I wasn't sure what I'd expected when Reza had summoned me from my busy office on Bank Street to come to Cherry Wood Hotel in Chelsea. By message he'd sworn it was important. Not another mad attempt to start us up again, fueled by sleepless nights with his entirely useless boyfriend Daniel (who worked in new media and asked to be called a guru, imagine), and a thick boner in his pants.
The hotel was distressingly discrete and I felt an inconvenient pang of lust. The illicit affair, one that takes managers like me away from their staff a day before the fiscal year end-there was no time for it. I oughtn't have come all the way here. The corridor was richly carpeted. The walls were panelled in reassuringly thick cherry wood. The doors were carefully labeled. Number four was at the end of the corridor.
I knocked first. I would give Reza a chance to put his pants on. Come to his senses. We stirred something deep, something profound in one another. That I could admit. I would never be rid of him, not even if I could bear it. But we were too alike. Our battle for dominance-our mutual desire to top-chased us both into the arms of lesser men and women, and in saner moments we both admitted there was nothing for it.
I used the key the desk attendant had given me and stepped into a large, dimly lit room. Reza was there. His shirt was unbuttoned, as were his raw denim jeans. Of course he'd come from work too. It was his law firm, he could wear what he liked. His wavy, shoulder length dark hair never changed, but his crooked smile held a mischievous quality that made me want to shut the door and run the other way.
"Ford. Glad you could make it." Reza stepped deeper into the room and I followed as my eyes adjusted. That's when I saw her.
On her knees by the window. Her arms were bound behind her and her legs were spread lewdly. There was a spreader bar between them. Clamps with delicate silver weights swung from her nipples. Most invitingly, her head had been affixed with a ring gag that made her drool and left her pink tongue visible and also vulnerable. Her body was soft and pale with red freckles that matched her wild red curls. The majority of her softness was concentrated in her thick hips and breasts, but I could make out the swell of an ample ass. She was exactly my taste in women; all the ones Reza had dated had shared his runner's body, but unfortunately not his taste in sexual accessories. There was a thick leather collar around her neck, and a dozen black and white silicone objects of various sizes spread out along a towel on the coffee table that had been pushed against the back wall.
If her body was that of a grown woman only a few years younger than Reza, her face was girlish. She was not made up and neither was she wrinkled. Rather, her eyes were wide and wild, with fear, or perhaps excitement. With that delightful gag on, it was not possible tell.
"What's this then?" I asked. I couldn't avoid showing both Reza and the girl I was half hard, but I was also distinctly annoyed. Where had Reza found this random woman and how had she possibly consented to this?
"This," said Reza, eyeing my trousers with undisguised arousal, "is the answer to our problems."
"I fail to see how."
Reza smiled. "We share the control. You talked about trying this once, remember? That night Vanessa turned you down for this. We were going to try it."
Of course. Vanessa. Gorgeous, fat bottomed Vanessa, with her too tight sweaters and her prudish sneer. She had looked like an unfreckled, brunette version of the girl bound by the window. Creamy skin, thick thighs. Not Reza's type, apart from the haughty attitude. Reza loved an ice queen. The better to make her crawl on all fours and beg for cock. Vanessa never went for it. Back then it was Reza's suggestion and I doubted Vanessa was into the kind of roughness that Reza wanted. I wasn't. Most women weren't, at least not casually. Too dangerous. Which brought me to young woman watching us with not a small amount of fear in her eyes.
"And who's this, Reza?"
"Whoever you want her to be."
I narrowed my eyes. "Reza. Her name."
"Seren Lewis. Isn't she lovely, Ford?"
She was. The lewd tenting in my pants was proof of that. "And how did she come to be gagged and waiting for me with you?"
Reza grinned. "She's mad for it, Ford. Believe me. Don't make this boring."
"You're the one being boring," I said coldly. This was us in the mood, always. Bickering and battling. Always negotiation. So much compromise. Never wild, passionate fucking. Someone was always playing a role they didn't want. It had been that way for both of us together, and ever since we'd began seeing other people. I wanted to make sure she wasn't playing a role she didn't want. Reza was careful, certainly, but he lusted for the illusion of nonconsent, which always played better in strange bedrooms with blokes than with a young woman, incapable (at this point anyway) of saying no.
Reza sighed. "I've been trying to find a third for us since we split, Ford. Actually, before that. Since Vanessa. I saw how bad you wanted her. What she did to you. God, I wasn't even jealous, you know? For the first time in my life, I wasn't even slightly jealous. I wanted to make her work for you.. Well, I've been searching but it's not easy I'll have you know."
Seren was watching us. Her cheeks were flushed. The gag made her drool. I had used a smaller one on Reza once and he'd despised it. He enjoyed humiliating, not being humiliated. He was always keen to use it on me, but I refused. Sucking cock was powerful, gratifying, but the gag robbed it of that. I'd suck Reza dry but I wouldn't wear a gag to do it. And yet still she looked lovely in it. Humiliated, certainly, and supplicating. But also horny.
"So I've scoured every forum around London. Mostly whores and fetishists, you know," Reza continued. He stripped off his button down white shirt. His dark, chiseled pecks caught the shadows perfectly even in the dim hotel room. I wanted to grab him and crush him against the wall, and explore his perfect mouth. He always tasted of green tea and lillies. "I gave up months ago, to be honest, but then this nymph found an old post of mine on a forum requesting thirds. She said she was experienced with kink. She'd been recruited by several couples to be a top or a bottom, depending on the situation. Said it was her fantasy to be between two bi male tops, well."
Reza wondered the same thing I did. Lots of straight women fantasized about gangbangs, sometimes even violent ones. Nothing wrong with fantasy right up until it stops being fun or was never what you wanted in the first place.
"She said it wasn't like that," said Reza. "That she considered herself a therapist fucktoy. Sounds like your kind of slut, Ford."
God, he was right. And his type, honestly. If I loved thick, heavenly women with plump tits and hips designed to to be squeezed and slapped. Reza loved sluts even more than he loved ice queens. I wanted to pull her hair and jam my cock down her throat to get it wet for Reza. I was so hard I could barely see straight. She looked like she needed to be owned. Still, it was usually more complicated where women were concerned. Reza's hand drifted down to my slacks where he caressed the outline of my hard cock.
