This is the last in the “Mary and Suzie” series. When I came to write I found that my requirements of myself had changed since I wrote “Coffee Table Games“. Now I wanted to go beyond a description of a D/s threesome and find out how this relationship came to be. The result surprised me and gave me some insight into how a Dom might get started.
The story featured Rachel Kramer Bussel’s very successful anthology “He’s On Top“
Christmas with Mary and Suzie
This will be the first Christmas that Mary and Suzie and I have spent together. I’ve been thinking about them all day. On the overcrowded flight home I feigned sleep and summoned images of the two of them – bound, beaten, and fucked into exhausted happiness – that made my cock pulse with anticipation at the thought of using them and watching them use each other.
I was in my forties and twice divorced before I came to terms with the dominant side of my sexuality. Mary claims that she knew my real nature the first time that she looked into my eyes.
We were in one of those clubs at the edge of town, where the young people lose themselves to the rhythms of music and stoke each other into a sexual frenzy. I was feeling old and out of place and was about to leave when I saw Mary.
She looked too young to be in such a place and too small and frail to be unprotected, but the emotion stirring in the pit of my belly was not paternal care but ravenous lust.
It wasn’t the way she flicked her long red hair or the prominence of her nipples under the T-shirt that hugged her small breasts; it was her smile that snagged me. Her arms were above her head, her hands were grasping her own wrists, her eyes were closed, and she was smiling. There was a wickedness in that smile that called to me.
It didn’t so much move towards her, it was more that I was pulled into the sexual-magnetic field that her smile generated.
When I was so close to her that I could have licked any part of her that I chose, her body started to jerk forward, then rest, then twist forward again. Although the music made it impossible for me to hear anything, I could have sworn that with each twist she groaned.
She had my full attention. If I had been asked, there and then, what I wanted from her, my only reply could have been: “everything”.
She opened her eyes when I put my hands on her breasts and ran my thumbs across her nipples. It wasn’t something I’d decided to do; it was something that I couldn’t refrain from.
When she made eye-contact, everything stopped. I was more aware of the intensity of her gaze than I was of the heat of her young flesh. I swear I saw the moment when she reached her decision. Then I started to breathe again.
She let herself fall against me, wrapping her arms around my neck, pulling my head down and pushing up on tip-toe until her mouth was close to my ear.
“You’ve been looking for me,” she said. “I knew that if I stood here and imagined being flogged and flogged and flogged, you would find me.”
I had no idea, then, what she meant, but the image of her being flogged and the reality of her pressing against me was too much to bear. I came, right there on the dance floor.
With any other woman I might have apologised. With Mary, a different part of my brain took over. I pulled one of her hands from my neck and placed it on the sticky mess at the front of my trousers. She closed her fingers around me possessively, and squeezed.
“Are you going to make me clean that up?” she asked, as her thumb traced my shaft.
“Are you going to punish me on my knees with your cock in my mouth?”
Her other hand slid down my back and pushed past my belt, on its way to my arse.
“Are you going to…”
I didn’t let her finish. I grabbed both her arms and pushed her to her knees in one swift movement. Then I put my hand on the back of her head, wrapped some of her hair in my fist and pushed her face up against my crotch.
She licked me through my trousers. She closed her mouth around my bulge and sucked. When she reached for my zip with her teeth, I pulled her head back by her hair and we made eye-contact for a second time.
“Not until I give you permission,” I said. I could hardly believe I’d said that. What the hell did I think I was doing? What if she cried rape? What if she punched me in the balls? What if…
“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” she said.
Her smile was still there, but there was a hunger in her eyes now that reflected my own.
I took her home and our journey began. That was almost a year ago. She’s still here. For that, I am profoundly grateful.
Does gratitude sound odd on the lips of a self-confessed dominant? It should not. Don’t be distracted by the fact that I am old enough to be her father and strong enough to leave her tight little arse covered in welts that write out my lust in a pain-drenched Braille; Mary is my equal as well as my slave. I realise now that the most important parts of my life had been written in an invisible ink that can be read only by the heat of our mutual desire.
In the time we’ve spent together I’ve grown to know Mary the way that a sailor knows the sea; it is not that I understand her, it’s more that I observe her closely and try to read the signs and portents that predict her actions.
Mary meets me at the door to welcome me home from my business trip to India. This time her intentions are not at all hard to read. Mary is wearing only a Santa hat, a red leather collar with matching cuffs and novelty panties with “Ho Ho Hole” printed in white on a red background.
It’s good to be home for the holidays.
Perhaps it is the way her nipples jut upwards or the grin that won’t quite go away even when she kisses me, but I know there is something Mary wants to show me.
I push her to her knees and let her unzip me and kiss me for the second time. She is diligent but, even with her mouth full, her eyes are pleading for us to move on to the next thing. Given Suzy’s failure to greet me, I have my suspicions on what Mary has in mind.
When I am nicely hard, I say, “O.K. Show me.”
She is up off her knees so fast my cock is left bobbing in her wake.
“We prepared something special for you,” she says and then leads me by the cock towards the playroom.
When I am away, Mary takes charge, even though Suzie is more than ten years older than her.
Mary was always proud of her bisexuality. She brought women to our bed with the same strut of achievement with which my cat used to drop dead birds at my feet: part tribute, part taunt, all instinct. But when Mary “recruited” Suzy to our household, she moved into conscious choice. The two of them are perfect together. Where Mary rushes gleefully towards submission, Suzy wrestles with it, needing to be bound and beaten, before she can give herself up to the lust inside her.
Mary was Suzy’s first female lover. Suzy had spent ten years in a sexless marriage, only to be dumped for a trophy wife once her husband made Partner at his law firm. Mary discovered Suzy at a singles bar, took one look at her rounded figure and her wounded eyes and knew she had to taste her. She followed her to the bathroom, where Suzy was adjusting her make up in the mirror. She waited until Suzy looked at her, then she stepped out the flimsy little dress she was wearing, stood naked, hands on hips and said, “Want some?”
Suzy froze. Mary stepped up behind her, pressed herself up against Suzy’s back and firmly took possession of Suzy’s breasts. When Suzy closed her eyes and groaned Mary let go and stepped away.
“If you want me, follow me,” she said, as Suzy turned to her, confused and breathless. Mary walked into a stall. Suzy followed.
They’ve acted out what happened next for me on many occasions, once even in the same bathroom at the bar. Mary wasn’t gentle: she bit and slapped and pushed her small fist in deep. Suzy took it all and cried only from relief at her too long delayed release.
Now Suzy has two loves in her life, Mary and pain.
To my surprise, I’ve turned out to be good at pain. Before I met Mary, I’d never hit a woman. In fact, as and adult, I’d never hit anyone. I regarded myself as a civilised man with too much intellect to need to resort to violence. I still think of myself that way. Pain, the kind of pain I inflict, has nothing to do with violence. It has to do with strength and courage and the need to break away from the limits of the flesh.
The first time I hit Mary, I was in a kind of trance. She was bent over a chair, naked, arse in the air, an improvised gag in her mouth, and she wanted me to hurt her. I suppose I could have just spanked her but at the time it seemed natural to use my belt. I remember the sound it made as I pulled it of my jeans, the weight of it in my hand when I bent it over, the noise it made as it whistled through the air, but most of all I remember that first impact. It was as if I’d jumped off a cliff and instead of falling, had discovered I could fly. I felt powerful and purposeful and connected to Mary more intimately than I would have thought possible.
I’ve learnt a lot about pain since then: how to set a rhythm, how to raise and lower intensity, how to take Mary to the point where she cannot keep still, where she has to stamp her feet to earth the pain.
Mary likes pain as an extra spice on the joy she gets from being tied and used. For Suzy, the pain is the main event. She struggles against it, trying to subdue it, trying to make it go away, but she wants to be pushed and pushed until she has no will left to struggle with and can give herself up completely to the heat flowing through her.
I’ve grown fond of Suzy. She doesn’t twist my guts as Mary does, but she has an enormous capacity for pain-induced pleasure and she will do anything that Mary asks of her.
Although Mary and I often play alone, I have never taken Suzy without Mary’s participation. It is an unwritten rule that shapes the angles of the triangle we make.
When we reach the playroom, Mary skips ahead, stands triumphantly beside Suzie, points at her and says “I wrapped your present”.
Suzie does indeed look like Christmas present. She is strapped, spread-eagle on our Saint Andrew’s cross, tinsel trims have been added to the leather that binds her. A Christmas tree bauble hangs from the ring that Mary installed through Suzy’s heavily hooded clit. Above the ring, Suzy’s pubis has been freshly shaved and the words, “Merry Christmas” have been painted across it in Mary’s small, precise handwriting.
I move to kiss Suzy hello, looking forward to the weight of her breasts in my hands when, Mary says, “Do you want to see what we bought for you to open your present with?”
I’m intrigued. Mary grins, reaches down to a box beside the cross and produces two silver metal eggs, so large she can barely fit them in her small palms.
I raise an eyebrow. Mary bends and slides the first egg into Suzy’s cunt. “They vibrate, don’t they, Suzie?”
“God, yes.” Suzy says then grunts as the second egg is pushed up her well lubed arse.
“But the best thing,” Mary says, reaching back into the box and pulling something out, “Is the remote control.”
I take the remote from her. It has two controls, one for each egg I assume, that can be set at low, medium or high. Mary drops back to her knees as I examine the remote, and rubs my cock against her face to keep me hard.
“Tell him what happens when they’re both set on ‘High’, Suzy,” Mary says then sucks my balls into her mouth.
Suzy eyes flick hungrily across the remote as she speaks, “They vibrate against each other and I die and go to heaven.”
I can take a hint as well as the next man. But I like to add a twist. I pull Mary to her feet, lead her across to Suzy, push her head onto Suzy’s left breast and tell her to suck.
Suzy is groaning by the time I finally kiss her hello and run my hand over her belly, but her eyes are still on the remote.
I set both controls to low. Suzy pouts at me. I push them both to high and her eyes widen. I can hear the eggs buzzing away. The bauble on Suzy’s clit ring starts to bounce. Mary is still sucking but has slipped a finger or two inside herself.
I know exactly what she needs.
It takes me a few seconds to find a condom to slip over the small remote. I show it theatrically to Suzy, then I push it into Mary’s cunt.
“That’s not coming out until I’ve come in her arse.” I say.
Suzy barely registers my words. Her eyes are glazed and her head is rolling from side to side. They really were very big eggs.
Mary bends over and positions herself so that her head rests on Suzy’s belly, her arms are wrapped around where Suzy’s waist used to be, and her legs are braced and spread wide.
As I part Mary’s buttocks and press home, I grin at the thought that this is going to be my best Christmas ever. Then I make a silent prayer to the universe that I will survive until New Years.
© Mike Kimera 2005. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from firstname.lastname@example.org
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