Please

Those of you who've read my posts know that I'm not a fan of second-person voice stories - those that say "you did this, and you said this," sort of thing. However, this one just seems to have demanded that, since it's how I think of it, and it's how it happened.

Before I go there, I should say that some months ago, I got a very complimentary email from a mystery person who said he or she really enjoyed a particular story of mine. I was flattered, naturally, and returned the email (it was nondescript - a real mix of numbers and letters at a common free email site), and that started a correspondence, in which it turned out that the mystery sender was a she, and a very sexy one at that as well. Now, I know that it could have been a sweet transvestite from Transsexual Transylvania behind it, but it really seemed genuine, and I decided not to doubt but to go with the flow.

To make a couple of months' worth of correspondence much shorter, it turned out that she had a husband who was encouraging her to experiment sexually with his approval, and that she had almost decided to go along with his kink, or so she considered it at the time. I didn't encourage or discourage that, but was interested in her point of view on the whole thing, since I think that's the hardest for a male write to understand, thus capture in writing. Much of our back and forth was mundane, and it was all email - we exchanged first names, but I never asked her last name, location, phone number, or other info. I did incidentally mention I had a conference in a particular large city coming up, so I might be too busy for a week or so to be conversing, so not to worry if I was silent for a bit.

But I was curious. Along the way I asked her about her own fantasies, and bit by bit she became more explicit. One day, when I'd asked her what in a man she looked for, she came back, saying, "Now my thoughts of my ideal man in the bedroom. He is romantic as in doing little things like flowers, candles, opening doors, soft music, openly showing his affection for me, never in a rush to the bedroom. He is confident knowing what would please me. Experimental in seeing what my limits are, asking me to do things that nobody would believe I would do. A take control type of guy. One who would insist I try his latest fantasy, not taking no for an answer. He can tell no matter what I say if I really did enjoy his latest request. He loves to tease me, making me want more, physically and verbally. Mmmm, this has me imagining and I will be going to work with wet panties. lol I'll be thinking and adding more, my naughty man. This is arousing."

I was just about to go back to her and say just how arousing that in itself was to me, when I saw another email from an address somewhat similarly indecipherable as hers, but related by a couple of digits. I opened it, expecting spam, but it was from her husband, Larry, who said he'd secretly hacked into her email and that he'd enjoyed reading our exchanges. He added that the city my conference was in was close enough to where they lived, and suggested a meeting.

Fascinated to meet my mystery correspondent, leery about meeting her husband, and interested to know more about just how they were handling his erotic fantasies about her, I agreed, and he proposed a tryst, with her not knowing who was there, but that he'd make her available, blindfolded. He said he'd be present as well although he didn't expect to do more than observe, and if things worked out as he hoped, it would be great erotic fun for all three of us.

I'm divorced and enjoying the single life and saw few down sides to what he proposed. I'd never asked about her physical characteristics, so didn't know if she was blonde, brunette, tall, short, over or under weight, or anything else - her language and his did sound white middle class American in the emails, but even that was a guess. I was intrigued, and Larry and I further plotted.

The assigned week came, and I arrived, conference over and done with, my flight back booked for the next day. Larry had them in a suite in a luxury hotel, treating her to a fantasy weekend, he said, and getting her agreement to go along with "anything." He said, and she later corroborated, that she thought it was a romantic thing for him to do, but that all his talk about someone else being involved was just pillow talk. She was enjoying the getaway, though, and had selected what she thought were sexy clothes for the weekend - lingerie and cocktail dress and bikini, not knowing just what to expect.

I arrived at the assigned time, and met Larry in the bar as he'd instructed. "Very casual," he'd said, so I was in nice shorts, polo shirt, sandals - it was summer, and in that city I could have gone to a nice restaurant or a dive in that outfit without the clothes being noticed. Good thinking about meeting in the bar, I figured, in case either of us wanted to back out at first sight of or conversation with the other. He had a bourbon on the bar, and I signaled for one of the same. We shook hands and he said, very much under his breath, "Thanks for coming - you're going to be just right!" (whatever that meant to him). Served and introduced, I now knew he was pretty average in looks, height and weight, clean-cut, in casual clothes. He was nervous, but after a couple of minutes, we had both relaxed and were fine with each other.

"Shall we?" he said, rising and tossing a twenty on the bar to cover the drinks. "I left her just before you arrived, so she's probably wondering if I've forgotten or been mugged or something."

"Sure," I agreed. Hell, I didn't come to drink in the bar with him after all. I was antsy as well, but my worries about this being a setup or his going high and right on me had been assuaged. I wondered how he thought things would go in the room, but he seemed not to be concerned about that, so I just followed, and we exchanged small talk in the elevator, as if just two guys on a business trip at the end of a day.

Down a hallway, he retrieved his key card, swiped it, and we entered the room.

He led me through the suite living room space and then I saw you, in the bedroom, blindfolded, with your wrists tied with ribbons to the headboard, and covered from throat to toe with a white sheet. I couldn't make out much about you, except that you were indeed Caucasian and brunette, and that the figure under the sheet seemed nicely curvy. My brain just shifted, and suddenly this wasn't about you and Larry, but just about you, and just between us, as far as I was concerned.

You looked lovely. Make that you look lovely as I relive the day - I can't think of this without shifting into the present in my mind, and without interjecting what you've told me since that you were thinking, feeling.

You are a bit propped up by several pillows behind your head and shoulders, and the wrist ribbons seemed, if not loose, more for show than to bind you against your will. Your mouth is closed, but I can see the sheet rising and falling, reflecting your breathing as heavier than just relaxed. I reflect that you've been this way for maybe a half hour, since Larry's getting to the bar plus our meeting time there would result in something like that. I'm that much more ready to get this show on the road, if only to break the monotony for you.

Meanwhile, you feel curious, a bit embarrassed at your vulnerability and questioning this behavior, which is not usual for Larry, although he'd said this kind of thing might happen. Following his lead, you haven't said a word either, although you could. You're just wondering where this is going, and you know that whatever is going on, it's sexual, and you're feeling turned on a bit. He'd suggested showers after returning to the room in the late afternoon, and he'd done his first, being quicker. You welcomed the idea since it had been a bit of a long, warm day of strolling and seeing sights, and since you expected dinner to come next in this mysterious agenda of his.

Larry met you coming out of the shower, casting aside your towel. Fresh-scrubbed and naked, you were taken you by the hand, led to the bed, and blindfolded. He lay you down, raised your arms, tied your wrists as you giggled a bit, nervously at the strange, helpless feeling. He took care to arrange the pillows, your hair, attending to your comfort, covering you at last with that sheet. As he finished, he whispered, "This is for you. I'll be back. Enjoy."

The room was silent, and time passed. You have no idea if Larry is even still there, even though it sounded like he was leaving. And that was some time ago. At least you're comfortable - tied up, yes, but not stretched, and really, the ties seem loose enough that if you really struggle, they'll give. Then, you hear the knock, and the door faintly open, then close again. You wonder if Larry has finally left, or has just come back. Low, muffled voices reveal that he's there, and that you and Larry aren't the only ones in the room. Then things are silent again.

Unbeknownst to you, I have followed Larry into the bedroom and stand, just watching you, seeing you for the first time, noting the swell of your breasts under the sheet, watching the curves that the sheet forms as it outlines your legs up to your hips, the swell of your mons, your ribcage, your arms mostly covered, but revealing the wrists tied gently to the bed. I get to take my time, watching you, seeing you just breathing for a bit. I am mesmerized by the loveliness of you, by your vulnerability, knowing that you've acquiesced to this, knowing that you don't even quite know what you've agreed to, agreed to by not resisting, agreed to through trusting Larry. You are his gift to me, and I am his gift to you. I can't quite decide which gift is the greater, and decide to try to make you wonder which it is as well.

I stand at the foot of the bed, my cock growing toward half mast in my boxer briefs. I bend over you and tug down the sheet, just a bit. You can't suppress a small gasp. It could be Larry there, and you only imagined another person - that could have been the radio for a moment, the voices. Or it could be a stranger, or Larry still there with a stranger as well. Or even him with more than one other, but that's unlikely, and you somehow know. Something in you knows that there are three of us - Larry, and you, and this strange new presence. Maybe it's someone you both know, maybe someone you'd mentioned favorably that Larry invited. You only know someone has tugged the sheet, that your shoulders are now bared, and you feel your breasts, sensitive, reacting to the smooth sheet, which for a moment felt rough, rough enough to drag so lightly over your nipples. The sheet is down only to your collar bones, not yet revealing anything, really. Then silence again. For moments - how long, you're not sure. The stillness makes you even more agitated, wanting something, anything, to . . . just . . . happen.

You're surprised again when you feel something touch the tip of your right breast, just a touch, through the sheet, and you jerk in response, then realize it's a hand as it covers your breast and tenderly traces its outlines with fingers, hefting it, circling, learning its contours, yet unseen. Your whole body tingles in response, and you wonder for a moment, could it be a woman? How could a man know just how firmly to touch, just when your nipple wanted its compression? You realize it doesn't matter as much as you'd have thought just an hour before, and that the pleasure it's bringing makes it not matter.

Without intending to, I utter a "mmmmm" quietly, drinking in the beauty of your form, and immediately you hear and know it's not a woman. Yet, that wasn't Larry's voice, and the sudden knowledge hits you that it's not just a ruse, it's real, and it's a man, and you're helpless, yet eager. You shiver, head to toe.

"Larry?" you ask into the silence, not quite knowing what you're asking for.

"I said, enjoy," Larry answers from behind me. He's taken a seat, and I turn to see him, in a chair, and he's undressed, sitting, naked, his hand is in his lap. I can't see just what's going on there, but I figure I know, and I'm thinking, different strokes, or something like that. He motions to me to undress as well, and I do, facing him. Stepping out of my sandals and shucking off my shirt, I undo my shorts and let them and the unds drop, stepping clear, my cock released from its confines and swaying. He takes note of it, then uncovers his own showing me purposefully, and we take a guy moment to check and compare. His dick is hard enough to stand on its own, as he nods - satisfaction? permission? Whatever, it's not a host's denial, and I turn my attention back to you.

Another gentle pull on the sheet, and your breasts are exposed at last, their nipples harder than the warm room air would cause. Memorizing, I see their coloring, the way they sit on the breasts, the way the breasts' weight spreads them, making me wonder yet again at the amazing things that are women's breasts, so different in their appearances, whether lying across the ribs, as yours are now, or encased in those engineering marvel bras that practically offer them on platters to men's eyes, to the way they hang loose when you're on top leaning forward, the way they wash back and forth in time with the thrusts from below. Other mammals demonstrate that globular breasts such as humans have are absolutely unnecessary from a nursing point of view - no, human breasts have evolved as a sexual attractant, and men have evolved to be so attracted - and it's a perfect scheme, surely.

And yours are wondrous. Having only seen them in a single emailed photo that you shared, I am fascinated by how lovely they are, and I must take my time to bend over you, letting my tongue barely touch the tip of one, the right one, eliciting another jerk from you. I imagine the breast lifts itself up in hopes of more, and I oblige, shifting to the left one, and I am rewarded with a soft gasp from you. Hungry, I return to the right nipple and breathe onto it, letting it sense my closeness, then suck it as gently as I can, into my lips, just barely, just teasing. And this time there is no doubt as you thrust it upwards to me, and I take more of it, and more firmly, but still being gentle - energetic can come later (and I am planning on it), but for now, just a tease, just a feather touch except with lips. Finally I let my teeth touch, not biting, just stating their presence, as I take more and more, still slowly, until my mouth is wide open and full of your softness. I want to ravage you, to thrust into you, to take you - but if this is to be the only time we are together, I want not to miss anything, and so I suppress my drives and graze rather than gorge . . . for now.

Then I pulled away, wondering if the left breast somehow feels neglected. Starting the similar process on it, I caress the right with my hand, feeling its slickness from my mouth, softly exploring its nipple with my fingers as my mouth repeats its tasting on the left. Pausing for a moment, I whisper, "should I continue?" and your first words to me reply, breathlessly,

"Please."

And so continue I do. With one sudden yank, I sweep the sheet off your body. The suddenness of it, I hope, would surprise you, after the gentle treatment of your breasts. I like the idea of your not knowing what was coming next, of not being able to control. I know that if I sense your real objection to anything, I will back off right away, but I also know that you don't know where I'm going, how far in what direction I will push you - you still can't know who this is controlling you, except that it isn't Larry.

I step back to see the rest of you, and take a moment to register the contours, the gentle swell of your curves, from thighs and hips to belly and back across navel to your lovely womanhood, now bared to me. I turn and see Larry still seated, watching me watching you. He nods his assent that I should continue as well, or so I interpret - we don't speak, we're just co-conspirators. He is openly stroking himself now, and it looks like he is stimulated by what he is seeing. His prick glistens in the dim light - I notice a small bottle, likely some sort of oil, on the table next to him. He appears to be just as you had described at one time - cut, not particularly impressive in length or girth, but not, I guess, too small to be quite adequate if appropriately applied. I smile to myself that I outsize him, if not by a huge amount, at least noticeably. You'd told me something of how large your various lovers' equipment had been, so I knew I was not as large as some had been. I was glad that from what you've said, you are not a "size queen," while seeing Larry confirmed that I had something a bit extra to offer, in size as well as in hardness - and, which you didn't know, in staying power. I see Larry look at my erection, which by now stands full and proud, having needed no stroking help thanks to your beauty and the offering you present to me, even unknowingly. Larry nods again, which I take to be his approval of my applying it to your benefit when the time comes.

Turning back to you and being in no rush, I know I have to taste your womanhood. Crawling up to you from the bottom of the bed, I lie on my stomach, raising your legs over my shoulders, and prepared to feast. First, I take that careful look again. Closely trimmed, not clean shaven, just the way I favor. For me, au natural is fine, clean-shaven is a bit of a denial of what nature had provided, and trimmed sends a message that the woman is aware of her sexual self, and that she takes pains to present herself attractively.

Focusing on the task at hand, I can see your chest and blindfolded face, and proceed to taste, explore, and test. From the first intrusion of my tongue in my back-to-gentle manner, your breathing is quicker, and I hear your lovely sighs of encouragement. I tease a bit, and dip a bit, nuzzling a bit, trying this and that to see what you seem to react to. Knowing you're on edge wondering, I want to establish that I'm on your side and one to be trusted. No wham bam guy, but someone you will want to give yourself to, whether you know me or not, of your own volition. Soon my tongue is being led by your responses to firm rotations around your bud, quickening steadily as you start to writhe and moan. Finally, uttering an "Ah . . AHHH!!" I sense you are coming, and ride through it with you, slowing after the peak to come back to earth, finishing with kisses of affection all along your now glistening sex.

Still between your legs, I grab a corner of the discarded sheet and wipe my face, which is wet with yours and my liquids. Then I rise in a push-up position and come close to you. I know you can feel me between your thighs, and I rest the shaft my erection on top of your pussy, not wanting to intrude unless invited. I rub my cock against you as I whisper, "May I?" I feel you know my meaning, and that if you agree, I will be fucking you in a moment.

"Larry?" you ask.

"Up to you, babe. I told you, enjoy, but it's up to you." You answer me, not Larry,

"Please."

Leaving your mask in place, I pull the easily unknotted ribbons binding your wrists, freeing your arms, which I wonder may be getting stiff from being bound like that. You immediately wrap your arms around my shoulders, and I take that as its own answer and lower my face to finally kiss you for the first time. You shift your face to the side, as if not wanting to share that level of intimacy, but I am not to be denied. Pursuing, I firmly take your face and pull it back to me, hold it for a moment - you really are lovely, and I want those lips as well as the rest of you. You know by your face being held there that you're going to be kissed now, and you don't resist this time. Still holding your face, I lower my mouth and find your lips again, nudging them apart with my tongue. I feel you yielding, your mouth opening and your tongue emerging to duel with mine. You're shaking slightly, but that diminishes as your kisses get more urgent. For moments, we just kiss, my arms now around you, my body pressed to yours but holding off my weight from you, my cock rubbing steadily at your door.