Him Her Him

Disclaimer: This story is about consenting adults engaging in sexual acts. It includes male bisexuality and elements of dominance and submission. It is however, a psycho-erotic story.

*

He was well organized. A planner. His attention to detail was highlighted by his fetishes and how thoroughly he thought those through. He had us provide him with our cell phone numbers and made sure that we had the blue tooth receivers that we could put in our ears.

The instructions were clear and simple. Dress consisted of long over coats and shoes. Her's were specific -- strappy high heals. Shoes she has only worn a handful of times and only on special occasions. I was on my own with regard to footwear.

The weather played to my advantage. I opted for boots to try to hide my exposed legs. It was April and wet with a slight chill. While I looked ridiculous at least it wasn't completely inconsistent with what I should be wearing. She looked normal. Nothing particularly stood out with her look.

We looked at each other and were both apprehensive. It was in her eyes and I'm sure mine, as well. Our kiss was short but passionate. My arousal was thick and heavy between my legs. We walked out the door.

The walk to the car felt like prom night. Nervous, excited, unsure. In the car she distracted herself with her phone and I was lost in thought. The beep from the earpiece broke my trance. The, now familiar, voice was equally as confident, but had a harder more demanding presence. My sudden tension got her attention and my monosyllabic responses heightened the mystery for her.

It was a hotel that I was familiar with. I had never been inside but passed it a number of times. Never gave it a second thought. Now I will never forget it. The parking garage was at the bottom. Hundreds of feet of excavation to allow the upper level unobstructed views of the city. It was a typical subterranean structure. Dark, gloomy and seemingly desolate. Most parking garages were like that. Except for special events, no matter the time of day they always seemed to be devoid of people. Later, I would come to appreciate this observation.

The walk out of the garage was normal. Our somewhat mismatched and odd appearances were masked by the variety of the city. The stroll around the block was almost normal. A slight respite from the fantasy that we were walking into. The shops looked warm and inviting in contrast to the gray drizzle that cloaked the streets. People bustled in coffee shops and ducked into bars and boutiques. We rounded the next corner. A side street. Less of a buzz but some lone stores. Stores that wanted a piece of the action but couldn't afford the rent on the front street.

Per his instructions, I found the address. It was an ice cream shop. Didn't appear to be a chain, but probably could have been. Not that it mattered whatsoever. She was confused. Rightfully so. Her mind had her geared up for something much, much more. Surly this wasn't part of the plan and there was no way that I would deviate from it. Her quizzical look dissolved as I opened the door and ushered her in, briefly trailing my hand down to her ass. My arousal found its way back for a moment.

I walked to the counter and ordered a large cone. Plain vanilla, per his instructions. He was cerebral and the irony was not lost. She got nothing and remained silent. We exited the store quickly.

The side door to the hotel was about 5 strides from the ice cream shop and the rear bank of elevators was about 10 paces from there. As we ducked in, we could see through to the lobby. Brisk but not overly crowded. The elevators across the lobby got the most use. They polished chrome and glass with views of the lobby and outside world.

I began to sweat. Nerves and excitement. My hands were ice cold and my stomach knotted. His instructions were simple and clear. It was now a matter of performing. That's exactly what we were doing, performing for him.

The sound on her phone indicated that it was face-time and the click in my ear told me to listen. His words were quick and clipped. "Tell her to hold the phone out so that both of you are in the picture. You know the rest." Again, confusion, but with this game she caught on quickly. The doors closed, I pressed every button up to 14 and dropped to my knees.

She was shocked, surprised, but docile. Compliant. As she would be when he chose to play with us. As I spread her coat, I could see her beauty. The lighting, while not glamorous clearly made people look better. Good for business in a hotel, I guess.

I was delicate at first, almost timid. I didn't want to topple the ice cream and I wasn't sure how all of this would play out. It was less than elegant, though. Clumsy. I lightly touched her sex with the ice cream. She startled from the cold sensation and the lewdness of the act. My warm tongue must have felt like heaven. I was thick again, I was acutely aware of my sex between my legs. She braced herself against the rails and I completed the pass. I licked her thickly and completely. It spawned a smile on her lips and I quickly stood and we covered ourselves as the doors slid open at floor two. No new passengers. The big doors rumpled and closed. Back down on my knees, a little more daring, a bit more ice cream. Looking up she was enjoying it more. Eyes closed, biting her lower lip. I spent a little longer licking the cream from her wet, sticky folds. Floor three. A passerby, but no new passengers. I repeated the procedure.

Floor four was not so lucky. There was a couple waiting. Maybe not a couple, but they were together. Convention-goers or friends. Fortunately they were in their own conversation so our appearance did not alarm them and our obvious tension went unnoticed. At least I hoped that to be the case.

Once inside, they looked quizzically at all of the numbers that were pressed. I flushed with fresh concern. They glanced at us. Our lack of response was as good as an admission, but there was nothing to say. I was trying to hide, not be noticed. The click in my ear startled me. I answered. I was sure that everyone could hear, his voice was clear, loud and booming. I made a sideways glance, but common sense kicked in and I composed myself. The earpiece was working and his words were pointed and raw. "Take a dollop of ice cream and spread it over her pussy." I panicked, but disguised it. Paranoia gripped me, but the logical place in my brain observed that the pair had resumed their conversation. I shuffled slightly to my left with my shoulder slightly in front of her. Checked the mirrors to make sure that no angle was revealing me. In a quick move, I lowered the cone, coated my finger with a glob and deftly swung it back and parted her coat. Her response was slightly audible, but with her mouth close to my ear I heard a guttural sound, softened by restraint and then a sharp inhale as the cool substance glided over her. Her initial reaction melted like the ice cream and she relaxed to accept my finger as it smoothed and probed her.

Floor five. The doors parted but we still had our guests. It felt like an eternity waiting for the ascent to resume. The earpiece hissed to life. "Enjoying the ride?" His voice was smooth and condescending. It shouldn't have been this way, but I started to get hard. I felt ashamed and conflicted, but intensely aroused. Moments ticked and he reprimanded me. "When I ask you a question, you answer." I dropped my head and as near a whisper as I could I said "yes".

I heard an impatient follow-up, "What was that?"

I repeated "Yes" a little bit louder. My response drew eyes. The pair and in the mirror I could see her watching.

The elevator car jerked to a stop. His lecture began. "You must remember one thing, I am the superior and you are the subordinate. You will address me clearly and with respect when spoken to. Is that clear?" my throat was dry and voice cracked, "yes....sir". It was out there. Heard by her. Heard by the strangers. It was somehow affirming for someone else to hear. I was embarrassed. It was the first time that I had addressed him as such. The pair looked at me as if confirming that something strange was going on. There was no denying it and I felt myself falling deeper into an erotic trance.

Floor six. The doors rumbled open and the people stepped out. Relief washed over me but I could feel the heat from her gaze as the people shuffled out. She had questions, so many questions. We both did, but I had the voice. I was receiving the instructions. There were few, very few words, but I was being guided. I somehow knew more than the instructions were implying, but she was on an island. Gauging our situation by my reactions and responses. I was afraid to look at her. Afraid that it wasn't what he wanted me to do.

The doors closed. "Alone again, I see. Better get back to it, your ice cream is melting." Rang his voice. Dutifully, I knelt and resumed the ritual. Parting her coat, lubricating her sex with ice cream and licking it off. Floors seven, eight, nine were devoid of people. We resumed our rhythm and she was building some momentum. Eyes closed and reacting. Her foot braced herself on the wall as she thrust her hips forward.

Ding. Floor ten. A crowd of people. Staring, realizing that this car was going up and they were going down. Lucky. She was a mess and I was beyond composure. I could taste her on my lips mixed with the ice cream. My cock was hard and my balls felt heavy, sticky pre-cum was smeared inside of my coat. I could feel it's cool dampness on my leg.

Floor eleven. Three more to go. "Share your view with me. Take her phone down with you on your next repetition." I nodded to myself, turned and delicately stole the phone away from her. There was no resistance or questioning. She complied. I knelt between floors eleven and twelve. He was impressed with the view. No words, but an approving "mm-hmm" echoed in my ear. It was lewd, demeaning and unbelievably erotic. I panned up as the small screen captured her sticky, matted sex, her belly and the bottom swell of her breasts heaving with every breath. I held her face in the phone for a few seconds. Eyes closed -- from pleasure or humiliation, I don't know -- but she was entranced. His voice was low and gravelly. Somehow appropriate to the situation in a twisted way. "Lap the cream from her cunt, boy." Again vulgar and rude, but I did it. The words spurred me on. I lapped. I obeyed. The alteration to the plan distracted me. It distracted us both. When doors opened for floor twelve, I was kneeling and she was on display.

No recovery could be quick enough. I turned abruptly and saw nobody. Down the hallway a maid's cart squeaked, but that was it. Laughter in my ear "You two are really naughty. That could have been embarrassing." amusement in his voice. "For the rest of the way, no licking. Finish with your ice cream and go to room 1412."

I complied. Floor thirteen. Doors opened and closed. She dared to speak to me. She leaned in close. Her voice a whisper. "I'm dripping." I glanced down and three small pools of milky white cream lay at her feet. I could see the drops running down her ankle. I felt playful. Maybe some reaction to being near the top or a brief respite of comic relief. I knelt and licked the cream from her ankle. It tasted salty, sweet and a bit tangy. She giggled and quickly composed herself as the car came to a stop and the doors opened on the fourteenth floor.

Her first few steps were unsure. Legs wobbly and tentative. I fumbled with the phone and the cone and shuffled out. We adjusted our paces and laced our fingers together. It was a pure moment. Could have been a first dance, a simple date or two lovers sharing a touch, we held hands and walked down the hall. Of course the circumstances were far from innocent and pure. We were, nonetheless, as nervous as our innocent counterparts.

1402, 1404, 1406....we continued down the hallway to room 1412. It was like all of the other rooms. It was a hotel, of course it was. A tray sat outside the room. Some dishes, silverware and napkins piled on top. We shared a clichéd glance and I summoned the courage to knock on the door. Three restrained, meted out knocks. They were quite, conspiratorial. Not meant to be heard, but they resonated up and down the hallway. Announcing our arrival and our decision to continue.

He waited. I know that he did. The room wasn't that big. It was maybe two minutes, but forever when you are nervous and apprehensive and aroused. The door opened fast, but controlled and he invited us in like a business acquaintance or salesman. I stepped forward and then gestured for her to go. It was an awkward little dance that summed up the confusion. Was this my show or hers? Should I lead us into uncertainty or should I be the gentleman? The answers are now clear. It was his show. Always his show. He chose our roles and we acted as expected.

She proceeded to enter and stopped at the end of the short hallway. I followed after closing the door. By all appearances everything was normal.

That quickly evaporated when he offered to take my coat. His dark, dry sense of humor added to his air of command. Did I have a choice? He clearly left me none and held out his hand until I took my coat off.

He was almost clinical in his actions. One would not have guessed the situation other than the fact that I was standing wearing nothing but boots in a hotel room in front of a man and my wife. He dropped my coat into a garbage bag, turned and directed me, "Please be a gentleman and help the lady with her coat." A twisted wry smile surfaced on his lips as he relished our discomfort. She blushed, dropped her head and started to shed the garment. I slide it down her arms and he proffered the bag. I dumped her coat in with mine, he bundled it up, strode purposefully to the door and placed the bag and contents on the tray.

My wife and I exchanged a glance, but he was back before I could read her. I still had the ice cream cone in my hand and it drew his attention. Still the polished host, he offered to take it. I sheepishly handed it to him and he took a minute to examine it as if it were a lost relic. He leaned forward, handed the cone to my wife. "Do be a dear and stick this on his cock."

She appeared eager to follow his instructions because there was no hesitancy. She took my cock in her hand, the touch alone elicited a response and as I gradually hardened, she slid the creamy cone on to my manhood. He looked directly at me. "That is as close to your wife's pussy as you will get for tonight and the next week. Please enjoy." His laugh added the exclamation point to my woeful predicament. But by this point the pure cruelty acted as an aphrodisiac.

He walked back to a small table along the wall with two standard issue hotel chairs next to it. Sitting on a white plate was a sundae with whipped cream and a cherry on the top. He picked up a small desert spoon, dipped it in and savored the flavor. He sat down on a chair next to the table and motioned us closer. I shuffled forward and the cone fell from my cock. My wife stepped forward, trying to reclaim some modesty by covering herself.

He looked at me and asked, "How was your desert?" The laugh returned. My wife blushed and I dropped my head and replied, "good"

"Good? Good what?" He was agitated.

"Good, Sir"

This time she could hear and I could see him. This wasn't just words or playing or in any way deniable. I was submitting. In fantasy or even play with a lover it was easy. Sexy. Fun. It could be explained in the moment or dismissed all together if it was conjured in my mind. This was real. It was real and my wife was watching. The act itself was tolerable. Given my state of arousal, it was easy. I was horny. We hadn't had sex in two weeks and I had no relief. The physical scene was just that, a scene. The truly difficult part was knowing -- or not knowing -- what she was thinking. Was she disappointed? Upset? Or excited? Tormenting me was her silence.

"It seems that you have some trouble remembering your place." He waved her over to the table, glanced up and smiled. "Would you like a lick?" Catching on, she replied a bit shakily, "Yes,...Sir." He smiled. Took the spoon and sucked off the remnants. He gestured with his hand and she was confused, but pieced it together. With gentle words, he coaxed her, "Have a lick, my dear." As she bent forward he unbuckled his pants. I could see her eyes widen, but she continued. A bit of the whipped cream dotted her mouth, and she wiped it away quickly. "I liked your little elevator show," he said smugly. "I think that I might enjoy something like that. Use your tongue and put some cream on my cock." She blushed again, but quickly followed through.

His cock lay on his thigh.

This is debasing, beyond words. I would have never thought this let alone articulate it, but he was big. Not monstrous like a porn star, but he was a large man. Thick, heavy, meaty. He was bigger than myself, but not a lot. He was endowed. He knew it. I stared as her face moved closer, cream on her tongue, his length and girth expanding, uncoiling like a snake. She let the cream slide off and then spread it around like she was French kissing. He looked pleased. Appreciating the act and the sensation. I thought that this was it. No warm up, right to it. He was going to take her. Enjoy her and use her for his pleasure. He was going to degraded her and then take what he wanted. But he chose not to. She righted herself, looked at him uncertainly. His nod of approval brightened her face and she lowered her head in deference.

His manner towards me was not as kind. The sole stark word was "Kneel." I obeyed. He let that hang there for a while. Letting it sink in for her to see and me to understand. His pleasure came from the internal conflict that he could conjure. And he was good, very good. His next words were open for interpretation. He wanted to make me conclude it. Wanted to watch it happen "You have practice, you know what to do." Submission.

I could have fought it or pretended to not understand. He knew it. He was smart. I wasn't there because I was fighting. I was there because I had been defeated. Defeated by my own erotic burdens and defeated by him. The last point to prove was reality. A reality that would haunt me and, in turn stimulate me for years. He didn't need to conquer the scene. At its element it was just another sex scene. Kinky, sure, but played out in movies and bedrooms. Perhaps a bit taboo, but nothing that the world hadn't seen. He wanted to make this a reality. Not a reality now, that could be reconciled as a one-time dalliance. He wanted to make clear that I was below him.

I crawled. Hands and knees. He allowed that much. He could have insisted that I scurry on knees only. Shuffling ridiculously across the floor. I was thankful even though this is what he wanted anyway. Nothing in it for him to make me look stupid. Watching me crawl, head down, cock dangling was what he wanted.

His tumescent member was smooth. I could understand why she might like it. I had never been that close to another man before. It was different than mine. Somehow fatter, smoother. His skin was perfect. No blemishes. I can't escape these memories. Seared into my mind.

His lack of words said everything. I just did it. Instinctual. Like some animal servicing and preparing the superior. At first I licked the cream. Dabbed at it. He let me find my way. I knew not to use my hands. He didn't want that. I knew that he wouldn't. I worked around and took the tip in and went further. He grew and I did my best to accommodate him. I slid my tongue around and began to slobber. I began to wonder how it would end. I couldn't just stop. He was in control. It was his choice.

It must have been five minutes. He was erect, but not close to orgasm. He changed. His demeanor. No longer the proper host. He was now the primal alpha male. He took his fist and glided it over his rod, pushing my face away. It signaled that I was done. I sat back on my heels. I, too, was hard. Disgracefully hard. He shed his clothes and there we were in a hotel room with the roles clear.