0 comments/ 26355 views/ 2 favorites A Threeway Tie Ch. 01 By: AVRH Part 1 The Mistress You meet me and we walk through the warm drizzle to a bar. It’s busy, noisy, typically gay in fact, but we blend in here and no one’s to know. You let me buy the first round; you find a spot by the fag machine, lean your broad back against the wall. I stand by your side, close so we can talk, thick as the thieves we are. And so we talk, and drink, smoke and flirt, check out the talent on offer. As if there were choices to be made, other avenues to be explored. But there aren’t really... Really there’s no choice, I think, looking at your mouth. It’s high summer and it’s hot in the bar. It’s hot everywhere. The tiny sliver of space between our bodies is hot. Inside me is burning. The alcohol and the nearness of you is having its usual effect and not touching you is slowly driving me crazy, like an itch. I reach out to you with everything except my hands; my eyes tear your shirt from you, stroke your shoulder, your damp hair, the back of your neck. My spirit kisses your forehead. Ah, love and attraction, and the hours of fun we have with it. It's all I can do right now to keep what little distance remains. Your eyes lock onto mine and your pupils are huge, fully dilated. It’s not that dark. I want to put my hand to your chest to feel your heart beat. I feel the adrenaline ripping through my body again, as it has so many times since our paths first crossed. You're breathing quicker now too, a faint smile playing at the corners of your lips. We know exactly what we’re doing. We know exactly what we’re not doing. There’s that intensity in your gaze. I feel something go. So close; so near and yet... Time slows right down, and there's only you and me now. I close my eyes, shift my weight through my shoulder to the wall. Try to keep the lid on. It’s been too long. What would I do if you reached for me right now? If we forgot who we are, and you took your hand to me right here in this bar? If you brought my desire to the attention of your fingers? You would have me in minutes, my total surrender in your palm. Oh god, it’s that simple. And if I reached for your body: if I took hold of your shirt-front and pulled you to me, and touched my lips to yours, would you stop me? Could you? I am breathing the smell of your skin, warm and perfumed, and it fills me. I am full of you. You are already inside me and I don’t know how to get you out. You penetrated me so long ago and you’ve been there ever since, buried deep but quite still. And now? Now I feel you wanting, aching, to move. But I'm such a tease. I learned it from you. "What do you want from me?" Your voice comes out rough, a little ragged round the edges but you hold it steady. Your eyes are closed; you’re resting the back of your head against the wall. You exhale a thin, tense streak of smoke. I watch it rise and mingle with mine before I reply. I think we both know the answer. Are you daring me to say it? Your tight leash is stretched to breaking point already but I do believe you're still pulling. I consider carefully before I speak, or rather whisper, in your ear. "Don’t you know by now?" I take your hand for a moment and the current flows between us. I reach round and grab your arse hard, run my hand up your back, and your body trembles momentarily under the weight of expectation that you feel from me. I am enjoying the power coming off your nerves. The anticipation is our foreplay. It doesn't get much better than this. "Guess," I murmur. I am playing with your belt buckle and you’re almost stopping me. Another drag on the cigarette, another pause while you exhale and think and your filthy mind jumps through my filthy hoops. You look a little troubled. "Ahhhh shit..." You swallow, clear your throat. I'm waiting. "You know..?" Sweetie, of course I know. I know what this is all about. This is the crossroads. It's time to put some money where that reckless mouth is. There’s a film of sweat in the hollow of your collarbone and I wonder about licking it off. And then you let me have it. "I'm a married woman," you say quietly, with a wry smile, and it sounds like an apology. But still, there it is, the red card again. I laugh. It’s true. But it doesn’t change anything and we both know it. You are so close I’m almost wearing you. I think I need to close this deal. I think I need to push you harder. Imagine that I am at your mercy... Imagine that you really are at mine. Imagine that everything we've said was all true. I am the needle and you are balanced on the tip. I am the needle and you are rolling up your sleeve for me with the belt between your teeth and your eyes shut tight because... Mmm, just because. I don’t need to know why. The insistent, pulsing beat of the music is nothing compared to my heart. I find you looking at me and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Sweat has darkened your hair at your temples and behind your ears; I am searching your face, for what? For some sign, a warning, an invitation...but there’s nothing. You’re inscrutable, giving nothing away. Still you give me nothing except your little uncertain smile. For a bad girl you’re infuriatingly well behaved. Oh, this ridiculous game, turning in slow circles around and around and around until... I feel dizzy and have to turn away, look away, into the dimly lit bar. Maybe I can find something else to look at if I try hard enough. Someone else to look at. I look at the girl at the bar who’s looking at us. She’s staring; her glass suspended in mid air, shamelessly, her lips parted, one eyebrow slightly raised. She looks almost familiar, but I can’t place her. I am momentarily incredulous at this overt voyeurism as I follow her fixed gaze, and as that line leads me straight back into your eyes I feel the sudden acid burn of jealousy in my stomach. She’s got you in her sights, like so many others, and you are compelled to return the compliment as a moth to a flame, as always. Such a peacock. What is it about you, I wonder? I look back and forth between the two of you for a couple of seconds like a spectator at a tennis match. It must seem fairly comical to anyone watching. But not to me. Christ, I hate you for making me feel this way over something so stupid. Sometimes I hate both of us. But – I chastise myself, why should I care who else looks at you? Or who else you look at? You’re not mine. Oh, imagine if you actually knew what you wanted! Imagine if I knew what you wanted. What then? Yes, what then indeed, lover... Contd. in Part 2 A Threeway Tie Ch. 02 Part 2 The Mistress contd. I finish my beer, grip the empty bottle, close my eyes and imagine waking up with you; your arms around me; your warm, naked body pressed against my bare back, your breath on my neck. I lean back against you now, because I need to feel you there. I need that contact with you, not just soul but body too. I crave it because I can't have it – you daren't offer and I daren't ask. But we understand each other. You support my weight as you have always done and I sigh, relaxing into you, my jealousy forgotten because I know that no one else has the part of you that I have. But we won't go into that. It's hardly the time or place for scruples. I bear the marks of youth and age even as you do, but not in any way that makes us equal. And so I lay my head back, onto your shoulder, and move against your hips with the music, because I can. Because I want to. Because I'm through playing cat and mouse; and it's not even that much of a surprise when I feel your arms come around, encircling me, the touch of your hands on my waist, then my stomach, then the back of my thigh. And you're dancing with me, holding me close, pressing yourself to me, because you can't not. Because it feels right. It's started. There's a sudden sound, an explosion somewhere down at my feet like glass shattering, and then I'm not holding anything anymore except you, my hands over yours as they move over me. And I feel your face nuzzling my neck and then you're kissing and biting my shoulder, and it's all like a dream, and when I open my eyes I spot the woman over at the bar, still staring open-mouthed at you. At us. I wonder if she'll enjoy the look in my eyes when you make me come as your fingers find their way beneath the hem of my short dress and past the top of my stocking. I twist round in your arms, interrupting you, because I have to check something. I need to check that you are for real this time. And as we're hanging there, millimetres apart, with that wall still standing in between us, you have such fuck-me eyes it makes me smile. Your eyes say, "Which way now?" There's only one way left. We swing the sledgehammer together. Let it all come down. My army is tired of fighting this losing battle and I cannot rouse it to defend my honour any more. The word "stop" never enters my head. The pull in my chest is painful and I need release. I slowly close my eyes and in the blackness I finally feel what it feels like to have your mouth on mine; and it's so beautiful that I scarcely hear the world crumbling around us. There's something happening inside me, in my stomach and behind my ribs, like a great flock of a thousand tiny birds all lifting off at once. A Kodak moment. I want it to last forever. If it never ends, there can't be any consequences. Your tongue meets mine somewhere in my mouth at the same moment as your searching, expert fingers find their mark and I come right there as we're kissing, and it's intense, and I know you can feel it, feel my body shake and tremble, but you don't stop. You won't let me go that easy. I break the kiss and pull away - I have to. I lean against the cigarette machine and the room spins as I try to justify everything. What just happened between us? You stand off, suddenly and uncharacteristically shy, sucking your fingers, asking if I'm ok, but I can see conceit beneath the concern. You're so proud of yourself. You arrogant bastard. I'm glaring at you because no words will come. "Fuck you!" is what I'm thinking. Only I don't say that. I say, "Fuck me" instead. I don't know which of us is more surprised. So you do. You gently turn me around and push me down so I'm leaning on the top of the fag machine. You position yourself behind me, right against my arse, and you ease my legs apart and then I feel something cold and hard slide up the inside of my thighs. Oh god, I can hardly believe what you're going to do. I'm so wet. This is so wrong. But you know how bad I want it. I want you to feel what you've done to me. With your other hand you discreetly pull my knickers aside and then it's done. It slips in easily and it's indescribable, better than anything I've ever felt inside me before - because it's finally, magnificently you. Your body pressed close to shield this sordid scene from the heaving crowd, you take me bent over a vending machine in the back of a gay bar on a hot Friday night in August and I don't give a damn if anyone sees us. All I can think is how much I love you. You move that bottle like it's part of you and I'm riding it and imagining it is. I have no idea where you are now, whether you're with me or someone else and I don't really care as long as you don't stop. Through the throng of people between us and the bar I can still see that woman, still see her looking, smiling slightly. She winks at me, and blows you a kiss, so I know she knows. Fine with me, I love entertaining. Then I understand what's really going on. You're not just fucking me; you're fucking her too! You're screwing me slow and deep, pressing me against the wooden cabinet, sliding that cold, hard cock, your other hand stroking my clit; and you're fucking her with your eyes. I just hope it feels as good for her as it does for me. I imagine how wet you must be, how horny all this attention must have got you. I wonder how you taste and the thought of licking you and fucking you and kissing you is the cum-shot that takes me up to the edge and shoves me over it. I open my eyes as I start to lose it and the woman from the bar is suddenly, surreally there, leaning over the other side of the cigarette machine in front of me, and she takes my face in her hands and her mouth finds mine and smothers the sounds of the orgasm tearing through me. I feel her tongue slip between my lips and I'm coming so hard I'm afraid I'll black out. And as you strip the last shreds of dignity from my shell-shocked body, between you, I realise why she looked familiar before. She looks much more familiar this close up. I recognise her from the picture in your wallet. Her ring's the same as yours. I've finally met your wife. Everything stops. What the hell is going on? I'm trying to make sense of it all. We go outside, you're holding my hand, and then I'm getting into a car...a taxi judging by the hairy man in the driver's seat. The door slams and she's sitting next to me, the woman at the bar, the wife. She puts her hand on my bare thigh and squeezes and the adrenaline surge almost makes me faint. I hear your voice in my ear and it startles me. "Shove up," you whisper, getting in, shutting the door. The car moves off. You introduce me to your other half. "We've met," I murmur, trying not to let my brain run out of my ears. Whether she turns out to be your better or worse half remains to be seen. This is totally fucked up, and naturally I love it. We're going to your place – I've been there before, alone with you, quite a few times. Does she know that? Of course she does. She knows everything. It's a cosy little love triangle, has been all along. Except now it's not just in my head, and I'm not alone with my filthy imagination in the dingy toilets at work with one hand down my suit trousers and a bottle of poppers in the other. Now I'm in the back of a taxi, sandwiched between the two of you, and you each have a hand on me. I ask the driver if it's Christmas. My heart is in my mouth as you open the front door and graciously usher me inside. In the kitchen, she opens a bottle of red and pours us all a glass. I drain mine in one and you refill it for me without a word, taking the empty vessel from me tenderly and returning it with a wolfish smile. You know just what I'm like. How long has this little operation been planned, sweetie? Your spouse puts on some music, and I settle myself on the worksurface by the kettle to watch. This is a show I've wanted to catch for quite a while. She puts her hands on your waist and kisses you hungrily, and unbuckles your jeans, and takes your shirt off button by button until you're standing in the middle of the kitchen in your bra and shorts, your trousers round your ankles. The temperature in the room, and between my legs, rises several degrees. There is tangible chemistry between the two of you and watching your body respond to hers is fantastically erotic. The air is heavy with expectation. It's like an electrical charge: the oppressive, sultry calm before the storm. Oh, this is going to be good. After what feels like hours, you wrestle your shoes and socks off and stumble out of your jeans, and then she leads you towards the bedroom. I need to feel you again, lover. I am aching to sink my fingers into you. I want to feel your naked body moving under my tongue. She turns in the doorway. "Bring the wine," she says, gazing at my breasts. The way she looks at me then makes my nipples harden, just like that. She doesn't have to tell me twice. What happens in the bedroom is a dark, damp blur of skin and sweat and sound and sensation. I imagine it looks like some vision of hell but it feels like paradise. I'm so wet and ready that your whole hand slips into me within seconds and it's the most wonderful thing I've ever felt. You fuck me slow and hard and I'm begging you to make me come, with tears in my eyes because you feel so fine. You're kneeling between my knees and I feel the movements of your knuckles deep inside: twisting, sliding, bringing me closer to you and to heaven with each stroke. Your wife is kissing you, and you're kissing her, and I can feel the love somewhere above me; but I'm kissing her too - teasing her, drinking her juices, spreading her with my fingers, penetrating her with my tongue. A perfect triangle. The dark impassioned hours pass, the wine is drunk, and we're every which way and then some. There are no boundaries we dare not cross, not now. I lose track of where my body stops and another begins. I don't know which are your hands and which are hers. I get to live my fantasy, licking your arsehole while you suck and fuck your wife - you're lying between her thighs, and you're shaking at the warm touch of my tongue as I push it into you. I hold you in my arms while she takes you roughly with a strap-on, bracing your body as it submits to her thrusts, watching her face as she drags the orgasm from you. You say my name and hers in the same breath as your back arches with the climax, uniting us all. You crush my hand in yours as you come...and suddenly I understand your love. It is real. This isn't just sex for you. I let it seep into me, like hot oil on my skin, but it scares me. I am afraid for you, for what will be. I feel pity for your wife as she bends over the dresser for me and I screw her 'til she screams your name. She ejaculates, and I am strangely pleased by it. You look surprised. It's clear to me none of us know each other. I don't know you. I don't know if I want to. One by one we fall back to earth, exhausted. As the sun is creeping into the room, warming the mess of our spent bodies, I look at your sleeping face and you look so peaceful that leaving you is much harder than it ever has been before. I pick up my clothes and kiss your cheek softly on my way out. A little smile flickers briefly on your lips. The other woman raises her head. "Call us later!" she says quietly. "Goodbye," I whisper, and I close the door behind me. To Be Continued... A Threeway Tie Ch. 03 Part 3 The Wife Everywoman. I am she. I do just what she does and I feel just what she feels. And then, in a flash, I am No-Woman: not a woman at all, only me, the middle ground between the sexes and not quite either. And for you, for your love, I became that woman. One of those women. Now I can single myself out, point a finger at my own face and say the word dyke. Within all this I am your woman, the happy wife, the one you chose to stand with you while you screwed Everywoman you met. I used to make notes – lots of them. Oodles, page upon page. Oh the pads I have filled just trying to keep track. Of you. Dates, times, names, faces, places. Suppositions and suspicions; obsessively, jealously, secretly. The receipts, the ticket stubs, your diaries and desk planners, filofax and phone. The places I followed you to on your lunch-breaks – all noted with analysis, each a little mystery to be unravelled for my own terrible fascination. And then one evening, when I had gone into the City for a drink with a gay friend to a bar I’d never visited before, I saw you. Working late – but not in the way I’d imagined. Across your table sat a girl, my age or even a little older, with long dark hair and an open, eager grin. I noticed she was holding your hand before I ran. You found me in the passageway by the side of the building, doubled-up with sickness and the heavy, chilling burden that comes from learning something one already knows. You put your hand to me and I threw up at your touch. “It’s OK,” you said. “We can work it out.” And, to my eternal amazement, we have. The one I am to finally meet this evening has been around for five months. Last night we decided it was time. “She’s desperate,” you said. “It’ll be easy.” I gave my permission. Strange how addictive these little games become. I never thought of adultery as a team sport until three summers ago. We talked all night that night, through tears and recriminations, the accusations flying, our defences alternately raised and flattened, raised and flattened. We each went to our separate cupboards and rummaged in the back for the biggest sticks, and then we brought them out and beat each other until dawn came and neither one could stand for further assault. And so we went to bed, and the pain and the guilt settled lower in our bodies, congealing into an ugly mess of passions – wounded pride, spurned desire, butchered trust; possessive, jealous, hopeless, furious. We had the best sex we’d had in six years and we hardly left the bedroom for the remainder of the weekend. On the Sunday afternoon, I remember, she rang while you were making love to me (the long-haired girl, the one who changed our lives). The answer-phone on the bedside table picked up the call, her soft voice in my ear saying your name, talking to you quietly, urgently, as you pushed your fingers into me. It was then, as I was having the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced, that I knew what the solution must be. It was a kind of certainty I had never felt before. I think you thought your birthday and Christmas had come at once when I suggested it. I know what this one looks like because you’ve shown me a picture – an amusing photobooth cliché with her on your lap. She’s very nice. Sexy. You always did have fine taste my love. I can feel the anticipation building up inside me and you’re not even here yet. It’s past time, I guess her train’s late. We’re like a well-oiled machine now, you and I, but each one is different – that’s what keeps it interesting. The last one, for example, was far more butch than your usual conquests. Oh, it was a joy to watch her dominate you! The one before that was so delicate, like an elf, I worried she would break when we doubled up on her, and yet she took us both in as sweet as could be. And the one before her…well, I’ve never known a woman still able to do that at forty-eight! I am waiting. Waiting. Waiting. My usual position, my usual stool. It’s loud in here tonight with the summer party crowd. At last, you bring her in. Our eyes meet briefly as you saunter past, high on the buzz, pushing your way through the obligatory rash of scene queens and mounting the steps to your usual position next to the cigarette machine. She comes to the bar a few feet from me, elbowing in in a short red dress. Suspenders too I see. Yes, very nice indeed. I can practically smell the desire seeping out of her. I can certainly feel her growing frustration; her absolute, all-consuming need for you. Now, tonight. Once again I applaud your impeccable sense of timing as she carries her two beers away. I find myself hoping she’ll stick around for a while, after, as I settle back on my bar stool to watch you do what you do best. She looks so good I can’t wait to get her home. I have waited several months to meet her, wanting her from a single snapshot, willing this evening to arrive. And so tonight’s the night. I love this! Three is the magic number. I sip my drink and wait for my cue. Concluded in Part 4... A Threeway Tie Ch. 04 Part 4 The Lover Your gaze is like the sun through a magnifying glass, so focused. A part of my body starts to smoulder under the slow burn of that white heat. It’s a shock when I realise that I want this just as much as you do. I don’t think I can do this again, after tonight. You’re different somehow. The jukebox belts out Chaka Khan: first you put your arms around me, then you put your charms around me. This place is heaving. My mind spins ahead to when we take you home. I can’t resist your sweet surrender. For almost three years now I’ve had my cake and eat it. Maybe I’m sick of cake. The tension between us is monumental – a monument to a relationship that never should have started, never mind come this far, to this deadly sharp point. But it’s just a game. It’s a game. Oh Jesus, it’s not a game. For the first time, I have performance anxiety. Because for the first time I really do care what happens. I know you love me; that’s what’s different. I feel it whenever we’re together, I see it when you look into my eyes, and it makes me feel special. Bigger and better than I am. You don’t want me for just one thing. You want me for everything. In five months you have given me that gift, and I confess I am grateful for it. But how can I live up to your expectations? I have needs too in this. I know you want me to act on them. You think I won’t, you think I don’t want to, but you don’t know how much I’m struggling. Oh god, you have no idea. And I just don’t know what to do anymore. She’s there of course, as arranged. As always. What is she thinking, sitting at the bar, my wife, the cool observer, watching me seduce you? What kind of woman stays in a relationship like this? And what kind of woman am I to keep her in it? Shit, I wish for once she wasn’t here. I’d take you to a hotel and be with you – only you, for as long as you’d have me there. I love you too, you see. That’s what else is different. I shut my eyes to shut her out, put my arms around you, feel you melt into me. My guilt stabs me again: I haven’t made love to her for weeks, it’s just been you with me…under me, inside me. So many times we’ve come in each other’s arms. So many times you’ve kissed me and I’ve given myself to you. You…disguised as my wife. My boxers are soaked – that’s my need expressed. It’s beautiful when I feel your need too, the same, inside your knickers. The glass bottle falls from your fingers and shatters on the stone floor with a sound like a muffled gunshot, but you don’t even seem to notice. You’re moving against my body, letting me touch you wherever I want, my hands roaming freely over your slender figure. My lips find the soft skin of your neck and I’m lost. Suddenly we’re facing each other and I’ve never wanted anyone so much – it’s never been this strong before. And there’s nothing I can do except surrender to your mouth. We kiss then, for the very first time, as lovers at last. I reach for you again, slip my fingers inside your panties and you come in my hand just like that; so easily, hotly, your eyes blazing. So proud of yourself. So defiant. Your juice runs along my fingers and I’m awed. I can hardly find words. You are amazing. I look into your face and see what you need from me before you can say it. My hands are shaking so much with nerves and excitement I can hardly keep hold of the empty beer bottle I’m gripping; but seeing you leant over in front of me, legs parted, your head down, waiting for me… I almost come myself when I slide the neck of the bottle up your leg and push it deep into your open cunt; when I enter you for the first time and feel your body move, twitching, trembling, rocking against mine with every stroke. Looking up, I lock eyes with my wife, but I don’t really see her at all. I slip my free hand around you and finger your clit, fucking you slowly, hoping you can feel my passion, my longing, through the cool glass in my hand. I can feel each thrust as if it were my own flesh. It’s only a matter of seconds before you start to go rigid, ready to give me your submission, and then I nod to her. Call her over, invite her to help me finish you off. It is the least I can do. I hope you won’t mind sharing, or being shared. I know she wants you too. Everything is still for a split second and then you’re gone. You come so hard it’s a struggle for both of us to keep silent control of you between us, but you do it so beautifully. When you’ve finished I withdraw gently and there’s two mil of cream in the bottom of the bottle. I have such a strong urge to drink it, but I know I’ll get my chance to taste you soon enough. I feel like there should be some applause, but the handful of onlooking queers just turn back to their own conquests, bemused. I keep you close to me while you recover; my lips in your hair, my hands on your shoulders, wishing for all the world that we were alone. My wife hails a taxi on the street to take us all back to the house. I know you’ve figured out who she is already by the look on your face. I’m sorry it has to be like this tonight. I think tomorrow night will be different. I think tomorrow night I will be all yours, at last, if you’ll have me. I can’t work out what you’re thinking. I start to worry that it’s too much, all this – that I’ve blown it. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you now. I’ve come too far this time. I have fallen from my high tower for you, to land at your feet. If you walk away…I feel sick at the thought. And then you put your arm around my hips, and lean your face against my chest, and whisper love to me, stroking my nipple through my shirt. My heart leaps to freedom as I escort you over to the cab. THE END