Even though I have my own account on the swinger site now, sometimes I log onto our joint one that my husband runs. This time, he wanted to show me a chat history with someone. I’m not sure what it was about or why he wanted me to read it, but for the sake of this story, it isn't important.
I soon discover that I can’t have two different accounts open on my phone simultaneously, and as he keeps changing the password (been hacked before), I decide to lurk around and fool with the joint one for a couple of days.
I skim through a few conversations without getting involved in any of them. I find them entertaining to read because they are with men I have previously spoken to or ones we have already met. What stands out and amuses me is that the discussions they have and the tone they use with him and me couldn’t be any more different. I also love my husband’s crude, not taking bullshit style when he deals with them. That’s why he is the one running this circus. He cuts through the time wasters, fakes, wankers and dreamers like a hot knife through butter.
On the second day of my little ‘excursion’, among the handful of unread messages, I spot one titled ‘Wolf’. Wolf is my husband’s profile name, so it gets my instant attention. I feel a bit naughty to read something that wasn't meant for me, and it gives me a funny buzz. At this point, I think nothing of it. Maybe they just like the name or want to know who’s running this account or something like that.
But I get a slight shock when I open it, and the message reads, “I’m curious about Wolf’s level of experience when it comes to playing with men.”
Oh, wow, that’s a first. Someone being more interested in him than me. More specifically, this one is prying on how far the Wolf is willing to go. I like. I smell some mind-bending, kinky fun. You have my full attention, Sir.
I slut back to my own account and look him up. His profile name, 'Something28' and age confuse me a bit as he is thirty-eight. Perfect. Not too young, not too old. He later confirms my suspicion that he's indeed been on the scene for over ten years. Oh, hello, fellow seasoned kinkster. Something tells me we're going to have a lot of fun.
He has a nice body with some defined muscles but not the bulky gym type. In his case, as I find out, it is due to working outdoors most of the time. One more nice tick on my preference list. His face is not one I’d typically go for. I prefer dark-haired bad-boy types. He has a dark blond, messy, surfer-style mop of hair. He does remind me of some famous actor that I will have to look up at a later stage.
I haven’t seen his package, but unless it’s minuscule, I don’t care. Lately, I'm much more interested in what's inside. I want quality over quantity, and vanilla just doesn't do it for me anymore.
“Hi, this is K,” I write. “I’d like to go behind the Wolf’s back with this (talking about his bi experiences).”
I tell him the outlines of what we usually get into, leaving many details out, obviously. I still don’t know where this is going if going anywhere at all. Maybe he is only interested in him, and that’s not going to work either. We had one or two of those surprises. No, thanks. We need you to be into both of us, ideally. I’m kind of getting tired of being the centrepiece. It’s time to throw some wolf on the menu.
He soon writes back, “I will reiterate, I don’t want to do anything he isn’t comfortable doing, though.”
“Yes, of course, and I really appreciate that," I answer in blissful awe. I feel like I’m standing thigh-deep in a proverbial river, panning for gold, and suddenly find a fist-sized gemstone. Doesn’t happen often. "He is open to most things; we just have to take it slow and nudge him a little," I clarify my intentions. I'm not completely rotten, not that way.
He sends me a few more pictures from the ‘field’. Without going into too much detail to protect his identity, he is in full camo gear, holding a giant piece of equipment—no firearms or anything, something much better. Anyone who can handle big fancy gear like that is already in my hot books. He’s even more scruffy-looking in those pictures, with a long beard. I'm usually really not keen on that much facial hair, but in this case, it is justified. And as I said, sometimes the inside is much more important. I’m a big sucker for super kinky twisted minds. And I think he might just fit that bill.
In his next message, he asks how the Wolf feels about ropes.
“I tied him up a few times, but he wasn’t into it. He doesn’t like my dominant side, but he seems to be more submissive when it comes to playing with men. But like most males, like you probably know, he can be a bit closeted when it comes to these kinds of things. And, of course, the vibe has to be right."
“I might bring some leather straps for him and definitely some rope for you.”
Oh my god, say no more. I’m in love. This one wants both of us and speaks my language. My mind is like a slot machine with cherries flashing everywhere, jackpot ringing out loud, zeros spinning, winning tokens flying out.
***
Completely unrelated, Valentine’s Day is coming up, and I ask Quinn what gift he wants.
“A threesome,” he replies.
“One track mind much? That is already happening, hence not a real present. Think of something else.”
By tradition, I usually make a nice meal, and he buys me a new bedroom toy, but I always ask anyway, expecting a reply of ‘just something delicious’.
“Handcuffs,” he bizarrely replies. What? I already looked up where to get the best lobster tails.
“Handcuffs?” I have no idea where that came from. “We do have handcuffs, at least three different pairs.” There is no way he’s reading my single account, is he?
“Not the proper metal, lockable ones.”
Hmm, ok, let’s discuss this another time. (When I don't have a Friday deadline breathing down my neck on five different work projects.) But am I wrong to think he might be opening up to the idea of being tied up again? What the hell would he want handcuffs for? He does not tie me up. Ever. Which is a mistake.
And he never asked what I wanted for Valentine’s Day. And that is also a huge mistake, Mr Wolf!
Following Saturday, he is lazying in bed when I’m already up with the kids. Around 10 am, when I think that he really needs to join us now, I go into the bedroom and try to wake him. “Wakie, wakie, lazybones,” I whisper into his ear.
He moans quietly but doesn’t move; he doesn’t even open his eyes. He is sleeping on his back, his left arm outstretched, his forearm hanging off the bed. With my halo still in place, I watch him sleeping peacefully, admiring his handsome, boyish face. Even well on the wrong side of forty now, he still looks like twenty-five. I remember when I first introduced him to my family, he had to show them his passport because they genuinely didn't believe it that he was seven years older than me. I adore those forever-young genes, and if they weren't such hard work and bottomless money pits, I'd be tempted to create a whole pack of wolf cubs with him. But even the one we have is a super clingy little life-essence vampire. So that's where we have stopped.
He made the mistake of leaving his arm outstretched like that, too tempting not to have a little sport with it. My halo is lopsliding fast as I gently brush his inner arm with a fingertip, then with longer and longer strokes, I travel down to his wrist and knead and massage his soft pads and fingers one by one. I recall a holiday at the beginning of our relationship - still in the honeymoon period when we still couldn’t keep our hands off each other - when all through a four-hour flight (to Crete, I think it was), he was the one massaging my hands. I never felt more relaxed in my life. I think I even fell asleep.
Does he remember the days when we were still so much into each other? We still are, I guess. Or would be, if we had the time. Life is much more demanding these days than it used to be back then. We have to treasure these few peaceful moments we have. Even if it's just ten-fifteen minutes before the little velcro one finishes his pancakes and will be rapping the door. Again.
His eyes still closed, he smiles at me.
“Time to get up." I poke him with a finger into his biceps.
“I was enjoying that,” he rumbles, playfully opening one of his eyes halfway, urging me to continue.
I up the game by giving him fleeting little nibbles on all those sensitive areas. Putting a bit more teeth into my game, I clench my jaw into his soft flesh just above his elbow. Then, leaving a trail of quickly fading bite marks, I venture up to his neck, which I know will drive him wild. Halo now broken and bent, thrown into the corner I kneel on the bed next to him and whisper into his ear,
“There’s a guy who wants to tie you up. Can we do that?”
His answer is a vague, inarticulate moan. Haha, he knows not to answer things like that in a highly compromised position like this.
But I also know how to get my way. I straddle him while my lips never leave his ear. He has a rock-hard morning wood that I can’t help but grind myself onto. ‘Tis gonna be too easy.
“We really want to blindfold you, baby, and have some fun... at your expense."
He opens his dark, chocolate eyes - his expression a perfect storm. I brace myself for his "Ain't happening," which is his cut-out reply to my far-fetched fantasies. But before he could form the words, I'm back stroking his arm as a starting point to use the rest of his naked skin as a canvas for my abstract painting. My fingers follow his neckline, his jaw, down to his nipples while I keep grinding my hips onto his hardness in agonising slow motion.
"Please," I purr, "Promise it will be fun... Four hands instead of just two, in total darkness, not knowing who is touching you. Maybe we could even play a little game, making you guess which one of us is toying with you. And if you get it wrong, you'll be punished." I sink my teeth into his stubbly jaw to drive my threat home. "But," I continue my smoochy, seductive monologue into his ear, "if you get it right... Mmm. You can ask for anything. Anything you want. Do you think you’d be able to figure it out?”
“Yes, definitely,” comes the over-confident reply. Oh, so he is awake and can actually speak when he wants to...
“Mmm, you are so sure about yourself. But what if we have made a little pact just to confuse you? What if I’d told him how to touch you to fool you into believing that it’s me, and I’d do something new and random to confuse you?” Then, ominously, I add, “You don’t need to answer that.”
I lower myself onto his thighs and cup my fingers around the outline of his cock and start rubbing him slowly. His eyes are still sealed, but a provocative, playful smile lingers on his sexy, dry lips.
I alternate between stroking him and massaging his inner thighs as I continue. “Just imagine feeling all those sensations, our hands on your thighs, all over your body, rubbing your cock. Not only would you not have a clue which hand belongs to whom, but at the same time, he and I could be touching each other, doing things to each other, and you wouldn’t know. Maybe one of my hands would be wanking you, the other one stroking him. ‘Such a nice thick cock’, I’d say. ‘Shame you can’t see it. But if you’ll be a good boy, we can remove the blindfold. Only much later, though.' Maybe I'd be kissing him passionately before giving you head. Or the opposite. Or perhaps it will be his lips on your cock, and you’d have no idea." I say this with a light, evil chuckle because while he has no problem giving (especially together with me), he is not keen on receiving. But in this situation, he wouldn't know. My plan is delicious, deceitful, despicable, perfect.