Triad


Seventh Chapter: Propositions

Helen did not dispense any praise or disapproval of our
behavior the previous night when she served our breakfast
the next morning. I was sure that she knew exactly what
had happened. I had sensed her presence as I cleaned
Cathy's face, and later Cathy's moans and screams had
reverberated through the entire house for everyone to
hear.

But for Helen, today was business as usual, in other
words, our daily visit to the gym of horrors. It did not
make any difference to Helen that I told her I was now
able to hold back my eruption until Cathy was completely
satisfied, and it was no use to get Cathy to confirm my
assessment. Soon after breakfast I found myself back in
my customary position, chained to the wall, my balls
trapped in a harness and Cathy kneeling in front of me,
licking and sucking my cock for all she was worth.

There were some changes in Helen's torture routine,
however. She started to conduct individual sessions,
concentrating on one of us in privacy while the other one
was confined to our bedroom.

I don't know what Helen did when she was alone with
Cathy. My initial thoughts were that Cathy would have to
lick Helen's pussy and that Helen didn't want me to be
present when this happened, but Cathy never confirmed my
suspicion. At times I could hear Cathy's orgasmic screams
coming from the torture chamber and when Cathy returned
to tell me that it was my turn she was barely able to
walk. I assumed that Helen had used vibrators or other
devices to make Cathy come until she was completely
exhausted.

During my own individual sessions I became acquainted
with clamps. Helen didn't use the nice shiny items which
almost looked like jewelry on me. No, I had to make do
with old-fashioned clothes-pins, both the wooden and the
plastic variety, which Helen attached to my nipples, my
scrotum and just about any other place where she could
squeeze together enough skin to slip into a clamp.

While I was strapped to the table, looking like some
strangely decorated ritual offering to an unknown god,
Helen made me also feel the sting of hot wax on my skin.
She was an expert at tilting the candelabrum just enough
so that the hot wax would spill over and hit me in three
different places at the same time. My cock, always
sticking up like a flagpole, was an obvious target. But
Helen wasn't too particular about which part of my body
she would attack.

Helen still continued to conduct sessions with both of
us, when she let Cathy stimulate me while I was chained
to the wall, and then let me watch as she inflicted her
special brand of pain and pleasure on Cathy. Sometimes
she would suspend me from the ceiling with Cathy being
strapped to the table beneath me. On these occasions she
would often disappear for a considerable length of time,
leaving us on our own, contemplating each other but
unable to make contact.

One day, after Helen had tied Cathy and me up and had
gone to the room next door, the phone rang and I could
hear Helen speak to someone in a language I didn't
understand - Mandarin I assumed. Her voice seemed louder
than usual and I thought I detected a certain agitation.
My impression was reinforced when Helen came into the
torture chamber. There was something about that phone
call which had upset her.

"I've got to meet someone and I don't know how long it
will take," she explained. "So I thought I'd better untie
you for the time being. Enjoy your freedom while it
lasts." And she was off.

As I walked past the office, I noticed to my great
surprise that the computer was switched on. Helen had
started it up and had forgotten to log off. There was a
document on display on the monitor, but I couldn't make
head or tail of the Chinese characters.

I'm naturally curious. Sometimes I snoop on other people
behind their backs. It's not a very nice character trait,
I know. But that's the way I am. I have occasionally read
personal e-mails which Cathy received or sent, and often
this resulted in my ears burning, because I found
comments about myself which were not at all
complimentary.

The document in front of me didn't mean anything to me.
Not only could I not read the text, I had no idea what it
was. It might have been a part of Helen's translation or
rewrite of a literary work, it might have been an essay
in which she outlined her approach to translation, it
might have been part of a diary containing comments about
Cathy and me. There were probably many other
possibilities.

My curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know what
this document was. I thought of sending it to my own mail
box, but all the options on the menu bar were in
Mandarin, I didn't know which one to click. Then I
noticed the small printer icon. That was the same as on
the English version of the software. I decided to print
the document.

I put the pages quietly into a desk drawer from where I
could retrieve them later. I didn't tell Cathy about the
breach of confidence I had committed. The fewer people
knew, the better. Cathy might even disapprove of my
snooping; she might insist that I destroy the pages and
apologize to Helen.

The next step would be to find someone who could tell me
what was written on those pages I had pulled off the
printer. But I couldn't possibly walk around downtown
Boston, stop everybody who looked like they might be able
to read Mandarin and ask them what was written on those
pages. What if they contained a detailed description of
what Helen, Cathy and I had been doing? It would have to
be someone I could trust or someone who didn't know me -
two somewhat contradictory requirements.

Then I thought of Ricky.

                         -----

     Ricky had been a close buddy during my high-school
     years. We used to hang out a lot together. He had
     been the wilder one of the pair of us, and I had
     saved his skin on a number of occasions. At one
     stage, he got into trouble with the law. I never
     found out what exactly he was accused of. The
     stories which went around had him involved in all
     kinds of serious offenses, but how could the people
     spreading these rumors know anything, if I, his
     closest friend, didn't know what kind of trouble he
     was in? Whatever it was, Ricky found it serious
     enough to skip state. He now lives in New York City
     and runs a laundry service for hotels and
     restaurants.
     
     Ricky's people collect the dirty linen from his
     customers, wash and iron everything and then return
     it neatly folded to its owners. He started off with
     a couple of washing machines in a rented garage. Now
     his operation covers a large part of southern
     Manhattan. There are unconfirmed rumors that he
     launders more than just bed sheets and table cloths,
     but these rumors are probably just a case of sour
     grapes.
     
     Ricky had told me once that he was employing a large
     number of illegal immigrants, because they were much
     cheaper than union labor. Somehow, I associated
     illegal laundry workers with Chinese. Ricky should
     be able to ask one of them to translate the document
     for him. Of course, I couldn't do this over the
     phone. I would have to send him the pages by mail.
     
     I decided to call in a favor and ask Ricky for help.
     I wrote him a letter, telling him a little about the
     recent developments in my life and enclosed the
     printed pages. But I also told him it was merely to
     satisfy my curiosity, nothing really important.

                         -----

When I returned from the post office, Helen was waiting
for me, dressed in her usual black body stocking.

Did she know where I had been and what I had been doing
there? I sure didn't want to think about it now, so she
could pick up what was on my mind. I made a conscious
effort to think of something else. I tried to remember
the names of my girlfriends before I met Cathy. That
didn't take very long. Then I tried to remember the names
- and the nicknames - of my teachers at high school.

Helen wasn't into mind-reading at that moment - or maybe
the stuff which passed through my mind didn't interest
her. "Cathy's waiting for you," she announced.

I realized that I hadn't seen any trace of Cathy since I
returned. "Waiting for me? Where?" I wanted to know.

"In the pleasure palace."

I should have thought that much.

"You'd better take off your clothes before you go in,"
Helen suggested.

Helen handed me a miniature whip - the one she had been
carrying on the evening of her arrival.

"I know that you've been waiting for this for a long time
- both of you," she said. Then she closed the door behind
me.

It took my eyes a while to adjust to the darkness. Helen
had gradually reduced the electric lighting in the former
storage room. At this stage there was just one 25-Watt
light bulb left - and that had been covered with a black
hood. Two candelabra were standing on the floor in
diagonally opposite corners of the room. In between those
candelabra I saw Cathy, naked, her arms raised above her
head and tied to ropes which were hanging from the
ceiling. Her legs were spread and equally immobilized.

Cathy's body and limbs formed the letter X. She seemed to
be more hanging, held up by the ropes, than standing by
her own force. In the flickering light of the candles, I
could see traces of wax on Cathy's breasts and abdomen -
a sign that she, too, had been given a taste of Helen's
imaginative use of the candelabra. Cathy's inner thighs
were glistening with moisture. She probably had
experienced several orgasms at Helen's capable hands.

Cathy was blindfolded. She had heard the door open and
close but didn't know who had entered the room, or
whether there was, in fact, someone in the room with her.

"Helen?" she asked tentatively.

I remained quiet while I contemplated the sight in front
of me. This must have been one of the most exciting
images I ever set eyes on. This beautiful helpless woman,
who had already suffered some abuse by Helen, was
completely in my hands. I could do with her whatever
pleased me. And there was the added thrill that she was
unable to see me. Did this make me a coward?

Helen had said that to be a good torture-master you have
to love your victim. I loved Cathy. Standing there and
looking at her, I loved her more than ever before. I
loved her so much that I wanted to hear her scream - in
pain and in joy. I stepped closer to her and hit her left
breast with the whip.

The unexpected attack made her gasp, but only briefly.
She soon recovered her composure.

"Oh, it's you, Stan. Don't be such a wimp. Whip me
harder. Make me scream."

It is hard to hurt someone you love. It is painful to see
them suffer. One part of me wanted to swap places with
Cathy, found it easier to be punished than to punish. But
another, stronger part told me, 'You want this. She wants
it. Do it!'

I let the whip slash across Cathy's right breast,
struggling to overcome my reluctance to hurt her.

Cathy's gasp was a little louder this time. But she
wanted more. "Harder," she said. "Show me how much you
love me."

I brought the whip down between Cathy's legs. This time
there was no doubt that I had caused her pain. Cathy lost
her foothold. Her body was dangling from the ceiling,
only held up by the ropes around her wrists. I waited for
Cathy's feet to find a firm hold again, while I planned
my next attack.

I realized that this wasn't just about inflicting
physical pain. This was also about letting Cathy know how
powerless she was; that she was completely at my mercy.
It was about making it clear to Cathy that I could hit
her where I wanted, when I wanted, and as hard as I
wanted. I noticed that Cathy was holding her breath.
Every fiber of her strained to sense my next move, to
brace herself for the next assault.

I walked around Cathy, trying not to let her hear where I
was. Then, in a rapid succession of movements I swung the
whip across her buttocks and the front of her thighs.

"You're getting better. More, please," Cathy requested.

She still hadn't fully understood that _I_ was in control
of the situation. That _I_ was going to do what _I_
wanted, when _I_ wanted it.

I continued my cat-and-mouse play, alternating short
sharp attacks with periods of silence. I whipped her
breasts, much harder this time, her back, her flank, her
buttocks and the back of her thighs. Whenever I hit the
center of her inner thighs, Cathy's screams of pain and
approval grew louder. She urged me on to hit her faster,
harder.

Standing next to Cathy, I put my free hand between her
legs. I let my fingers slide up and down her slit, pry it
open, enter her. When I squeezed her clit between two
fingers Cathy moaned with desire. I withdrew my hand and,
at the same instant brought down the whip where my hand
had been. Cathy's scream confirmed that I had hit my
target as planned, and that my attack had surprised her,
as intended.

The whip also visited the less obvious parts of her body.
Her feet, her legs, her outstretched arms, including the
armpits, her sides, were all legitimate targets for
castigation.

Eventually, I succumbed to Cathy's demands. I let the
whip rain down on Cathy's front without paying much
attention to where I hit her. I worked myself into a
frenzy. I aimed for her pussy and her screams confirmed
every time I hit my target. Her screams also told me that
she had achieved what she had longed for: she reached her
climax under the impact of my whip!

I removed the blindfold and kissed the tears off Cathy's
face. I assured her of my everlasting love. Cathy thanked
me for being such a severe master.

But I wasn't finished yet. I knelt down in front of Cathy
and licked her pussy lips. Cathy moaned in response to
the gentle touch of my tongue on her punished sex. She
opened her legs as much as her position allowed to give
my mouth easy access to her pussy. By doing so, she also
opened herself for my attack at the back door. I thrust
the whip-handle into Cathy's ass as I held on to her clit
with my lips. I pushed the hard stick in and out of her
rear, while my tongue brought her to another climax.

Only then did I free Cathy from the ropes. I bent her
over the table and entered her pussy from behind. I
fucked her whipped cunt until the last candle of the two
candelabra had burned itself out and left us in near-
complete darkness.

                         -----

"Congratulations! You two are starting to tick really
well together."

Helen's compliment as she brought us our breakfast the
next morning made me feel extremely proud of myself,
although 'tick' wasn't the verb I would have used.

"Have you ever thought of bringing other people into your
love games?"

I was sure this question was leading somewhere, I just
didn't know where. I decided to remain quiet until I knew
what Helen was driving at.

Cathy did not exercise the same restraint.

"What other people did you have in mind?"

"No one in particular. But before you try out perfect
strangers you might experiment with people you know.
Friends, for example."

Cathy went into thinking mode. "I left all my friends
behind when I moved to Boston and didn't stay in touch
with any of them. And here I've only made a few casual
acquaintances - apart from Stan, of course. I don't think
I know anybody I want to have wild sex with."

"How about you Stan? Do you know anybody you want to
share Cathy with - or who you might want to share with
Cathy?"

I felt like saying, "What's wrong with just the three of
us?" but thought that Helen might take that as a non-
constructive, non-cooperative comment. I went through my
list of friends and acquaintances, both male and female.
Julie seemed an obvious contender, but Cathy had rejected
her once before. Besides, Julie's domestic situation
didn't make her a serious candidate. Other than that, my
situation was similar to Cathy's. I, too, had lost
contact with most of my high-school friends.

"Nobody except those Cathy already knows," I said with a
smirk.

I confess that I wasn't unhappy about this outcome. Sex
with Cathy had taken on a completely new quality; it was
more intense and much more satisfying than it had ever
been. I didn't feel any need to rush out and invite other
people to join us. Now, if Helen would be willing to
participate in our lovemaking, that would have been a
completely different matter!

The meager outcome of our stocktaking didn't seem to
surprise Helen. She picked up our emptied trays and left
with the usual reminder to be downstairs in fifteen
minutes.

                         -----

"If you like, I can introduce you to some of my friends
here. They are very cultured people who'll understand
your needs and will treat you with the respect and
firmness you deserve," Helen picked up the subject she
had embarked upon earlier this morning.

I had spent about an hour in my customary position,
pinned to the wall with my balls imprisoned, while Cathy
had stimulated my cock. Then Helen had released me and
asked me to help her with Cathy. It seemed that she
trusted my progress enough to assume that I wouldn't
misuse the freedom of my hands to rip off that devilish
harness which was torturing my balls.

I struggled with the implications of what Helen had just
said. Did she really mean what I had understood or was I
getting over sensitive? But what else could 'understand
your needs' mean? And 'treat you with the respect and
firmness you deserve'? In any case, Helen's friends were
perfect strangers to me. And I wasn't ready to involve
people I had never met before in my sex life.

I didn't want to appear ungrateful for the offered help.
So I just said, "Maybe later." And, to change the
subject, I added, "I didn't know you had friends in
Boston."

"I make friends wherever I go," was Helen's reply. "You
two are living proof of that."

Helen made Cathy kneel on one half of the table, with her
legs spread, after she had fastened her wrists to two
ropes hanging from the ceiling.

Cathy followed Helen's instructions willingly and without
hesitation. "Looks like we're stuck with the four cavemen
- at least for the time being," she said. Apparently she
had been sold on the idea of additional sex partners and
seemed to be disappointed about the limited number of
candidates. "But I've done them already."

"You know, Cathy, I've always wondered why you call
Stan's friends cavemen." Helen picked up on Cathy's
remark while she handed me two nipple clamps and pointed
at Cathy's breasts.

"Actually, I had stopped calling them cavemen. Looks like
just now I slipped back into my old bad habits. If you
want I'll apologize to them for having given them that
nickname."

Cathy drew in her breath as I grabbed one of her nipples
with one hand and tried to fix a nipple clamp to it. This
was my first ever attempt. Obviously, my hands weren't as
skilled as Helen's and the process was more painful than
necessary.

Helen continued her conversation with Cathy while she
helped me fit the clamp. "That sounds like a good idea,
but that wasn't the reason for my question. When you call
Stan caveman, he knows that you want him to be rough, you
want him to fuck you hard. So, when you call Stan's
friends cavemen, it can only mean ..."

Helen wasn't able to finish her sentence. "No, no, no. It
doesn't mean what you're thinking," Cathy interrupted
her. "You're jumping to the wrong conclusion."

The movements of Cathy's upper body to underline how
wrong Helen's conclusion was, made it difficult for me to
grab Cathy's other nipple.

Helen decided to change the subject. "Do you remember the
poker evening when you were spanked by Stan's friends?"
she asked Cathy.

"How could I possibly forget?" Cathy asked back.

It occurred to me that this conversation about my poker
mates might be connected with the fact that they were due
for another visit the following day.

"You got spanked four times that evening. How many times
did you climax when Stan fucked you afterwards?"

"Four times."

"That's right. Once for each punishment. Or maybe once
for each punisher?"

"That doesn't mean anything. The number four is just a
coincidence. I never imagined them doing anything other
than spank me. I didn't get turned on by _them_, but by
the effect of their hands on my bottom."

Helen didn't seem to think that Cathy's protestations
were worthy of a reply. She turned towards me. In the
meantime, I had managed to fit the second nipple clamp on
my own.

"Tell me, Stan. Doesn't it get boring to play cards all
night, and all you've got to show for it are a few lousy
cents?"

"We all agreed from the beginning that we didn't want to
play for significant sums of money. You know the saying
about not mixing money and friendship. We don't play
because of the money. It's a get-together of a few
friends; that's what matters. The few cents we win or
lose are just symbolic."

As I talked, Helen got another set of clamps from her
collection and fitted two of them to Cathy's pussy lips,
one on each side. Then she handed me another pair,
indicating that I should do the same with them, a little
lower down.

"I wasn't talking about money. Wouldn't it be nice if you
could offer your friends a prize that is really
memorable."

I had an inkling of what Helen might be getting at but
preferred to wait for further details. Besides, I was too
busy fitting the clamps to Cathy's pussy.

"I'm not thinking of a competition where the best poker
player wins. What I have in mind is more like a prize
draw where everybody wins a prize. The only question is
who wins which prize."

Helen inspected my work. Then she fitted thin metal bars
between each pair of clamps. These bars had the effect of
forcing the pussy lips apart. Cathy's pussy was now pried
wide open, giving a clear view of her clit and the
entrance to her love hole.

"What kind of prize are you thinking of?" Cathy wanted to
know.

"I'll give you a hint. It's got something to do with
sticking cocks into orifices."

The answer confirmed what I had suspected. But Cathy
hadn't been prepared for this outcome of the
conversation. "You mean you want me to let them fuck me?"
she gasped.

Helen didn't think the question needed an answer. She
took another, larger clamp from the drawer and attached
it to Cathy's clit.

As Cathy drew in breath in reaction to the sudden
pressure on her clit, I asked, "But Cathy has only three
orifices. There are four guests. Didn't you say that
everyone should win a prize?"

I realized that my intervention was on purely
arithmetical grounds. I wanted to point out a flaw in
Helen's plan, and thus I talked about Cathy as if she
were an object with a specific number of holes. It didn't
occur to me that Cathy - or I - might object to Helen's
intended use of those holes as prizes in a draw.

"That's where you come in, Stan."

My mouth became temporarily disconnected from my brain.
It took me a while to reestablish the connection. After I
did, I blubbered, "You're not seriously suggesting ...?"

"You understood very well what I'm proposing. But to make
it quite clear: I don't expect you to take a cock into
your mouth."

I was in a state of shock. Somehow I knew that I couldn't
get out of this. Cathy had agreed, although sometimes
reluctantly, to everything Helen and I had come up with.
How could I possibly refuse? Everything around me turned
into a blur.

Cathy hadn't said anything so far. I had interpreted her
silence as a sign of solidarity. Maybe she was just as
shocked as I was. I found out how wrong I was when she
finally broke her silence.

"One caveman fucking another caveman. That should be fun
to watch," was Cathy's only comment.

How could I possibly do this?

I watched through a haze as Helen hooked an empty plastic
bottle to the clamp on Cathy's clit. Then she fixed
another larger bottle, upside down to the wall and
connected it with a thin tube to the bottle between
Cathy's legs. The whole contraption reminded me of an
intravenous drip.

In spite of my state of shock I found myself marveling at
the vivid imagination of this mysterious woman. How did
she manage to come up with so many different ways of
causing discomfort and achieving stimulation at the same
time?

"This drip will gradually fill the smaller bottle here,"
Helen explained what I had already figured out. "There's
no sudden pain, but as the bottle fills, it gets heavier
and the pull on the clamp increases. Your challenge is to
make Cathy come before the bottle overflows."

"Make Cathy come? But how? Her pussy was fully taken up
by the contraption Helen had installed there, her nipples
were caught in Helen's clamps. How could I make Cathy
come?"

Once more Helen answered my question before I had
pronounced it. "Her ass," she said. "Lick it, rim her
hole, stick your tongue inside as far as you can."

I decided to accept the opportunity Helen had offered me
to take my mind off my own worries, and with it the
challenge to make Cathy come by stimulating her ass with
my tongue.

I stood behind the table, in a position where I had easy
access to Cathy's behind. I spread her cheeks with my
hands and touched her puckered hole with the tip of my
tongue.

"That feels wonderful," Cathy moaned. "More, please."

I pushed Cathy's cheeks further apart and trailed my
tongue along the crack between them, starting from the
small of her back, all the way down getting as close to
her pussy as was possible without disturbing Helen's
contraption.

Cathy purred like a cat. She didn't seem to feel any
discomfort yet from the weight of the slowly filling
bottle.

As I stabbed my tongue into Cathy's rear hole, my own
worries returned. One of my friends was going to do with
his cock to me what I was doing with my tongue to Cathy.
I still hadn't come to terms with the idea.

I had to force myself to concentrate on pleasuring Cathy.
I moistened her ass hole with my saliva to make
penetration easier. I dug my tongue deeper into her
behind. I twisted my tongue inside her and ran it around
the rim. Cathy reacted to my efforts with shouts of
encouragement.

The sounds coming from her grew more urgent as the bottle
hanging on her clit clamp was gradually filling up. It
didn't seem likely that I would be able to make Cathy
come simply from stimulating her with my tongue. I
decided to get reinforcement. I stuck first one, than two
fingers into her hole - a move which won Cathy's
immediate approval.

Cathy's moans grew louder as I pushed my fingers in and
out of her hole. "More," she demanded between gasps,
"deeper". I wouldn't leave her pleas unanswered. I
removed my fingers and spat at her ass to add more
lubrication. Then I resumed my finger-fuck, this time
inserting three fingers into Cathy's ass, pushing them
rhythmically in and out.

I realized that I had lost my battle when the overflowing
water from the plastic bottle splashed onto the table.
Cathy's moans had been growing increasingly urgent,
partly as a result of my efforts, partly because of the
increasing weight of the bottle pulling on her clit.

"You've lost the first round, but I'll give you a second
chance," Helen declared as she first disconnected the
drip feed and then unhooked the small bottle from the
clamp. Cathy screamed in a mixture of pain and relief
when Helen pulled the clamp from her clit.

But the relief was only temporary. The ropes which had
previously held up Cathy's arms were used to lift her
legs into the air as Helen made Cathy lie with her back
on the table. She strapped Cathy's arms to the table and
lowered a small horizontal bar from the ceiling. She
attached strings to Cathy's nipple clamps, then pulled
the strings over the horizontal bar and attached another
bottle, about twice the size of the previous one, to the
other end of the strings. It was clear that this time the
increasing weight of the bottle would pull on Cathy's
nipples.

"Go ahead, finger her," Helen ordered me. "But don't
touch her clit. It's too sensitive at the moment. The
challenge is the same as before. You've got to make Cathy
come before the bottle is full. And you're only allowed
to use your hands."

Cathy was desperate for a climax. My stimulation of her
ass had brought her close but hadn't quite produced the
result she longed for. This time she didn't want to
suffer pain without getting a reward. I spread her pussy
lips and pushed two fingers inside. Her wetness indicated
her state of excitement. I didn't waste any time on
subtleties and started to finger-fuck her in earnest from
the word go.

Cathy still wasn't satisfied. "Fist me," she ordered.
"Stick your whole hand into my cunt."

I was shocked. I had heard about fisting before, but how
did Cathy know about this practice? Was this one of the
things which Helen did when she conducted her individual
session with Cathy? Cathy had never told me that she
enjoyed such an extreme form of penetration.

There was no time for hesitation. Cathy urged me on. I
squeezed my fingers together to form a duck's bill. Then
I pushed my hand into Cathy's cunt. Cathy was strapped to
the table and her legs where lifted straight up and
pulled apart by the ropes around her ankles. Otherwise,
I'm sure, she would have lifted her bottom off the table
and pushed forward to make my entry easier. It took
considerable time with lots of patient pushing and
twisting to get my hand inside her hole. Cathy
accompanied my efforts producing a variety of animalistic
sounds.

Those sounds never stopped until Cathy reached an orgasm
which made her entire body shake.

"Christ, you're real pigs," Helen said as she carefully
removed the clamps from Cathy's nipples. "It's a good
thing you don't have any nearby neighbors, otherwise they
might be wondering if anybody's being killed."

I was deaf to Helen's admonition. The last time she had
expressed her moral outrage, it had only been with the
intention to make us declare that we had no regrets.
Besides, if some guy was going to stick his cock into my
ass, why couldn't I stick my hand into my wife's cunt?

                         -----

And that was what my mind would stay on for the rest of
the day and most of the next: my virgin ass was going to
be fucked by one of my friends. I had given up any hope
that I might be able to avoid the inevitable, but I
couldn't stop myself thinking about it.

I remembered a series of interviews I had read some time
ago, in which people who had been spanked as children and
adolescents - and some who were still punished by their
partners as adults - had talked about the experience.
Many of those people had stated that the worst part was
the anticipation. Being told in advance that a punishment
was due in the evening or the next day, turned them into
a bundle of nerves until the punishment was finally
administered.

I wasn't due for any punishment, but my reaction was
exactly the same. I wasn't able to think of anything
else, at least not for any length of time. My thoughts
kept returning to the one subject. The time I spent
waiting for the unavoidable to happen was probably worse
than when it actually happened.

I wondered who would win me in the prize draw. I had seen
their cocks only once: after the last poker evening, when
Cathy had given all four of them a blowjob. I remembered
that Eddy's cock was bent like a saber and that Bill's
cock was short and fat but had a large knobby head. I
couldn't remember anything remarkable about the other
two.

But I did remember that Bill had confessed to me on his
way to the door that this had been his first ever
blowjob. "Sue wouldn't dream of touching my cock with her
mouth," he had said. Had any of my friends any experience
in fucking another man? How would they react? Would the
lucky winner accept his prize as an opportunity to
experience something new? Or would he consider it a
slight on his manliness to suggest that he should fuck
another man?