Ellen's Long Weeend

How we met Ellen was weird. There was nothing planned, nothing foreseen. We were at the Seven Seas for a night out, Simon and me, and we were having a good time. We had the halibut and fries, and a bottle of medium expensive red wine. Simon eventually had most of that, but over a couple of hours, so he was OK to drive. I just had a glass, but I'm never designated driver because I hate driving at night. OK, unless Simon is really lit, which he doesn't do much anymore.

We were giggly and loud, looking forward to some aerobic sex later, when she came over, bringing her glass and her bottle of white with her.

"Hi guys!" She says. "Can I ask you something? Am I interrupting?"

Simon scopes her, and I can hear his cogs clicking. Nice bod. Perfect tits. Twenty-eight maybe. Cute face. We'd noticed her sitting alone when we came in, I know he had already listed her charms automatically, so he didn't need any more than a second to reply: "Hey, sure. Have a seat. Ask away."

"Ellen." She said.

"Simon. This is Jenny."

She pours herself some wine. The bottle is almost empty, and you could tell she was loaded. Not falling-down loaded (which she got later) but maybe nice and giggly and slurry.

"See," She bit her lip."I came over for the weekend but I didn't realise how hard it was going to be to get a room --

Simon's eyebrows went up."On Victoria weekend? On Salt Spring Island?"

"Right. I just didn't think. Even the B&B's are full. So I wondered if you guys might know of anyone who might rent me a room for the night. I'm not going to make the last ferry back. Anyway, I really want to stay the weekend if I can."

Simon pursed his lips, and he and I went over the couple of people we knew who occasionally did the unofficial B&B thing, but we knew they were all taken. She sits there, chugging wine fast, and I'm thinking, "Hey, whoa, lady!"

Then Simon and I look at each other. I shrug. I know what's on his mind. She's gorgeous. Simon really likes older women.

See, Simon and I do some kinky stuff, nothing really bad like pain and shit and dirty stuff, but we'd done a threesome with one of my girlfriends, and quite liked that. Simon has terrific stamina, and I kind of got a bit of a turn-on thinking how I might like to watch him fuck her.

So Simon says, "We could do it. We sometimes take in people. We could do the weekend."

Her face lights up. "Really? I can't tell you how much I appreciate that. How much?"

Simon says, "The usual is one fifty a night, but if you want supper as well, we'd charge one seventy and throw in some kind of lunch."

"OK, I'll go for the full-meal deal."

"Sure."

So we shake on that, and there's some chit-chat. She teaches High School, fresh out of training college, in her first job, Burnaby somewhere. She's bouncing out of a bad relationship, and part of the reason for leaving town was to avoid her ex, who she said was stalking her.

"I couldn't bring my car, because I hadn't booked."

"If you want to come into town tomorrow, we can throw in transport," Simon says. His voice is slowing and getting kind of throaty. He always gets like that when he's getting a hard on.

She's through the wine now and on a trip to the ladies, she must have ordered brandy all round. If we'd known, we'd have refused, but she just ordered them at the bar. Simon actually didn't touch his, and I only drank half mine, just to be polite. Ellen drank hers, then finished ours.

I was beginning to get anxious about her. She was getting to look sleepy and even sick.

"Ellen," I ask, "did you eat something?"

No. She just looked owlishly at me and I knew we had to get her home. She was still absorbing the booze. We had to get her home before she passed out. I could see Simon was PO'd because she was not going to be an exciting lay. At least not that night.

Somehow, we pretty much carry her out to the car and pour her into the back seat. The waiter gives us her backpack. I find her wallet inside and pay her check plus fifteen per. The bill shows she had started with a double vodka before the wine.

Simon gets me to get in back with her.

"If she throws up, use the old sweater back there. Keep it off the seat. And hold her head sideways so she doesn't breathe it back in."

So I'm sitting in the back with Ellen, who is lying with her head in my lap, out of it completely.

She moans a bit so I bring up the old sweater, which has been used to wipe windows, engine blocks, trunk lids, you name it. My bad. Now she really threw. I got most of it in the sweater, but some got on my jeans.

Simon was more worried about the seat."You never get that fucking smell out."

Once we got home, I help Simon lift her out of the car, and he carries her. She is totally limp. She looks small and vulnerable, and Simon makes her look even smaller, more vulnerable, holding her head up, and her arms tucked into his body. He could be carrying a cat, for all the effort he needs. I scoot ahead and open doors. We put her on the bed in the spare room, and Simon says, "Get a towel. She's pissed herself."

So now I'm scared and wonder if we should call an ambulance. She actually moves a bit and mumbles, "No. I'm OK. I'm OK."

Simon shrugs. We put a folded towel under her. The crotch of her jeans is wet.

That night sex was fan-fucking-tastic. Simon came twice and me four times, and I knew he had been fantasising Ellen, naked, noisy and eager. I did.

"You were thinking about her, weren't you, Simie?"

"And you?"

"Yes."

Then it struck me. It wasn't so much the pretty ordinary stuff we'd both been thinking in the Seven Seas, like her perfect tits and her kick-ass ass. It was the wet in her crotch and the smell of piss. I couldn't believe how much the piss smell turned me on.

I asked, "Simon. What happens when you smell that—"

"Her pissy jeans?"

"Yes."

"I get a hard on."

"Me too."

We both laughed at that.

Then Simon sat up and pulled on his pants. "I have to undress her," he says.

I don't say anything. I know we are both thinking the same thing. I pull my pants on too.

In the light of the hallway, we look at her, sprawled face down on the bed, snoring. There's some drool on the towel. Simon sits on the bed and strokes her thigh. "Ellen, honey? You awake?"

Nothing.

"We can't leave her like this," Simon says, rolling her part way towards him, undoing her shirt buttons and her jeans. He works quickly, removing her jeans and panties in one go, then the shirt and the bra. She is naked.

I can see Simon is majorly excited. He is lifting her leg up, looking at her sex.

"Simon! You can't—"

He shakes his head. "I know. It's just so nice to look at her like this."

I pick up her clothes and breathe in deeply. The smell excites me.

We leave her then and I go downstairs to put her stuff in a pail of cold water with bleach.

It's six thirty am. The sun is up. It is going to be a beautiful day. Then I hear sobbing.

I sit up and see Ellen, sort of crouched in the doorway of our bedroom, with the towel round her waist. She's crying.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Please. No!"

"Hey Ellen!" I say, sitting up and pulling on a T-shirt. I shake Simon but he's dead to the world.

"How did I get here? Who are you? What happened to my clothes? What the fuck is going on?"

"Ellen—"

I kind of explain what had happened. She had blacked out the whole thing in the restaurant. When I told her about puking in the car and wetting herself, she put her face in her hands and ran out of the room. I could see the vomit starting to spurt from her mouth, and ran after her. She didn't make it. There was a splash of puke on the floor and up the door-post of the bathroom. I help her up and lead her to the bath.

"Wash," I said, and turned on some water, adjusted the temperature.

Actually, it wasn't so bad. We had never gotten around to carpeting the upstairs. When I'd cleaned that mess, I went in to find her asleep in the bath.

I used the spray to wash her off. She'd pretty much gotten it all over her front, in her hair too. I even washed her hair without her waking up. Her bladder emptied unconsciously. She snored.

Somehow, I get her out of the bath and help her back to bed. I get a clean towel to put under her. Now she wakes up a bit and starts to cry. I really want to get back to bed, so I'm a bit ticked. I sigh.

"Honey—"

"Oh God, let me die right now!"

I bring her my bath robe and cover her. She is majorly hung over. I give her my regular treatment. Tepid water, tylenols, cold cloths. She calms down a bit. Then goes back to sleep.

Simon slept through the whole thing.

My head hits the pillow and I'm toast.

When I wake up again, around eight-thirty, Simon is up, in shorts and a tee. I go with him to look at her. The bathrobe has ridden up, revealing her very pretty ass. She is still dead. We decide to leave her for a bit.

Simon and I get on with our morning. We have our coffee our favourite way for beautiful summer mornings, sitting on a pair of old Adirondack chairs on the front porch, watching the sun starting to creep across the yard.

"We should get a dog," I say. "A dog would be fun."

"Yeah, maybe," Simon says. He's a bit pet-shy since our cat Jazz got carried off by a cougar three months ago. "I guess a cougar would think twice about taking on a Doberman."

"Oh, no! Not a Doberman. Angie and Dick have that cute Collie from the SPCA."

"Yeah. A Collie would be OK."

By the time we go back to her room, she's curled up on her side, staring at the wall, wiping her eyes. She's been crying. At the sound of us coming in, she turns, protectively smoothing the back of the bath robe to cover the maximum.

Simon just holds out his hand.

She hesitates, then lets him help her to stand up.

He leads her by the hand to the bathroom and uses a warm wash cloth to wipe her face gently.

She says, "I need to pee."

Simon caresses the back of her neck gently. "We'll be around if you need us."

She leaves the door ajar as she sits on the pot. Then we hear her sprinkling her hands. She doesn't seem surprised when she comes out and sees the two of us, waiting for her on the landing. Simon towers over her and squeezes her neck like he owns her. She seems to scrunch up her shoulders, expressing pleasure at his touch. She laughs a bit, as if acknowledging her own stupidity.

Simon says, "You're going to be fine. You know that?"

There's quite a pause before she whispers: "Yes."

It's like Simon is making love to her. I can sense that her situation is beginning to arouse her. The bath robe is thin. A large, powerful man is stroking her neck, talking softly to her. The robe is open at the front and I can see her nipples are hard. He knows, then I know, then she too knows, that she is done. She sniffs, giggles nervously.

Simon doesn't say anything, just stands there massaging her neck gently. She shrugs off the robe and stands nude in front of us.

"Head hurt?" Simon asks.

"It's not bad."

She's walking back to the bedroom, our bedroom, hand in hand with Simon. I follow. Simon really can't wait. But he's very gentle. He gets her to lie down on the bed. Puts a towel under her. Begins to caress her. I wonder if maybe she thinks she owes him something for all the puke and piss.

At first she seems quite rigid, scared. She closes her eyes and makes a little sound in her throat. She opens her legs, lets Simon run his hands up and down her inner thighs. He doesn't hurry. He strokes her face, then her breasts, but not touching her nipples right away. He knows that's the way I like it.

When he opens her, and runs his finger gently up between her labias, which are really moist, her eyes open suddenly. She arches her back, stares down at Simon's big hand, moving unhurriedly between her legs. She puts her hands on her breasts and strokes them. Simon drops his shorts. I pass him a condom. He crouches over her. Her eyes open like saucers and she lets him spread her thighs really wide. They both come in much less than a minute. I'm crazy with lust myself, already lying on the king-size beside them, frigging myself. Then I come. Simon rolls off her and she begins to cry softly. Simon rolls her into his body protectively, strokes her, calms her. He kisses her gently on the mouth, but lets her drift. She dozes again. I do too.

Then I wake and Simon is on his back. She is on him, spread wide, moving urgently, rhythmically. Simon has his hand on her buttock and seems to be trying to control her. I'm lying beside Simon and I make eye contact with her, or try to. She is just elsewhere.

"Shhh. Slow, baby! Slow!" He chants.

I sit up and then kneel behind her. Her slime is all over Simon's groin. There's a creamy ring where his cock enters her. I place one hand on her breast, with its hard nipple, and then I slip a finger into her ass. She explodes.

Then I get Simon fucking me while Ellen kisses my breasts. Simon comes once more, barecock inside me. I imagine his jizz flowing like glue over my egg pearls. I imagine one of the pearls dividing. I wonder if I'm conceiving Simon's baby.

Part of me is scared and part of me is turned on.

Our one luxury is our hot tub. Simon fires it up and we all get in. There's not much talk. Simon is fascinated by Ellen's body. I'm OK with that because that's Simon. I'm younger than her anyway. Ellen is the novelty. I'm the keeper.

Ellen is giggly as Simon paws her, tries to kiss her nipples. He gets the two of us to kneel in the middle, kissing, while he plays with us. I feel his finger entering my ass, and as I look into her eyes, I know that he is doing the same to her. This is a huge turn-on for me. For us.

After that, Simon and I put on our shorts and shirts. Ellen's clothes are fresh and dry, but Simon holds them up out of her reach as she laughs and tries to take them. He scoops her into his body, then throws me the clothes.

"Don't I get to dress?"

"I'll tell you when." Mikes free hand comes round to stop her wriggling. Her legs are flexed at the knee, her arms pressed against his chest. She is angry. She leans away from him, slaps him. "Fuck you!" she spits.

I watch this. Simon seems amused. He controls her easily, much as he would an eager puppy. He moves to the sofa and sits, manoeuvering her body across his knee. One leg comes to pinion her legs against the other. He has a bunch of her hair in his hand, and is roughly using it to force her head down. Her buttocks buck impotently, she coughs out profanities. With each thrust of her pelvis, Simon slaps her buttock. Not hard. Just enough to smart. A vivid red covers the entire buttock. She is weeping now, pleading. She struggles for a short while, then she just goes limp, her body jerks with sobs. Her voice comes up indistinctly: "Please!"

Simon ignores her plea. He leans down to kiss her, right in the middle of her buttock. "You need some cream on that owie," he says.

I had already fetched it from the bathroom. Aloe vera. I squeeze some in the middle of the red, and gently spread it. "Shh. Hold still, Honey. I know this hurts a bit."

She hisses with the pain.

Then Simon tightens his grip on her hair and forces her head down further, to underline the complete control he has over her body.

"Oww! Please!" Ellen whines.

Simon is able to keep his hold steady and even bend down to kiss her buttock again.

"Please?"

Simon still says nothing. His hand is caressing her undamaged buttock, and when her struggling opens her thighs, he quickly places his hand in there, thumb on her pucker, fingers in her pussy.

I feel a throb in my nipples. I can feel my wet through my panties.

She gasps. Her movements become less jerky, more writhing. "Please." She moans.

Simon now has her fixed firmly between her hair and her sex. He has complete control.

I drop my pants and come to kneel close, where I can smell her excitement, watch her sliming on Simon's pant leg.

I kiss her, I kiss Simon's hand, everything I can reach. I taste the salt and the musk of her, on her skin, on Simon's hand.

Simon now relaxes the leg he had holding her in place. Her legs begin to move in breast stroke fashion. She no longer closes them completely. His hand is free to caress her, enter her, explore her.

"Good girl!" he says.

She stops struggling. He releases her hair, holding her now with just a hand between her legs, and the other coming under her arching body to caress her breasts, to allow her to nuzzle his fingers. She is moaning incoherently. She starts to shudder.

Simon realises she is about to come, and turns her over, now just gently holding her, kissing her on the face and neck. "Yes, my sweet. My girl. Good girl!"

Her legs come up. They spread. Simon bends down to nuzzle her. His hand lifts up her pelvis, his lips caress her labias. When she comes, her body slows its movements, she whimpers, gives a short squeal. Simon lets her jerk her pussy hard on his lips. There is a wet, raspberry sound at the moment of climax. She stills.

Simon gently lifts her off his lap and places her on the sofa, where she curls up and begins to sob, quite softly.

Simon strokes her very lightly, down the whole length of her flank. He says, "Jenny? Remember that thing—?"

Yes. I remember. That thing we used with Amber when we were a threesome. I fetch it.

Simon positions it to cover her sex, fixes the velcro patches. It's an undergarment made of diaper cloth, which is basically a padded sling that goes between the legs. We had bought a half dozen of them on the internet. Simon used to like to put one on me.

Ellen sits up to look at herself. She feels the thickness of the pad at the front.

Simon sits beside her on the sofa, caresses her back, grasps her jaw in his fingers and turns her face to kiss her.

He says, "From now to Monday night, when you get the ferry back to Vancouver, you are our property completely. Completely. Understand?

Ellen nods.

"And the diaper -- we're the only ones, Jenny and me, who can take it off. You express your needs to one of us, and we will care for you, in every way you can possibly need. OK?"

She nods again.

Simon turns to me. "Jen? This little girl needs to be set to work. Don't you have dishes, laundry, she can do?"

That weekend was a blur of erotic adventure. Ellen was docile in the chores I gave her. When she came and said to me she needed to go to the bathroom, I dropped her diaper and sent her outside, to relieve herself. The second time she asked, I just nodded my head at the door. After that, once she had asked nicely, she was allowed to take her own diaper off and go out by herself. Before we let her into the hot tub, she had to empty her bladder, and wash between her legs with the garden hose.

That night, I enjoyed giving her a bath, then laying her on the bed, to dry her carefully, powder her, put baby oil around her vagina, and aloe vera on her bum.

All this excited her, but I didn't let her play with herself. She needed to keep all that lust intact for later, on the king bed with Simon and me.

Later, after our play, when we all needed to go to sleep, Simon fixed one of those diaper things on her and took her back to the spare room.

In the mornings Simon always wakes with a piss hard. He has this habit of kneeling in the bath to take his first piss of the day. That second morning, the Sunday, He walked naked through to the bathroom, to do his usual thing.

Usually after he pees, the erection goes down quickly, so when he came out of the bathroom, I could see him through the doorway of our room, his cock hanging down his thigh. Then he went to the spare room and just stood there in the doorway. Ellen was awake, and was watching it slowly rise to a full erection.

With two rapid strides, Simon was at her bedside; he roughly tugged the velcro apart, and mounted her. Her hands came up in token resistance, she twisted away, closed her legs, placed her hands between her legs protectively. Simon brushed these defenses aside. He rammed into her, making her cry out.