Author: Exhibit A

This is the continuation of a piece I wrote a couple of weeks ago, inspired by Girl on the Net’s super-hot MMF fantasy…

(CW: spanking, rough D/S play, humiliation)

The Director

We scroll through the dating site together on your battered old laptop, one lazy Sunday afternoon. I watch you more than I watch the screen; we’re stretched out on your bed, my leg slung casually across the backs of your thighs, and as you click on each photo your feet take it in turns to tap away at the pillow behind you.

You bookmark the ones you like, filing them away for further consideration. You’re nothing if not methodical – a quality I find amusing and arousing in equal measure – but I can tell you’re already finding this a little overwhelming.

“Just five? Really?” you say. “I can’t persuade you to make it eight…or ten…?”

You wriggle one arm down under my body and rub the front of my jeans.

“Cut that out. Yes, just five. Ten would be too anonymous, I think. Make sure they’re as local as possible.”

I like seeing your brain at work. The way your finger hovers over the mousepad, poised to strike; slowly you whittle down the list, and even though it’ll make my job a little harder, I’m glad you’re not talking me through your criteria.

The final cut takes a good five minutes. Back and forth you go between their photo galleries, and the short bios underneath them. I kiss your neck, just under the ear, and study the two guys as you flick from one to the other. Tall and blonde; dark and stocky. Wide, open grin; diffident, almost shy smile, half-turned from the camera. Long, slender fingers curled around a thick cock; no nudity at all, just a hand placed awkwardly over bulging boxer shorts…

With a small sigh, you remove the sunny blonde from the list and shuffle the laptop over towards me. As you roll onto your back, I can see your nipples pressing hard against the t-shirt you keep stealing from my apartment. I want to make you come right now, all over my fingers, again and again, till your cunt is plump and pliant around them; I want to…but I won’t. Not yet.

The following morning I log into your account and send the same message to all five of the guys you picked. I know you could monitor the conversations I have with them at any time, but just as you trust me to set this up and keep you safe, so I trust you not to break our agreement.

48 hours later three replies sit in my inbox, and of those two jump out right away (‘Dark and Stocky’ doesn’t quite cut the mustard, I’m afraid – turns out that diffidence extends to his efforts at online communication too). After short conversations with David and Niall, I agree to meet them both on Thursday evening, one after the other, to make a final decision. The timing is tight, but workable.

I swing by your house beforehand to grab food. You’re quiet, and I can’t tell whether it’s apprehension or excitement. It’s five days since your last orgasm – maybe you’re just pissed off. When I leave, your goodbye kiss is followed by a sharp, pointed nip at my neck. Come back, it says – come back soon.

Later – much later – you curl your body into mine and pull the duvet over both of us. A hopeless fidget most nights, you’re almost preternaturally still as I wrap my arm around your chest.

“So…did you decide on the guy? What’s he like?”

I pull you closer, yawning against the back of your neck. You look round in irritation, but it’s not faked – scooping you up like this makes me feel more relaxed than I’m often able to articulate.

“Of course I did. And you know I’m not gonna tell you that. Fuck, don’t pretend you even want to know.”

—

We do it at my place. Are you nervous? Honestly, it’s hard to tell. Neat and composed, you kneel naked on my faded bedroom carpet and face the door, your long, straight hair falling down your back.

“Look at me,” I say, and you turn your head, eyes wide and unblinking. I hold up the blindfold. “You still okay with this?”

You nod once and that’s all I need. With my thumb and forefinger I grip your jaw and force you to stare straight ahead again, the stairs down to the hallway visible through the open door. Your head doesn’t move again, even as I tie the blindfold tight around it.

He’s due any minute, but still, I can’t resist opening my jeans in front of you. The clink and pop of belt and button is enough to part your lips in automatic response, and your tongue pushes out in search of my cock. I hold the head of it there for just a few, shivery seconds, till the underside is slick with your saliva.

You flinch when the doorbell rings. I pat your cheek and lay the palm of my hand flat on top of your head. Stay right there, it says. Good girl.

He’s wearing heavy workman’s boots, which thud against the stairs as he follows me up. I step to one side when we reach the top and he comes to a sudden halt, his eyes fixed on your kneeling body.

“Here you go. See what I meant now? She’s ready and waiting.”

He takes a couple of long strides towards you, body angled forward as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. You look fucking beautiful like that, your hands folded demurely in your lap and your hard, pink nipples surrounded by a sea of tiny goosebumps. This time your mouth opens more hesitantly, gaping at the air in front of you; you’re clearly expecting his cock, but when it butts against your lips a soft, startled gasp still vibrates out from the back of your throat, into the room.

“Don’t be fooled by that innocent look – she’d suck cock all day long if she could. Just take her mouth however you want it. She likes it rough.”

I watch your cheeks turn scarlet, but your shoulders neither shrink nor slump; there might as well be steel running up through your spine, it’s so straight. Settling down on the edge of the bed, I find it hard to keep my hands out of my own jeans as he starts to rub the jutting head of his cock over your outstretched tongue.

Without warning, his hips tilt forward and fully half his length disappears inside your mouth. He thrusts twice, three times, as if testing how easily you can take him, and even though his cock is thick enough to make me wince a bit, you make no attempt to pull away or force him back out.

“What did I tell you?” A sudden burst of pride almost makes it hard to speak. “Now come on, fuck her throat. Like we discussed. Make her choke on it.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen you try to swallow anything this big, and as he feeds more of his cock between your lips I glance down at your hands to check you don’t need to tap out. They remain clasped together – trembling a little perhaps, but more from the force of his shuddering thrusts than anything else. There’s no way you can actually suck him – all you can do is stretch your lips around his cock and let him set his own rhythm.

The look on his face is just something else, and for a second I want nothing more than to take off your blindfold so you can see how much he’s enjoying your mouth. It’s as if he keeps expecting to meet resistance, and can’t quite believe how smoothly his cock keeps sliding down your throat. The effort is visible only in the way your neck muscles strain with each thrust; in the spit that bubbles out at the corners of your mouth and leaves his balls shiny and wet.

“Fuuuuuuuck.” His eyes screw shut in an effort to maintain control. “I’ve never had a mouth this fucking good. She’s too much, man.”

“Right? I should hire her out properly. She’d love that too, believe me. Her cunt will be so wet right now – here, check for yourself.”

I reach over and drag you up off your knees, ignoring the way you whimper as his cock pops free from your lips.

“Grab an arm and help with me her. Get her up on the bed.”

Between us, we spread you out on your back across my mattress, your head hanging down off the edge. He climbs up between your legs and his large hands force your thighs further apart, fully exposing your cunt.

“Fucking beautiful, right?” He stares down, waiting for permission. “Go ahead, touch it. You’ll love how wet she gets with a couple of fingers inside her.”

His thumb traces up between your labia; it’s glistening by the time he reaches your clit, and I watch him brush it in circles around the hood. Your back arches up so far that the skin ripples over the ribs beneath it, and you push your pelvis out towards him, craving more.

“Mate, she could come right now if you keep touching her like that. The little slut needs a bit of a reminder who’s in charge here. Ok, watch how I do it, then you take over.”

Reaching down your body, I press my middle three fingers together and settle them over your cunt. You know what’s coming, and your head swings desperately to the side, seeking out my cock.

“Look, she wants something in her mouth to keep her quiet. You’ll see why in just a second.”

Flexing my wrist, I tap my fingers sharply against you. His hands are fanned out and around your thighs, pinning you to the bed, so only your upper body responds, jerking and tensing each time I sting your skin.

“Like this, yeah? Nice and hard – you’re not going to break it.”

My fingers are wet when I take them away from your cunt. I force all three inside your mouth as he starts to spank you, and the greedy way you suck them clean is almost enough to make me come. I can hear the smack of his hand with each stroke, as he warms to the task. I know you’ll be so sensitive afterwards that just the tip of my tongue on your clit might be too much for you, and I nod at him to continue.

His other hand pumps desperately at his cock, as I stand back and fill your mouth with mine. The angle is perfect – I can thrust all the way inside, with only a steadying hand on your chest to keep you from sliding out of position. You’ve never had your cunt spanked for this long before, but the adrenaline seems to be masking any pain; he’s getting closer and closer, his arm straining as he leans over you, and his jaw set.

“Do it! Just jizz all over her – that’s what she’s here for.”

I’ve barely finished speaking when cum spits out of his cock and stripes your belly. It might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and although I want to hold back – want to wait till he’s gone and I can fuck you properly – I can’t help myself; you can clearly tell it’s coming, because you clamp your mouth tight around my cock and your hands reach up to hold the backs of my thighs, pulling me in even deeper.

I open my eyes again to find him resting on his haunches, lazily stroking your clit as his cum dries on your stomach. Wiping away the sweat that’s dripped down onto your face, I pull my cock out of your mouth and reach for the box of tissues.

“Here you go, take a couple of these. No, not for her – she needs to be reminded what a dirty slut she is…you’ve just given her the perfect souvenir.”

He shrugs and wipes at his cock with a tissue. I know how badly you want to be filled right now, but you remain silent, perhaps hoping that patience will be rewarded. And it will – just not right now.

When he’s finished buttoning his jeans, we shake hands and I gesture towards the door.

“You can see yourself out, right? Thanks for coming – that was perfect. And if you see us around town at any point…well, no need to say hello. It’ll just be our secret.”

I wait till the door slams behind him before I join you on the bed. Your cunt is still pink and open, shimmering with unmet need. I pull off the blindfold and settle down between your legs, pulling you towards my waiting mouth. This bit I want you to see.

I finally wrote something for my own Christmas erotica meme! This short story takes Clarence Carter’s ‘Back Door Santa’ as inspiration – I hope you enjoy it.

—

30 minutes.

That’s how long we get.

Every Saturday morning at 11.00, I hear the front door slam, and I watch from my bedroom window as he leaves the house. He moves with purpose, his neon running shoes a blur across the tarmac right from the start. Knees pumping high, he lopes down our quiet, residential street till he reaches the entrance to the park.

Only when I’m sure that this week is the same as all the others – that he’s not going to turn back, hand smacking into his forehead as he remembers the keys left on a bedside table or hanging up in the kitchen – only then do I slip away from the window and out of my flat, into the shared hallway.

Lana is always waiting at the top of the stairs, white robe wrapped loosely around her dark skin. She turns away before I reach the top, leaving me to hustle up the last few steps in time to stop the heavy wooden door from swinging shut. She’s already halfway along the corridor by then, hips swaying as the robe starts to slide off her shoulders and down her body, falling away into a loose, billowy puddle on the teak floorboards.

Their bedroom is directly above my kitchen; I hear them going at it sometimes, late at night, her low moans accompanied by the rattle of the bed frame and, finally, Tom’s sharp, staccato climax. I raise my glass in a silent toast to his metronomic reliability – and to her sweet, hungry, fucking insatiable cunt.

Each week I stop in the doorway to admire the view. Not just Lana, spread out across the cream sheets like a medieval princess, but the street outside, winding its way between the redbrick houses and flowing into the lush green of the local park. If we’ve timed it right, a tiny splash of red will bob out of the trees, moving with a rhythm and purpose that are clear even at this distance. There’s a hint of a smile on her calm, serious face whenever she sees him run past.

My shirt gets tossed over a chair next to the wardrobe, onto a pile of Tom’s neatly-folded jumpers. I don’t need to be naked – not for this – but Lana likes to smooth her hands over my shoulders and down my back; to feel the warm skin under her fingers as my head dips between her legs.

She doesn’t set an alarm, which no longer makes me nervous; I’ve learned to trust her instinctive awareness of time (or perhaps her sense of self-preservation). Our half-hour window precludes drawn-out foreplay, so it’s always a relief to find her already wet. Sometimes that’s because she’s freshly-fucked, and on those Saturday mornings I can taste him, beaded between her labia, or slick against my tongue as I push it inside her cunt. The silver streaks smear her thighs and stick to my face like war-paint.

I’m careful not to leave traces of my own. My fingers press lightly into Lana’s belly, holding her in place without bruising. I don’t use my teeth. Instead I lap slowly at her swollen clit, curving around the hood and flicking under it with soft, teasing strokes. She doesn’t make much noise, and I glance up every now and then to see her head turned to face the window, lips pressed together in a dark-red bow as she gazes off into the distance.

When Lana comes, her whole body shakes. It all happens very quickly, with the first gentle tremors swallowed up in seconds by big, violent waves. I used to back off at that point, until the day she grabbed a fistful of hair and pinned my face against her cunt, my mouth opening again more in surprise than any conscious decision to resume licking her. She can hold onto her orgasm for minutes at a time – or maybe one just blends into the next – and that’s the bit I love most. It’s the hook that keeps me coming back, I think.

Afterwards, she sits cross-legged on the bed and watches as I button up my shirt. I do it slowly – a reverse striptease – waiting for her to crack and throw a cushion at my head, or chivvy me out the door. For her mask to slip.

For her to say goodbye.

It hasn’t happened yet.

I won’t lie, I’d feel better about the whole thing if he was mean and unfriendly; if he was boring, or even just a crappy husband. He’s not though. He’s a nice, solid, steady guy, and he loves her very much. He just won’t eat her out – and I will.

29 minutes after his neon shoes hit the pavement, I leave their flat with mussed hair and lips that taste of her each time I run my tongue over them. In the hallway I stop to pick up the mail, leaving Tom and Lana’s on the bannister at the bottom of the stairs, ready for him to collect. I close my door quietly behind me.

I try to be a good neighbour.