By Cynthia W. Gentry
During the first three months Trey and I were dating, we tried phone sex. It seems archaic and quaint, now, but we were in that heady initial phase of infatuation and couldn’t stand to be apart, and just the sound of his deep voice instantly made my pussy swell with arousal. So we’d tease each other slowly into orgasm from wherever his job had taken him: New York, Guatemala, once even Malawi when he was able, by a miracle, to get phone service. But as we got used to each other and the phone bills began adding up, the long-distance booty calls slowed to a trickle, and then stopped altogether when we decided that we were being ridiculous and extravagant, especially considering that we had the Internet and Skype and FaceTime. But although Trey loved seeing me naked online—he called me his personal sex-cam—even I felt silly trying to balance my iPad or phone between my legs while jerking off. But Internet service was even spottier in the developing countries he visited. Sometimes texts didn’t even go through. I don’t know. We got busy.
That was four years ago.
Now I go on business trips, too. And today I’m in New York, where I’ve been for the past week doing interviews for a half-assed article idea. The post-recession tech industry in Manhattan’s Silicon Alley or some such nonsense. It’s not the most original topic, but I haven’t been a fount of creativity lately, and my editor, Jason, is humoring me because he doesn’t want me to leave the magazine and go corporate. What I didn’t tell him was that Trey had a business trip, too, and I came up with an excuse to tag along.
Given the size of our employers’ travel budgets, I wasn’t expecting much from the hotel, so I was surprised when the hotel gave us a one-bedroom suite, and I laughed out loud when I walked into the bedroom and saw the iron bedframe with its scrolled grillwork. Trey used to torment me during our phone sex sessions with a fantasy in which he’d tie me to a bed and have his way with me. “That pussy’s mine,” he’d whisper in his beautiful bass as I masturbated to orgasm after orgasm, thousands of miles away. But when I reminded him of this fantasy, he just chuckled and went back to checking email on his phone.
Now it’s Saturday. The last four days have been so exhausting that we’ve only used our beautiful hotel bed for sleep. The days have been exhausting for Trey, that is. While he’s been trapped in meeting after meeting with wealthy donors, I’ve been doing maybe one interview a day, then spending the rest of the time doing online “research” from cafes. Trey even had meetings today—on Saturday, of all things—so I’m meeting him for dinner. I shower off the day’s grime and change my clothes. I think about how Trey used to talk about waiting for me in a hotel room while I was at a party; how he’d describe undressing me, peeling off my black cocktail dress, sliding my black thong panties over my hips and down my legs. But I won’t be wearing a black cocktail dress tonight. Not for pub food.
Sorry: “gastro-pub” food. Which I could easily get in San Francisco, but Trey has always wanted to go to The Spotted Pig. So I throw on my San Francisco uniform: a pair of jeans, a tight black tank top, and a leather jacket.
Twenty minutes later, I arrive at the restaurant and scan the crowd for my boyfriend. Next time, we’re going somewhere that takes reservations, I grouse to myself. But to my surprise, Trey is already sitting at a table, drinking scotch. He wears jeans and a maroon rugby shirt that’s just tight enough to hint at his muscular body. A baseball cap hides his dark blond, close-cropped hair. When he spots me, he breaks into a grin, full of boyish delight that accentuates the dimples in his chin.
“Dude, can you believe I got us a table?” he shouts over the din. He stands up and hugs me. I’m tall, but he’s six-foot-four, so still I have to go up on my toes. I still like this. I like that he’s so much taller than me. It makes me feel, for a moment, like I’m not a large clumsy Amazon—an image of myself that I picked up in junior high when I was two feet taller than everyone else.
“I can’t believe it,” I shout back. “And don’t call me dude.”
It really does bother me—it’s like he’s reducing me to a roommate—but he just laughs. I snatch the cap from his head. He also knows that I hate men wearing hats indoors, a picky, old-fashioned peeve I inherited from my mother.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I say. “I took the wrong subway.”
“That’s okay, babe,” he replies. “Can I get you a margarita?” At the word “babe,” a tingle runs through my body. He used to call me “babe” when we were first dating. I loved it because it let me pretend for a moment that I wasn’t a supercharged, professional, got-everything-together kind of woman. It let me feel that I was, well, a “babe.” I know it’s politically incorrect to admit that.
“Absolutely,” I tell him. “Then I want to hear about your day.”
“Maybe after a few more glasses of Macallan,” he says. His smile fades by half a watt. I know what that means. The donors aren’t donating.
So he asks me about my day. I work for a prominent San Francisco “media group” that owns a gaggle of websites and a dying print magazine. They hired me from my soon-to-be obsolete reporter job to be a “content creator,” which is today’s fancy word for a “writer who also thinks up topics for articles.” After twenty minutes of describing my futile attempts to interview the 20-year-old founder of the latest dating app, I can see his eyes glazing over, so I change the subject to him. I ask a lot of questions, almost as though this were a first date. This used to be a way for me to worm myself into men’s beds, but with Trey, it’s a way to keep the conversation going. I actually do love hearing about the nonprofit he works for and its efforts to save the world, although I also get a vicarious thrill from the exploits of the former politician who acts as its executive director.
The tequila must be having an effect, because I actually start flirting with my boyfriend. I can feel myself doing it. I smirk, pout, and punch his arm lightly. It’s fun. I feel alive. Maybe it’s the energy of the crowd. A famous young television actor and his movie-star wife walk by. I almost don’t recognize them because they’re so casually dressed and makeup-free, but that’s how this place is.
Beautiful women sneak glances at Trey. As usual. I bet they wonder why he’s with me.
“Did you beat off today?” Trey asks.
I almost spit up my margarita. “Excuse me?” I choke out. We both laugh.
“I guess that’s a no. That’s a shame. And a waste.” I notice that he seems nervous, amped up. Weird.
“Actually, I did.” And then I blurt out, “And I fantasized.” Tequila is my truth serum.
“About what?” He grins at me, but his smile is a little forced. “Oh, you know. The usual.”
He laughs. “Okay, babe.” He signs the check.
Oh, so he’s going to drop it that easily? “You should know what my fantasies are, Trey. You gave them to me. Over the phone. Remember? Tying me to the bed?” Now let’s watch him change the subject.
He doesn’t. He sits back, smiling. For some reason, I think he’s relieved. But why? I’m not sure I want to play this game anymore.
“Let’s get coffee,” he says.
Outside the restaurant, he puts his arm around my shoulders. I look up at him. “Thanks for dinner,” I say, and lean up to give him a quick peck. But he stops, takes my chin in his hand, and turns my face to him for a deep kiss. We haven’t kissed like that in a long time. I wonder what’s going on.
* * * *
We’ve just sat down with our cappuccinos when I hear a man call Trey’s name.
When I look up, I almost drop my spoon, because approaching us is one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. He’s got dark, almost black disheveled hair swept back from his forehead, and cheekbones that could cut ice. Sapphire-blue eyes sparkle beneath his black eyebrows. His strong profile could adorn an ancient Roman coin. My eyes rest—and get stuck on—his full mouth. And of course he has a cleft chin. Of course. He wears a hoodie, workout shirt, and sweats, but even the baggy fabric can’t hide what is clearly a slim but well-built body. He carries a gym bag.
“Hey, Rich,” Trey says. “Glad you could make it!”
Trey introduces us. I feel a twinge of adrenaline as Rich shakes my hand, his eyes boring into mine.
“I thought you might be interested in meeting Rich because he’s an investor in a bunch of start-ups,” Trey says quickly.
“An angel investor,” Rich interjects. “I like to stay anonymous.”
“He’s done really well,” Trey says quickly, almost too quickly. I scrutinize him, but his look is merely expectant, like he’s hoping I’ll like what he’s done. “I met him at one of my meetings today.”
“So I guess Trey has told you about the article idea I’m working on,” I say. “Right now the concept is pretty lame. And I’ve had a few margaritas, so my questions wouldn’t be very insightful.”
“No worries,” Rich says. “We don’t have to talk shop tonight.”
“Sit down,” Trey tells him. He insists on buying us all more coffee, leaving me alone, momentarily, with Rich.
I’m shy with him at first, as I usually am with extremely handsome men, because I don’t think they’ll want to talk to me. But then I start to relax. Guys with his looks aren’t usually so funny or so smart, but Rich quickly gets me laughing with his bone-dry sense of humor. Trey returns with our coffees and sits close to me on the couch, but he doesn’t say much. He just listens to our conversation with a goofy grin. We’re debating the latest Richard Linklater movie when Trey emits a loud, exaggerated yawn.
“Poor Trey, left out of the conversation,” I say. “What would you like to talk about?”
“I’m not really bored. Not that bored.”
“We’ll get you back to your computer soon.” I give him a playful punch on the arm.
“It’s nice to see a couple who’s so comfortable together,” Rich says.
Too comfortable, I think.
“And you seem pretty comfortable hanging out with guys,” he adds.
“I get more attention that way.”
“You don’t seem like you need a lot of attention,” he says. “You seem extremely self-sufficient, actually.”
I’m pleased but instead I make a face of displeasure. “Oh Rich, I thought you’d see through my facade. I need lots of attention. Lots. I’m insatiable, in fact.”
Our coffees are finished. But none of us moves. Then Trey makes his suggestion.
“Let’s go hang at our giant hotel room. Raid the minibar.”
I feel another shot of adrenaline, of pure fear, like I’m about to do something very bad. “Only if you boys behave yourselves.”
“Scout’s honor,” says Rich. “After all, I’m a source, remember?”
* * * *
I lead them in. Trey rolls his eyes toward the bedroom and grins. I feel my face getting warm as I reach past him to pull the door shut.
“The mini-bar is that way,” I tell them. I stick with tequila. Rich and Trey pour themselves scotch from tiny bottles. I try not to think about the bill. I’m suddenly very thirsty, and Rich goes to get ice. While he’s gone, Trey sits down on an armchair and stretches his legs out on the ottoman.
“Come here,” he says. I squeeze into the chair with him. He looks into my eyes. “It’s good to travel with you. Every time we do, I’m reminded of what a hottie you are. Don’t make that face. You are. I see how guys look at you.”
“Huh. I see more women looking at you.”
There’s a long pause. My mind is suddenly blank.
“Kiss me,” he says.
My heart begins pounding. This is ridiculous. I know this guy like the back of my hand. “No tongue. Rich will be back any second.”
“Sure. No tongue.”
I tilt my head up and let him kiss me. At first he keeps his lips closed. Then his tongue slips between my lips. The heady, peaty fragrance of scotch fills my mouth.
“You said no tongue,” I say, but I don’t pull my head away.
“I lied,” he answers, and keeps going. I’d forgotten what a good kisser he is. Then I hear the click of the lock and the door. Rich.
I pull away from Trey, embarrassed. “Sorry, Rich.” But Trey doesn’t let me go and Rich only smiles.
“Don’t worry about it. It looked like fun.” He pours me a glass of water, which he sets on the coffee table. He sits down on the ottoman, near our feet.
“It is fun,” Trey says. “She’s a good kisser.” He turns to me. “Rich broke up with his girlfriend recently.” If this is calculated to get my sympathy, it works.
“Oh God,” I say. “Then you don’t need to watch us kissing.” I try again to pull away, but Trey doesn’t break his grip.
“Yes, I do,” Rich says.
* * * *
At times like these, there comes a moment when we make decisions. To decide whether to stay with what is familiar and tell ourselves that we are being good, or to go with the unknown. And though I don’t consciously know it, it’s at this moment that I’ve chosen the latter.
“There’s only one problem,” I hear Rich say. Trey and I are kissing deeply now. He has pulled me closer to him. I’m letting him stroke my back, my ass. At Rich’s words, we stop and look at him.
“I’m sitting here thinking how much I’d like to be kissing those beautiful lips myself.” His words are catnip to me. I’m already wet between my legs, now I feel my pussy lips fill with warmth, soften and open. My heart thuds in my chest. Can’t they hear it? I pull away from Trey and sit at the edge of the chair.
This man is a source, the fast-receding professional part of my mind tells me. Or is he? There’s something going on that I don’t quite understand.
I look at Trey. I have a feeling he’s on his way to being drunk. And so was I, but now I feel stone-cold sober.
“Go for it,” he whispers, his voice husky. “Kiss him.”
I picture myself as supremely benevolent, the Queen of Kisses, bestowing them out of charity and goodwill. I take Rich’s face between my hands and lean forward. My lips meet his and I’ve made another decision.
I start to really kiss him, my tongue searching out his, but he says, “Wait. Slow down.” He puts a hand on my cheek and kisses me gently with his lips closed, and then again. With each new kiss, he begins to slip his tongue a little further between my lips. We begin kissing deeply, his tongue playing with mine. Finally, I pull away.
“There,” I say. “How was that? Do you feel more included now?”
He smiles. “Trey is right. You are a good kisser. I’d like to kiss you again.”
“Don’t stop on my account,” Trey says. “Claire knows that I like to watch.” I do? He does? I push the thought away. We shift our positions so that I’m sitting on the edge of the chair with my back toward him, his legs on either side of me. He puts his hands on my hips.
“One more,” I say to Rich, telling myself that that will be the end of it, but I know I’m wrong. As I kiss Rich, Trey leans forward and slides his hands under my shirt, playing with my breasts. I feel him nuzzle my neck, my ear. He unhooks my bra and gently rubs my nipples. Then he slides one hand down my stomach into my pants. I freeze.
“Are you okay, babe?” Trey whispers in my ear.
I stare into Rich’s eyes. They are warm and earnest.
For a split second no one moves. Then I put my lips to Rich’s again. Trey’s hand continues its explorations down my pants, under the waistband of my underwear. But because of the jeans it can’t get much farther than that. I shift my hips almost involuntarily, trying to give him access. His other hand leaves my breast and unfastens the buttons of my jeans. He slides his hand back down and discovers the wetness between my legs. I hear his intake of breath and I moan as he caresses my clit. Meanwhile, Rich continues kissing me. My mind is so full of sensations that I can’t think.
Again, I pull away from Rich and lean back into Trey, whose hand is deep inside my wetness. Rich takes off my shoes. He reaches for my jeans.
“We should stop,” I say, but have no will to make that happen. They have to decide.
“Is that what you want?” Rich asks me. “To stop?” “I don’t know.” Oh, yes, I do.
“It’s okay,” Trey says. “Let Rich give you one of his famous massages. Then you can decide.”
* * * *
In the bedroom, I turn and stand before them. Trey moves behind me and pulls my T-shirt over my head. I let him ease my bra off my shoulders. Rich slides my jeans over my hips and down to the floor, kneeling as he does so. I step out of them. He hooks his fingers into the elastic band of my panties. He smiles at me as he slides them off. I’m completely exposed to both of them. I want to cover myself. Rich begins stroking my legs. His hands move up the back of my thighs, then around to the front, and he traces the V of my pubic hair with his thumb. If Trey weren’t holding me up, my knees would have given way by now. I wait for him to put his mouth where his hands are, but he rises instead.
“I’ve got some massage oil in my gym bag,” he says and leaves the room.
Trey turns me around to face him. “Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen,” he says.
“I know. But what about you? Are you okay with this?” “Don’t worry about me.”
“But I do.”
He pulls the comforter, blanket, and sheet back from the bed. “Lie down.” He takes off his shirt.
I stretch out on my stomach. Trey stretches out next to me and we kiss. Rich returns to the room with his bag. I turn my head and see that he has also taken off his shirt. I can’t take my eyes off his smooth torso and perfectly defined abs.
“I’m going to take off my pants,” he says, “so that they don’t cut into you.” He does, and I see the huge bulge under his briefs. I turn away and wonder why. To preserve his modesty? A moment later I feel him straddle me lightly and begin to stroke his hands over my body. Slippery with oil, they glide over my skin and his strong fingers knead my muscles. I sigh with pleasure. “You’re tense,” he tells me. “Relax.”
“Trey, are you bored yet?” I ask. The joke is more for me than him. “Not at all,” he answers, smiling. “You have such a beautiful body. Such beautiful skin.” By now, Rich is finished with my back. He massages my buttocks. He slips a finger between my legs and lets it stop at the opening to my cunt. I groan.
“You’re so wet,” he whispers.
I don’t want him to stop, but he keeps moving down my legs to my feet. “I’ll go to sleep if you work on my feet,” I tell him. I’m not lying.
“We wouldn’t want that,” he says, but he massages them nonetheless. All tension melts out of my body. “Turn over,” he says, finally, as he continues to work on my feet.
Eyes closed, I hear Trey shift on the bed. He takes my wrists in one hand. I open my eyes and see that in his other hand, he is holding a long length of red rope. Where’d he get that? He smiles and begins to slowly wrap it around my wrists. It feels soft and smooth against my skin.
“Let me do this,” Trey says. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I know, but—” He covers my mouth with a kiss even while he loops the other end of the rope through the grillwork of the headboard. It holds my arms above my head, firmly, but not too tightly.
“I want to make your fantasies come true,” he says, smiling at me. “No strings, baby. This is for you.”
My eyes begin to moisten as I realize, once again, how much he loves me. I look down to see Rich’s reaction. His eyes gleam.
“Nothing is going to happen that you don’t want to happen,” he says, repeating Trey’s words. He reaches down into his bag to pull out more lengths of rope. He hands one piece to Trey. They part my legs gently and tie one ankle loosely to one bedpost and one to the other. There is enough slack so that I can bend my knees. I begin to twist. I feel too exposed.
“Trey, I don’t know about this.”
He slips his jeans off. His erection is huge. He climbs on the bed and stretches out next to me. He kisses me and plays with my nipples.
“Let yourself go,” he says.
He is right. I know they would stop if I became frightened. My heart is pounding in my chest, indeed. But whether it is from fear or excitement, I have no idea. Trey has remembered my fantasy of being tied up. He has remembered my fantasy about being with two guys. But there’s something more. Then it hits me. How could I not have realized this sooner? Was it because I didn’t want to? I can hardly breathe.
“Trey, is Rich ... is Rich a ...?”
Trey laughs. Rich smiles. He has climbed onto the bed and between my legs. “Yeah, babe. Rich’s from an escort service.” I remember lying on the bed with the phone pressed to my ear while I masturbated furiously, as Trey described sharing me with a male escort.
And now, I am at their mercy. Trey has made the fantasy real. “Oh Trey, I can’t believe you did this.”
“We can stop anytime you want. This is all up to you.”
“Do you want me to go?” Rich asks, kissing my knees, the inside of my thighs, my belly.
There is a long silence. There is a voice in my head saying, Good girls don’t do this. Good girls in relationships don’t do this. This is beyond the pale. This will come back to haunt you.
I look at Trey. “What if this doesn’t work?”
Rich laughs. “It will work,” he says. “That’s my job.”
I look at him. Suddenly, practical thoughts enter my head. I have to ask. “Are you ... Is this going to be ...?”
It’s as if he has read my mind. “I’m straight. I only do women. And it will all be safe sex. Don’t worry.”
They are both looking at me. Neither man has stopped touching me. Their hands are everywhere—stroking my nipples, my ass, my legs. I look up at Trey. I can’t say the words. But he understands. He knows my answer. He smiles but then his face becomes quite serious.
“Rich will do anything I tell him to,” Trey says. “And I’m going to tell him to do a lot to you. I hope you’re ready.”
I look back at Rich, who is still rubbing his hands up and down my legs, brushing my pubic hair lightly. He smiles at me, that same smile, warm and implacable.
“Yes,” I say, my voice hardly above a whisper.
* * * *
Trey continues. “First, I think I’d like Rich to lick your pussy.”
Rich obeys, but he doesn’t dive right in. No. He kisses me gently, like he kissed my mouth earlier. Then I feel his tongue slip between my cunt lips and barely touch my clitoris. I moan and arch my back, straining against the rope that holds my hands.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Trey says. His fingers are playing with my nipples. “You taste beautiful,” Rich says. He reaches down into his gym bag and pulls out a square of latex. I’ve never seen a dental dam before. I know that we must do this, yet I’m afraid that it will numb the feeling I’ve just had, the feeling of his tongue on me. But he manages to make this act erotic, spreading my cunt lips apart and stroking the latex into place. He puts his tongue back between my legs and I feel its soft, insistent pressure as strong as a finger, flicking back and forth across my clit.
“Do you like that?” Trey asks me.
“Oh God, yes.”
“Good. Rich, put a finger into her. I want to see you fill her up.”
Rich obeys. He slides the index finger of his right hand into my cunt and moves it in and out slowly. I’m so wet that it meets no resistance.
“I think you should put another finger into her. Into her ass, though.” At this, I moan. There’s something about having a man touch my asshole that seems taboo, which only makes it even more exciting.
Rich puts his middle finger into my cunt. At first, I think he’s misunderstood Trey. But when he pulls it out, I realize that he has just been wetting it with my juices. He then slides it down to the entrance of my asshole and presses against it. I think I’m going to come right then.
“Not so fast,” he says, taking his mouth from my cunt. “I think she needs something bigger in her,” he tells Trey. “A big cock.”
“Do it,” Trey says. “Get her ready for yours.”
Rich reaches into his bag again and pulls out a large, pink, lifelike dildo. He puts his hands back on me, touching my ass, but he puts the dildo at the entrance of my cunt. He looks to Trey.
“Do you want it?” Trey asks me. “Do you want that big dildo in you?” I can only nod. "Of course you do, baby.”
He nods to Rich, who very slowly slides the dildo into me. He lowers his head back to my cunt and resumes licking as he fucks me with the dildo. With each push of the dildo, he circles his finger a little faster around my other hole, then presses it in the tiniest bit. Trey begins to gently suck on my nipples and I hear my own moans grow louder. As if in response, Trey covers my mouth with his lips. My arms strain against the ropes.
“I’m going to come,” I say, pulling my mouth away. I can’t believe it’s happening this fast. Sometimes it takes as much as an hour before I can climax.
“That’s good,” Trey says. “I want to see you. I’ve been missing that.”
A memory flashes through my mind—of me on a different hotel bed and of Trey parting my legs. I stare at him and then I come. I throw my head back and cry out as the waves course through my body. I forget about the ropes holding my hands. As the orgasm subsides, Rich slows his licking. Then he pulls the dildo out of my cunt and his finger out of my ass. Both men are smiling at me.
“We’re not done with you,” Trey says. Rich is untying my ankles from the bedpost. Almost instinctively, I close my legs. I think I see him smirk. Trey positions himself on his left side so that his cock is level with my face. Gently, he puts his hand on my cheek and turns my head. He presses the tip of his penis against my lips. I part them and take his cock into my mouth. I know that if my hands were free I could do more, but as it is, I just lick the tip and then begin sucking.
“Oh God,” he says, moaning. “I forget how good those lips were.”
I look up and see that his eyes are closed in pleasure. I want my hands free so that I can stroke his ass, his balls. Then almost reluctantly, he pulls himself out of my mouth. He flips himself so that he is lying on his right side, his face even with my hips and his cock again at my mouth. “Keep sucking it, babe,” he says, and I comply. I’m afraid that my arms are going to cramp. Then I feel his hand caress my stomach.
“Are you ready to be fucked good and hard?” he asks me.
I forget about the ropes and the numbness in my arms. “Oh, God, yes. Fuck me.”
“Not yet. I’m going to let this male hooker fuck you first. I’m going to share you with him.”
I pull away from his cock and look down. Rich has a condom wrapper in his hand. Another adrenaline rush hits me. I watch, my heart racing, as he opens the wrapper. To me, the moment when a man puts a condom on is one of the most exciting moments in sex. It means that the sex is about to happen; that I’m about to be fucked. But by this stranger?
Rich spreads my legs and puts his knees between them. He positions his cock where I can feel it at the entrance of my cunt. It’s wet from the recent orgasm and getting wetter. Rich places his hands on either side of me and braces himself above me.
“Put it in just a little,” Trey says.
Rich does, and I moan. My pelvis moves against him involuntarily but he pulls back.
“Do you like that?” Trey asks me. “Do you like being fucked by a stranger?” “Yes,” I say. “Yes.”
“Do you want him to do it more?”
“Yes.” Then Trey begins rubbing my clit. For a moment I think, no, it will be too sensitive. I’m surprised to feel sensations of pleasure once again.
“Put it in a little more,” Trey orders Rich and he complies. I know that Trey can see everything from his vantage point. It makes me feel even more exposed, more powerless, and at the same time, more turned on.
Rich begins to slowly fuck me. We stare into each other’s eyes. I wonder how many women he’s looked down on like this. My ego rises up inside me. I tighten my vagina around his cock. His eyes widen and his face contorts momentarily in ecstasy before he composes himself. I want to put my hands on his ass and pull him to me.
“She’s good,” he tells Trey. “I’m going to have to do her slow.”
“I want to do her mouth,” Trey answers. Rich lifts one hand from the bed and turns my cheek to Trey’s erection, which I take between my lips.
“Oh God, she’s sucking you really good,” Rich tells him. I’m pleased and overwhelmed by sensations as Trey begins rubbing me harder.
“You’re going to come with his cock in you,” he says.
Rich’s thrusts become more even, slow and hard, as Trey’s finger rubs faster and faster. Even though Trey’s penis fills my mouth, I’ve stopped sucking and have started moaning.
I come again, slamming my pelvis against Rich. I open my eyes in time to see the look of surprise on his face and I know that he is coming, too. Trey pulls his hand away so that Rich can collapse on top of me. We are both sweating.
He rolls off, panting hard. “That doesn’t usually happen,” he says to the ceiling. Trey laughs. “I’d better see what all the fuss is about.” I look at him in surprise.
“I said we were going to share you,” he reminds me.
I realize again that my arms are aching. “Untie me,” I say. Trey begins to reach for the rope but Rich is there first. I lower my freed arms and Rich rubs my wrists while Trey slips on a condom.
Once suited up, he spreads my legs again. I gasp as I feel his still-hard cock slide into my wetness. Then he’s looking down on me. “You’re so wet,” he says. “You’re so, so wet.”
Now while Rich watches, Trey fucks me slowly, hard. “Shit, this feels so, so good.” He turns me over and pulls me onto my elbows and knees. I feel him enter me from behind. He grabs my ass cheeks hard and the pace of his thrusts quicken.
“You have such a great ass,” I hear him say.
“I want to see you come,” I tell him. He flips me over and enters me again. “That’s it,” he moans. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
And then he comes, his body shuddering, his face even more contorted than Rich’s.
* * * *
Later that night, I wake up. Trey sleeps beside me, breathing quietly. I hear the toilet flush. Rich enters the room and begins to collect his things. I watch him dress. He glances over at the bed and sees me.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi.” He finishes dressing and comes over to my side of the bed. He kisses me on the lips. “Bye,” he says. “Take care of yourself.”
“Do I need to—” I can’t believe I’m about to offer to pay him.
“Nope. All taken care of.” He picks up a thick white envelope from the dresser.
I hadn’t even noticed Trey putting it there.
“Wait.” I don’t know quite what I’m doing, but I get out of bed and follow him out of the bedroom to the door of the suite. He looks at me questioningly. I put my arms around his neck and kiss him.
“What was that for?” he asks.
“For making one of my wildest fantasies come true.” “Trey made it come true. Not me.”
I hear the voice in my head ask, So this was just another job to you? I mentally kick myself.
Surely he’s heard that question before. And I’m sure he tells them all they were special. So I take a step back. “Thanks anyway,” I say.
“Really?” I say teasingly.
He gives me a strange look. Suddenly, he drops his bag and grabs me. We begin kissing madly, almost as though we were trying to devour each other. He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. He takes me back into the living room and together we fall onto the armchair, him on his knees in front of me. He pulls my hips to the edge of the chair, fumbles with his pants, then fumbles with a condom, and then he is in me again. Our sex is even more intense this time because we have made a silent agreement to be quiet. This is no performance. Holding my hips in place, pumps into me. He never takes his eyes from mine. Finally, with one last thrust, he comes, and then pulls me to him.
“That was on the house,” he whispers in my ear. “That was for me.” A tremor goes through me. “How do I know that?”
“Because. Because I want to see you again.”
* * * *
Rich is gone. I crawl back into bed beside Trey, who stirs in his sleep and reaches over to me. “How are you?” he asks groggily, pulling me to him and enfolding me in his arms.
“I’m fine,” I say, despite the other fantasy’s unexpected turn. Can one cheat with a male escort? “Thanks for tonight. How are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he whispers, and I think I hear a catch in his throat, but then he slides back into sleep.
This story is an excerpt from Three Days, Cynthia W. Gentry’s first novel, which was recently published in France as Trois Jours (Bragelonne/Milady). Her short erotic fiction has been published on RavenousRomance.com, and she wrote the erotica for the book Red Hot Tantra. She’s also the author of several books on relationships and sex, including What Men Really Want in Bed, What Women Really Want in Bed, Secret Seductions (available also as a card deck and mini-book), and The Bedside Orgasm Book (reissued in paperback as Mind-Blowing Orgasms Every Day). Her short fiction, essays, and film reviews have appeared in anthologies, literary journals and on the web.