Whoever invented the phrase 'you can't have your cake and eat it too' is wrong. Like many well-intentioned proverbs or ideals, the internet has killed it off.

I love having my wife-shaped cake. Delicious. Dependable. Comforting. Like a Victoria sponge. Her reinvigorated, voracious sexual appetite in response to Molly upsetting our domestic balance has added an extra layer of cream, and she'd be the first to admit the emerging filthy slut was probably lying dormant all along. Guess the demon just needed uncaging, and I love how we're both responding in the wake of it.

I also love eating the considerably sweeter, albeit virtual, cake of Molly's panting orgasms. She's exciting and layered, like a black forest gateau; with extra fruit when her climaxes escalate and boil over in my earbuds. It's our new obsession, maybe even addiction. The relative safety net of keeping temptation at a distance is a large part of that draw: I can put her away in my pocket if necessary and that gives me a sense of control over her alluring whirlwind.

Not that I've exercised much control so far.

Since she gave me unfettered remote access to her panty vibe whenever she wore it, I've driven her to climax upon climax with one finger on the app’s screen. She's cum in the shower, reaming her suction cup dildo in her tight, shaved little twat as she clamps the panty vibe to her needy clit. She's cum in the supermarket queue, buckling and twisting her hips like she was possessed as she stifled groans and I tapped, swept and pulsed in her panties. She's even cum while snuggled up watching a movie with her boyfriend—my son for God's sake. I didn't know he was with her, I swear. She confessed afterwards that he dug four fingers inside her and clamped his free hand over her mouth as she came hard. She told him the vibrator was on a random pattern, but it was actually me.

It's fucked up but neither of us can stop, chasing each high with another. Oh, Molly. Look what you've turned me into. That cascade of pink hair, your taut body and bountiful boobs, capped off with cheeky smile and audacious verve. You're indelibly marked on my brain, invading every thought stream.

And Astrid isn't helping.

She’s told me a few times to be firm with Molly, convinced she'll move onto the next plaything and leave us alone. I'm not so sure. Molly has this manner, this gravitas, that makes me weak, and she knows it. Her claws are in deep.

I've given it some thought and figured I'm drawn to strong women—always have been—but not for the reasons that I want to be dominated by them. Well, not exclusively. It's true that I absolutely adore when a woman takes control and uses me for her pleasure; when I become a helpless pawn in her pursuit of need. But equally, I love it when she submits. When she lets me grab her hair and tug it and growl she's my filthy little slut as I encourage her to take me a little deeper in her throat. Pushing her beyond that comfort zone until we're both on the precipice is a huge thrill.

I looked it up, and apparently it's a thing. And fairly common. I'm a ‘switch’.

Who knew?

In Astrid's mind, she's convinced I'm stringing Molly along for some power play reasons. Or because I want to swap her out for a younger model with bigger tits.

It's not that at all, but it's fascinating to see Astrid’s way of dealing with the threat. Rather than step aside or play hell with the girl—which she has threatened to do despite it having ramifications on our son—she has doubled down on that competitive streak of hers. Tried to be better, filthier, naughtier than the teenager. Her playful reinvention reminds me of the Astrid I fell in love with when we started dating at uni.

But now she's taken it to a whole new level.

When I got back from work on the Friday after Molly and my first experiment with remote play, Astrid had been in the kitchen wearing only an apron. She's fucking beautiful and curvy, and I had dutifully followed when she breezed by, mesmerised by her bare bum swaying between the tassels of the apron ties. On the third stair, my eyeline level with her undulating flesh, I noticed a glint.

“Hang on. What's that?”

“Oh, this?” She paused. Untied the apron and let it pool at her feet. Swept hands to her hips. Roamed back to clutch both cheeks and spread them.

My jaw dropped. Nestled between her perfect globes was a jewelled butt plug.

“You like it?”

“Fuck that's pretty.”

“Thought I'd best get myself warmed up. You're not exactly small, Andrew Tanning.”

I chuckled. “I'm not that big.”

“More than a handful is big enough.”

We'd never indulged in anal. I'd stroked her tight rosebud on occasion and wormed my thumb in while we've been fucking, but never anything more. I was giddy at the prospect. Reaching out to stroke the toy, I gripped its edges and gave it a wiggle. She groaned. “Ohhh yeah. I'm so wet at the thought of you taking me there.”

Sliding my fingers down from the toy, I verified her claim. She was dripping. But there was something else. “My God, you've… shaved?”

She nodded demurely. “You like it? Thought I'd try.”

“Jesus. You're amazing.” I slid in again, the silky flesh igniting my libido, and she moaned, letting me finger her slippery folds, inside and out. I brought the wet digits to my mouth to sample her. “Mmm, I'll never tire of your juices.” Leaning in, I kissed her back alongside her dirty blonde tresses. “I'm going to ravish your bare pussy, Astrid Tanning, until you're a gasping wreck.”

“I'll hold you to that.” She moaned then giggled. “In fact, I'll hold you against me until you're a snarling, wet mess. Might even tie you down. Your tongue is going to get a serious workout.”

All I could do was whimper.

Stepping over the crumpled apron, we climbed the remaining stairs towards the bedroom, my mind racing at the cadence of her naked derriere. Astrid paused outside. “Listen, I've uhh, been on a little shopping spree. Wait here.”

She kissed me and entered, shutting the door while I waited in the corridor, my erection reawakened, even though it had been less than an hour since I jacked off in the work stall to Molly's desperate, orgasmic rasps in my ear.

Will all this sex wear me out? Can my knob cope with the demand of servicing two insatiably horny women?

I touched it through my trousers and it stretched the fabric in response.

All signs point to 'yes'.

The rustling of material—sheets? clothing?— filtered through the door, along with the odd creak of the floorboard by the dresser, which was on my list of things to fix.

I shuffled from foot to foot, dying to know what she was up to, keeping the blood in my cock invigorated with occasional brushes. When she called out she was ready and I entered, I'm still not sure I was fully prepared.

Holy mother of all things fuck.

That she was sprawled on the bed in a tiny tartan skirt, wearing no panties, would have ordinarily been enough to make me pounce and ravage her. Serious wet dream material. Her tantalising, bare slit glistened in the lamplight and I tracked my gaze up from there over her toned tummy to the tight white crop top that squished her modest tits and hoisted them front and centre.

But that wasn't all.

No. Remember she's not helping?

She wore a bright pink wig. And was sucking a pink lollipop 

“Astrid, I…”

She popped the lolly from her lips. “Shhh. No talk, Mr Tanning. I want you to take me.”

I appraised her. She'd gone to some effort to make herself resemble Molly. Minus the belly piercing. “You don't have to do this.”

“You need to get her out of your system. This is the way.”

“Jesus, Astrid. You expecting payment in Beskar too?”

Consternation crossed her brow briefly and she primped the wig. Touched her slit; a long, drawn out, wet sweep, and painted the juices in a heart around her belly button. Rocking upright, she crawled towards me across the bed, swaying her hips in sync with the lollipop stick shifting from cheek to cheek, the boiled sweet clacking against her teeth.

When she was within striking distance, she stopped. Sat on her haunches. Reached for my trouser belt and undid it. Then the clasp. Then the zip. They fell to my ankles and she popped the confectionery from her lips.

“The only payment I want is this…” she trailed the sticky lolly from my hips, inward over my Gremlins boxers. “big… hard… dick in my tight… little… arse.” She beamed up at me as I swelled under her touches and she dragged my underwear off. “Think you can manage that, Mr Tanning?”

“I—” Nothing formed.

What the hell is this? Is she mad? I can't exactly correct her. Tell her that Molly uses my first name like it's a robe. She breathes it with such dripping power, such loaded desire it swirls my entire body. Makes my veins fizz and scrambles my brain. But this is next-level behaviour for Astrid. A fusion of fantasy and reality I never thought I'd witness.

I shook my head in case I was dreaming. Gave up rationalising it. Simply nodded.

“Good. You'd better help take this toy out if you want to fit.”

Shuffling around, she first arched her back, chin skyward like one of her beautiful yoga poses, then dipped her shoulders and her beautiful bottom spread for me. I reached for it. Stroked it. Couldn't resist a light slap. She moaned so I did it again. Harder. “Ohhh yes. I'm such a naughty little whore aren't I? Your filthy little nymph. I've been thinking about this all day. Wet all fucking day at work. How wrong is that?”

I gripped her butt and shook her. Curled my fingers around the jewel nestled between her cheeks and applied gentle pressure towards me. Her hole stretched and she moaned. “Oh God that burrnsss.” Taking it slow, I continued extracting the toy, her groans rising before a long, satisfied exhalation as it passed the widest point and slipped free.

Placing it to one side, I grabbed the lube from the nightstand—another of her spree purchases no doubt—popped the cap and squirted a dollop on her crinkled entrance. Then some on my cock. It was cold but had little effect on how hard I was. I had no idea how much to use, but presumed more was better.

She moaned when I massaged it in with my fingertips, pressing and probing and slipping inside where the toy had been. “Ohh God I want you inside me, Mr Tanning. Want that big fat dick stretching my tight bum.”

My voice was a low growl. “I want it too. Are you sure?”

“Yeahhh.” The way she breathily enunciated it gave me goosebumps. “Give it to me. Every inch.”

She reached out and placed her lollipop on the nightstand, splayed her knees and waited.

After her recent promise of this moment, I'd done plenty of, uhh, research into first time anal.

God bless the internet.

“Not like that. Knees together.”

She faltered briefly, then complied, her butt raising.

“Good. Now, feet apart.”

She did that too and I stepped forward a fraction until my stiff cock was maybe a foot or so behind her.

“Perfect. Now ease your bum towards me until we touch. Don't move your knees or feet.”

Her hole widened a little as it neared my hard-on and she gasped when it brushed. I rested my hands on her hips and guided her so the fat head of my engorged prick aligned. We both took a breath and let it out as I applied pressure.

“Ohhh God, go slow.”

I did. Gradually split her, the lube doing its job of easing passage. She gasped and slapped the bed. “Oh fuck, Mr Tanning, you're so big back there.”

The flared end pierced her and she rocked her hips at the widest point to help me enter. “FUCK!”

My circumcised bellend disappeared and her breathing shallowed. A series of short rasps. Then: “More lube.”

I squirted a dollop of gel and massaged it where we were joined. Slid my hips forward and eased deeper into her tightness. The tiny skirt framed everything and added to the allure. The curve of her spine disappearing beneath the pink mane almost had me believing I was about to fuck Molly’s teenage bum.

Almost.

As I forged deeper until our hips neared, and she cussed and whimpered, her perspective dawned on me. On some level, maybe the roleplay distanced herself from behaving like a total slut. Rationalised her behaviour. In turn, knowing it wasn't solely for my benefit and that she needed it too, I got into it more. Played along.

“Yeah, take my cock up your tight little arse, you filthy slut. You like that, huh?”

She gasped when I jerked my hips so the final inch sank in. I slapped her bubble butt. “Huh? You like my dick here?”

Her groan was muffled by the duvet. “Yeah fffuck I love it. I'm yours.”

“Good. Good girl.”

I drew out a little and drove in. Her scream thrilled me almost as much as her next words. “Use me, Mr Tanning. Fuck my arse. Make me p… pay for seducing you. Treat me like your dirty little whore. Like the slut I am.”

Emboldened, I withdrew. Ploughed in, tugging her hips back to me as I set up a growing rhythm. “Ohh God, take it. Take my big dick. So tight.”

The lube clicked in the quiet bedroom air. Faster every few strokes. She groaned into the mattress and I added spanks to the potent mix, the slaps ringing out with her muted cries.

My breathing tightened. “I'm close. Gonna cum in your arse.”

Astrid’s hand slid under us and surfaced on her clit, strumming roughly. She turned her head to one side, cheek on the bed, strands of pink hair plastered to her temple. “Fuck yes. Fill me. Own me.”

The whole situation overwhelmed me. Her needs. Her act. The fact it could be either woman in my grip. A growl filled the room and it took a moment to realise it was me as my cum boiled, erupted and painted the insides of her darkest hole. Moments later, her bottom began to wink in time to her Ohhs as she joined me in climax. The sensation of pulsing inside her as she milked my cock truly was a match made in heaven. But the fact I'd pictured doing the same with Molly meant the turnstile alongside the pearly gates, with the hell slide beyond it, remained accessible, beckoning my downfall.

We rode our orgasms out, joined and panting. As I began to soften and slithered free, she let out a satisfied groan and slumped to the bed. I joined her. It felt weird stroking her cheek through the wrong colour hair, but anything less wouldn't do. “I love you, Astrid Tanning.”

“I love you too. And never forget it.”

“I won't.” I stopped short of adding, “I promise.” My cake is delicious, but the craving for the cream filling of the other slice simply won't fade.

Astrid and I didn't mention the wig incident again. I haven't seen it since. Perhaps she worked out whatever demons were hounding her, and put it away or sold it. Or maybe it was because we had a short break from Molly’s visits that she didn't feel the need to use it.

I should clarify: we had a short break from her physical visits. The app was a different matter. With a few weeks of their summer break left before returning to uni, we'd spent a handful of encounters locked in lustful virtual sin as she shrieked or whimpered her way to vibrating nirvana, depending on how public her setting was.

Just last night, ahead of her planned visit, when Astrid and Aaron were asleep, I snuck down to the office and made her breathlessly cum in her pyjamas while I stroked my cock. Her hot encouragement in my ear after every swoop and tap of the vibrations linked to her toy had me raging hard. I swirled pre-cum and jacked my slippery dick as her moans increased in intensity and I made her wait. Wait. And wait. Until I was ready and she was a needy ball of lust begging for release. Then I typed: “Cum now,” and she did, my own orgasm firing, splattering opaque globs across the desk as I gritted my teeth to keep quiet and listened to her overflow.

She showed me the evidence after. One photo had her glistening fingers coated in frothy flecks that the next shot showed in her mouth. But the best image by far was the one of the delicious silvery juice streaks peppering the crotch of her boy shorts.

The very same shorts she just deposited in my hand when she cornered me in my bedroom.

She leans up to my ear, delicate scent familiar and dangerous. So close that if I turn my head we’d kiss and it would all be over. “I think you've earned these for the number of orgasms you've given me lately.”

The material is sheer. Satin. Cool to the touch which tempers the rising heat at her closeness. I grip the fabric and glance down the gape of her strappy summer dress at the exquisite swell of her tits. I firm. Her floaty hemline dusts my upper thigh near where my shorts end. Fuck knows if she's wearing panties. It's unlikely.

As if she can read thoughts, her next whisper makes my pulse thump. “I'm not wearing any knickers.” My mouth goes dry and I vainly swallow. “I was flashing Aaron on the way over. Idly touching myself in the passenger seat. Reminded me of us. God that was wild wasn't it? The way you cupped my bald little pussy. Gradually eased your finger inside me. Made me cum in your palm." Her voice catches. "You're such a tease, Andrew. The way you make me wait before letting...