My Wife Doesn't Understand Me

"My wife doesn't understand me,"

...he moaned as I slid two fingers into his ass. Jesus, I thought, does he know how cliché that is? What was I doing here anyway? It wasn't like I was going to get off tonight, even though I confess to a certain fondness for pegging whiny straight guys with Issues.

It was one of those complicated situations that happen when your friends all know that you're ...what... a completely wholehearted and remorseless, if fiercely ethical, slut? I like to think of myself as In Service To the Cause, sort of an unpaid sexual surrogate, and in many cases it has put me into scenes that were beautiful and rewarding.

This was not one of them.

Among other things, I do some counseling and teaching on the subject of open relationships and other aspects of ethical slut-hood. Usually that's in the context of a class or a casual workshop at some nudist event, but occasionally it gets a lot more personal. Like tonight, when my job was to show this particular husband of a friend of mine that he could manage to entertain himself while his wife is out on a hot date.

One thing I've noticed that never fails: when a couple starts talking about polyamory and open relationships, there's generally one partner who wants it and one who's pretty ambivalent. The initiator generally becomes convinced that he or she (he, in this case) is missing out on whole worlds of pussy and/or dick now that monogamy is the rule, and starts talking about opening the relationship. And so far I've noticed that in 100% of the cases the partner who pushed for it isn't the partner who gets laid first. It's like the gods' little joke on people who start thinking their spouses aren't good enough for them...

Case in point. Dave was suddenly all about open relationships when he met some 23 year old Korean chick from California on line, and started to actually believe that he could get her to come to the Midwest and show him some kinky Asian 'tang, despite the fact that he's 37, paunchy and a hypochondriac, among other things.

Damn right she doesn't understand you, I thought, stroking his rather small cock and slinging one of his legs up over my shoulder so I could go deeper into his ass. And why should she? What's a sweet-tempered, divinely patient, vanilla girl like Sarah doing with a self-absorbed, kinky little bastard like you anyway? I went for three fingers, maybe a little too quickly, and he yowled and moaned, but then his rhythm settled down and I could tell he'd adjusted just fine. This wasn't the first time he'd done this...

Sarah had of course consented to experimenting with an open relationship, because she's basically a saint and adores Dave, gods know why. So if this was what would make him happy, well of course she'd let him pursue his on-line fetish for hot young Asian girls. I suspect her view of him is so colored by love that she might actually have believed he could get one.

But I wasn't at all surprised when after a month or two of the "experiment" she met a really nice guy who was more than willing to take advantage of the freedom Dave's preoccupation had given Sarah. A great guy, and much closer to what Sarah deserved, so I was willing to go the extra mile for a friend to make sure that there wasn't a drama when she got home from her date, which I hoped would turn into a nice long relationship with benefits. Sarah deserved it.

The extra mile. Or maybe the extra ten inches. It wasn't totally random that Sarah had called upon me here -- she knows I have certain tastes that Dave shares, and that she's not particularly into. As a "good, giving and game" wife, she had of course been willing to use the various toys Dave bought, giving him a good rough ride on the back roads on a regular basis during their marriage, but there's a difference between ass-fucking your husband because he begs and pouts for it, and ass-fucking a guy because you just dig the hell out of that particular activity. The latter was closer to my profile, and Sarah knew it. So I, as a long-time friend of both of them, got to be Distraction Girl tonight.

He was getting too close, and we had a lot more time to kill. I took my hand off his cock and he moaned petulantly. "Oh no, baby," I whispered. "I have a lot more in mind for you; you're not getting off that easily..." Nice touch, that pun, I thought to myself. The judges hold up an 8.1. I needed to think for a minute, so I pulled my fingers away from him too and he writhed in frustration. I had tied his hands together over his head and looped the rope over the headboard -- he couldn't resist much that way but there was plenty of flexibility for me to position him different ways. I stood up and climbed onto his face, grabbing the riding crop on my way up.

"Taste me. Lick me. Please me right now and maybe I'll get back to that. Did you like that, then, me all up inside you fucking you?" He moaned something like an oh yeah. "Oh wait a minute -- that's not what we say..." I snapped. "What do we say?" I slapped the riding crop against his cock a couple of times just to make the point.

"Yes, My Lady," he mumbled. "I liked that, My Lady. Oh please, more..."

"You're not in any position (I snorted again internally at the pun -- I was sorta On tonight; too bad there was no one to appreciate it...) to ask for anything right now, or haven't you noticed?"

I changed my tone. I wasn't really here as a Domme, just as a playmate, and he hadn't said that being totally abused was in his repertoire. It was just so hard not to... I cooed at him, "C'mon, baby, I'm so hot now, fucking you like that, I neeeeeed your tongue on me. O please..." I teased him with my dripping pussy, drawing the tips of the hairs over his chin, making him strain his neck upward to reach for it. How like an upturned box turtle he was at this moment, I thought, and then chided myself. That was not the sort of image that was going to get me any closer to getting off.

I settled down onto his tongue. To his credit, he had some skills, starting with little circles around my clit and then diving down occasionally to slick his lips over my labia, shoving his tongue inside me gradually. Not too fast, not too slow, very nice. When I moaned and pressed down harder onto his face it was genuine. Harrison Ford, Harrison Ford, Harrison Ford ponyfucking me with a handful of my hair for reins... still in his dirty leathers and fedora, fresh from pulling a giant emerald out of some sacred idol... I was getting close. Now I wanted some energy in it. I unlooped the rope that tied his hands and got up so he could lower his still-bound wrists in front of him, then turned around and settled down onto his mouth again. Mmm... warm and wet, very nice. His tongue started in immediately, taking me back up. I wasn't happy with the idea that his current view was my blindingly white ass, about which I'm a bit self-conscious, so I told him to close his eyes.

"Stroke your cock for me, let me see it. Close your eyes and go into your tongue and your cock. Get me off, baby. Do you want me to come on your face?"

He mumbled again, and I tapped his cock with the riding crop. He writhed and yelped. "I didn't hear you," I said. Yes My Lady, oh I would love that, blah blah blah. I tapped him again for good measure. "Better, baby. (oh yeah, not supposed to be too mean...) You know how HOT it makes me when you talk to me like that..."

"Stroke your cock for me, pet. Lemme see you getting yourself off. But DON'T come. I mean it." He obediently slid his two bound hands up and down, negotiating awkwardly with the ropes. A nice image, his slick and dripping cock head, plum-colored, disappearing and reappearing out of his fist... I bent over and breathed on the head, let my mouth get in the way of his hands for a second, and his hips lurched up toward my face. He moaned and his tongue lost its rhythm. "Don't stop," I barked at him. "Suck me. Get me off. Make me come all over your face."

David Bowie, David Bowie, David Bowie... and Grace Jones doing him from behind while he bangs me. She's wearing tribal body paint and he's in that outfit from Labyrinth... I was just getting near the edge when he moaned decisively and shot his wad, unauthorized, straight up into my hair. Dammit. So much for me getting off.

The apologies started immediately. Sorry My Lady, o sorry... Time to be graceful - - and creative. It's mostly psychology anyway, and one thing I've noticed is that guys with small dicks seem to be able to get hard again more quickly than the guys with the really impressive gators. No baby, I cooed. No no don't worry, I can show us both a really good time, just wait and see... I have an idea you'll love... I wonder what it is, I thought as I went into the bathroom to grab a cool wet washcloth. It's an old hooker trick: a cool washcloth to the cock and balls can reset the button a lot faster.

I went back in and draped the cloth onto him. After his initial gasp of shock, he sighed with relief as the heat left his package. I got a second cloth to wipe some of the sweat off his face and chest, but I didn't untie him. He'd been such a total geek all evening and I'd been so good and tolerant, and I was going to get something out of this. Or at least I was going to try.