark, the movie over, the next one not decided upon. "I'm happy be here?" I say. She does answer, doesn't budge. I feel her breathe, I feel how tired she is, how content. I don't want to spoil that. I realize I don't want to spoil that for myself either. Sure, I've not come, but I've not worried a bit about my work, what I should be doing or not doing, where I should be. I settle in, ready to stay here with her for a good long while. I nudge her, a signal I'm going to say something. But I don't. What I want to say might sound too forward, assume too much. A battle rages on inside me. Should I? Shouldn't I? Erin, to her credit, does not prompt me. She just says, "I feel the same way." "So we are an item, for real?" She nods, lifts her head, puts her lips to mine. "Can I trust you'll stay a while?" "I was thinking the same thing." She settles in again, but her hold on me is stronger. "I'm not going to say 'I love you' yet. But I'm thinking it. "So am I." She props herself up. "I don't want to have a separate relationship, I want to us to live together." "My place is too small." She puts her head on my shoulder. "Mine isn't." "Are you ready for something like this?" "No. But I'm going to invite you anyway." "I don't have much stuff." "I don't need your stuff—even though you might—I just need you." "And I need you." A smile erupts. "Tomorrow morning will be a long one," she says. "But there's a come at the end of it." "A good one, I hope." Aren't they all good? "I'll do my best." She kisses me and I want her to keep doing that until the world ends. I've never encountered so much real want, real passion, all directed my way. I pull away, breathless. "You're going to the kill me." She shakes her head, says, "I'm just going to ruin you for anyone else,' then kisses me again, massaging my cock until I'm hard as a rock. "Good man. But we're going to save that until morning." I'm going to write one more piece for this story—the morning, plus Mackenzie and her girlfriend visit.