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Safe Word, part 1

She purred as she rubbed her cum-stained cheek against the bulge in the stranger’s pants, eyes downcast, wrists crossed demurely behind her back.

She turned her eyes to meet her lover’s eyes. “Should I rub this man’s cock with my cheek, baby? Is that what you want?”

He nodded, barely perceptibly. His arms lay at his sides. His cock hung limp and wet and spent, dripping of cum and spittle.

“Are you sure? You want me to make him harder? Do you want me to rub my soft cheek against his cock?” She nuzzled into the bulge theatrically, rubbing her cheek and neck against him. “Your cum is still on my cheek from when you marked me. I’m rubbing your cum on him like a good girl.”

She released that low mewl he knew so well he heard it in his dreams. The sound rocked him to his sexual core. He knew from experience how the vibrations from her throat would travel nearly unimpeded through the flimsy borders of air and clothing, knew the bright dizzy heat the stranger would feel at the base of his cock and balls.

He nodded.

“Like this baby?” She began to rub her cheek up and down the shaft of his cock through his pants, her lips tantalizingly close but never touching the fabric. Her eyes never left the man’s eyes as she nuzzled and cooed. She may have been teasing the cock of a stranger, but the performance belonged purely to her lover.

He nodded.

After her third trip up and down his shaft she curled under him and began to massage the fabric constraining his balls with her lips. “Do you like that, baby? Do you want me to lick his balls the way I lick yours? Suck them deep into my mouth and massage them with my lips? Slide my tongue deep into that spot I know you love, between your balls and your thick cock? I know you love that. I know how that makes you cum. How hard you cum when I do that.”

He cleared his throat. He spoke for the first time: a barely audible, “Yes.”

She caught him with a fiery look and refused to let go as she wrapped her lips around the stranger’s balls and explored the fabric covered curves. He imagined the swollen spheres and pulsing veins beneath the cloth.

He said, “Good girl.”

She stopped sucking, leaned her head against the stranger’s leg. She looked up at her lover.

“Am I really? Am I a good girl?” she asked him. Something more than sexual playfulness seemed to hide behind her pouting lips. He understood that she genuinely needed to know.

“You are my every fantasy.”

“Am I being a good slut for you? Am I turning you on?” Again, she seemed to ask truly, making sure this was what he wanted.

“You are my hot little slut. I love watching you be a slut.”

“And this is what you desire?”

“You are what I desire.”

Her eyes widened in recognition of the confirmation. The moment seemed important, crossing a boundary into a new country. Her eyes narrowed as she returned to her performance, nuzzling the stranger’s hard bulge against her cheek and lips. She pouted theatrically.

“You like watching me be your little cock whore?”

“Yes.”

She smiled. “Sucking a stranger’s cock because I know you are watching me? Because I know it will turn you on?”

He found his voice by now; still, he spoke in a whisper. “It turns me on to see you act like a little slut. I like it when the little cock slut inside you comes out to play.”

“Your little cock slut needs more, baby. I’m so needy. I’m such a little cock slut, and I need more.”

“You are a dirty little slut, aren’t you? You need more cock?”

“Yes. Can I have more, baby?”

He spoke more loudly, gaining confidence. “First you suck my cock, and now you need to suck another one?”

“Yes. Will you let me have more? Can I have more cock, baby?”

“Yes.” The air charged electric. “But you know what you need to do first.”

“I do.”

“What will you need to do first?’

She spoke with submissive reluctance, a questioning note flavoring her voice that stirred his blood. “I’ll need to beg,” she said. She looked to the floor.

“Exactly,” he told her. “I am going to need you to beg.”

"I understand,” she said.

o0o

Earlier, the scenario had been reversed.

The man stood naked near the center of the room.

She knelt before him, her head upturned, mouth agape, wrists crossed reverentially behind her, breathlessly begging him to let her suck his cock.

The stranger stood well off to the side, in the shadows of the room, silent and motionless.

The stranger was not expected to talk, or take initiative. He was expected only to watch. After he watched they would decide what would happen next.

This was one of the many rules had been worked out in advance, by all three of them, as the way they would begin. No one was sure what would happen after that. They talked about potential outcomes, even the most unlikely ones, first by email, then by phone, then during lunch, and finally over drinks.

And well before that, months before, she and he had begun talking about it. The notion first surfaced in fantasy, playing the way they always played with each other, bringing imaginary partners into the bedroom with them. Threesomes, foursomes, the unlikeliest of combinations. Fuckdolls without will. Plausibility was not a strong requirement.

They began to discuss the idea of turning their fantasies into a reality. A controlled reality. Bringing someone else, a man or woman, into their bedroom games. Sometimes an attractive cocktail waitress ignited the conversation, sometimes a witty man met at a party. They mused what their fantasies might look like reenacted in real life, if the sexual charge would hold, or whether it would smother under harsh light and awkward pauses.

She once told him, “As long as I feel connected to you. As long as I feel safe.”

They were at a neighborhood bar just down the street from their home, snuggled into one of the booths. She drank vodka on the rocks, three olives please. He drank bourbon neat. A half-eaten plate of room-temperature nachos sat congealing at the far side of the table.

“I will always be with you,” he told her. “Connected to you. No matter what happens. You will always be safe.”

She leaned toward him. “I love turning you on,” she told him. She lowered her voice to a whisper in the loud room. “I love playing your slut. I love being your hot little fantasy.”

“You are like that Greek goddess that assumes the form of her beholder’s deepest desire.”

“Sorry, dear, there’s no Greek goddess that does that.”

He laughed. “Sorry, I was trying to impress you. I was trying to trick you into bed.”

“You’ll never need to do that,” she said. “And I doubt you’ve ever had to, with anyone.”

“I don’t think I’d be very good at it.”

“That’s a good thing, not being good at tricking women.”

“I'm glad.”

“So,” she continued. “If we were to do this, you know, inviting-someone-else-to-join-us thing. The logistics aren’t the hard part.”

He picked at the nachos. “What do you mean by logistics?”

“Like, I mean, who? Friends might get jealous, or it might make a friendship awkward and strained. A stranger, like from Craigslist, that is not gonna happen, it’s borderline creepy, if not outright dangerous.”

“A friend of a friend, maybe. An acquaintance.”

She snagged a tortilla chip from the plate as she spoke. “Yeah. And after the who, what about the where? Not our house, certainly. Not the house of someone we don’t know well.”

“And a hotel room seems a little too on the nose.”

“My point is that all the logistics can be solved, I think we can figure all that stuff out. The details. But what about the stuff we can’t figure out?”

He quit picking at the food, sensing she was about to say something notable. Perhaps she was. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“We can’t predict everything,” she said. “Figure out every possible outcome and plan for it. Some of this new... territory... is going to be unpredictable. Uncontrollable.”

“I know. You’re right. There are a million possible outcomes.”

“Some things will be unknowable. Anything can happen.”

He resumed eating. “That can be a good thing as well as a bad thing, though, right? Something terrible could happen. Something wonderful could happen. We prepare for what we can, but we aren’t ever gonna be fully in control.”

“We are never really gonna know what going to happen until it happens.”

“So we just let it happen. Control what we can. But let the rest happen.”

“It’s kinda hot. The not knowing.” She snatched a chip from his hand, then ate it, smiling proudly. She licked her lips. “It’s scary. But it’s hot.”

“You’re hot,” he told her.

“I am,” she agreed.

The waitress swung by their table. He ordered a beer, she ordered a vodka rocks, the waitress whisked the nachos away and soon returned with their drinks. The conversation meandered off into other topics, then returned.

She said, “The emotional part scares me. Sorta like back at that bar, when I was scared that guy had seen me on our tape. When I didn’t feel connected to you. When I felt alone.”

“You are never alone, love,” he assured her.

“I know,” she said. She craned across the table to kiss him. “You know how we have a safe word?” she asked.

“Of course. Though we’ve never had to use it.”

“No.” She took a sip of her drink, let the bite of the liquor trickle down her throat as she considered her words. “And that’s not exactly what I’m talking about now. I’m not so much scared of any physical danger. I’m scared of getting our emotional signals crossed. What if I feel overwhelmed by being with two men? If my Catholic school guilt and shame comes roaring back and I feel uncomfortable.”

He mirrored her sip with a sip of his own, “Then we stop.”

“But isn’t it too late by then? Feelings have already been felt. I’d already feel guilty. Shamed. And what if you feel uncomfortable? Seeing me interact sexually with another man. You’ve been jealous of other men in the past.”

“Yes,” he said, looking down, avoiding eye contact for a moment. “Not recently.”

“No.” She waited for his eyes to return to meet her gaze. “But you have been. And it caused some issues.”

“Small issues,” he said.

“And issues we easily overcame. But this is tricky emotional ground. We’ve never really done this before. There was the shopgirl.”

He smiled. “Always the shopgirl.”

“But this is different. So many unknowns.”

His face clouded in thought, then cleared. “What about a new kind of safe word? Like, kind of an emotional safe word? If we are feeling uncomfortable or scared or whatever.”

She considered the idea. “You mean like, a regular safe word is for when the pain is too intense and you’re scared you’ll get hurt. An emotional safe word would be for when you’re scared your feelings might get hurt. That makes it sound trivial, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Emotional harm instead of physical harm. Or fear that our relationship is being damaged.”

“I like that,” she said. “An emotional safe word.”

“I like it too.”

“You’re a smart man.”

“I won’t disagree with that,” he said. “You wanna pick a word?”

They sipped on their drinks for a few moments.

“Do you remember that first long letter you wrote me?” He nodded. She said, “It was so wonderful. So romantic. Actual pen and paper. Your actual handwriting. You talked about growing up in Iowa. Camping in the backyard in the summer. Playing in the cornfields after the corn got tall. How at night the air filled with fireflies. How they lit up the night.”

“Yes,” he said. “Of course. I wrote you about how much I missed them. The fireflies.”

“Then let’s make that our emotional safe word. Firefly. It reminds me of you, and how sweet it was for you to write to me. It reminds me of your childhood summers, long ago. It reminds me of you, and how much I love you.”

“I think that is a perfect choice,” he told her. “Sweet and appropriate. Firefly it is. Though I don’t think we need it.”

“I just wanna be safe,” she told him. She leaned across the table top and kissed him a second time, a loving kiss that gradually turned into something more complex. They left the bar shortly afterward, holding hands as they walked to the car.

It was not so much one decision to make as much as it was a large number of small decisions, made individually. They made those decisions over time, together, and the time taken to make the decision was enjoyable, igniting more conversations, more fantasies. They gradually assigned roles to each other, parts in a play, personas. What they wanted, what they didn’t, what would they do, what they wouldn’t. They both wanted the experience to be like their fantasies, controllable and containable.

Though their fantasies revolved around the idea of a stranger, the reality sounded scary and unpredictable, so they settled for a friend of a friend, someone with several degrees of separation from them.

They spent several days composing the email together, making small nuanced changes, not even sure they would ever send it out. They yet again discussed possible outcomes, yet again came to the conclusion that some things were unknowable, some outcomes could never be predicted.

One night, after dinner, they huddled around the laptop one last time, read the email, made a few meaningless changes, then pulled the trigger on the decision and hit “send.” They both smiled at each other in the silence that followed, reached out to hold hands, then quickly followed each other into the bedroom.

The email, once received, led to more emails, then a phone conversation, then a lunch, then drinks.

Eventually, it led them here.

 

o0o 

Here: a generic motel room just off the Interstate, a nice one, national chain, reasonable rates, heated pool and bar, exercise room, an over-priced and nearly empty restaurant. The stranger stood fully clothed in the corner of the room, remaining as silent as was practical. He was, within reason, not allowed to speak to her. He was, within reason, not allowed to touch her, unless given explicit permission. His role was, for the moment, passive.

The man stood several feet away from the stranger. His face opened to a blank page. His arms hung at his sides, his cock dangled limp and wet from his lover sucking him dry in front of this other man in the room.

The woman knelt naked on the plush carpet of the floor with her wrists crossed behind her back, leaning against the stranger’s leg, nuzzling his cock with her soft warm cheek, purring, body angled outward like an actress on a stage, playing to her audience.

She never broke eye contact with her lover.

The shaft of the stranger’s cock bulged in sharp outline through the tight material of his slacks. The full length of it pressed against her cheek as she smiled that pliant submissive smile, lips lax, tongue lolling. Her eyes glazed over.

“Oh, baby. Do you see how hard this is?” Her voice took on mischievous sing-song tones, sexy and girlish. “Nearly as hard as yours was. Nearly as big as yours was.”

His still-wet cock twitched in reaction to her words.

“Yes, I see it,” he said evenly. She couldn’t read the emotion or deeper meaning behind the words. Odd. She could usually read him better, particularly sexually.

“Tell me more,” she asked.

He told her, “I see you are a good girl. I see you are a slut. My slut.”

“I am your slut, baby.”

“I see how good you are at making a stranger’s cock hard. I know how good you are at making mine hard. You are very good at what you do.”

“Thank you, baby.”

“You are welcome, my slut.”

“I need more, though.” By this time she had fully succumbed to thespian mode. She played, not exactly herself, but not exactly a role, either. She played a version of herself. She rubbed her cheek against his trembling bulge, mewling throatily. “Your little cock slut needs more. Can I have more? Can I unbuckle his belt? Nothing more, just his belt. I’ll be a good girl, I promise, I’ll keep my hands behind my back, and unbuckle it with my teeth. Just the way you like it. The way I unbuckle yours.”

“You know the rules. Beg.”

“You want me to beg? I thought I was already begging.”

He said, “I want you to beg for his cock, the same way you beg for mine. Show me what a cock slut you are. Prove it to me.” He repeated the final words. “Prove it to me.”

She frowned, staying in character, but wondered at his sudden need for emphasis. Ever the good girl, she said, “Please let me unbuckle his belt baby. Please, I need to see it. Just the way I saw yours.”

“You have my permission.”

She coaxed the tab of the belt out of the corresponding loop with her teeth. The end of the belt flopped out in front of her, like a semi-flaccid penis suddenly unleashed. She laughed at the unexpected mimicry, gave her lover a devilish wink, then went back to work on the stranger. She grabbed the meat of the belt in her teeth, unloosed it from the frame of the buckle, pulled back just enough to free the prong from the overworn hole, and let go. The tab of the belt fell to one side of his pants, the buckle fell to the other side, lending a proscenium-like display to the clearly erect cock outlined beneath the cloth of his jeans, framed neatly on either side by the ends of the belt.

She gasped with expert theatricality and stared with widening eyes at the sight before her.

The man began to take more initiative. “Let me guess. You need more. My little slut needs more.”

“Yes.”

“She needs to see it.”

“Yes.”

“She needs to touch it.”

“Yes.”

“She needs to taste it.”

“Yes. Oh, God, yes. The way I tasted yours.”

“Then beg. Beg for it.” His cock twitched again, and rolled against his sac as it awakened.

She ignored his command. She unbuttoned the top button of his pants with her teeth.

“I told you to beg for it, slut.”

The alarm in his voice surprised her. She remembered their discussions, how some things were unknowable, how anything could happen. What was this new note in his voice?

Timidly, she asked, “Please, baby? I need to taste it. I need it so bad.”

He nodded.

She spread the cloth of the fly with her tongue, parting the flaps as if she were parting the pussy lips of a female lover. She expertly gripped the metal tab of his zipper with her lips. The hiss of the tab sliding the down the teeth of the zipper sounded like a rousing snake.

When his fly was all the way down, she pulled the edge of the cloth to one side with her teeth, like drawing curtains, the stranger’s sinewy cock now hidden only by the thin material of his underwear. A widening drop of pre-cum soaked the edge of the cloth.

Her tongue slid from her lips and bent around the thick curve at the base of his bulge. She left a damp trail as she licked her way up his hardness, toward that damp cum-spot at the head of his cock.

When she reached the damp spot she looked wordlessly at her lover with histrionic lust, a silent film actress expressing emotion. She knelt in front of a stranger’s cock for her lover, not the stranger. She loved falling into this freely chosen role for him. She exaggerated the little details she knew would turn him on, the need in her begging, the hungry rasp of her voice, the amplified lust with which she eyed him.

“May I baby?”

She held his gaze steadily. She did not beg; she did not speak further.

“Yes,” he said.

She bit at the waistband of his boxers and with her teeth peeled down the stranger’s underwear like a curtain parting to reveal a stage. His cock twitched once, twice.

She looked to her lover with unalloyed submission, a hint of sly desire crouching just behind it. Her already wet pussy began to tingle.

She tore her gaze away from him and stared at the pulsing cock before the both of them. She had been teasing him for a long time; his cock bobbed impatiently. A thin wet trail of pre-cum oozed down the curve of his head and clung lewdly to the rim.

She said, “It’s right there, dripping off his cock like melting ice cream. I need to lick it up. I tasted yours. I swallowed yours. I cleaned your cock with my lips and tongue. I let your cum drip off my cheek and chin like a good girl. It tasted so good, baby. But I’m so greedy, I need more, I need to taste it again. Please, baby.”

The man’s cock thickened.

“You may taste him. Just the tip. You may lick up his cum the way you licked up mine.”

Her tongue snaked out hungrily to lick the thin translucent rivulets tracing the veins along his length. When she had finished with her treat her lips began to wrap around the head of the stranger’s cock.

“No!” cried the man, with surprising vehemence.

It was the second time she had heard his voice turn unexpectedly angry. Some things were unknowable, she reminded herself. Not every outcome can be predicted.

Her voice no louder than a whisper, she said, “Just the head, baby, I just need to suck on the head. I can’t help it, I’m such a needy little slut, let me suck on the head of his cock. Just tease it. I promise not to swallow it. I promise not to choke on his big hard cock the way I choke on yours. I need to tease it. I need to taste it.”

The man took his cock leisurely in hand, stroking it absently as he spoke to her. He said, “Here are the rules. You may tease his cock, the head of it only, and you don’t get to suck it. You’ve been a bad girl. You tried to suck his cock, like a whore. This is how I will punish you. You can lick and kiss at the head of his cock. Toy with him. You will not suck it or swallow him. Tease him, baby. Tease him until he cums.”

“Can I taste it? Can I taste his cum?”

His grip on his cock tightened. “Yes. But to be clear. You are not to suck his cock. Do you understand?” He took a step closer as he spoke.

“I understand.”

“Are you going to be a good girl?”

“I am always a good girl for you,” she said.

She took the stranger’s cockhead between her lips, careful not to fully enclose it in her mouth. With her eyes steadfast on her lover, she encircled the rim with her perfect little lipsticked O of a mouth, barely touching the skin, moving his head in and out of her mouth with the faintest of motions, teasing him.

The stranger's legs trembled. He moaned softly, but did not otherwise react.

The woman spoke with the skin of the stranger’s cock a hairs-breadth away. “Is this what you desire baby?” She needed to know before they continued. She needed to make sure.

He stroked his cock as he took one step forward, then another. “This is what I desire.”

“Me too, my love,” she said, her voice soft, momentarily unencumbered by the weight of her performance. She returned to her task. She let her tongue slide slowly and lasciviously out above her lower lip, knowing how sexy the sight would seem to her man; the sight of his pupils widening dramatically in response confirmed it.

Still without breaking eye contact, she touched the tip of her tongue to the sensitive underside of the stranger’s cockhead. The stranger shuddered. He groaned audibly, though did his best to swallow the sound. She took small, birdlike licks at the center, usually a fraction of an inch to one side or the other, but occasionally approaching him head-on, taking the central cord of nerves directly under her tongue and painting a thick sloppy wash over it, licking her lips afterward, fully aware of the effect she created for both men.

The man took another step toward them, cock in hand.

The woman slowed her approach. She abandoned the head of his cock and took a slow, teasing trip down the length of it, replete with kisses and licks and tiny bites. She knew the sounds of her ministrations were as exciting as the sight of them to her lover: the suck of her lips, the slide of her tongue, the glissando between tones of her ever-changing sighs and whimpers.

Another step.

She reached the base of the stranger’s shaft, gave it a gentle kiss goodbye, and positioned her lips at his balls.

“Do you remember this baby? Do you remember how much you love this?”

The man moaned in response, and gripped his shaft harder, intent on the performance being given by his lover.

She sucked one of the soft spheres into her mouth, rolled it around lazily, let it fall out of her mouth and did the same with the other.

“You know what happens next, don’t you?” she asked her lover. “You know what I am building up to. You know your little slut so well.”

“I do. Such a hot little slut.”

“Yes, I am your hot little slut. And I know what you love….” She let the end of the word trail off into the air, the o sound elongated, the soft fricative of the v massaged by her upper teeth and lower lip as she let it escape her mouth.

The speed with which she launched herself under the stranger’s sac surprised both men, after the slow languor with which she had been treating him. The position forced her to break eye contact with the man for the first time. Her tongue snaked its way to a spot midway between the base of his cock and the centers of his balls. She probed, searching for the exact spot that would trigger the stranger the way its triggered her lover.

The stranger moaned loudly, his cock spasmed, a fresh dribble of pre-cum oozed from the tip and dripped down the side of his shaft. Clearly, she had hit the correct spot. She emerged from underneath him like a swimmer breaking the surface of the water, lips wet, smile wide, eyes dancing.

“Mmm,” she said. “Just like you.”

Her lover, now nearly as close to her as the stranger was, commanded, “Lick it off him. Lick the cum off his cock.” He held his cock tightly as he spoke. His voice seemed oddly clenched.

She knew how close the stranger was to cumming. His breathing turned ragged, his legs shuddered, his cock twitched and jerked. She traced the warm rivulet from the base of his thickness to the tip with her tongue. She kissed the head. When she lifted her mouth from him so that there was no more skin-to-skin contact, he sighed and growled in frustration. Still, no other reaction. He followed the rules. They all followed the rules.

She licked her lips, smiling at her lover. A tiny drop of pre-cum clung to the corner of her mouth.

"Baby?”

“Yes.”

“May I touch my pussy? I’m so wet, baby. So horny. First sucking your cock, and now licking his cock, it makes me so needy.” As she spoke, her index finger toyed with the very edges of her labia, tickling at her swollen lips.

His face darkened. He said, “I already let you cum twice while you were sucking my cock. Does my needy little whore need to cum again?

“Please, baby, “ she cooed. “Please let me finger my pussy while I jerk you off. I need it.”

“You are such a slut.” He stroked his cock as he watched her. “You need it bad, don’t you?”

“Yes, baby, I do.” She did. “I need to finger my pussy, I need to cum so bad, baby. You always let me cum. I’ve been such a good girl. Haven’t I been a good girl? Please let me finger-fuck my wet pussy for you again.”

“For me, you may, slut. Cum like a whore for me while you service two cocks.”

She parted the lips of her pussy with her finger. It disappeared into her folds. A second finger swiftly followed.

The man said, “Jerk me off. Now, slut.” Her hand reached out to him even as the words came out of her mouth. “Jerk me off while you tease his cock.”

She did as she was told. She stroked her lover’s cock with loving care, letting the shaft slide between her lovely thin fingers, fire-engine red manicured fingernails standing out like fireworks amid all that pink flesh. When she reached the base her fingers slithered down to play with his balls. She snuck one finger playfully back to the spot between the base of his cock and his balls, the same site she had tongued on the stranger. She let her fingers linger there for a few seconds, then brought them sliding back up his length, encircling the corona of his cockhead with her thumb and forefinger.

As she stroked her lover she continued to take kittenish nips at the stranger standing next to her, licks and kisses and soft wet flicks. Each action of hers, no matter how restrained, elicited an outsized reaction. He moaned, his legs shook, his torso twisted, his cock leaped.

She had two fingers deep inside her pussy now, curled tracing circles deeply inside her. Her hand worked the shaft and head of one cock, her mouth and lips and teeth pleasured another. The room felt crowded with scent and motion, sex and life, emotion and runaway desire. A million timelines converged on this point, some leading to bliss, some to disaster. Too much was happening, too many variables. No way to predict every outcome. Some things were unknowable.

A culmination of some kind approached, and rapidly.

“Faster, slut,” said the man. “Jerk me off faster.”

One hand pistoned up and down on the man’s shaft as she teased and toyed with the stranger. Two fingers pressed hard into her wet pussy, fingering herself strenuously, matching the rhythm of her other hand on her lover. Both men seemed on the verge of orgasm, and she felt hers gathering from within.

She craned her neck and parted her lips and dragged her lower lip from the base of the stranger’s cock to just before she reached the tip. When her tongue encountered the thin frenulum of skin under the rim of his cockhead she wrapped the tip of her tongue lightly around it.

She gave him exactly one long, slow, wet, warm lick.

That was all it took. All events that followed cascaded from that one feather-light touch of her tongue.

She leaned back slightly from him, smiling.

The stranger groaned more loudly than he had all evening. A single pearly drop of cum leaked down the slope of his cockhead. For a long moment nothing else happened.

Then, following the misdirection of the single drop and the long pause, the deluge began. Cum surged out of his cock like a torrent gushing from a broken dam, spewing into the air and onto his chest, his shaft, the floor, and of course the woman’s upturned face. Great white plumes fell toward her mouth, she opened her lips and spread her tongue instinctively to take it.

As the first ropes hit her mouth the man grabbed her forcefully by the hair and pulled her away.

“NO!” he cried.

He pulled her toward his cock, now so red and fully engorged it seemed angry. “You don’t take his cum, you take my fucking cum, whore.” Even as he spoke the stranger continued to cum, spasm after spasm after spasm, endlessly; he had been tortured and teased for the good part of an hour now, and this was the result. Thick strands landed on her cheek, her hair, her neck.

He pushed the stranger in the chest with that flat of his palm, sending him stumbling backward in mid-orgasm, frightened and surprised by the unexpected outburst.

Stay away,” the man growled. His fist still clenching the woman’s hair, he pushed her onto his cock and thrust upward sharply.

The woman felt torn in several different directions at once, sexually, emotionally, physically. She could not determine how she felt. Events moved too quickly.

The safe word? Was it time for the emotional safe word?

“You heard me, take it, take my cum,” he demanded, and began pumping his thick pole aggressively into her mouth. ‘I did not tell you to swallow his cum, whore, he is not allowed to mark you, only I am allowed to mark my slut. Now suck my cock.”

Fear rose in her eyes. She no longer knew what character she was playing, she did not know the character her lover played. His actions left her shocked but conflicted. She did not want to stop. Like the stranger, she had teased and tormented, and been teased and tormented, for nearly an hour. She needed release. Her lover’s cock hammered in and out of her mouth, her fingers pumped in and out of her pussy, orgasm approached like a runaway train. Her actions resulted from events she could not control, or, in this crowded moment, even fully understand.

The stranger leaned against the wall in the far corner of the room, watching.

The man seemingly oblivious to him now, focused only on the woman kneeling at his feet, his cock as he rammed it into her throat, and his own imminent eruption.

He moaned loudly and thrust forward, hips bucking, cumming for the second time that evening, forcefully holding the back of her head in position as he pushed his length deep into her hole. He held her head in place as she milked every drop. When he finally pulled out of her mouth she gagged and coughed, catching her breath. Cum dripped from her lips and tongue. Her fingers continued to work furiously inside her pussy.

Abruptly she threw her head back, exposing that perfect curve of white neck, flinging tiny threads of milky white outward from her hair and face as her legs scissored together and her tits jutted outward and her back arched. A low wail rose up from deep within her and transformed into a full-throated howl as a wave of orgasms wracked her body. It seemed to go on for hours, and for that endless moment, no one was in the room except her.

Gradually the tumult subsided. Her head cleared.

She knelt on the floor, head tilted upward, mouth agog. The man stood next to her, looking down upon her, his face blank with guilt and desire.

The stranger spoke first, from the shadows of the corner. “I’m, uh, sorry, man,” he said.

The man said, “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry I pushed you.”

“You seemed kinda upset,” said the stranger.

“I wasn’t trying to...” The man’s voice trailed off. He looked to the woman to finish the thought. She had no words either.

“Hey, it’s all good,” said the stranger.

The remark seemed so out-of-place and flimsy and inadequate within the thick fog of emotion and that enveloped the room that the woman almost laughed in response.

She didn’t laugh.

The man lifted his head, and, in phrasing as comically ill-fitted as the stranger’s, said, “Yeah, no, we’re cool. Don’t worry about it.”

Words died on their tongues. Movements turned slow and deliberate. The man took a few steps away from the woman and awkwardly stood in the center of the room. Both he and the woman avoided eye contact with each other.

The stranger straightened his clothes, and gathered the few things he brought into the room with him. Bizarrely incongruous “thank you’s” were exchanged. The stranger mumbled a final “Goodnight” and disappeared out of the hotel room doorway.

The silence in the air of the room threatened to swallow them.

She waited for his eyes to find her.

When they did, she said, “I was trying to say the safe word. At the end. Right before you pushed him. The safe word we decided on together. I was trying to say ‘Firefly.’ But you grabbed me by the fucking hair and shoved your cock in my mouth. You silenced me.”

Firefly. The word she had chosen because it reminded her of actual pen and paper. Actual handwriting. Growing up in Iowa. Backyard camping. Playing in the cornfields. The summer air filled with light.

She had chosen the word because it reminded her of him. Of what she loved about him.

He began with, “Honey, I’m sor...” but she did not allow him to even finish the word.

“No. You don’t just get to apologize and it’s all over and forgotten. That’s not how this is going to work.”

“But I don’t know….”

“Not now,” she responded calmly. “We are not doing this now.”

The woman silently collected her clothes, took them into the bathroom, uncharacteristically closed the door. She turned on the hot water, let the room get hot and steamy as she soaped up a plush hotel washcloth, dipped it into the stream, and with deliberate movements wiped the drying cum from her cheek. She scrubbed her face thoroughly. When she finished with her face she moved to her neck and did the same, wiping it clean and scrubbing hard at the skin. She spent more time with her hair, examining the individual strands, wiping, cleaning, scrubbing.

She considered taking a shower, decided against it.

She gathered up a hot pool of water in the washcloth with her hands and buried her face in the bright heat of it. When she raised her head from her hands, she tried to look at her reflection in the mirror, but the haze of humidity spilled onto the mirror glass, rendering her likeness foggy, indistinct, as if she weren’t fully there.

“I just wanna be safe,” she told her reflection.

She opened the bathroom door and in a spill of steam walked into the bedroom. The man stood by the bed. They exchanged a long, complex glance. Both of them appeared on the cusp of conversation, but neither took the leap.

They left the room, checked out, walked to the car. They did not hold hands.

No words escaped their mouths on the drive home.

The air conditioning hit her skin cold and hard. Rather than turn it down she opened her window halfway home, and was immediately rewarded with the feel of the evening breeze, still cool but warmer than the atmosphere inside the car. She was glad she had washed in the hotel room, but regretted not taking a full shower. The water that remained on her skin evaporated quickly in the breeze, the cloyingly false after-scent of the hotel room soap caught in the slipstream and swept away in the rushing night air.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com 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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<a href="https://www.lushstories.com/stories/threesomes/safe-word-part-1.aspx">Safe Word, part 1</a>

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