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Open 2: Open Window

Open 2: Open Window

"There is always room for more, always room to go deeper.”

­The man

He waved his card key across the dull black matte of the hotel room door handle.  The click of the disengaged lock broke the silence of the hallway like a gunshot.

He pushed the door open wide.

Possibilities lay open to him like a strip of empty road.

He could smell her pussy before he even saw her. 

He kicked the door shut.

The woman kneeled in front of him, bathed in dull moonlight, head bowed, motionless but for the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed.  She occupied the exact center of the room, as if posed, a doll. A trellis of fishnet stocking climbed the slope of her legs.  Red leather bounded her neck, the buckle at the hollow of her throat, a chrome metal link chain leading from a loop below the buckle down to the floor, where the handle lay at her feet.  Her wrists crossed behind her back, unbound. 

Beyond her, the window was open, shutters facing outward, allowing the night air to play the curtains with cool fingers.  A grid of city streets spread beyond the window, painted with headlights.  The moon was below the window frame, temporarily eclipsed, spilling pale ghosts onto the walls.

He inhaled the fragrance of her pussy again.  Something was different.  Some new flavor had been added to her scent.  Some new note sounded.

He could not see her face, because she turned to the floor as she bowed, but he imagined how it looked, how she would have made it up just for him, studying her face in the bathroom mirror, skin pale as porcelain, lips painted, cheeks rouged.  It was not how she made up her face for work, or parties, or life.  This was how she made up for him.   Painted herself for him.  Made herself a whore for him.  Not with thick overdone lipstick and slathers of rogue and eyeliner, but with a careful and precise exaggeration, artfully drawing his attentions to her lips, her cheeks, her eyes. 

He knew she’d tell him about her make-up a few hours from now, lying in bed together after they were done, going into precise detail about the brands of make-up, the colors, the textures, the tools she used, her techniques.  He loved to listen to her describe it, he often asked her to describe it, but after she was through all the details fell away, and he was left with her face, her private face, the face shown only to him.

He reached down to her chin with his fingertips, and pointed her head to face him.

“You look lovely, my dear one,” he told her.  “My painted whore. You are such an exquisitely beautiful whore.”

“She is beautiful,” answered a carefully modulated voice from the next room.  In another context it might have been surprising, even frightening, to hear a strange voice from the next room.  But here, now, he was not surprised.  He almost expected it.   

He looked in the direction of the voice at the exact moment moonlight broke over the horizon of the windowsill, throwing a sharp ray of silver onto the nondescript rolling office chair in the next room.

The girl sat on the chair, watching him.  Not a stranger, not exactly.  He had seen her many times in the hotel gift shop.  They had talked about her.  They had fantasized about her.

Her presence, he realized, explained the subtle new note in the scent of pussy in the air.  This was the combined scent of both of them.

She posed as motionless as the woman kneeling between them. She wore a sleek pencil skirt so vividly indigo it could have been plumage; her legs were crossed almost primly at the knee.  Above her skirt a shadow-grey, high-necked cotton shirt hugged her figure, waist to breasts to shoulders to arms.  Her long black hair was tied back with a simple leather band, perfectly straight but for two delicate tendrils falling down over each ear.  In contrast to the redolent mask of color worn by the woman at his feet, the girl wore a minimal amount, subdued lines along her eyes, muted shades on her eyelids, careful black lipstick, conservatively applied.

Her lips were relaxed, slightly open.  Her gaze was even as she looked into his eyes.


Time passed, as it often does.

“Yes,” he answered.  “She is.  Beautiful.”

She spoke.  Her lips moved, the rest of her body remained still.  Her tone was surprisingly formal.  “It pleases me that you see her beauty,” she said.  “She is deserving of someone who sees her in that light.   And I can see it in the way you treat her.  The way you look at her.  Otherwise I would not be here.  I would not have come up here when she asked.” 

“She asked you to the room?”

The girl smiled.  “Yes.  I am not here for you.  This was not my idea.  She came to me.  She asked me to…participate.  I am here for her.  I have prepared her for you.”

“Prepared,” he repeated. 

“Yes,” she said.  She did not elaborate, but the veiled smile that followed filled in a few blank spaces.  His cock roused. 

She said, “There are some rules.  Are you ready to hear them?”

“Go ahead,” he told her.  He was not sure how he felt about this near stranger taking control of his sex life.  Commanding him.  He had always had control before.  The collar around the neck of the woman at his feet spoke to his authority.  Now, that dynamic appeared to be shifting.  This girl wore no collar.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” she said.  “I’m not going to touch you.  And you are not going to touch me.” 

She paused.  “And, I think it is probably best if she doesn’t touch me.  Nor I her.  It keeps things simple.” 


“Everything else we will discover together.  I will stay here, in the room, for as long as I want.  If you would like me to leave, for any reason, I will.  You don’t even need to tell me why.  Assuming, you do not disapprove, I will do what I want while I am here, within reason.”  She cocked her head, her gaze dipping down to the woman, then back up to him.  “Most likely I will simply watch,” she told him.

The last sentence when straight to his cock, rendering him fully erect and throbbing for release.  She turned her gaze to it, regarded it frankly, and though she attempted to show no reaction, a twitch of her lips gave her true need away.          

“So what happens next?” he asked.

“What happens, happens,” said the girl.

Her turned to the woman still kneeling in front of him.

“Hand me your leash,” he told her.

The woman looked to him then.  The space between them shimmered with chaos as their eyes locked, the girl and the moon forgotten.  Without breaking eye contact, the woman reached down for the red leather handle of the leash.  Her fingers found it without search.  She tenderly lifted it to her lover.  He received the leash with the same tenderness.

He slowly pulled the chain taut.  The woman purred, her eyes losing focus, her lips growing lax and pliant, her body lifting as the tension on the leash gathered. Her knees unfolded, her back uncurled, her neck outstretched.  She held his gaze.  His rigid cock was inches away from her face.  She did not look to it, but he knew it held her complete attention.

“Tell me what you need, pet,” he told her.  It was a command, not a question.

“I need you,” she told him. 

“Tell me what you need,” he commanded again.

“Your cock.  I need your cock.”  Her gaze held his eyes as she nuzzled the hard bulge in his pants with her cheek.  Her eyes closed briefly as her skin made contact.  It set his blood afire.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes reopened, locked on his.  She began to rub her cheek against his hardness.  “Let me touch it, baby.  Let me lick it.  Let me suck it.  Let me worship it.”  Her whimper made him dizzy. 

“I need it,” she told him.  “Please, baby?  For me?”

His attention shifted to the girl on the chair in the next room.  She hadn’t moved since he had taken up the leash.  Her eyes were on the woman, not him.  Her eyes grew slightly lidded as he looked at her; she knew she was being watched.  Otherwise her expression hadn’t changed.

He turned back to the woman.  “Don’t get greedy.  You must earn this, my pet.”    

She nodded.

“Take it out,” he said.

She still did not break eye contact, and because she did not he did not either.  Her fingers found his zipper without search, just as she had found the handle of the leash. She unzipped him, then pulled out the full length of him and begin to slowly stroke.  He reached behind her head and grabbed a fistful of her hair.  His touch was not gentle, but it was gentler than usual, and it occurred to him that the tenderness of his touch stemmed from the presence of the girl in the next room.

He had her hair in one hand; he held his cock with the other.  As the head of his cock touched her cheek she allowed her tongue to slide out from between her lips.  She did not permit it to touch his cock; that was not how the game was played.  She licked her lips as he rubbed himself against one cheek, over the bridge of her nose, then against the other cheek, leaving a thin trail of pre-cum shining in the moonlight.  He heard a faint sigh from the next room but as tempted as he was to look, he kept his focus on the woman before him.

“Are you ready?” he asked the woman.

She nodded. 

‘You know what I need to do.”


“Tell me what I need to do.”

“You need to train my mouth.”

He reached down to award her a tender stroke on her cheek.  “Good girl.  Yes. I need to train your mouth.”  He slipped his thumb between her lips.  “I need to teach you how to take my cock.  You need to take it deeper this time.”

“Deeper.  I know.”  Her mouth opened, readying herself for him.

He stuck his thumb deeper inside her mouth, then added a finger.  “You need to take it deeper every time. Always.  You can always take it deeper.  There is always room for more.  Always room to go deeper.”

He slid the head of his cock into her mouth.  She accepted it between her lips with something approaching hunger, swirling her tongue around it as she sucked.  He moaned loudly, heard an accompanying echo of a moan from the next room, and this time could not help himself; without consideration he looked over to the girl in the chair.  She hadn’t moved.  Her expression hadn’t changed.  Her gaze had not shifted from the woman.  All he knew of her reaction to the scene was the moan.

“More,” he told the woman.  He kept his eyes on the girl as the woman took him deeper into his mouth.  He felt the need to push more forcefully into her mouth with his hips as he guided her mouth onto his cock, but once again he restrained himself, due to the presence of the girl.

Who was in charge?

Who was the master here?

He turned to the woman and thrust his cock deeper into her mouth, in defiance of the constraints he placed upon himself.  He fed it to her, inch upon inch, crowding her throat.  She started to gag, he eased back, then thrust back into her throat, even deeper.  She gagged again, and this time he held his cock inside her throat for an instant longer before pulling back, allowing her to breathe.

“Good girl,” he said.  He heard a quiet sigh from the next room, but did not turn to it.  He slid his cock back inside the woman’s mouth, past her lips and tongue, into her throat.  He began to slowly fuck her supple, wet hole, filling her throat with each thrust.

The girl’s gaze burned on the woman’s mouth; he could feel it, without looking. 

He abruptly pulled out of the woman’s mouth.  She gasped, lines of spittle flying out of her mouth, running down her lips.  He slapped her lips and cheeks with his cock, multiple times.  Her face glowed in response.  He rubbed his now wet cock all over her face, leaving it glistening in the muddy light.  Her expression grew becalmed, transformed by the impact of the blows.  The lovely face of this creature he only knew when fucking her, a face never revealed in public.

He pulled at the leash, sharply, as if to show himself, and everyone else, who was in charge.

The woman immediately pulled up, back straight, erect and alert, her head bowed to the ground.

“Come, my pet,” he said, and led her into the next room.

A ridiculously large television dominated the bedroom, hung on the wall to the right, looming over the cabinet below it.  The bed lay to the left.  The girl sat on the office chair at the desk in the corner, beyond the TV.  She uncrossed her legs, then recrossed them in the opposite direction.  Her tendons flexed and released beneath the tight fabric of her skirt and blouse.     

He paused in the doorway, the woman on her knees at his side, the two of them framed by the doorjamb.  Time sputtered, stopped, jerked back into motion.  Entering the room would open a whole new world to them.  A newly created universe, formed by a single step.   Possibilities painted the air. 

“Onto the bed, my pet,” he said.  He wanted to call her his slut.  He resisted the temptation. 

She entered on her hands and knees while he trailed behind, holding the leash.  She gamboled across the short expanse of carpet until she reached the bed, clearly savoring her rapt audience of two as she prowled. 

She pounced onto the sheets like a cat, presenting her ass to him, really putting some action into it.  She was facing the girl in the chair now.  The girl watched the woman slink toward her across the surface of the bed.  Again, the man saw the girl’s body ripple beneath her skirt.  Mysteries lay concealed under the cloth.

When the woman had reached the edge of the bed the man pulled back sharply on the leash.


She stopped, her neck and head pulled back by the tension of the leash.

Normally this is when he would have shed his clothes as quickly as he could, to climb up onto the bed behind the woman.  But he didn’t know of the reaction of the girl in the corner.  He didn’t know the rules.

“I’m taking off my clothes now,” he told her.  It wasn’t a question, he wasn’t asking for permission, but he resented the need to notify her.  He resented the uncertainty.  He felt silly.

She nodded her approval.

He resented the need for her approval.

He unbuttoned his shirt, folded it and lay it on the cabinet.  Took off his shoes and socks, stored them neatly next to the bed.  He lay his pants and underwear over his shirt.  He was not sure why he was taking such care with undressing, other than the presence of the girl, obviously. During the long moments he undressed he could feel the sexiness leaking out of the room. 

He stood naked next to the bed.  The girl’s and the woman’s eyes remained locked.  Perhaps only his arousal had fled.

He climbed onto the bed, took his place behind his lover.  He took the leash in hand.  His lover’s eyes were still locked on the eyes of the girl, so he pulled up on the leash hard, abruptly breaking their eye contact.  The woman gasped, choking; her eyes faced the ceiling now.  He slid the length of his cock along the crack of the woman’s ass.  He slapped her ass cheeks with it.  The tight length of leash stretched out between them rippled with each impact.

The girl watched.  She shivered.  She did not meet his eyes.

“Look at me,” he commanded her.


“Look at me,” he repeated.

Her eyes reluctantly found his.

“I have some rules too,” he told her.

“Okay,” she said evenly.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he told her.  “Like you said.  We’re not going to touch each other.  I will not ask you to do anything.  You may do whatever you like.  You may simply watch if you choose.”

“Yes. I like that.”

“While we are in this bed together, she is my slut.  I will call her what I please.  I will do to her what I please.  I will use her.  She chooses this.  She desires this.  In this context, I own her.  When I am fucking her, I own her.  Do you understand this?”

The girl nodded, wordless.

His next command to her faltered.  He stopped talking, balanced on the fulcrum of possibility.  It was odd: one of his long-held sexual fantasies was coming true, and their interaction sounded more like a negotiation in a boardroom.

He attempted to soften the tone. “We’ve fantasized about you before.  You’ve been in bed with us before, sort of.”

“Yes, she told me.”

He wondered what the woman had said.  The prospect of the woman telling the girl of their games aroused him intensely. 

He loosed the chain so that the woman could move her head again.  She lowered her gaze to see the girl.  The girl looked at her, back at him.

He said, “How this has always worked before….  I didn’t even touch you when you were just a fantasy in bed with us. And here you are, alive, real.  I don’t know the rules.”

Her tone softened as well.  “I know.  Perhaps there are no rules.”

“I desire her.  I am uninterested in touching you.  You are here for her.  I am here for her.”

“She is beautiful.”

“Yes she is.”  He reached to the cheek of the woman’s ass, stroking her.  He thought of her in bed, hours from now, describing her makeup to him, how she painted herself for him.  He said, “You are beautiful too, of course.  But she….”

“She has a unique beauty.  She is one of a kind.”


“And you are one of a kind for loving her.”

He did not respond.  The girl closed her eyes, appearing to come to some sort of decision.  Again, the semi-concealed shudder under her clothes.  Her face flushed.  She bit her lip.  She asked, “Would you like to hear what she told me?”

“Yes.”  He could feel the dynamic shifting again.  He maintained his position behind the girl, rubbing his cock against her ass as he listened, keeping himself hard, primed for whatever might happen next.

Her voice grew huskier.  “She told me you like to fuck her while she’s sucking on my nipples.  Is that true?”

“Yes.”  He teased the woman’s ass with the head of his cock, toying with her.  She responded with a sharp intake of breath. 

“You tell her to suck on them while you fuck her.  You tell her to bite them.”  Another shudder from the girl.  He could see the muscles of her legs tightening.

“Yes,” said the man, sliding his cock down to the woman’s swollen pussy lips, parting them.  The woman bit back a moan.

“You like to tell her.  That’s part of the thrill, isn’t it?  Telling her?”

“Yes.  I tell her to suck your nipples.  I tell her to bite your nipples.”

The girl recrossed her legs, sighing.  He could see that her contraction and relaxation was pushing her toward climax, her face now fully flushed, the skin of her neck hot, her nipples erect.  Her talk aroused her as well as him.  She continued, “You love to ask her if she likes it.  You love to hear her say ‘yes.’” 

“I do.”

“You tell her you are going to cum in her mouth.  You ask her to kiss me after you do it.  To share you.  To share your cum in our mouths.  While you watch.”   Her pace because hurried as she talked, her became increasingly breathless, yet her enunciation remained flawless.

“Yes.”  His cockhead poised between the wet folds of the woman’s lips; she bucked her hips violently, attempting to take him inside her, but he held her hips firmly, refusing entrance.  She whimpered in frustration.

“You don’t kiss me.  You don’t touch me.  You tell her to do everything.  She kisses, she touches.  That’s hot.”

“It’s very hot.” 

“You tell her to jerk him off onto my tits,” said the girl, squeezing her crossed legs tight together and mewling, no attempt to hide her movement or sound; the woman could wait no longer and thrust backward toward him; he took the woman’s hips firmly in his fists and plunged deep inside her, taking her entire depth in one long hard thrust.  The woman arched her back and neck, displaying the heady white curve of her neck as she howled in pleasure and release.

“Let me be your fantasy,” said the girl.  “Fuck her while I watch.  Tell her what you want her to do to me while I watch.”

“Oh, fuck, take my cock,” he cried, fucking her hard now, letting their shared fictive world fall into place around him.  “Take it.  Now.”

‘Tell her,” said the girl.  “Tell her to lick my pussy while you fuck her.” 

Before the words had entirely left her mouth he was commanding the woman, “Lick her pussy, lick her wet pussy while I fuck you,” and in the far shadows of his rational mind he caught a glimpse of the threads of power and desire woven together into the ever-shifting narratives in play here, the girl commanding the man to command the woman to please the girl.

The woman took the sheets between her lips, sucked them, licked them, bit at them as if they were not the white and anonymous cloth sheets of a hotel room bed but instead the hot and swollen pussy lips of the girl posing before her. 

The girl uncrossed her legs and this time left them uncrossed. The man and woman increased the pace of their fucking, mesmerized.  They watched as she leaned right, pinched the fabric from the left side of her pencil skirt and slid it up her leg, then a lean to the left and a pinch of the right side, shimmying the tight dress up inch by breathless inch, baring more leg with each pull, the scent of her pussy more pronounced as it creeped toward exposure.  At last the thin skirt was gathered up at her sides.  Her legs were spread. 

She wore no underwear.  Her wet lips glistened in the pale light of the room.

 “Tell her to lick my pussy,” she growled.

He whispered it--“Lick her pussy”--but force with which he slammed his cock into her eclipsed the words: he howled with the effort of it, the woman screamed at the sudden impact, the girl moaned at the sight of it. 

The woman’s body redoubled liked a snake coiling as the man fucked her; her ass leaned to one side, her back curled in the other direction, sloping to the provocative cant of her shoulders and the delirious curve of her neck reaching out to the girl.  Her head leaned to the side, her mouth opened, her tongue eased out between her lips and began to flick at the girl.

In response the girl’s leg spread farther apart as she slipped two fingers deep into her pussy.  Her body turned in on itself, convex to concave, curving into herself.  The woman was at least five feet away, but as she licked and bit and tore at the sheets of the bed the girl fingered herself with gathering intensity, as if there were no distance between them at all. 

“She needs to suck my tits, bite my nipples,” panted the girl.  “Tell her.  Now.”

“You heard her, my slut,” he said.  “Lick her, suck her, bite her.”  He took up the leash again and pulled her body against him hard, repeatedly, meeting her velocity with even more violent thrusts.  The girl pulled, pinched, twisted her nipples.

The world tilted, he fell tumbling into the fantasy world that was replacing the nominally more ordinary world, old walls crumbling, new ones painted on the fly.  As he watched, the man saw two images superimposed: the girl and the woman physically separate and connected by fantasy, and overlaid upon that the woman biting and sucking the girl’s pussy, reaching up with greedy hands to pinch the girl’s nipples through the weave of her blouse.

Which version was real?  Both?  Neither? 

Was there any way to know?

The vision urged him toward orgasm.  His rhythm shifted, his thrusts slowed as he gave her every inch of his cock now, plunging deep inside her with every push.  

“Take it deeper,” he cried.  “You need to take it deeper.”

“Yes baby,” she whimpered, recognizing the change in the rhythm of his fucking, “always deeper, fuck me deeper, I need it deeper.”

“You are such a hot slut, you love to make me cum, don’t you?”

“Yes, baby, your cum, I love to make you cum.”

“Do it.  Make me cum.  You know what I need my hot slut to do.”

He slapped her ass hard and pushed her off his cock, flinging her down on the bed.  She turned up to meet his gaze, her face a guileless and wanton mask.  He began to jerk off.

“Cum on her tits,” urged the woman.  “Please cum on her tits, let me jerk you off on her tits,” and the plea was followed by a wordless cry as the girl slurred a lazy “yesssss…” into the air, her crisp diction finally defeated, and stood long enough to take the collars of her high necked blouse in her hands.  She ripped it straight down the front, dark pearl buttons flying through space like black moons, colliding against the wall, the chair, the desk, the bed, countless simultaneous impacts flooding into the countless possibilities gathered into the room by the three of them.

She parted the shirt and fell on the bed, next to the woman.  The man rose high on his knees.  The woman grabbed his shaft, pulled it into her mouth for one long suck before loudly popping it out again, stroking his cock as she straddled the girl.

The girl slid two fingers deep into her wetness, her entire body spasming in response.  She finger-fucked herself furiously.  She was close, he could tell.  Her expression turned demanding as she took the man in her gaze and commanded, “Tell her, tell her to make you spurt all over me,” but before he had a chance to speak, his cum began pouring out of the head of his cock, three, four, five great spurts, falling across her breasts in thick warm ribbons. 

The girl convulsed beneath him, crying out as she came, her fingers grinding deep inside her, cum dripping down her tits and belly in long, warm strands.

Lungs pumping, hearts beating, muscles quivering, the three of the them grew still at the sight of it, at this magic thing suddenly conjured before them.

The woman looked to the man.  The man looked to the girl.  The girl nodded.  The man nodded.  The woman lay down next to the girl, leaned over her belly, and with no hurry whatsoever, chose a rope of cum and began to lick it up, one end to the other.  After that, the next rope, and the next after that, until the girl had been thoroughly cleaned, her tits and neck and belly glistening with the wetness of the woman’s tongue.

The woman looked to the man.  Smeared cum had replaced her careful lipstick, tearing eyes had caused her mascara to run and smudge.  Her beauty shone through this new mask, as it had the last one.

The girl turned to the man and asked, “May she kiss me?”  It was the first time she had asked his permission of anything.

“Of course,” he replied.  Their mouths opened and met, tongues reaching out to each other like the tendrils of a vine.  Each mouth shaped around the other, forming a seal, sharing him, sharing each other, sharing the night, the room, the world.  A thin drop on cum rolled down the cheek of the girl, but the kiss continued.  Beyond them, a cool night breeze flowed through the open window, flinging the curtains inward, and beyond the window, where the real world danced with all possible others, the darkened streets marched toward the horizon, falling effortlessly toward whatever lay beyond.    


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © 2018 Verbal P. Incandenza | Yeah, not my real name, but I still wrote this. Be cool. Please don't steal it.

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