Well….

I haven’t really laid the table well for this, but….

You’ve read a bunch about Charlotte. You’ve read (just a little) about Sarah.

Well.

Both are bi. Neither has had a whole hell of a lot of sexual experience with women. Both like me. Both are interested in the possibility of a threesome. I may have hinted at this. I may not. In any event….

My thought was, with two women who are inexperienced with women, who are new to threesomes, and one of whom is new to me, the way to proceed is not with a threesome. Rather, it’s to begin to get them to know one another.

And so I did. First, by sharing face pictures of them with each other. I asked each to provide a face picture she was comfortable with my sharing with the other. Charlotte sent a sultry portrait. Sarah, an old casual picture. [All of the face pictures of Sarah I had seen previously featured her tongue sticking out. She and I haven’t discussed that (yet), but I think I’ve written somewhere on this blog about my thoughts on that particular subject.] I told Charlotte, accurately, that Sarah’s picture wasn’t an accurate representation – that her hair is much darker, that she looks much edgier.

Charlotte was intrigued.

Sarah was intrigued.

It wasn’t long before I had these two lovely ladies touching their clits for me in tandem – at the same moment, a few miles apart, without having ever spoken. I shared each one’s orgasm with the other. I stroked my cock as I listened to both, imagining each of them, listening to the other.

This is Charlotte, edging:

This is Sarah, coming:

I had them share pictures of each of their cunts. This is Charlotte’s:

Charlotte didn’t want me to share her picture

This is Sarah’s:

And Sarah changed her mind about allowing me to share….

Charlotte fucked up the morning after her date with Mr. A. She had taken exquisite care of me in the lead-up to her date. I had given her some significant demands. She had complied with them.

Her date with him was good. They had lots of sex. He fucked her well (something I haven’t hadn’t done). And then, she fell down. I had been clear in my #5:

Interestingly (?), it was precisely this request with which Marina had a really fucking hard time. Well, so did Charlotte. First, she began with a couple of benign texts: “Leaving now!” “Heading to work!”

When Marina did this – I had given her a very similar request, and she sent a text along the lines of “Hi!” after a several-day absence – it drove. me. fucking. crazy.

I had been clear. Hadn’t I? In Marina’s case, I told her I wanted her first to send a photo of her cunt, and second, a recording of her voice, with some very specific instructions. In Charlotte’s, an e-mail with a face picture and some audio.

Neither woman sent me what I asked for. Clearly, what I want is hard to give.

Maybe that’s why I want it?

In any event….

That day was difficult for me. Getting what I wanted from Charlotte took longer, took more work from me, than felt fair, than felt right. I. Was. Angry.

Eventually, Charlotte said something like, “It’s hard to record here, can I send a written account?” I said yes, but was pissed. Now wasn’t the time to be asking for an accommodation.

Soon, she sent a very short text about the sex. Describing it roughly as I described it above. In a little more detail. With a little more enthusiasm. You know – just enough to make me really anxious. So what were her feelings?!? I was left to wonder. And, left to wonder? I make up the worst possible story: she’s in love, they’re getting married, I’ll never see her again. Or something else. But whatever it is, it’s bad. It wasn’t until mid-afternoon, when, basically, I gave her an ultimatum, that she finally sent me a few words about her feelings. Written. Not in her voice. (I never received her voice recording.)

The words did 80% of the work I had hoped the recording would do: I was safe. She still liked me, still wanted me. But I was still pissed.


Sarah, Charlotte and I had arranged to meet that very evening. I had been clear: sex was not on the table. We would meet for an hour. Maybe 90 minutes. No more. I had cleared a time that worked for all three of us in the following week, so if all went well? We would be able to be in one another’s pants within just a few days.

But first, I had to punish Charlotte.

I had her join me a few minutes before, together, we would join Sarah. I would give her those bruises she had complained I hadn’t given her. I allotted us precisely fifteen minutes. Enough time for me to bruise one of her ass cheeks comprehensively. Durably. Visibly. Painfully. And I did.

When she arrived, I grabbed her by the throat, choked her, hard, pushed her against the wall, and told her she had been a bad girl. I turned her around, lifted up her dress, and began raining down blows on her ass. Charlotte had succeeded at putting me in touch with my aggression. I struggle to deploy aggression in my sexuality in any sort of an explicit way; here, it was on full display.

I spanked, I spanked, I spanked. I kept going. She had said she wouldn’t say “red,” that she was committed to being bruised by me. And still, I got her to the “red” point. In all of five minutes.

I had her kneel for me. I fed her my (very very hard) cock. I fucked her face. For just a few minutes.

We discussed the impending date with Sarah. I texted Sarah our drinks orders. Sarah informed me of a last-minute change (the bar I had selected was closed for a private party; Charlotte’s drink wasn’t available). I asked Charlotte for the key to her lock necklace. (She wears a padlock necklace with a key in it – an advertisement that she’s looking for someone to take the key. When she’s with me? The key is in my pocket. Charlotte, I think, has an ambivalent relationship to this exertion of dominance on my part. I think it makes her cunt wet. And, I think it makes her head hurt.)

I told Charlotte, “If there comes a moment when you know you want a threesome with Sarah, please ask me if I have your key, and when I say yes, just say, ‘Great – give it to me at the end of the evening.’ And, if there comes a moment when you know you don’t want a threesome with Sarah, please ask for your key back.”

And Charlotte and I headed out to meet Sarah.

(I had texted Sarah – if there comes a moment when you know you’re a “yes,” ask Charlotte for a sip of her drink; if there comes a moment when you know you’re a “no,” ask me for a sip of my drink.)

The evening went…. swimmingly.

The ladies liked each other. Conversation was easy. We talked about the other men in their lives, about their experiences with women, about their experiences in threesomes. About my experiences with threesomes. I told them that my experience with threesomes is that jealousy always is present, that the challenge is to communicate well about it, in advance. (We didn’t do that, really. We haven’t, yet. We will, before we actually meet again.)

Sarah had sent me an orgasm she had recorded that afternoon; Charlotte had failed to, as instructed. (“I was BUSY!” she said.) I sent her to the unisex bathrooms, and instructed her to come for us, to record herself, to send me the orgasm.

Good girl that Charlotte was committed to being (her ass was stinging), she did as asked. She was gone for all of five minutes before my phone vibrated with the sounds of her pleasure. And moments later, she reappeared. I dialed up Charlotte’s orgasm on my phone, pressed play, and handed it to Sarah. I asked Sarah to do the same with hers, for Charlotte. [I wanted to share them with you, but I’m three scotches in, and can’t find them on my phone/computer.]

I sat there, sipping my scotch, as these two beautiful women listened to one another come.

We had a brief discussion about how Sarah’s orgasms are… understated. I asked Charlotte if I could smell her finger(s). “I washed my hands!” she said.

“Well, they need to smell of your cunt, please.”

She didn’t want to go to the bathroom for that purpose. “It’s public – you come out – others see you – you have to wash your hands.”

“So do it here,” I said. “You can do it through your tights.” And she could: Charlotte’s cunt was wet (I knew this). And, the smell of her cunt… wafts. She’s self-conscious, but I fucking love it.

Sarah and I watched as Charlotte pressed her finger against her cunt beneath the bar.

I bent over, and I smelled her finger. “Delicious!” I said. And, the bartender laughed. Clearly, he had watched the whole thing. Sarah smelled Charlotte’s finger as well.

“Sarah,” I said. “Your turn.”

Sarah went to the bathroom – less self-conscious about the whole hand-washing issue, I suppose. She came back with her much more subtle, nearly absent, smell on her finger. Charlotte and I both drank it in with our noses.

There was more conversation. Sarah asked for a sip of Charlotte’s drink. Charlotte, in a phase in her relationship with me in which she’s rejecting many instructions, simply said, “I like her.” Or something like that. I explained to Sarah what Charlotte’s instructions had been.

I sent them to the bathroom, together. “Come back with one another’s panties, please. Each of you, please give me the other’s. And, please, kiss. And send me a photo.”

My phone buzzed with hotness.

They handed me their panties. Charlotte’s were redolent. Sarah’s – less so. (I’ll hold onto them until they’ve shared my cock.)

There was a little more conversation. We solidified our plans. And…. I’m not gonna tell you about the rest of the evening, now. Perhaps another day. Suffice it to say: not too long from now, you’ll hear much more.

Charlotte and Sarah

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