“Vaughan!” Jemima pounced as I closed our front door behind me, before I’d even dropped my briefcase and gym-bag. She flung her arms around my neck and wrapped her legs around my hips, ensconcing me in black cotton, bleached hair and the overpowering aroma of her special occasion, vetiver bath oil. Her tongue ram-raided my mouth and her heart knocked against my ribs as if she would even get inside me too given half a chance. My heart sank. She had been at the pornography again.

She gasped off my face. “Do me.”

“Jemima,” I complained. “I injured my back at the—”

“Call me Nicholas.” She underlined the terrible joke with a grind of her hips on the front of my suit, and before I could rein in my hungry hands they’d swooped under her skirt to feast on bare bottom.

“This is quite a change from last night,” I said.

“I think I’m actually dripping,” she huffed into my ear, wetly.

“OK, so we’re pretending that you didn’t wake me up, fiddling yourself over your phone? After telling me you weren’t in the mood because you’d already had a biggie in the shower?”

She sealed me mute with another messy kiss and I carried her – clung to me like a baby monkey – into the lounge.

I was rather unsure what I would do with her; despite my body having one or two ideas, my mind nagged that I was simply setting myself up for more disappointment.

Before you jump to conclusions, let me explain that even after ten years, I loved my wife as much as the day we met. I was that lucky blighter in the rom-coms; the gentle-giant law student who married the manic-pixie-dream-girl. But the twinge I bore at the base of my spine right then – as she fidgeted in my arms while I headed for the sofa – was a testament to how I’d been trying to keep up with Jemima’s porn-stars. Yes, this was childish and shallow, but faced with lifting 20kg or 40kg, paranoia would taunt me with the balloon-toy, veiny males she pleasured herself over and I’d always overdo it. How did something that started as her endearing sexual honesty turn into this antisocial porn habit? I decided to unpeel her now, before one of us ruined everything again.

“Come on, Sweetpea, lighten up,” she said, locking her feet behind my back. “Let’s lick, fuck and suck, in that order. Know what I mean? I’ve been inattentive. I owe you.” She probed a tongue deep into my ear, prepping it for the whisper-bomb: “I want you to cum in my mouth.”

Her pornographic talk was petrol to my smouldering unease. Jemima and I did not talk this way, these were just words she used to turn herself on. If I took up her offer, she’d immediately reach for her iPad and log in to that damned ‘Tabbycat’s Purr’. Then she’d keep me on tenterhooks while she used our lovemaking to validate her addiction. Three or four times. With her fingers or – worse – the dildo she’d ordered off one of the bloody banner ads. Then she’d leap on me sixty-nine and, in a second, orgasm so hard she’d be utterly done for days.

I should have informed her weeks ago I’d gone off all this. Instead I’d dimwittedly played along in the hope it was just a phase. Jemima’s only serious relationship before me had been with a woman she’d met while travelling in her gap year: a stout, rainbow-braided, earth-mother who I had no hope of competing with. So, when she discovered this ‘girl-porn’ site I went along with it, believing it (mistakenly) to be a site of women for women. “A need shared over a need denied,” being one of Jemima’s more common axioms, of which there were many. And honestly, I did rather enjoy it at first, who wouldn’t? Cuddling up with your masturbating wife while watching some red-lipped harlot – in a cat mask, basque and nothing else – pleasuring a succession of her, largely female, friends?

Everything was fine until we had the talk. About starting a family. I wanted children, but Jemima didn’t, her fashion career just kicking off. Then what started as her monthly ‘cheeky-treat’ became weekly, and lately, almost every other day. I had no idea what the connection might be, except that my response can’t have helped; a balling resentment that I could neither explain, nor control, stopping me from cumming for her. Ever.

I slumped onto the sofa with Jemima still on top of me. She pecked giggly kisses under my jaw and behind my ears, but rather than lowering my guard, it raised goosebumps. I mentally counted down. I didn’t even get to five.

“You need a little… something?” she said, Cleopatra eyes peeping up from under her fringe. “There’s a new one on ‘The Purr’? She gets this monster cock in a sixty-nine-” talking to her hands, held a foot apart under wide eyes “- and actually cums with it. So. Fucking. Horny… You ok?”

Every bit of me blazed.

Jemima cupped my face in her cool palms and tilted it to hers, her icy blue eyes endeavouring to peer into my hot head. My voice leaked through clenched teeth. “Am I supposed to be aroused by this… exploding musclecock? Or just shamed into cumming myself somehow?”


After the leak. The torrent. “You know what I do? I watch you watching them. I remember every time you moan or nudge my ribs. Then when you’re out? I agonise over them. I try to work out what it is you need from me. Maybe I needed to shove harder, last longer, lick quicker, slower, firmer, gentler. Or maybe I need even bigger arms and chest, better abs.” I ripped my shirt open, Jemima winced as buttons pinged everywhere. For a moment, the only sound was plastic spinning on the wooden floor. I had never done that before. It was very satisfying.

Jemima’s lips flattened. She slid caresses under my shirt, over my skin, tracing the grooves in my tired muscles. She leant the gentlest kiss to me. Then another. But each kiss went off in my skull with a burst of pain. Typical, she should try and kiss through it. Deny our situation. Not this time.

“I think we might need a break from each other,” I said.

I expected tears. I expected begging. I got a tongue in my ear.

“Listen,” she said, eventually, hopping off me. “I’d planned to give this to you after I’d sucked you off. An extra treat. But I think you need it now.” She thumped into the kitchen and returned with a gift card. A massage at a fancy spa, booked and paid for. Tomorrow.

Jemima bunched her skirt in wringing hands. “They call it the ‘life-changer’ massage. I thought that would make you laugh. You will go, won’t you?”

I hated spas. I hated being touched by strangers. But I still had to blink back a tear. Jemima didn’t do expensive gifts, and this would have cost her a fortune. I swallowed. Whatever we were going through, she still loved me.

“Go get a rub down.” She grabbed the hem of her dress and stepped onto the sofa astride my lap. “It will be good for your back. It might even cheer you up.” She lifted her skirt to her waist. “Bring you back to me.” She pushed her hips toward my face.

Jemima kept her mound bald to show off a tattoo she’d got before we’d met. Flowery Alice-in-Wonderland script said: ‘Eat me’. Some might see this as a vulgar joke, but it always acted upon me like a spell, direct from Jemima’s body to mine. “Ignore your worries,” it said. “Everything will be OK. Just eat.”

Bedazzled, I kissed the proffered soft lips between my wife’s legs. The kiss of moisture I received in return lifted my spirits. Perhaps she understood. Perhaps this time there would be no porn and we could simply make love.

I pressed again, dabbing a light tongue to her swollen nub. She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, stroking the back of my head. “We don’t do holidays, remember?” She pulled my head harder to her. “We change our lives, instead.”

I lapped along her groove, steadying her by her bottom when her legs shook. Jemima was indeed full of these axioms. Another one of her mantras crossed my mind right then, as it often did when my tongue was slicked with her: “How can anyone resist women? They’re delicious!”

Neither of us had any idea that, in less than 24 hours, I would consider using this as a defence.


I marched up and down the high street, fists clenched, bleary eyes unable to find that damned spa. I’d hardly slept. What started as tender and sweet the night before had ended with me alone, aching-hard and shivering on the sofa, locked out of our bedroom. Every blink still flashed Jemima’s ashen, white lipped face, the spill of a tear.

Then the universe – which clearly had it in for us – stepped in.

I found the spa. The place turned out to have an unmarked entrance that I might have passed by again but for the flammable combination of my sexual agitation and an elegantly dressed woman knocking at the door.

It is a shallow admission, but I don’t think I’m the only person that – irrespective of how much they love their partner – carries in them some subliminal ideal that their eye secretly, constantly, measures others against. A model of perfection so finely tuned that it will snag on a single face in a crowd if it even broadly meets the standard. And it is very rare indeed that, on drawing near, you find that each level of the ideal is met: Long black hair? Tick. Long black lashes? Tick. Obsidian eyes? Tick. Alabaster skin? Tick. Voluptuous overbite? Bingo!

My objectifying stare must have alerted this Ms Overbite because she shot a scowl at me when I approached. As if to ratify my judgement – if not the tenderness of my insides that afternoon – when the woman’s glare hit, my chest palpably stung with longing. That had never happened before, not even with Jemima.

“Sorry,” I said, idiotically broadcasting that I had something to be sorry for.

The woman’s frown melted. She seemed to bite back a smile, or was it just politely half formed? And what was it in the slope of her eyes that suggested deep sadness? And was I staring too long at those delicately pink, plump lips? She pointed at the door. “You going in here?” she said. Breathy American accent. Double bingo.

My mouth was paper. I nodded. Now she smiled. Briefly, but generous and unaffected, as if I was quite a surprise. Then she sighed at her shoes. My skin warmed and knees threatened to unhinge. She was Jemima’s height, and as slim too, but otherwise fuller all over. More womanly. I banished the shameful comparison before I telegraphed that as well.

The door thunked and a silver-haired Thai woman let us in. I had never been to a spa before, but the women both seemed to know what to do, so I followed them wordlessly up some stairs. To avoid my instinctual need to assess how firm my ideal woman’s round bottom might be, I paid particular attention to my surroundings. The spa was larger inside than out; simply furnished, fragrant and spotless. Ambient music seemed to thrum from everywhere.

I took a towel when offered, then a robe, then, mysteriously, some strange paper underwear that appeared to be for me alone. There was further confusion when we got to the changing rooms and – still on autopilot – I followed the elegant woman into hers. I realised my error with a jolt, and leapt out of as if from scalding water, ears aflame.

The Thai woman grumbled, apparently dumbfounded, and showed me to another room. Inside, I stripped out of my suit, shirt and underwear (no tie, it was the weekend) and scrubbed down in a large marble shower, then pulled on the disposable pants. They were tiny and barely covered me, so I decided to keep the towel round my waist, and preferably my robe on. I answered a light knock on a second door, to be led out by a young Thai woman into a minimalist, but warm and fragrant space; dark stone and white glass spectacularly doubled by a coppery reflective ceiling. My masseuse was dressed smartly in black silk with a white magnolia in her hair. She bowed with a welcoming, cheeky smile. I felt like James Bond. My muscles relaxed instantly.

Then things spiralled into wrongness.

Stretched out on her front on a white upholstered massage table, was the elegant woman, hair in a loose bun, her back and legs bare. A strip of folded black silk lay across her bottom. Unconcerned at the nervous Bond looming over her, she hummed under the oiling strokes of her own magnolia-sporting masseuse. To their right lay another, empty, massage table. Between, on a linking stone shelf, a copper bowl of scented oil warmed over tealight candles. The cavernous space was otherwise empty. There appeared to be nowhere else for me to go. Was it usual for massages to be mixed gender?

I averted my eye from the nearly nude woman’s uninterrupted sweeps of skin and tried to put out of my mind that only I had been given underwear, so she was more than likely bare under that silk. My masseuse took my robe. Then my towel. Ms Overbite blatted her lashes and turned away as I presented myself in my paper underpants. Again with the sting. In the flutter of her blink, she’d skipped a glance over my body.

I lay on my front and tried not to show my nervousness at giving over to an expert’s touch. My horizontal companion turned back to face me, now that I was flat out and covered up, too. The cool directness of her gaze suggested a confidence born of hardship. Someone who had decided that nothing mattered anymore. She leant toward me. “I think they think we are a couple,” she whispered conspiratorially, waving her wedding ring and nodding at mine.

“Oh! Please forgive me.” I went to push off the bench. “I’ve clearly blundered into your session.”

The woman snorted. A dry laugh that didn’t make it to her lips. “You for real? You’re like some superhero’s butler alter-ego.”

I struggled to parse whether that was a compliment or not. Either way, I gathered my modesty strip, ready to take my leave.

She waved. “No, don’t go. They take their time here, so it’s good to have someone to talk to.” She held out her hand. “Tabitha.”

We were orientated badly for shaking hands, lying as we were, so I took her right with my left and awkwardly squeezed and waggled. In comparison to the masseuse’s warm, strong fingers, Tabitha’s were cool and soft. She blinked at me and glowed for a second, like sun passing through rainclouds.

“Vaughan,” I said.

Tabitha’s masseuse poured oil over her feet and rubbed them. Tabitha leant up on her elbows. She seemed unbothered at revealing her cinnamon nipples. I wondered if there was another frustrated husband, overdoing it in a gym somewhere.

She took a good look up and down me. “You a model?”

I laughed, then yelped as my masseuse hit the stiff muscle in my back. “No. You?”

“Yep,” she said.


The black sweep of her eyebrows arched half way up her forehead. She narrowed her eyes.

“Oh!” I blurted. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean… of course you’re a model. I mean look at you, you’re… you’re extraordinary!”

Tabitha dropped her head into her arms; whether exasperated or because of the Thai woman working her instep, I couldn’t tell.

“What kind of modelling do you do?” I gabbled, wanting her attention back.

Tabitha shut her eyes. “Oh, I’m not fussy,” she sighed.

I’d lost her. I cursed my witlessness. I wished Jemima was with us. She would have something scintillating and flirtatious to say. She would get a kiss out of that impossible mouth. And yes, I am totally aware how wrong this sounds. While Tabitha couldn’t see me, I marvelled at her. I considered kissing her. I imagined my wife and I alternating, plucking lips to Tabitha’s with aching slow tenderness. Then Jemima’s mouth exploring her, glimpses of the slip of eager tongues.

With telepathic insight, and a playfulness that quite caught me by surprise, Tabitha stuck her tongue out at me.

“Sorry,” I coughed. “I thought you couldn’t see me.” She had tested me again, and for a second time my mindless apology had exposed a guilty secret. She would make a cracking lawyer.

“You’re so transparent,” she said. “I can read you with my eyes closed.”

Even though that made no actual sense, I still wished the masseuse would rub me away to nothing at all. “Forgive me,” I said.

“Oh please,” Tabitha said, squirming a little. “This is a very sexy situation, that’s all.”

She watched her bombshell explode in my face with quiet amusement. I think my chin might have quivered. Tabitha’s melancholy calm, counterpointed by the notion she might find me attractive, had me all but salivating for more attention. A desire only held in check by my guilt; knickerless in its dress and gripped to me like a baby monkey.

The torture was short lived, however.

Because it immediately got much worse. My masseuse lifted the silk from my hips, screening me from Tabitha and averting her eye even though I was paperily beknickered. “Please turn over, sir,” she said.

A combination of Tabitha, the massage, and my torrid imagination had got me profoundly hard. “I’m ok, thanks,” I said. “It’s just my back that needs um…”

“But I am not finished,” the masseuse said. “Erection no problem, sir. It sometimes happen for men.”

Solid advice to us all, of course, but it did not help. Tabitha said, “Ha.” And wriggled over onto her back, her breasts like taunting children. She made absolutely no attempt to look away either. Her ease irritated me and, slightly blood drunk, I turned over, too. The caveman in me was proud of his club, while the polite lawyer felt confident I was in part strapped down by the elastic of my breached paper panties. So I might be spared some-

“Sir, this is too tight!” The masseuse seemed to accuse me, then with a firm and practiced sweep – like that magic trick with a tablecloth – she dragged the pointless underwear off my hips and legs without disturbing my silk strip a jot. Unlike my flushed member which grabbed the chance to struggle against the light material like an escapologist, eager to present itself to a certain amorous eye.

The Thai women, professionals that they were, made no comment. Tabitha whistled. She made no secret of scrutinising me and relishing my unease. Then her bravado seemed to falter. She blinked at my pathetically concealed manhood as if it were a Jack-in-the-box. Her cheeks pinked and she bit her lip.

“Is that… because of me?” She said eventually, in a small voice that seemed to come straight from her subconscious.

What could I say? Yes, and betray Jemima? No, and upset Tabitha? I clamped my mouth shut.

She nodded, appreciating my dilemma. “Well, I like it. If it is for me.” Her flush deepened. She stretched restlessly. “Oh my,” she sing-songed. “I didn’t expect this deliciousness today!”

I laughed like a goon.

While the masseuse finished Tabitha’s legs and returned to the silver bowl to gather more oil, Tabitha absently inspected her wedding ring above her, then slipped it off and put it on top of her phone, laid on the table beside her. “I’m just glad my horniness is less-” She mimed my cock with her fist and a rigid forearm “-and more like this.” She peered at the oil the masseuse was dribbling thickly over her breasts.

I swallowed. “Thank you for that image, Tabitha.”

Tabitha shrugged. “Enjoy. Now we’re even.”

The Thai women worked at our bodies like miners at a flesh coalface. I tried – and failed – to avoid the slippery pliancy and stiff nipples of Tabitha’s oiled breasts in the Thai girl’s hands. I also failed to ignore Tabitha’s constant peeping at my silken ramrod, while simultaneously failing to put her liquid arousal out of my mind. I tried staring at the ceiling but the copper was polished to mirror, and showed nothing but my great lumpen body, barely fitting on the table – with a strip of black across my middle that may as well have been a flag for my pole – while Tabitha lay glistening and comely beside me, crimson now, smouldering straight back.

It amazed me how aroused this woman was, just from my unconcealable attraction to her, and then vice versa, in a resonant loop. A sixty-nine of infatuation. Were we both so starved of approval at home? Is that why her demeanour seemed so defeated? My heart pummelled harder than the masseuses’ fists on my chest. I shut my eyes. Whatever. But when your ideal idealises you, it cannot end well.

“Usual, ma’am?” Tabitha’s masseuse said softly.

“Mm-hmm,” she answered.

I tried to focus on the music, and the deep, hard tug of massaging palms and fingers. The girl was so good, it felt like she had pushed through my skin and was working individual muscles and organs.

Tabitha moaned a little and I ignored her. But when she breathed, “Yes.” I had to see why.

Reflected above us, Tabitha’s masseuse had slipped her attentions immodestly under the modesty strip. Little lumps were doing insistent things between legs. The masseuse worked with a brisk rhythm while she stared glassily at Tabitha’s wringing feet. Tabitha, however, her chest rising and falling like a swelling tsunami, had trained smouldering slits on me.

My whole body pounded, my skin flamed. I could not tear away from it. Was this it, was this infidelity? Just an inability to shift your gaze?

My masseuse leant to my ear. “Distress, sir?” I flinched from her, my head spinning. She nodded to Tabitha. “You like to de-stress with your wife, yes? Happy ending?” Her strokes slid under my silk, circling my hips and the tops of my thighs, awaiting instruction.

“Yes please!” nodded my meat.

“Yes please!” Tabitha ganged up with it. “Do us together!” She nudged her hips against her masseuse’s movements like a needy cat.

“I’m… I’m good thanks,” I said.

Tabitha grunted and seemed to let go. She shuddered. Her silk joggled quickly up and down as the masseuse performed some concealed coup-de-grace and Tabitha arched off the table and froze, clawing her breasts… then flopped, breathless, as the intimate massage slowed, and spiralled outward around her hips. Tabitha dissolved into hysterics that had the masseuses grinning like Cheshire cats. They clearly loved to see her happy. Mine patted my chest and said something in Thai and they all laughed. Tabitha muttered something back, surprisingly in their language, while she pecked grateful kisses all over her masseuse’s hands. Much more hilarity ensued.

You would not have recognised Tabitha as the same downcast woman from earlier. Sex suited her very well. My stomach twisted with the urge to bring happiness to her again. And again. And to keep bringing it, all the time.

The women bowed and left the room. As they closed the door behind them, an ingenious hourglass door-handle on the back of it inverted. Did this mean we were locked in? I had the skin-tingling sense of being trapped with a lioness. Jemima’ first orgasm only ever left her turned on, especially if it was achieved by fingers alone. She described it as, “the lovely itch for more.” I both hoped and dreaded that Tabitha would be the same.

In this context, Tabitha’s long, blissful hum was like a rumbling growl of warning. She stretched out, spreading all her fingers and toes. “They said it’s your wife’s job to de-stress you,” she said to our reflections.

“Indeed?” I spat.

That did not go unnoticed. A frown flickered across Tabitha’s brow. She turned onto her side, twisting under the silk which still maintained the conceit of covering her modesty.

“And they really do think we’re married.” She spoke to her fingernail, tracing a pattern around her nipple. “They think that I should… um…” She trailed off into contemplation.

I toyed with leaving, but that would be a rather rude response to a stranger’s intimacy. I wondered how long I had on the hourglass if I had to ride it out.

She tucked loose hair behind her ear. “So… what do you think?”

I closed my eyes to shut out my temptress, and tried to shuffle myself comfortable on the table. But relaxation is hard to find with a lump of rock sticking out of you.

“Come on, who’s to know?” she said, still sotto voce, as if it doesn’t count as infidelity if you whisper. “It’s just a sexy accident that we’re both here and that we both… you know… want it. And we’ve been given 20 secret minutes where nothing else is expected of us. Let’s seize it. Have some fun.”

I shook my head. Tabitha slumped, and her pall of hopelessness did more to loosen my resolve than any flirtation. Frankly, all I wanted was to make her hoot with abandoned joy again. A task I would preferably perform with every part of my anatomy. And just because that was denied me, did not mean I wanted to cause her pain. Now I wished I had climaxed with her when they wanted me to, and I could have blamed the masseuses’ coercion. My feelings would be a lot less tangled.

“We would know,” I said. “So, our spouses would know.”

Tabitha brushed the idea aside. “I split from my husbands months ago. I only wear the ring to keep creeps away.”


“A throuple, a three-way relationship. But Pete and Jeff ‘found each other’ and came out.”

“God. I’m sorry.”

Tabitha shrugged. “It’s cool. I’m glad I opened that door for them I suppose…” Her face slackened a little. Then she inhaled deeply. “Whatever. Back to the slutty proposition! How about I do this.” She tossed her silk and wriggled her hips under the involuntary dart of my eye to her neat black tuft. “And you… de-stress yourself? That allowed? Tell me how come you’re married, yet in such a state?”

“I’m not in a state!”

“Oh, come on. I’ve never seen a man so… in need. Go on, I’ll watch. Keep the silk on if you like. That’s not cheating, is it?”

“What would that achieve?”

“Extreme pleasure hopefully! I’ll even put a show on for you.” She swung a knee up and to the side, presenting florid lips, still puffy from her orgasm and glossy from the massage oil. She fluffed at her fuzz and I wondered why she waxed the rest of her sex, but left that bit. Though again her womanliness was – I’m ashamed to say – an enticing contrast to what I was used to.

I toyed with mentioning Jemima’s tattoo, but then that seemed rather inappropriate. Tabitha’s fingertips tickled lightly over her crinkles and creases. When I looked back at her face, she was staring at me with a look that was simultaneously doe-eyed and all-powerful. A look that knew I liked what I saw, and liked that I liked.

“I don’t need to cum,” I said. Through clenched teeth.

Tabitha waved her knee, twisting to admire her reflection above us. “You’re like this with your wife, I can tell.”

“Like what?”

“Holding back.”

“I don’t—”

“You think it’s a display of strength. Withholding how much you want me. Your wife, too.”


“I bet you don’t even jerk off alone.”

I grabbed the silk in both fists and for an inflamed second utterly intended to rip it off and rub myself into a fountain just to prove my lust for her.

Her eyes widened.

You know how it is when you’re married, and whenever you’re alone and something remarkable happens, you think how much your spouse is going to enjoy hearing about it? This exact thought crossed my mind at that exact moment. And I realised I would happily tell Jemima about everything that had happened so far. In fact – once we’d made up – she would love the story. We might even be closer after. But if I tossed the silk away, now. That would be intent. That was cheating. If I removed that thin barrier between Tabitha and me, where would I stop? In moments, there would be nothing between us. In moments, I would be inside her.

So, I puffed it out, turned onto my front and wondered if a marriage had ever owed so much to something so flimsy as a piece of silk.

“Of course I cum on my own,” I grumbled. “I have to.”

“So fucked up.” Tabitha turned onto her front, too, and kicked her feet in the air behind her like a frustrated cat’s tail. She had trapped a hand beneath her hips. Her bottom shimmied at it.

“Aren’t you done already?” I said.

“Nope,” Tabitha drooped her head onto her forearm and gazed at me.

“You’re as greedy as my wife.”

Tabitha shrugged. “And that’s a problem, how?”

I described Jemima’s historic bisexuality and her recent addiction, though I stopped short of our arguments over children and our terrible night.

“My kind of woman,” Tabitha said finally.

“Let’s say you would certainly have more fun if she was here and not me.”

Tabitha’s jaw dropped, theatrically. “There’s something in my body language that suggests I’m not having fun?”

I sniggered. “Even more fun,” I emphasised.

“Hmm ok. So, Jemima… she’s like, pretty? And don’t say ‘she is to me’.”

“She turns heads. Petite, platinum, great big eyes. She describes herself as ‘Gothic Tinkerbelle’.”

Tabitha pondered. Was she imagining what she would do with Jemima, that she wasn’t with me? I wished her thoughts were as transparent to my eye as mine were to her. At that exact moment, she shot a finger at me. “You’re actually imagining us together!”

I raised my hands.

Tabitha pondered a little longer, and then covered her eyes. “Aw, now my head’s full of… head. Damn it.” Her bottom tipped up and gyrated in wider circles. The thought of her picturing my wife’s sweet mouth down there – where her fingers made soft sticky noises in the absorbent quiet between us – made me pulse against the upholstery.

“I’d quite like to try a girl,” she said to herself. “And you’d let her play with me? Even though you wouldn’t?” She swallowed. “A loyalty that I’m finding very fucking sexy by the way.”

“It’s trust. Just as she would trust me not to ravish you, now. I trust that she loves me, no matter who she’s sexually attracted to. And she makes no secret of that. I don’t know how many polite parties we’ve been ejected from because she’s persuaded some woman to snog her. “

Tabitha snorted. “I bet that’s resulted in a few other party invitations, though.”

“Yes,” I said rather too earnestly, “but who would go to those?”

Tabitha laughed; bawdy and husky, throwing back her loosening hair. When she calmed, her eyes were burning coals. I gulped.

“God,” she gasped. “I can’t believe I’m lying here naked and playing with myself for a guy – a stranger – who is massively hard for me, but he won’t act on it. Ever. So even though I’m completely open to him, I’m completely safe.”

That got a laugh out of me. “I will never understand what arouses women.”

“Fuck. That’s sexy too.”

I felt like I couldn’t do anything, then. I conjured my wife again to see if she might defend me. “You know, the day I met Jemima, before she even knew my name, she announced that for her sex was like a good meal: ‘Oysters for starters. Sausage for main. And every now and then, a little cream for pudding.'” My throat constricted. I took a moment. “Now she fulfils her needs with porn. Not me.”

Tabitha did not rise to my maudlin outburst, instead she smiled wickedly. “It looks like you’re not doing anything she doesn’t do already, then. Just watching strangers cum.”

I had to agree with that. At least my attention did for a moment, lingering on the sinuous waves her torso made and the glimpse of diligent digits in the dim whenever she raised her hips.

“Though I think you are missing the point of her porn habit,” she added, sliding a knee up to tilt her hips and ministrations toward me.

“There’s a point?”

“Well, people usually turn to porn for things they don’t get at home.”

I was flabbergasted she could be so blunt about my inadequacies. “You think I don’t know that? That I don’t satisfy her?” I bit down hard but irritation surged right from the root of my starved erection. “Have you ever had to compete with these prurient videos and toys? Underlining what someone else can do that you can’t? How much bigger and harder and better you could be?”

“Hey. Chill. That’s not what I meant. It’s not about the… mechanics. You could be the buffest, lickiest, pistoniest fucker on the planet and your wife would still do porn. And by the way, women have had to compete with that since men first learned to paint pussies and tits. I competed with it when my first hubbie discovered his love of dick.” Another long breath, this time with a little shiver. The woman had turned multi-tasking into a performance art. “You need to look at this stuff with her eyes. With her needs.”

I clawed my head. “What does that even mean? She logs onto this blasted ‘Pussycat’s Purr’, or whatever it’s called, and drools over a cat-woman licking or shagging people. You tell me what she needs from that.”

“Same site all the time?”

“Appears to be, unless someone else does the same arty claptrap.”

She frowned. “Arty? How is licking and fucking arty?”

“You might ask why more than how. The videos are in oil painting tones. Sepia. Short little clips.”

“Cumshots.” Tabitha dangled her feet off the either side of the table. Spreading in a wide ‘Y’. She puffed shakily.

“No, that’s the thing, each session from beginning to end, lasts less than a minute. People arrive. Settle. Cat-woman does her thing and pop. Man or woman, it doesn’t matter. They climax. She has some secret trick.”

“Well it seems pretty clear to me.” Tabitha’s bottom picked up from a slow roll, to a trot. “You don’t get it? That Jemima wants what these people have? This cat-girl doesn’t have any special technique. It’s in her partner’s heads, they want her so badly they just lose control. Jemima wants to be desired like that. The way we desire each other, right now.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“How long would you last if we actually fucked?” She quaked. “I know… I…” She seized up. Her hips twitched and toes clenched and she eked a long high-pitched squeak. After the histrionics of the masseuse’s orgasm, this was a tiny, contained implosion. But it still left her hissing a quiet little laugh. My heart ached. I shifted some of the weight off my throbbing organ.

She gathered herself, briefly sucking her glossy fingers, then turned onto her side and pulled her knees to her chest. I supposed the display of flushed and puckered flesh was for me. Not that I looked. She wrapped her arms around her knees and her coolness settled back over her, even before the blush had left her cheeks.

“When was the last time you lost control with Jemima? Like just—” she starfished her fingers “—pop.”

“Why would I tell you my most shameful moment?”

“Because your voice makes me wet. So you will keep talking because you care about my happiness and that, too, is sexy as hell?”

Her black disks shone, I couldn’t determine if she was serious or not. But decided her advice might be more useful to me than my voice was arousing to her. At least that’s what I told myself.

“Years ago. The night we first kissed, naked in her bed. I lost control then. I came all over myself, even before she touched me.”

“Sweet!” she said. “From one kiss?”

“Don’t rub it in.”

“Was she revolted?”

“She laughed.”

“At you?”

“No…” My skin tingled as the afternoon flooded back to me. “No not at all, now you mention it.”

“Tell me what happened next. It was something naughty, wasn’t it? You’re humping the table.” She leant around her bottom and traced fingertips along her groove. Her sexual rhythm was startlingly similar to Jemima’s.

I turned onto my side. “What happened next was rather gross.”

“Gross like this?” She opened the lips of her sex, and worked the sides until a drip glistened and oozed from the pink dim.

“Stop, OK. OK. She… she played with it. My sperm. She wrote “J heart V” on my belly with it.”

“That’s it?” She reached between her thighs and slid a finger knuckle-deep into herself.

“Then she licked me clean. Like a cat. And sucked me until I grew hard again. And we made love for the rest of the afternoon.”

Tabitha’s eyes screwed shut. She tumbled onto her back while her finger pumped between her legs. She twitched, jaw thrust and mute, and for a few spasms it was as if her hole had attacked her and wouldn’t let go. Finally, she managed to wrest her fingers free of its ecstatic grip and locked it away behind both hands. She rolled back to me, hair swathed across her glowing face.

“Holy fuck. Sorry. I’m on a bit of a roll.” She cleared her throat. “So. Your lost afternoon sounds like the opposite of shameful to me.”


“Did she dump you?”

“Well, obviously not.”

“So that worked out all right, didn’t it?” She unfurled, pulled back her hair and re-tied it, rather badly. “And the sucking you back to hardness thing? That is the best test of devotion a woman can set a man.”

“Again. You mystify me.”

“Oh, come on. Look, when you suck off a guy. He’s done. I mean for days. If you need a fuck straight after you’ve sucked him, you can go down again and get him up for a little bit maybe? But it’s not worth the ‘eww’ factor, believe me. But a guy that really adores you? He’ll be so touched that his one-true-love wants him that much he’ll be up the rest of his goddamn life.”

I would be lying if I told you this didn’t paint some distracting pictures. The thought of Tabitha’s exquisite mouth working so explicitly at a lover made me want throw off my silken chain and bury my member in any warm, wet orifice that would have it.

I decided that her excitement was clearly beyond being increased by the sight of mine by now, so I sat up, hanging my legs over the edge of the table. My draped member looked like a national monument about to be unveiled. “I suppose this is living proof that your theory works,” I said.

Tabitha sighed. “It never actually worked for me, though. I did my first husband, Paul, all the time because he always came so quick. Which was great, but afterwards, he’d only get up for like seconds. I could get off on it, eventually, but it was hard work. Suck. Fuck. Suck. Fuck. Then when we met Jeff, it was awesome, at first, because sexually they were both into me more than each other. They were bi, but it was definitely their desire for me that kept us together. God, I loved that. You must think I’m quite a narcissist.”

“If I was you. I’d never even get out of the house.” A little flirtation was OK. Just to lift her spirits.

Tabitha gave me a flat smile. “Then one day, after they’d both cum, and I hadn’t, they sucked each other so we could keep going. And it worked. I mean really worked. And it was sweet they did it for me, but cocks don’t lie. I could never get them hard as that. I knew our days were numbered.” Again, she glazed over. Again I struggled with the urge to close the gap between us. Lips first, then velcroing together, chest to chest, belly to belly until I slotted deep into her and her heels dug in my backside and I kissed her throat as she howled at our coppery reflections.

Tabitha sat too, feet up and cupping her toes. “You look so uncomfortable, why don’t you just cum? I’ll even avert my eye if it helps?”

“It’s ok. I can wait till later. But this is just silly.” I threw away the silk. The fabric was not the reason that I would not give in to Tabitha.

She locked on to my lap like a cat with a mouse; she even gave a small croaky cheer that sounded a lot like a meow. Then my meaning must have sunk in, because she dropped her head onto her knees.

“When you get home, I hope you’ll show your wife how much you desire her.” Tabitha’s voice was hushed and almost monotone. Any progress I had made in uplifting her – all that cheeky, hopeful joy – had been stripped away with the silk, it seemed.

“I would. But I think our problems run deeper than that. Yesterday we had a very big row.”

“About sex.”

“During sex.”

“No.” She lifted her head, wrinkling her brow. “Howcome?”

This. This broke my heart. Even after being rejected so openly by me, Tabitha cared. I felt ashamed that I’d been found to be such a withholding bastard, by one of the most giving people I’d ever met.

“Oh, you must be bored with my whining by now.”

Tabitha rolled her eyes, leaned back and butterflied her knees flat, a position that opened her tendon-poppingly wide. I suppose she meant to remind me – with the glimmering between those rude lips – that she really (really) liked to hear me talk, but to my mind, her protruding labia were a mocking tongue: “You can’t kiss me!”

I took her blossoming as affirmation, anyway. “Yesterday, after she gave me this massage as a gift. I licked her and it was… wonderful.”

“No porn?”

“Not a jot. We were in her favourite position; stood over my lap?” I mimed an ‘A’ across me with an apex at my mouth. Tabitha’s eyes hooded. I mimed the grip I had on Jemima’s buttocks, just for the tease, which was unfair, now I look back on it. “She came very quickly, but she’s like you, she often has lots of…”

“Littlies.” Tabitha toyed with her pudgy folds, patting them just to make them wobble it seemed.

“That’s right. She even calls them that, too. I used fingers, with my mouth, to release her again, you know diggling them inside? Dabbing that spongey area?” I have no idea why I provided all that gynaecological detail, or why I made up the word ‘diggling’, except that I was probably getting off on it. Too.

“Like this?” Tabitha slid her middle two fingers inside herself, palm upward. She was flushed from cheeks to the top of her breasts.

“Mm… Anyway, when she came again I expected her to pull out her iPad. But she didn’t. I think the reason she loves this position is because she likes to look down and see me hard and usually I’m like…” Universe, forgive me, I rubbed myself. Tabitha’s mouth opened. I stopped. “But also, whenever she wants, she can just crouch down on to me. Up and down as much as she likes, in fact, between mouth and manhood.”

“Manhood.” Tabitha suppressed a smile.

I ignored her mockery. “It is delicious for both of us, I have to say. We made proper love for the first time in months. I lost count of how many littlies she had, and when it came to her biggie. It was so big she couldn’t even co-ordinate kissing me. So big, actual tears rolled down her cheeks.”

“Some… fight.” Tabitha’s fingers swirled.

“She couldn’t move. I got very carried away, hefting her up and down on my rod, on the brink of release. I mean it was pulsing in my balls. But she begged me not to cum, because I wasn’t rubbered up, and then – just as I cried out – she jumped off me.”

“Fair enough. I hope you blasted hot cum over her… clit- F-fuuck…” Tabitha jerked violently at her plundering fingers, bleating obscenities in a mad, wobbly voice. Her hand all but chewed the orgasm from her sex. I waited until she’d juddered out her dregs, and composed herself.

“No, I didn’t. She dropped between my legs to finish me off with her mouth.”

“Lucky boy.”

“Except that I pushed her off me.”

“You did what?”

“I didn’t need more pornographic sex. I wanted us to climax together. Her over me, me into her. That’s not wrong, is it? And if we got pregnant. Great.”

“But I guess she doesn’t want kids.”


“So, you have to respect that.”


“And you pushed her away. When she was giving herself to you so completely.”


Tabitha sat so still I could make out the quick thump of her heartbeat quivering her breast.

“She was so gleeful as well,” I said to the floor. “So happy that we had connected properly for the first time in months and that she was going to do me. But the child thing? It’s like a crack in us. Always there.” I thumped fists to my thighs. “I am such an arsehole.”

“You’re not an asshole.” Tabitha slid off her massage table, and sat next to me. “But that was an assholey thing to do to Jemima.” Her heat was magnetic, her dry lemon scent mesmerising. She slid her thigh tight to mine. The touch of her skin charged my aching member with even more blood, and she watched it flex, but we both knew I had it under control. And that this was not the same as having control over myself.

“It’s ironic,” she said, clasping my hand. “It was the same for us but reversed. I wanted kids, but it just never happened with Paul. And though we joked we had double the chance of conceiving when Jeff joined us, he always managed to avoid cumming in my direction.” She dropped her head onto my shoulder. “Then they went. And took my hope with them.”

She dragged my hand onto her lap and held it in both hers. Her fluff tickled my wrist. In Jemima’s dainty doll’s fingers, mine were gigantic. But Tabitha’s were thick little versions of mine; we fit together like jigsaw pieces.

“You know what it’s like, being dumped by two lovers at the same time?” She whispered to our naked legs. “How worthless you feel? Think of the most crushing rejection you’ve ever had. And double it.”

“Tabitha, I’m so sorry.” I squeezed her hand. “You know, in another world, we-“

Her grip tightened on me, like a warning. “I haven’t properly given myself to anyone in months, for fear of rejection. Please don’t do it to me again.”

I grunted at another sting, this one a hot blade in my chest. She pressed her lips to my cheek.

“Kiss me,” she whispered. “Just a kiss. Then whatever you want. Do me. Or I’ll do you. Or we can do each other. Whatever you want. Don’t say no. Please. Do me.”

Jemima’s mantra clanged my head like a bell. Like a fire alarm:

“How can anyone resist women? They’re delicious!”

I could just do it. My truly liberated wife, my manic-pixie-dream-girl, of all people, would understand.

I clamped my jaw shut and turned to face Tabitha. Her lips were slightly parted and offered up. I dipped a slow kiss in to their squishy resilience. Fireworks popped and flashed, my rocket-fuse fizzed.

“No,” I said.

Of all the reactions I anticipated – tears, marching out, a punch in the face – laughter was not one of them.

Nor was a tiny, tinny cheer.

“You get all that?” Tabitha jumped off the massage table and grabbed her phone. On instinct, I covered my manhood. I don’t know why, but I expected a police raid.

“Yep!” The phone shouted. “Tabby you are such a good bad girl!”


Tabitha thrust the phone screen at me, and a trick of perspective – or my genuinely overwhelmed senses – had both my wife and Tabitha filling my vision. What kind of woman-hell was this?

Tabitha backed between my knees, angling the phone so Jemima could see us both. My bewilderment grabbed at the screen for clues: By the thin beams of light over our big old mirror and the brickwork behind her, my wife appeared to be at the table in our flat with the blinds down. Her hair was up. She was dressed in a black silk tee; that must mean something? Her cheeks were red and eyeliner smudged but she clapped, grinning. “Well done, Sweetpea,” she said. “Tabby said no man could resist if she really went for it, but I knew you could.”

“What’s this?” I growled. “Some silly bet?” Jemima might have lost yesterday’s anger, but mine had flared up at the thought of being ridiculed. And, worse, that Tabitha had fabricated her flattering infatuation with me.

“You passed my ‘do me’ test,” Tabitha said, pushing her bottom against my stiffness. The mixed messages made me want to yank my manhood off and fling it out the window.

Jemima laughed. “Tabby was the girlfriend I told you about, in Thailand, before I met you. She’s changed a lot, don’t you think? She wanted me to help her out after… Oh you tell it, babe.”

Tabitha picked up the thread. “When I was dumped, I went on a bit of a rampage. I set up a porn site for women – ‘Tabbycat’s Purr’ – and serviced all our friends—”

“And some random folk she just liked the look of!” Jemima chimed in. Tabitha shrugged.

“- to prove my desirability to my cheating husbands. And to myself, if I’m honest. I even told myself the quicker I got them off, these strangers, the better. Like that would really show my bastard exes what they’d lost. And prove I wasn’t worthless.”

“That’s why you contacted me, isn’t it, babe? You wanted to do me, too. That’s how I discovered ‘The Purr’.”

Tabitha twisted to face me. “She didn’t do it, obviously.” She waved up and down my body, as if that explained everything. “And obviously I wasn’t proving my desirability, either, only the weakness and desperation of others.”

I held my head to stop it whirling. “So ‘Tabbycat’s Purr’, Jemima, that’s the porn site you’ve been watching all this time?”

“Yes,” both women said.

“And Tabitha is both your ex-girlfriend and …”

Tabitha made a cat mask of her fingers.

“Thing is,” Jemima’s fiddling fingers appeared on the wooden table. “I knew you’d love Tabby. And I knew she needed love. So, I suggested that she come and stay with us for a bit. See if the three of us might…”

Two sets of eyes filled the room. One bedazzling blue, the other sultry black. Night and day.

“A threesome?”

“No,” Tabitha said. “Well, yes. But not just a sex threesome. A throuple.”

“A relationship,” Jemima said. “But only if you agree.”

“A need shared over a need denied,” I murmured.

“Exactamundo. So I thought you and Tabby should meet and, Y’know, get to know each other. Hence… the massage.”

Tabitha settled against me, her entire back against my front, nestling my rod between her cheeks. “But I wasn’t interested in a married man who’d fuck a stranger; not again. I wanted to test you like I tested everybody else, albeit without my mask. Most caved in as soon as I begged them to do me. Then they came in seconds flat when I did them. Jemima promised me you wouldn’t, no matter how much you wanted to. Looks like she was right. So Jem…” She leant forward and propped the little screen on the table, proffering her delightful hips firmly to mine as she did so. “I’m game, if your hubby is up for it.”

“I bet he is.” Jemima beamed.

“You were watching us all this time?” I said as it just occurred to me why Tabitha put on such a show.

“She was filming your reflection in the ceiling,” Jemima said. “That’s how Tabby records all her scenes. You didn’t see her phone there on the shelf, pointing up? Fucking hell, I tell you what, it doesn’t get better than watching your two favourite people get naked and horny talking about you. I came with you every time, Tabby. And Sweetpea you made me cry. I am so proud of you and in love with you and so I’m sorry I’ve been… weird.”

“No I’m sorry,” I said. “I treated you disrespectfully. I love you. I’ll make it up to you later… Actually, no I won’t.” I wrapped my arms around Tabitha’s stomach, and pulled her tight. “We will.”

Jemima smiles easily. It’s her default expression, in fact. But when she’s most excited – as she was at that moment-she sucks her lips in and tilts her head away, as if to spare you from an emotion too big to express. How could I deny my wife that scale of happiness? And it did occur to me to deny it, I won’t lie. Knowing that Jemima wanted another did hurt. But it wasn’t instead of me, it was with me. And the other was Tabitha. And yes, Tabitha was physically ‘my type’, but – as her belly shook with laughter under my palms – it was clear she loved Jemima’s inexpressible joy as much as I did.

I could love someone who loved like that.

Jemima hopped to her feet and literally jumped with joy, dancing a crazy pirouette, every bit the sprite. Except that, and I should have guessed, she was naked from the waist down. “I can’t wait,” she said. “But I think you two might need some time first? I’ve done you both loads. You have catching up to do.”

“Sure?” Tabitha didn’t argue the point, or indeed wait for a response before she jiggled her bottom against my erection. Even while Jemima reminded us how much she liked to watch, I was already stroking Tabitha’s belly and ribs and my new lover caught a breath so violently she hiccupped. While Jemima leered at us, I caressed Tabitha’s breasts and teased nipples stiff until her head lolled back against my chest, exposing her long neck to my lips. Her heart hammered quick as a rabbit and hard as a horse, trembling her in my embrace; to my mind exactly like a purring cat.

The entire time I played over Tabitha’s writhing front, I gazed levelly at my lovely wife. I had the sense of suddenly inhabiting one of her videos. As if I might snap out of it any second and be sat beside her at the table watching strangers on the iPad. By the rapidity of her blinking and the twitching in her smile I wondered if she felt the same. But was this a dream come true for her, or a nightmare? Then the idea that she might be upset flipped my stomach. I winked at her, while nuzzling kisses under her ex’s ear and – mercifully – Jemima smirked lasciviously and bent over the table, her face filling most of the frame. I wondered if she’d planned that entrancing view in the mirror behind her, too.

When I dropped my needy fingers down Tabitha’s front, over her abdomen, I expected to come across her curls but found her hands instead, already busy underneath. I pulled them away, tucking my own between her legs to relish the hot buttered marshmallow of her sex. Tabitha breathed, “Yes.” Or was that Jemima as she curled her fingers under herself? Both I think. Tabitha was already slippery from her own fingers but I still dipped into her before stirring at her fleshy hood, just to enjoy the lubriciousness of her excitement. Almost instantly, she gripped me in place and tremored so hard against my cock I almost erupted over her bottom cheeks.

Tabitha jerked her orgasm out on my fingers and even as she panted it out, squirmed in my embrace to face me. She pecked pillowy kisses to my lips – not like Jemima’s eel attack at all – they nipped and padded coyly, her tongue tentatively touching mine, breathing each other in. She kneaded at my arms and cat-clawed my chest, as if testing I was flesh and blood.

Then – at last – she wrapped her fingers around my clamouring rod. I got to finally squeeze the globes of her (surprisingly firm) rear, also, while she watched herself squeeze me until my bulb throbbed livid with blood. She smiled like a vampire.

I cupped fingers under her bottom, and swirled again. She trembled and faltered, then tugged her soft fists along my length as if delighting in it as much as I. She tipped her lips up to me again, and I lost myself in the combination of her yielding kiss, her gently insistent tongue and her urgency of her rubbing. She sucked my moans into her, joggling her fist and squeezing my balls. I had clamped down hard behind them – to hold back from exploding at her first kiss — and her fingers probed underneath as if seeking some secret release button. I clenched harder. I could not have Jemima watching her friend burst me so quickly, after all this time of being unable to herself.

“Don’t you dare hold back,” Jemima muttered as I made fists against her friend’s bottom. “Let go. I want to see it. She wants to see it.”

In an almost Pavlovian response, my hips shuddered. Tabitha broke our kiss, craning to watch the quick plunge of my purple cock-head in her pale fist. I arched at her rubbing, my orgasm welling up, balling, locking me rigid, hoisting me up onto my toes.

“Yes!” Jemima hissed, as if straight from the middle of my head. I roared and erupted, a single gush flung right up to Tabitha’s breasts. She squeaked and dropped to her knees, quickly sinking her head over my jetting cock, holding me steady as I shook violently and shot the remainder of my frantic pulses into the welcoming hollow of her mouth. She suckled out my climax with such explicit care, and with such an irresistible drinking pull of her tongue that a second wave of ecstasy rolled over me, bunching me rigid. I roared again, clawing my buttocks while she hummed and licked and kissed me through my final judders, glittering up at me with a playful ‘innocence’ at my dripping from her lips. On the phone, Jemima’s eyes were huge, rapt. She sucked the inside of her cheek. For good or for bad remained to be seen.

Tabitha attentively sucked me dry, squeezing my balls rhythmically as if for every last pulse of my orgasm. I shook and twitched as her soft lips and tongue became unbearable – even her breast as she used my end to clean herself – and still she gently sucked on, the heat of her chuckles billowing over my hypersensitive flesh.

I was profoundly empty. I think I might have glowed with it. A bark of laugher kicked off in my belly then rumbled through me like an orgasmic aftershock. I slapped my thighs and laughed uncontrollably. At Tabitha, at Jemima, at my reflection. I laughed until I couldn’t breathe.

Jemima smiled nostalgically – it was a long time since I had laughed like that for her – and I worried again I had hurt her, but she winked this time, and blew me a kiss. This was all going to take some getting used to.

Tabitha tittered along with me, but was still on her knees and still busy at work against my penis’s urge to curl up and go to sleep; licking and rubbing me against those ridiculously cushiony kisses. In these stretched out, melted moments, I don’t know how long she played. Just that by the time she unsuckered I was cleaned out, rock hard and ready again.

“Th-thank you.” I muttered.

She surveyed her handiwork, sucking her flushed lips and inspecting her hand with a grimace. “My pleasure,” she said, flicking a cat-lap across her wrist. “But you owe— Oh!”

I swept her up and kissed her deeply, twirling her round with a flourish before settling her on the massage table. While Jemima shouted, “Lucky fuckers!” I laid her out our new lover, dropping my kisses over her neck and nipples, and then plucking down her ribs and belly and around the front of her hips.

I planted one kiss at the top of the crease splitting her prominent mound, and in response to the hungry shove of her hips, stood over her. I teased us all. And yes, I was highly proud of my post-orgasmic erection, too, even though I could not really take the credit for it.

Tabitha slid one shin along the other. This woman loved an objectifying gaze. But then don’t we all, from the right person? My head flip-flopped that only an hour ago I was taking her in surreptitiously. Now her fidgety fingers twirled a loose strand of that raven hair and she flittered those long black eyelashes up and down my body. Obsidian smoked, alabaster pinked, and she bit that voluptuous overbite almost apprehensively. The latter no doubt because, for a clutch of speeding heartbeats, I was overwhelmed by the need to explore this delightful creature with fingers, lips, tongue and cock all at once. Goodness knows what kind of wild expression distorted my face.

I grasped her feet and pushed her legs apart and back. Her juices strung and looped between her thighs, drawing an involuntary groan from my lips. All that from doing me? Tabitha squirmed under my devouring eyes as I settled between her legs and stretched the moment as taut as I could. Until my mouth watered. Until her fingers delicately spread her lips. Until she breathed, “Please.”

I am afraid the details become hazy from here, moments dissolved into each other like the girls’ orgasms, their beginnings and ends impossible to determine, apparently lost in one perpetual climax.

When I nuzzled for my first kiss to Tabitha’s nub, laughed at her whimper and tasted her on my lips, I made out a tattoo under her tuft. It said ‘Drink me’. I guessed she’d had it done with Jemima and probably never waxed that part when they split. And fair enough. It made ‘Eat me’ look positively classy; I would cover it too. Then I licked deeper and Tabitha spilled over my tongue and I realised, actually, it was rather appropriate.

I became so lost in the sensation of her liquid, swollen flesh that I could not tell who was humming loudly. Tabitha, Jemima or me. Then in another blink, sucking her fat bud like a nipple, I became possessed of doing both women at once. As if through some secret internet connection – ‘loveband’, perhaps – linking nerves to nerves, clitoris to clitoris. Tabitha held the phone close so our partner could see and hear me work clearly, and when I slipped two fingers inside her – and ‘diggled at the spongy place’ – all of us moaned.

I ate Tabitha for either a minute or an hour, I can’t remember, but we couldn’t keep still, and she couldn’t stop cumming. Whether she rested the pads of her feet on my shoulders or locked them behind my neck or pulled her legs back by the knee or quaked as I lifted her by her bottom to my mouth, she seemed caught in an ongoing swell of orgasm that had her eventually flipped onto her front, dragged to the edge of the table and bent her over it so I could do her from behind.

Jemima often used the phrase ‘do me’ and now I knew why; she shared it with Tabitha. It was theirs. But also, much more. As I did Tabitha in every position I could imagine she gave over to me with a supplicant’s need. And I realised sometimes we all need to be ‘done’. Not just for our own sake but for our lover’s sake and for our relationship. To hand the wheel to someone else for a while, let them drive our pleasure. And the respect and trust we express by letting somebody else ‘do’ us is both half the excitement and the most bonding part of the whole thing. Taking pleasure whole-heartedly is not greedy, it is as sexy and as loving as giving pleasure. Withholding this undermines everything.

And often, of course, you can take great pleasure in giving it. This crossed my mind as I knelt at, and between, Tabitha’s spread feet and licked and fingered her all the way to obscenity and back again. Again. I figured by now she must want something else, but was delighted when she begged me not to stop yet, cocking her knee onto the table so I could get better access underneath. Also matching Jemima’s reflected rear on the screen, my wife’s wriggling fingers reprising the role of my tongue.

The spaces between Tabitha’s orgasms contracted and there was an element of desperation in how she pulled her other knee onto the table so I could slide under her on my back. Indeed, in this new position, my chin and mouth got so slimed she worked herself up to another orgasm just sliding around my face. Only then did her clitoris become too sensitive, and – much to the relief of both my aching jaw and erection – I got to replace my head with my hips.

While I nudged my manhood at Tabitha’s opening, Jemima reached out of the screen’s frame and grabbed her dildo. She matched me precisely with it. So when I plunged deep into Tabitha with one fluid stroke and the sensation (and tripartite moans!) of sinking into a warm bath, the mirror showed Jemima sliding her toy in to the hilt.

She mirrored me so exactly with that obscene wand, and such was my synaesthesia, that while I watched her and moved slowly in and out of Tabitha I could not quite discern who was copying who. Then it seemed as if I was sliding in and out of my wife, or that she was plunging her toy – me – in and out of her friend. In this way Tabitha dreamily rocked against us both, speeding us up and forcing us deeper, until her bottom slapped briskly at my front and Jemima’s toy made indecent slurping noises.

Another hissing overboil of pleasure left Tabitha’s limbs limp. She couldn’t even hold her weight on all fours, and flopped her face flat to the table while I pulled her hips at me. Then this seemed to drag her climax back, so she couldn’t even manage that position any more, and collapsed onto her front. I straddled her bottom, pressed her knees together and reached below her tipped hips to slop juices over her clitoris while I ploughed her fleshy furrow quick and deep. In under a minute, her hole fluttered at my piston and she puffed a series of deep slow breaths. Then it fluttered again and she arched, froze, then howled, “H-holy… FUCK!” kicking off Jemima’s expletives too as she managed to simultaneously dig her ‘biggie’ out as well.

It was only when I withdrew from Tabitha’s quivering, jellyfished form, flipped her back onto her back and threw her legs over my shoulders, that she covered herself up and double locked with shut knees. “I’m done. I’m done,” she blustered. “No more. Please.”

On the prowl for someone else to plunder, my chilling member swung its ravenous eye toward Jemima on the screen, though I’m not sure how it expected that to work. But her cheeks were fevered too, eyes drooped to slots and body flumped across our table. She hummed a tune while running her tongue around her own glistening, albeit fake, penis. Tabitha smiled beatifically at her new old lover and, despite her powerlessness, heaved up to curl over my slippery meat. She ran her own mirroring cat-laps along it, sweetly ready to do me again, despite exhausted shivers making it difficult for her to co-ordinate.

My heart swelled. “Sweet love,” I stroked her hair and knew, even then, this would not be the last time I’d call Tabitha this. “Please don’t worry. I’m—”

With a loud clunk, the door behind me unlocked and swung open, and even before Tabitha and I could gather ourselves, our masseuses came bounding in with our stuff, utterly unconcerned at the state of us.

“De-stressed, sir?” mine said, holding open my robe and averting her eye. “Happy ending?”


And now here we are. Exactly one year later to the minute. ‘Eat me’ and ‘Drink me’ are on their sides (recovery position!) on our bed, top-to-tail, ying and yang, nuzzling. Doing just that what their tattoos decree. I am banished to the armchair to watch them purr the last of their orgasms while I recall that life-changing day. The day Tabitha and Jemima rebuilt me into the double-wedded man you find today. A man who never holds back. Unless, like now, he’s ordered to because he might explode at any second. Because his lovers begged him not to cum while they came themselves – together and like banshees – splayed over his cock and face. And because they then swapped sides and bade him hold a little longer while they rode him again, squealing climaxes into each other’s mouths. And because then they even greedily burst one last time upon said dedicated manservant when he fed both ends of their self-absorbed sixty-nine. And most of all because they have, they say, ‘a special plan’ for him on this, their anniversary.

Jemima’s quit porn, now she’s got us. Likewise, Tabitha, who’s become fussier about her modelling jobs, especially now that our baby is starting to show, her belly a perfect little pot. I was apparently the last porn Jemima watched, and the last porn Tabitha made. In return for their no-porn policy I have vowed to cum on demand.

Promises aside, though, I think the three of us believe two spouses are more than enough for anyone. Not least of all because we’ve even had each other’s names tattooed around our nipples and there is such a perfect symmetry about this that we couldn’t possibly change. I have Tabitha around my left nipple, Jemima round my right. Jemima has me on the left and Tabby on the right and… well you will have to work it out yourself, because the girls are done with each other now.

They’re stalking toward me rather scarily, in fact. On all fours, slinking, growling and chuckling wickedly. Their jokes – about dessert, and cats and cream – are absolutely terrible. Still, I am certain they will find some other way to make me laugh until I cannot breathe.

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