A Threeway Tie

Part 2 The Mistress contd.

I finish my beer, grip the empty bottle, close my eyes and imagine waking up with you; your arms around me; your warm, naked body pressed against my bare back, your breath on my neck. I lean back against you now, because I need to feel you there. I need that contact with you, not just soul but body too. I crave it because I can't have it – you daren't offer and I daren't ask. But we understand each other. You support my weight as you have always done and I sigh, relaxing into you, my jealousy forgotten because I know that no one else has the part of you that I have. But we won't go into that. It's hardly the time or place for scruples. I bear the marks of youth and age even as you do, but not in any way that makes us equal.

And so I lay my head back, onto your shoulder, and move against your hips with the music, because I can. Because I want to. Because I'm through playing cat and mouse; and it's not even that much of a surprise when I feel your arms come around, encircling me, the touch of your hands on my waist, then my stomach, then the back of my thigh. And you're dancing with me, holding me close, pressing yourself to me, because you can't not. Because it feels right. It's started.

There's a sudden sound, an explosion somewhere down at my feet like glass shattering, and then I'm not holding anything anymore except you, my hands over yours as they move over me. And I feel your face nuzzling my neck and then you're kissing and biting my shoulder, and it's all like a dream, and when I open my eyes I spot the woman over at the bar, still staring open-mouthed at you. At us. I wonder if she'll enjoy the look in my eyes when you make me come as your fingers find their way beneath the hem of my short dress and past the top of my stocking.

I twist round in your arms, interrupting you, because I have to check something. I need to check that you are for real this time. And as we're hanging there, millimetres apart, with that wall still standing in between us, you have such fuck-me eyes it makes me smile. Your eyes say, "Which way now?" There's only one way left.

We swing the sledgehammer together. Let it all come down. My army is tired of fighting this losing battle and I cannot rouse it to defend my honour any more. The word "stop" never enters my head. The pull in my chest is painful and I need release. I slowly close my eyes and in the blackness I finally feel what it feels like to have your mouth on mine; and it's so beautiful that I scarcely hear the world crumbling around us. There's something happening inside me, in my stomach and behind my ribs, like a great flock of a thousand tiny birds all lifting off at once. A Kodak moment. I want it to last forever. If it never ends, there can't be any consequences.

Your tongue meets mine somewhere in my mouth at the same moment as your searching, expert fingers find their mark and I come right there as we're kissing, and it's intense, and I know you can feel it, feel my body shake and tremble, but you don't stop. You won't let me go that easy. I break the kiss and pull away - I have to. I lean against the cigarette machine and the room spins as I try to justify everything. What just happened between us? You stand off, suddenly and uncharacteristically shy, sucking your fingers, asking if I'm ok, but I can see conceit beneath the concern. You're so proud of yourself. You arrogant bastard. I'm glaring at you because no words will come. "Fuck you!" is what I'm thinking. Only I don't say that. I say, "Fuck me" instead. I don't know which of us is more surprised.

So you do. You gently turn me around and push me down so I'm leaning on the top of the fag machine. You position yourself behind me, right against my arse, and you ease my legs apart and then I feel something cold and hard slide up the inside of my thighs. Oh god, I can hardly believe what you're going to do. I'm so wet. This is so wrong. But you know how bad I want it. I want you to feel what you've done to me. With your other hand you discreetly pull my knickers aside and then it's done. It slips in easily and it's indescribable, better than anything I've ever felt inside me before - because it's finally, magnificently you. Your body pressed close to shield this sordid scene from the heaving crowd, you take me bent over a vending machine in the back of a gay bar on a hot Friday night in August and I don't give a damn if anyone sees us. All I can think is how much I love you.

You move that bottle like it's part of you and I'm riding it and imagining it is. I have no idea where you are now, whether you're with me or someone else and I don't really care as long as you don't stop. Through the throng of people between us and the bar I can still see that woman, still see her looking, smiling slightly. She winks at me, and blows you a kiss, so I know she knows. Fine with me, I love entertaining. Then I understand what's really going on. You're not just fucking me; you're fucking her too! You're screwing me slow and deep, pressing me against the wooden cabinet, sliding that cold, hard cock, your other hand stroking my clit; and you're fucking her with your eyes. I just hope it feels as good for her as it does for me. I imagine how wet you must be, how horny all this attention must have got you. I wonder how you taste and the thought of licking you and fucking you and kissing you is the cum-shot that takes me up to the edge and shoves me over it.

I open my eyes as I start to lose it and the woman from the bar is suddenly, surreally there, leaning over the other side of the cigarette machine in front of me, and she takes my face in her hands and her mouth finds mine and smothers the sounds of the orgasm tearing through me. I feel her tongue slip between my lips and I'm coming so hard I'm afraid I'll black out. And as you strip the last shreds of dignity from my shell-shocked body, between you, I realise why she looked familiar before. She looks much more familiar this close up. I recognise her from the picture in your wallet. Her ring's the same as yours. I've finally met your wife. Everything stops.

What the hell is going on? I'm trying to make sense of it all. We go outside, you're holding my hand, and then I'm getting into a car...a taxi judging by the hairy man in the driver's seat. The door slams and she's sitting next to me, the woman at the bar, the wife. She puts her hand on my bare thigh and squeezes and the adrenaline surge almost makes me faint. I hear your voice in my ear and it startles me. "Shove up," you whisper, getting in, shutting the door. The car moves off. You introduce me to your other half.

"We've met," I murmur, trying not to let my brain run out of my ears. Whether she turns out to be your better or worse half remains to be seen. This is totally fucked up, and naturally I love it. We're going to your place – I've been there before, alone with you, quite a few times. Does she know that? Of course she does. She knows everything. It's a cosy little love triangle, has been all along. Except now it's not just in my head, and I'm not alone with my filthy imagination in the dingy toilets at work with one hand down my suit trousers and a bottle of poppers in the other. Now I'm in the back of a taxi, sandwiched between the two of you, and you each have a hand on me. I ask the driver if it's Christmas.

My heart is in my mouth as you open the front door and graciously usher me inside. In the kitchen, she opens a bottle of red and pours us all a glass. I drain mine in one and you refill it for me without a word, taking the empty vessel from me tenderly and returning it with a wolfish smile. You know just what I'm like. How long has this little operation been planned, sweetie? Your spouse puts on some music, and I settle myself on the worksurface by the kettle to watch. This is a show I've wanted to catch for quite a while. She puts her hands on your waist and kisses you hungrily, and unbuckles your jeans, and takes your shirt off button by button until you're standing in the middle of the kitchen in your bra and shorts, your trousers round your ankles. The temperature in the room, and between my legs, rises several degrees.

There is tangible chemistry between the two of you and watching your body respond to hers is fantastically erotic. The air is heavy with expectation. It's like an electrical charge: the oppressive, sultry calm before the storm. Oh, this is going to be good. After what feels like hours, you wrestle your shoes and socks off and stumble out of your jeans, and then she leads you towards the bedroom. I need to feel you again, lover. I am aching to sink my fingers into you. I want to feel your naked body moving under my tongue. She turns in the doorway. "Bring the wine," she says, gazing at my breasts. The way she looks at me then makes my nipples harden, just like that. She doesn't have to tell me twice.

What happens in the bedroom is a dark, damp blur of skin and sweat and sound and sensation. I imagine it looks like some vision of hell but it feels like paradise. I'm so wet and ready that your whole hand slips into me within seconds and it's the most wonderful thing I've ever felt. You fuck me slow and hard and I'm begging you to make me come, with tears in my eyes because you feel so fine. You're kneeling between my knees and I feel the movements of your knuckles deep inside: twisting, sliding, bringing me closer to you and to heaven with each stroke. Your wife is kissing you, and you're kissing her, and I can feel the love somewhere above me; but I'm kissing her too - teasing her, drinking her juices, spreading her with my fingers, penetrating her with my tongue. A perfect triangle.

The dark impassioned hours pass, the wine is drunk, and we're every which way and then some. There are no boundaries we dare not cross, not now. I lose track of where my body stops and another begins. I don't know which are your hands and which are hers. I get to live my fantasy, licking your arsehole while you suck and fuck your wife - you're lying between her thighs, and you're shaking at the warm touch of my tongue as I push it into you. I hold you in my arms while she takes you roughly with a strap-on, bracing your body as it submits to her thrusts, watching her face as she drags the orgasm from you. You say my name and hers in the same breath as your back arches with the climax, uniting us all. You crush my hand in yours as you come...and suddenly I understand your love. It is real. This isn't just sex for you. I let it seep into me, like hot oil on my skin, but it scares me. I am afraid for you, for what will be. I feel pity for your wife as she bends over the dresser for me and I screw her 'til she screams your name. She ejaculates, and I am strangely pleased by it. You look surprised. It's clear to me none of us know each other. I don't know you. I don't know if I want to.

One by one we fall back to earth, exhausted. As the sun is creeping into the room, warming the mess of our spent bodies, I look at your sleeping face and you look so peaceful that leaving you is much harder than it ever has been before. I pick up my clothes and kiss your cheek softly on my way out. A little smile flickers briefly on your lips. The other woman raises her head. "Call us later!" she says quietly. "Goodbye," I whisper, and I close the door behind me.

To Be Continued...