Please Swipe Right

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Summary: Paul attempts to navigate his three ongoing relationships. Will he be able to do it? Or will he have to give somebody up?

Tags: non-con, light humiliation, cheating, threesome

Note: non-con is not the focus of the story. I put it in this category because non-con can be a deal breaker for many people.

*****

The life of the promiscuous man is such that you must know how to jump from lie to lie. What becomes a lie gets a little confusing.

You start doubting yourself. Forgetting where truth and the cross-section of that fiction you're creating intersect. Did I make up the fact I went to my brothers? Or did I actually go?

These are truths but they inhabit the space of lies. Lies that I am perfectly content with keeping alive. Lies such as those that me and Camilla could ever be together.

She's a nice girl, certainly. She fills a space in me that needs filling but that space could be filled by any number of girls. Claire is just the first one to come by. The first one to scratch the thirst.

Claire made me feel loved. Camilla made me feel cared for. Rashana made me feel fucking unstoppable.

The distinction of these words are slight but all too important. They denote more than their face value meaning.

Only problem is that I'm not sure what is the truth in lies. When Camilla asks for me to be her boyfriend... I know what the answer ought to be. No. Instead I say, I'll think about it.

Here's a truth: Camilla is eating her salad. A salad. Does that mean something? It's obvious that girls will use their food choices to tell you something about themselves. She'll order the most expensive lobster salad to let you know she's worth it. She'll eat the healthiest item to let you know she cares. She won't get fat on you.

A laughable proposition. That a man thinks that deeply about your food choices. He cares about a few things. Your face. Hips. Ass. Symbols of things. Developed meanings that become greater than their parts. It isn't just porn. Men are watching because men are wanting.

It's hard for any Feminist to understand. Fiction is a reflection of wants. Women want a strong rich man to care for them. Because women are necessarily more monogamous. Men have no such proclivities.

She's sitting there eating her salad. Barking about some shit she's had to experience. She works at a fucking grocery store. What exciting thing could possibly happen there? It's a trick question. The answer doesn't matter because she'll tell you about it anyway.

The most boring mundane shit you've ever heard. The only reason you stick around is because she'll fuck you at the end. That's the exchange of relationships isn't it? Sex for comfort? Can relationships be about equivalent exchange? Sure. Are they?

She's blabbering on and in spite of all this I've been smiling and nodding at the right times. She says the word: Threesome.

"You'll do it?"

"It's like you're not even listening." She has a point. "Only if we're dating." She says.

"Aren't we?" I reply.

"Not yet."

"I'm not understanding."

"Then we're not having a threesome."

She's got me locked in her sights. I know what she wants. I'm afraid to give it to her. It involves giving up some sort of rights. It makes my relationship with Claire all the more difficult.

"Okay." I said.

"Okay what?"

"We're together."

Camilla smiles. I've paid this great debt accumulated from taking her body. She's filled the yearning for someone that loves her. I wonder where that was born from.

"Can I post our picture now?"

"No."

"Why can't I post us?"

"Take it or leave it Camilla."

"I want people to see us together."

I reach my hands across and grab hers. "Me too. I just don't think it's the right time for me. You want to be together don't you?" I don't wait for her response. "You do. So just one small problem? One small thing that separates us?"

"I guess—"

"It isn't a big deal."

"—You're right."

"Good. You ready to go?"

She looks at me with that grin of hers. She stands up and I get to see her and the red dress she's worn. She looks beautiful in it. Her curves and ass stand out nicely. Her figure is something any woman would kill for. Thankfully Camilla isn't just any woman. In this moment she's the woman.

I close the door as she gets into my car. I'm a multifaceted guy. I'm a gentleman. A salesman. A cheater. All types for all sorts.

She somehow convinces me to go to her place. The two bedroom house she shares with her friend Shell. God knows why her parents are willing to pay for it.

I don't mind Shell. She's something else. If I wasn't already with Camilla I would be with Shell. I like to think anyway. Shell is in another league of hot. A warm blooded latina with a face and body to match. She's got the ass of Beyonce and the tits of some fucking porn star I watched last week.

If I could die and had to choose... Fuck it... If I could choose to die right now... It would be motorboating Shell's tits. They're that big and gorgeous.

Her outfits were a conglomeration of every fitness fad in the last five years. Yoga pants? Check. Tight ass shorts of which the name escapes me? Check. Wearing a sports bra and nothing else? Check. When you saw her... She looked good. She wasn't dressed well. But any hot blooded man could see that she was sexy and exactly what they needed.

If there was any reason I decided to go to Camilla's house it was because of Shell. The hope that she would look in my direction, take my hand, and fuck me in that bathroom of theirs'. I would do it in Camilla's bed if the opportunity struck.

From the first moment we walk in Shell is leaning against the kitchen counter. Her tits are pushed together and the cleavage is hard to look away from. She smiles at us... At me. Welcome's us in and says how good it is to see us.

It is good. Isn't it Shell?

I can feel Claire get closer to me. I have to wonder if she can sense my dick getting hard at the sight of Shell. Or is every woman just hyper aware of her stance in the social hierarchy of beauty. Most women can't be a ten but any man can rise to be a 7 or better with enough cash.

The conversation and general chatter makes its way to what she's doing. Cooking, apparently. She knew Camilla had dinner and she needed to eat too. A salad of sorts.

Women and their salads. Am I right guys?

Can you hear the laugh track?

I'm unsure when the conversation flowed in this direction but suddenly they're talking about my dick and in detail.

"You should see it, Shell. It's the perfect size."

"I'd love to see it."

Forgive me if this gets repetitive but: What?

"What do you say Paul? Show me your cock?"

"You wan—My co—Are you?"

"Cat got your tongue?"

"A bit Shell. Wasn't expecting—How do I say?"

She takes a step toward me. "How do you say?"

A frog is in my throat. "Camilla?"

"Are you going to show her your cock?"

My chest is tight and I feel like I've been caught... But I haven't... Have I? It feels like I've been trapped in some alternate dimension where I get everything I want and that for some reason feels wrong.

Shell keeps walking toward me.

The world is moving in slow motion. They have a sofa and a TV facing the kitchen at an angle. A counter top that separates the two spaces.

Shell is walking around it and coming to me. But why?

Her hand reaches for my crotch.

"Feels kind of small honestly. Are you sure it's big Camilla?"

"Take it out and see for yourself."

"Camilla?" It's a croak. An uncertain croak. I wanted this—But now it's happening and?

Shell gets onto her knees and undoes my jeans. She pulls them down. Inspecting my underwear. She puts her hand on my cock. Lifting it with the fabric. Until it's completely erect and she can compare it to her hand.

"I'm still not impressed, Camilla. Should I have him take his underwear off? Is that too far?"

"I don't think it's far enough."

"You don't?"

What the absolute hell is going on?

My underwear is on the floor. Shell uses one hand to cup my balls and the other to lift my cock. She's poking and prodding it. She isn't jerking me off. She's inspecting me.

"Camilla, I feel like you lied to me."

"Keep going."

Please.

Shell is fondling my balls and starts to stroke my cock. She moves her face close, so close that I can feel her breath. I'm leaning on the kitchen counter lost in the sensation. The strangeness of all this.

Shells hands are soft. I can just feel her lips touching my cock. She's not sucking it. Just teasing me with what could be.

"Is this as big as he gets?"

Yes?

"It's not very big at all."

"I'm—"

Shell stands up and covers my mouth.

"Shut the fuck up. I didn't ask for your opinion."

"Okay." Is what I say but it's muffled. Hardly perceptible.

Shell gets back down on her knees and continues stroking me. Feeling my balls. She starts rubbing her tits against my dick. The fabric of her sports bra feels good but her bare tits would feel better. I hold out hope that's what she'll do next. Not keep teasing me like she does.

I see Camilla watching us and she just smiles. Enjoying the moment. Did she plan this? Is she going to take part?

I can feel my dick is ready to burst. I do what comes natural.

"Shell, I'm going to cum."

She lets go of my dick and kisses me. "Did I say you could fucking talk?"

"N—No?"

"Then why the fuck are you talking?"

My dick is still hard but she's stopped touching me. She's just staring directly into my eyes. Somehow this is more erotic. More of a turn on than anything else she's done. As she's not touching me I want to grab her more. Fuck her more and harder. But she just keeps staring at me.

My dick is soft again. Nobody has moved. I reach for her and

"Did I say you could fucking touch me?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Did I say you could touch me?"

"No."

"Right. Why are you trying then?"

I look past her and speak to Camilla, "What is going on?"

"You wanted a threesome didn't you?"

"This isn't a threesome."

"Not yet."

"Oh."

Shell grabs the back of my head and kisses me. Stroking me. We continue this way for several minutes until Shell decides to focus on my cock again. She takes off her top and touches my cock against her bare tits. They're big and feel good to the touch. She lets me fuck them but only a little. If I get too excited she pushes me away. The continual denial is killing me.

Camilla is behind us. Watching.

Without warning Shell swallows my cock and her sweet mouth gives me the release I've been longing for. The feeling of her tongue. Her head is sliding back and forth and I can hear her occasionally gag.

She is using her entire body. Her hands are exploring my upper torso as she enjoys herself. For the first time a woman is worshipping me. And it feels incredible.

Shell is in charge of everything I do. Every time I try to move she pushes me back. Any assertion I try to make is countered with her own movement. She isn't fucking around. What's more is that Camilla is just watching. Without jealousy... With nothing. Just a beautiful gaze that tells me she's enjoying herself as well.

Shell stands up and kisses me.

"Go to the fucking sofa."

I obey her commands. When I get there Camilla pulls my shirt off. She touches my torso. Kisses my neck. Shell follows after and gets back on her knees and continues sucking my dick.

"Do you like Shell?"

I can only whimper.

Shell looks up. "Good boy. You're getting it."

I toss my head back and enjoy. Next to me Camilla removes her clothing. Her pale skin is glowing in spite of the shoddy lighting her apartment has.

She puts her tits in my face. Shell is sucking the entire length of my cock. When she pulls it out she says,

"I wish it was bigger. It's not much of a challenge sucking such a little thing."

"You're right Shell."

I'm too turned on to care. Shell pulls away from me and Camilla hops on. She grinds on my cock and kisses me. I can feel Shell sucking on my balls.

Camilla sits on my cock. Her and Shell take turns fucking me. Lightly slapping my face. Telling me how pathetic I am.

When I cum into both of their mouths. They kiss the head of my cock. Reveling in the debauchery.

After we're done Shell doesn't more than look at me. We were done for the night though I couldn't help but look at her. It was the usual error I made in my relationships. Trading one opportunity for the next. The only difference is that this time it was Camilla's fault... She led me down this path. Of being with Shell realizing how much better things could be.

That's why when morning came I followed her into the bathroom.

"What are you—"

I grabbed her throat pushing her to the wall.

"What do you think?"

She could barely speak through my grip. It came out as faint whimpering. She tried pulling my hands off. Lightly pounding on the wall but otherwise she made no harsh attempt to escape me.

"You said a lot about my cock? Didn't you?" She nods. "I've been thinking about it. I need to teach you some respect."

I pull her over to the sink and put my hand to the back of her head. She tries lifting her head back and I push her back down. She's wearing red yoga pants and a black sports bra.

I spank her ass.

"Do you like that?"

Very softly she says, "Yes."

I do it again and feel her ass jiggle beneath my hand. I tell her how beautiful her ass is. How I'm going to fuck it and make it mine. She lets out a light moan. She wants this.

I pull her yoga pants down. Taking a moment to admire her pussy. Licking it from behind. She pushes her pussy into my face.

I'm trying to be quiet knowing Camilla could be waking up at any moment.

I pull her yoga pants off. Pull out my cock and push myself inside her. She sounds surprised.

I continue sliding in and out slamming into her tight latina pussy. She's moaning. I keep going until my cum leaks into her.

Without waiting I walk to Camilla's room and wrap my arms around her. This is the best way to end a week.

*****

I wake up to anxiety. An uncertainty.

To several texts from Claire. The most important being: Where are you?

I have to remind myself that uncertainty is the problem of an imperfect woman. Here's the rub: The imperfection is not in her but in her view of the world. She has a belief and that belief reflects something about her.

I'll admit, sleeping with Camila and Shell was not the best idea. I knew Claire was nearly there. Almost at the truth.

I had two gorgeous women on either side of me. In that moment, a thought crossed my mind: Can I keep it this way? Presumably the threesome would be a one time thing. What if it didn't have to be that way? Could I convince Claire to share me with Camilla... Rashana? There came a second problem. Would Rashana want to be shared?

She had told a story about me. One that cast me in a negative light. It seemed to imply she resented me... But she not only let me cum inside of her. She wanted me to. Wrapped herself close and kissed me with a broken passion.

The next few days I sent text after text to Rashana. She didn't respond. Read receipt after read receipt. It was to be expected.

She always seemed to be in a state of instability... Uncertain of her role in the situation. Wanting love and to be loved.

She pushed people away because she had to. Didn't know any other way to be.

It wasn't until a week later that she began to respond. Small flutters of recognition that she knew I existed. Here's the thing... Sometimes... Recognition is enough to get your foot in the door.

Our messages flowed and even though Claire pretended to be happy... I knew she wasn't.

The discussion of the ending moments of our threesomes were about how I broke her trust.

It's laughable how wrong she is. Claire, for all her perfections, is flawed in that she trusts too much. She's seen the texts, the names. Never a hint of jealousy until she saw it before her very eyes. I had been getting a blowjob just out of her line of sight and she had deluded herself to think that still meant I loved her. A laughable proposition. What is love? The chemical compound inside us? The dissemination of an immaterial something?

Here's a fact: Love is nothing. A fabricated social concept. Most things you think about in your daily life are similar. These truths that we hold self evident need to be reevaluated. We are liable to see fiction as truth. To see an explanation as reality. There are those that don't see a perversion in that. Why should they? The truth is comfortable. Reality is a whole 'nother thing.

Claire is now facing away from truth and teetering towards reality. A reality where her and I are no longer intermixed. No longer of the same blood and heart. We're separated by a gorge that is inches in length and as deep as the Mariana Trench.

It begins when she sees a text on my phone.

The name? Camilla.

The question?

Who is that bitch?

Somehow it still sounds sweet. At least coming from her cute little mouth. I wrap my arms around her. Pushing my gait against hers. I can see a discomfort in her eyes but when you're a salesman of lies... You've got to work everything you can to your advantage.

"Calm down. It's a friend."

I don't mention Camilla's gender. Claire already knows but saying it would somehow make it worse. I can see it in her eyes that she's waiting for a confirmation. For the knowledge that she's caught me in the lie. Even if she's not even close to the truth.

"I've never heard of her."

"You haven't heard of a lot of people." What more can she say?

"I would have heard of her."

"Would you? Why is that?"

"Because I know you!"

"You don't know her."

"Who is she?"

"I already told you."

"Tell me again."

"She's a friend."

"How'd you meet?" It's like when a Lion begins to bounce on its prey. It plays around a little first. Asserts dominance. Pokes to see where it is weak.

"Tinder."

"You fucking what?"

"Tinder." I've got to commit now.

"When?"

"What?" But not totally.

"Who the fuck she is?"

"A friend."

"That you met on tinder?"

"Are you done?"

"You've got fucking nerve."

"You've got a bitch mouth."

"Fuck you."

"Camilla would."

The last sentence is too much for her and she rushes out of the room. Slamming whatever door stands in her way. It's just as well. We're in her house. I walk to her and knock on the door.

She's ignoring me, "When you manage to calm down, call me."

I already know I won't answer.

*****

There's a feeling that has become familiar. I can feel that the week turned out better than I could have ever hoped. Still there is a vibrating sense of dread. I know there is still something you have to face.

No. Not something. Someone.

The truth is I don't have to face her. The cowards way would be a text. The cowards way would be anything but truly talking to her. If I'd like... I never have to look at her again. It becomes obvious to me that the only way to get out of this is to send that all too important text.

But why? The question remains why should I stop seeing Claire? Is it the lying? Is it a reality? The one that I've created... Where I've come to realize Claire isn't the one for me?

No, it isn't that. Can't be that. It's that Claire is close. She's breathing down my neck and damn near a realization. I have mocked her for ignoring realities. Mocked her for the inability to see the truth beneath her nose. In front of her dumb beautiful face. But now she's realized something. She's seen something. Her reality is shifting and it isn't in my favor.

What do you do when losing the favor of a girl? You have options. You can apologize. For what? To lose your status as above her? To lose the very thing you've worked to build. The thing that lets you act freely and with impunity? It sounds good in concept but it is the choice of the coward. The other choice becomes to end all things. Leave her hurting and wanting. And she will want. It's a part of her. The weakness that separates men and women.