Unnatural Games

A couple fantasize about inviting a third man to join them in a ménage-a-tois. She is submissive and wants to be controlled and penetrated by two men. They have made love to whispers of the scene.

They find a third man, but have reservations because he is deceiving his wife.

On the drive to his place the woman asks for soothing music. The man gets lost. It's springtime, balmy and humid. A warm breeze causes trees to spew their catkin.

The third man meets them at a small table at a suburban McDonalds. They follow his Harley to his home where the million dollar game show is cackling on the television. The man is disturbed by the incongruity. The announcer asks "who is the heroine in The Scarlet Letter?" The contestant doesn't know, neither does the woman or the third man who's television blares like an angry sergeant. But the man who's about to watch the woman get fucked knows. For a moment he feels proud.

The scene unfolds. The woman undresses while the two men both stand watching. She looks worried as she stands naked between them. She has small breasts, a hairless vagina and the pale skin of Northern European descendants.

If the man were to pay attention there is a sadness overtaking his excitement. He feels humiliated. Not the pleasureable humiliation of the masochist, but the humiliation of the hero who, in an ironic twist, has stumbled badly on his way home from a hard fought victory.

He is losing the woman, a feeling that shocks him, as if he'd touched a bare live wire. Still, he is not willing to stop.

They agree to move the scene into the third man's garage which has been converted into a large game room. The third man makes the woman crawl. The garage lacks carpet and is half filled with boxes of inventory from his wife's cosmetic business. Most are stacked on an orange felt pool table.

The woman remains on the floor on her hands and knees, head bowed, hair dangling. They will fuck her on an unsheeted queen sized mattress pressed against one wall.

The man watches the woman's body with glassy wet eyes. She is lost to him as she lowers her face to the feet of the third man who is playing the role of the dominant male. She bows deeply, arching her round bare buttocks up in the air, flattening her small breasts against the concrete floor. She kisses the third man's bare toes.

When told by the third man, the man kneels beside the woman and begins spanking her ass while she takes the third man's cock deep into her throat. The third man fucks her mouth so roughly she gags. The man spanks her until her bottom is a bright pink. But when told to enter her the man struggles to get hard. The woman turns to him sensing his discomfort and sucks on his cock vigorously, but his weak tumescence speaks for him. She looks to his eyes but he looks away.

In truth, the man is ready to give up, take a seat and watch but his desire is rekindled when he sees the third man's cock enter the woman's vagina.

Later they both enter her at the same time: the man penetrates her asshole which he has entered many times before; the third man enters her cunt with his overly thick cock. They can feel each other's cocks through the thin membrane of flesh in the woman's body. They both ejaculate in her but not simultaneously.

The third man wants to fuck her again and does so while the man stands and holds her hand. The feel of her hand in his feels loving. But the woman speaks as though she were undergoing a procedure in a medical office as she's being fucked. The third man comes in her a second time but this time his condom comes off. Both men watch as the woman laughs and fishes it out of her vagina with her fingers. For the man, the humor is only a reminder of how far removed he is from something joyous.

Throughout the scene the man has not been able to shift his mind to the pleasure he and the woman dreamed of. He's surprised to find himself so disenchanted. Perhaps it's not the scene but the humid spring night or the cackle of the game show host. He can't summon the spell they have shared.

When it's over the woman is pleasantly reassuring. She says she loves him, and gently pats his knee as they drive home. She leans over and kisses him on the cheek and whispers, "Thank-you."

He can not shake the sense that something is not right. He smiles weakly and drives his car through the thick humid spring night.

He can't sleep. But when he does he dreams of images of naked women strapped to a wall, their legs hoisted up, opened and pulled back and secured against their chests. Their oily cunts are thrust forward. They are young and beautiful, ragged with heat and sweat, trapped, dazed, but yearning with desire.

But for what?

The image suggests cock, that the well of female desire is far deeper than the man's conscious mind would have him know. But another interpretation flashes in his mind Perhaps they are the cries for release, for freedom from the shackle of cock and the incipient child that will fill her then consume her life, draining her of the vibrant wetness that he seeks.

But that is too easy.

He thinks they have been playing with sacrifice. Her craving to submit is simultaneously both a craving to worship and a wish to destroy something in herself. She is the virgin stepping to the alter, her veil falls, she is laid down, the knife is at her throat, but before her throat is sliced open, the cackle of the game show host intrudes and the moment is lost, the enchantment is dispelled. Farce saves the day and the actors are left with nothing but an ordinary humiliation.

The next day the man feels broken and split open. He drives around the city by himself in a daze. He is teary and uncomfortable. He calls the woman again and apologizes for the lack of sensuality in the scene. He tells her he feels like a brute. She says she is fine, laughs gently at his concern and tells him not to worry. "It's over," she says, twice.

Later that evening standing outside a diner the man sees an older man he recognizes from his neighborhood. The man has a nerve disease and his body has shrunk. His chin has disappeared and his mouth is quenched into a permanent pulsing pucker.

He's waiting to cross the street trying to open an umbrella. The wind is swirling, the sky is dark, large drops of rain fall intermittently. He's twitching and rocking, his fingers fumble with the handle. He starts spinning, slowly at first, the wind seeming to set him in motion, then he begins whirling uncontrollably while wildly flinging the umbrella up and down. Suddenly it flies open and the man stumbles and lets go and the umbrella rises up and away lifting gently into a gust before crashing into a streetlamp and scuttling along on the street.

The man is struck by the hopelessness of the body. Should he retrieve the umbrella and escort the man across the street? If he were to he might awaken a sense of redemption, even gratitude, and find the coolness in his heart thaw.

Instead he looks away, and up, up at the clouds which are moving across the sky like a slow train.

He feels his phone buzz. The woman has left him a text.

"Found a new bull at ALT,... big dick, beautiful eyes, think, I want him."

He shutters and smiles, the smile of a man who has been re-enchanted.