The Blue House On Rain Street

It was that time of year again—Shadow Ridge’s Annual Medieval Fair. This would be the ninth year the South Georgia town held the event, and Venice and Tucker had each always started looking forward to it months ahead of time.
While Tucker was the history buff of the pair, Venice was drawn more to the romanticized version of the Medieval Period, and her favorite thing about the Fair was what a sensual experience it was. The scents of leather, wax, hot tea, dust, smoke, incense, cooking meat, and white sage… the colors of flags and flowers, the sight of shields and furs and tapestries, rugs and pots and soaps, books and chess sets and pewter jewelry, dripping candles and bright silk tents and tarot cards… the sounds of galloping horses, trumpets, harps, flutes, the crack of whips, the steely whisper and clash of swords, jingling bells, and plenty of laughter… she wished she could bottle up the whole experience. And for some reason, the sexual undercurrent humming through the air there seemed especially pronounced this year. Of course, she might have been projecting some of her own feelings onto the atmosphere of the Fair—she and Tucker were in the middle of planning their wedding, and Tucker’s cousin Otto had called from Atlanta the previous day to tell them that he had proposed to his girlfriend, Sheila. Along with all of that, it was December—smoke was curling up from chimneys into the gray skies, and multicolored lights were glowing all along the streets. Love was most definitely in the air.
She knew the sparks she sensed couldn’t all be just inside her head, though. Every year, people went to the Medieval Fair dressed to the nines, and seemed to her to be covertly checking each other out as they drifted up and down the rows of booths, or sat listening to Celtic folk music performances, or stood watching the jousting. There were all those different scents and textures, and all that leather. Everyone took their time enjoying the day; the mood was laid-back. And no one could deny that the Medieval Period really had been romanticized by the modern world, what with all the knights, Witches, and, of course, damsels in tight-laced bodices, portrayed by Hollywood.
They took plenty of pictures (almost a whole roll of film, in fact), watched the “Living Chessboard,” and had a light lunch. They watched one of the vendors make a blown-glass hummingbird. At one of the booths, Venice tried playing a bowed psaltery a little bit—it was kind of like a harp, but held flat and played with a bow. The woman selling them showed her how to play the opening notes of a Beethoven piece. Tucker got to try out a bit of fencing, helmet and all. (He lost, but held out for an impressively long time before he did.) That was fun to watch, and made for some of the best pictures on the roll.
Towards the end of the day, she got to find out what a waist cincher felt like. The woman at the both selling those really had to work at talking Venice into it. For one thing, Venice knew she couldn’t buy the thing, and didn’t want to waste the woman’s time with something she wasn’t going to be able to sell her with any amount of talking. For another thing, she had never understood what the fuss was over waist cinchers. Venice loved corsets (in fact, she was wearing her favorite leather corset that day), but waist cinchers had never really interested her… until then.
Yes, even knowing she couldn’t buy it, the woman still wanted to cinch her up in it—or, as the woman put it, indicating Tucker, “tie you up in leather for his enjoyment,” which ended up being the phrase that persuaded her—just for the sake of doing so.
As soon as the boldly flirtatious woman had threaded the cord in a criss-cross pattern through the hooks between the two front panels of studded, black leather, as soon as she’d pulled that cord taut and started working on making it even tighter, Venice thought to herself, *Oh, my God, what have I been missing all this time?*
It was an epiphany similar to one she’d had with stockings some months back. Only, this epiphany took place with Tucker, the woman, and a handful of random Fairgoers as an audience, before a mirror, in a tent that smelled of smoke and leather.
She laughed each time the undeniably beautiful redhead tucked an end of the cord into the top of the cincher, joking, “And here’s the part where I get to play with your boobies again! Guys always like watching this part…” Venice was all flushed, she could feel it. “Oh, she’s so easy to fuck with!” the woman laughed.
Afterward, once outside the tent, Tucker insisted to Venice—and not with any displeasure– that the woman hadn’t just been interested in making a sale, saying that he’d been able to tell from the way the woman had looked at her that she’d thought she was “hot” and had been checking her out while cinching her.
Venice laughed such suggestions off, saying, “Ohh, Tucker, stooop!” but deep down, she thought he might be right. Even deeper down, she hoped he was.

On the way to Venice’s apartment, after a brief pause in conversation, Tucker asked, “I’ve been kind of thinking—in all seriousness, what did you think of that chick who cinched you up?”
“She was… well, she was very attractive, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s exactly what I mean, kitten. And did you like her?”
“I don’t suppose you’re talking about whether or not she seemed to me to have a nice personality.”
“Well, that’s not the whole of what I meant, but of course it’s an important part.”
“Are you wanting me to admit I was turned on? It’s true, I was. Even if I’d wanted to hide that from you, I don’t think I could have. It was probably written all over my face. I wonder if she saw it too.”
“Maybe she did. Maybe tonight when she’s alone in that camper that was parked behind her booth, she’ll be getting off to the memory of lacing you up…”
Venice laughed. “Tucker…”
“All afternoon, I just haven’t been able to get the picture out of my head, of you and her.”
“How do you know she’s alone? She looked to be well into her forties. I’ll bet she’s married. Probably even has kids.” *Though even if that’s so, she was still a mother I’d love to fuck,* she admitted to herself rather indelicately, remembering the redhead’s ample bust and mature curves.
“With the way she was looking at you, kitten, I wouldn’t be so certain of that.”
“You genuinely believe she was checking me out?”
“There was some serious ogling going on.”
She laughed again. “Ogling?”
“I really do mean it, she was. Besides, you and I are going to be getting married next summer, and that doesn’t stop you from wanting what you want.”
“That’s different, though. I’m not gay. I’m not even bi, not *really.* It’s just a fantasy of mine to do it with a woman one time, just to know what it feels like.”
“You really have never gotten to find out?”
“Never have. Like I’ve said before, the opportunity never came along. All that stuff about sorority-house sex, that’s the stuff of “Penthouse” letters, nothing but male fantasy. Nothing like that happens to real people, or, at least not to me, anyway.”
“But what about *your* fantasy?”
“What about it? True, I would have lived it out if I’d had an opportunity, before I knew you, but I’m with you now, I’m committed to you, and I’m happy that I am. We’re getting married—I’d never trade that for some fantasy, no matter how hot.”
“I’ve kept thinking, though, and remembering what you’ve described wanting, and I wanted to pose the question—what if you could have it all? Just one night with a woman, no strings attached, no jealousy on my part, and you not having to trade in anything for it?”
Venice glanced over at him, slyly teasing. “And what would you get out of such an agreement—we’re talking a threesome, aren’t we?”
“Yes and no—I’d want to watch you with her, and for her to watch me with you. My motives may not be entirely selfless, I’ll admit that, but I wouldn’t want to fuck her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Well, this whole conversation is entirely hypothetical.”
“Is it?” Tucker grinned.
“Say I did agree to it—who says *she* would?”
He shrugged. “Nobody, but if you wanted, I could always ask her, and the worst she could say is no. The Fair is running again next weekend.”
Venice laughed again. “I can hardly even believe we’re having this conversation, though I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised, since it’s us! You truly are not kidding, are you?”
“I keep saying I’m serious. If you want it, this is something I’d like to see happen.”
“I’ll bet!”
“Okay, yeah, I mean that in more ways than one. But really, I’d like to make this happen. Just one more wild, crazy, frivolous fling before we tie the knot and settle down together and I make an honest woman of you—what would you say to that? At least think about it?”
“Well…” She smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

They changed out of their costumes at Venice’s place, and had an early dinner.
Tucker took her to a piano lounge in downtown Hartshorne, about 20 minutes from Shadow Ridge, that she had always loved going to, especially since she and Tucker had started frequenting the place together, and even more so since the night he had proposed to her in the art gallery adjacent to it, when there had been a Valentine’s Day themed exhibit there. They had seen a painting of dozens of hearts—anatomically correct hearts, shown in front of a backdrop of golden sky and gray clouds, some of them shot through with golden Cupid’s arrows, some locked up in brass cages around which doves flew free, some resting upon red cushions atop marble pedestals, some wrapped up in barbed wire and weeping tiny beads of blood, some suspended from golden hooks and chains that weighed down the branches of gnarled trees as if they were ripe fruit (or maybe flowers, since honeybees hovered near a few of them), and some in a bowl amongst plump, gleaming red apples which a marble Aphrodite in the painting appeared to be reaching for. Some might have judged the picture subtly grotesque, but Venice had found it so extraordinarily beautiful, she’d told Tucker she thought it the best of the entire exhibition. It had been as they’d stood in front of this painting together that he had gone down on one knee. He had understood what that image hanging on the wall had meant to her, because everything she’d seen in it, he had seen, too. Indeed, it would be the first and last time he would ever be the one kneeling.
Months later, on this particular December evening, the art gallery was closed, so they went through the main entrance directly into the piano lounge. It was a high-end sort of place, but it dripped with decadence. Venice always thought that it would be a perfect place to film a scene for a vampire movie, with its red walls, heavy mirrors, black wooden chairs and tables, black and sheer, gauzy gold curtains, black-and-white marble pillars, a vase of orchids or a votive candle filling every niche, and the grand piano that dominated the center of the circular room, whose walls were lined with black couches with red and gold throw pillows on them. The entire scene was lit, no, *stained,* with the glow of scarlet light bulbs. In a subtle acknowledgement of the season, there were now white icicle lights strung up along the entrance, and some red-and-gold silk flower arrangements, slender garlands of golden leaves, and bowls of glass fruit also decorated the lounge.
They sat next to the door. Those were the only seats available—it was especially crowded, as there had apparently been a wedding in the hotel across the street earlier that afternoon.
Every detail of Venice’s dress was as Tucker had specified when they’d been preparing to go out for the evening. She had on a gray sweater with red roses on it, a heavy, black velvet skirt and leather jacket, ankle-high boots adorned with leather straps and steel rings, and a red rose choker, the single blood-red bead that hung from it resting in the hollow of her throat. Underneath all this, she wore thigh-high, lace-top stockings, her leather corset, and no panties. She felt very wrapped-up and securely bound, with the boots hugging her ankles, her legs encased in nylon, and the corset secretly holding her in its wicked embrace beneath the oh-so-innocent-looking sweater, yet very aware of her sex and her bottom being bare underneath her skirt. It felt naughty, to be out in public, and know that beneath her demure outer garments, she looked like a half-dressed whore, and she and Tucker were the only ones who knew it.
Every once in a while, someone would drift in from the outside, bringing a brief blast of cold air with them. Cars and buses rolled past the floor-to-ceiling windows. She imagined the rumble and purr of engines, but couldn’t actually hear it while the door was closed. The world outside seemed far away, as silent and starry and cool as deep space, on the other side of the glass. On the other side, through the transparent golden drapes, she could see the heavy black iron lanterns hanging from chains over the patio, shining and swaying in the breeze. There was a black cast iron table, upon which sat a wineglass that was half empty and a water glass that was half full, the liquid in both as still as tiny, perfect mirrors. Its chairs were pushed in and abandoned. There were two couples out there, talking and smoking. The women wore leopard-print and black-and-white polka dot dresses, glittery bangle bracelets, and red high heels. The men were in jeans and black leather jackets, one of them with a camera bag hanging against his hip. Later on, she would see him snapping pictures of the band and of the lounge. Was he an art student, she wondered, or a professional, or was it a hobby of his, or was he just another tourist?
Inside, she and Tucker were wrapped in the warm, smooth jazz music and dim red light. She plucked pecans and almonds from a glass bowl, while he ran his hand slowly up and down her thigh. From the black-and-white tiles to the golden dome of the ceiling, everything seemed to glow around them. Her eyes traveled through the crowd of men in nice shirts and ties, and women in lacy blouses and berets and scarves and furs, and over the enormous black piano and the glasses of champagne and red wine reflecting the flames of the candles, everything all black and red and gold.
She also admired the works of erotic art adorning the walls. They were black-and-white photographs. One was of a woman standing on a winding staircase, wearing nothing but heels and a fur stole. Another was a close-up shot of a nude woman’s hips encircled by a strand of pearls. A teardrop-shaped crystal was tied to the strand with a slender bow, and the crystal hung just above the cleft of the woman’s buttocks. Another photo showed a woman in stockings, high heeled sandals, and little else, curled up almost suggestively with a white tiger. Still another was of that same model, in an old-fashioned bathtub surrounded by candles, her breasts hidden by the sparkling suds, sitting up to look at herself in a hand-mirror while she applied dark lipstick. But Venice’s gaze always returned to her fiancé.
Each song the band played seemed to last forever, and that was fine with her. She wondered how it could be, that it hadn’t always been, or wouldn’t always be, nighttime.
He leaned over and whispered teasingly into her ear every now and then, asking her how wet she was, and kissed from her earlobe down to her neck, causing not just her face to blush, and causing not just her spine to shiver.
He wasn’t like his friends, or the guys he worked with—he could tell dirty jokes with the best of them, and she knew he occasionally bragged to his buddies about his raunchier escapades with her, but underneath all the vulgarity, beyond all his rough edges, he was really an intelligent, enlightened man, who cared as much about her satisfaction as his own, and understood that foreplay often started well before setting foot in the bedroom.
She sipped her drink very slowly and saved the cherry for last, plucking it from the glass where it sat among the last little traces of whipped cream.

At the other end of town, close to the freeway, they stopped at an X-rated DVD shop for a quick perusal, and he chose an all-girl bondage flick that looked promising. He and Venice made video voyeurism part of their foreplay sometimes, and this was as much for her pleasure as his. He knew how much she enjoyed watching beautiful women get tied up and spanked by other women.
As they left Hartshorne, headed for Venice’s apartment in Shadow Ridge, she sat silently in the passenger seat, filled with the strangest peace. That certain feeling had descended that always descended upon city streets late at night: that bittersweet, smoldering, melancholic feeling of a party winding down.
They glided past blank, barred windows, wandering, dreamy-eyed drunks, walls shouting soundlessly in lurid rainbows of graffiti, and scruffy stray cats, along trash-strewn, neon-lit backstreets, to the exit ramp. The motion of the car seemed effortless as he guided it around curves and over bridges, and the city lights seemed to float below in the fog, shining green, gold, and red in the ever-widening distance, until they faded and gave way to black, piney woods. She rested her hand on his thigh. The stereo was turned up, with one of Venice’s favorite Baroque classical CDs spinning inside it, some laser somewhere inside the machine reading over the familiar tracks, and the space inside the car resonated with hypnotic sensuality.

The doors had barely closed before Tucker had her up against the wall of the elevator. He hiked her skirt up and she instinctively spread her legs for his rough hands. He was kissing her, adding to the sense of weightlessness and imbalance that the elevator’s upward journey was causing. She gasped when his fingers spread her vulval slit, and he took that opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth, and out, and in again, in a fucking motion. She welcomed it, tilting her head back and loving the fuck-kiss as much as the sensation of his calloused, prying fingers nudging into her quiver. Then the elevator came to a jolting halt, and he hastily pulled his hand from between her thighs. The doors slid open, accompanied by an electronic ding, just in time for another couple to be treated to the sight of Venice shoving the hem of her skirt back down and straightening up. She didn’t have to look at them to know they were staring at her glowing cheeks and lust-darkened eyes.
“Well,” Tucker said, squeezing the right cheek of her ass, “let’s go.” As they stepped out, the other couple stepped in, and Tucker gave Venice’s rear end a light swat. She heard the woman of the other couple gasp and whisper something to her male companion right as the elevator doors slid shut again.
Most women, Venice knew, would flush with anger at being handled in such a way, but all it stirred in her was excitement. She wasn’t ashamed that this was one of the reasons she loved him so much—he made her feel so politically incorrect. He made her *want* to cuddle up to his broad, firm chest, rub her cheek against those paradoxically soft, coarse hairs, and feel his arms lock themselves around her dainty frame, possessing and protecting her. He made her *want* to marry him and play the domesticated little housewife. He made her *want* to be his tart in the bedroom (or whichever room he might prefer at the time). He made her *want* to fold his shirts and fix his drinks. Venice had found her own liberation, in rebelling against the rebels.
“As soon as we’re inside,” he told her while she unlocked the door to her apartment, “I don’t want to see a stitch of clothing on you, or to see you move about in any way besides crawling—except when you have to stand up to be able to reach something—and you’re to stay like that until tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, my love.”
The evening ended with the lovers first finding the pure, pounding release they’d been so desperately needing, in each other’s mouths, and then going for a gentler second round, with him spooning up behind her, nestling his latex-sheathed prick inside her tight, lubed-up bottom-hole, and rocking his loins sensually against her buttocks, hugging her, cupping her breast with one hand, fondling her clit with the other, his lips never leaving her skin.

Venice wasn’t entirely sure how her fiancé’s suggestion would go over with the woman at the Fair, but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it all week, and had decided to take him up on his extraordinary offer after all. He had told her to just let him do all the talking. Tucker had certainly won Venice over some time back, but his was a very rugged, somewhat rural kind of charm—some ladies, like herself, really went for that, while others, from what she understood, didn’t so much.
Rugged, of course, didn’t always mean downright crude. He and Venice approached the woman when her booth was empty, and he spent a long time chatting with her about the Fair, about her life on the road and some of the cities she’d visited, about his job as a construction worker, and even a little about Venice’s job as a librarian. The woman’s name turned out to be Catherine. After a sufficiently polite while, he started hinting some about his and Venice’s private proclivities, and got a better response than Venice ever would’ve expected—not only did the sexy redhead show interest in wanting to hear some details, but she revealed that she liked women, and was a Dominant herself!
Still holding off on inviting her over just yet, Tucker bought Venice the waist cincher she’d tried on the previous weekend. He asked Catherine to show him how it was done again, so he’d be able to lace Venice up in it on his own.
The two Dominants continued to chat while she did so, and it was at this point that Tucker worked in the invitation to his place that night with a stunning smoothness.
Catherine wasn’t able to make it that night, but she could on the following night, her last night in Shadow Ridge. Tucker gave her directions to his house—just go west on the main road through town, like she was heading for the Interstate, but go past the Interstate, and take the first right after that, onto Rain Street, and she couldn’t miss the blue house. It was agreed that she would meet them there at 7:30 on Sunday evening.

Venice’s workday seemed to go in slow motion, despite the fact that the library closed early on Sundays. She went straight to Tucker’s house, and after a quick dinner, they showered together. He surprised her by shaving the lips of her quiver completely bare, and once they were both dried off, he told her to go into his room and get dressed.
She put on what he’d laid out for her on the bed—a thigh-length, white nightgown with spaghetti straps and little pearl beads along the neckline, transparent pink stockings, and a thick, iridescent pink ribbon with a miniature bell hanging from it, which she was to tie around her neck like a collar. He’d also laid out two shorter ribbons of the same color and thickness, which were meant to go around her wrists. He helped her with these, tying each one in a large bow, before getting dressed himself.
She was half afraid Catherine might not show after all, but at exactly 7:30, she arrived, still in costume, and with a narrow wooden paddle hanging from her belt.
Tucker and Catherine started things off with some small talk similar to what they’d had the day before at the Fair booth, which Venice, inwardly, found somewhat funny, but she supposed at least *some* chit-chat was in order for the sake of propriety… even before the commencement of a threesome.
This didn’t last long, however. Soon, the three of them were on Tucker’s couch, watching the lesbian bondage porno he’d bought during their night out the week before. Venice started out sitting in Tucker’s lap, but towards the end of the film, she wound up lying stretched across both their laps, her nightgown up around her waist, receiving a thorough, firm spanking from the sultry redhead.
“Roll onto your back,” Catherine said to Venice. “I want to see how wet you are now.”
“Yes—I’m sorry, how would you prefer I address you?” she asked as, used to following commands, she obeyed without a thought, save for her awareness of how good her freshly-reddened ass felt resting against Catherine’s full, smooth thighs.
“Oh, simply ‘Catherine’ will do.”
“Yes, Catherine.”
“Aha, so you’re like me,” chimed in Tucker. “Not into that ‘Master/Mistress’ stuff.”
Catherine shrugged and smiled. “As long as there’s some acknowledgement, and it’s made with proper respect, I don’t worry much about titles.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
While Catherine’s hand was busy between her legs, Tucker nudged at the straps of the nightgown, which had already begun to slide off Venice’s shoulders.
“Show her those little teasers, babe,” he encouraged, indicating her nipples with his fingertip.
“Yes, Tucker.”
“Ooh, those are some of the prettiest ones I’ve ever seen,” Catherine told him. She trailed her hand up to pluck and twist the puckered buds at the tips of her bared breasts. “So luscious and red, just looking at them makes me want to bite them.” Brief apprehension registered in Venice’s eyes, though she neither made any move nor voiced any word of protest. The foxy redhead apparently didn’t miss this. “Your submissive is so quiet and sweet, too. Whatever you’ve done with her, you’ve done it well.”
“Thank you, though I can’t take *all* the credit. It was partly her nature in the first place.”
“Highly sexed, and well tamed—a beautiful combination.”
“That’s my kitten,” he said proudly. “My little *sex* kitten.”
Catherine’s hand wandered from her tinglers, back down to the apex of her thighs. She felt her puffy, moist labia deftly separated, and Catherine commented, “Speaking of beautiful, I’ve had plenty of ladies in my forty-some years, and your fiancé already seems like she’s going to be the best pussy I’ve ever had.”
Though she was silent, Venice knew both Dominants saw her sharp intake of breath. She couldn’t help but be further excited by this sultry woman’s confirmation of her hopeful suspicions that she was, in fact, an experienced lesbian.

Venice’s nightgown got left on the couch, though she was made to keep her stockings and her neck and wrist ribbons on.
She had always liked Tucker’s bedroom. Somehow, the masculinity of it– with its dark walls, its coarse throw rugs and hardwood floor, its sparse furniture of polished wood and metal, its muted earthen tones of brown and burgundy and gray and green, and the only truly luxurious thing in all this simplicity being the bed, dominating the room with its inviting presence– only heightened her own sense of femininity. It softened something within her, much the way Tucker himself did. There, she undressed him, and he settled back on the bed to watch Catherine take off her belt, lay the paddle aside, sit down on the edge of the bed, and have Venice kneel on the floor in front of her and kiss her boots.
They were ankle-high, high heeled, lace-up boots of black leather that appeared new, or at least extremely well taken care of. Back arched, knees apart and quiver-lips open and kissing the floor, Venice bowed her head to kiss the toe of her left boot first, and then bowed her whole body to cover her boot with kisses from every angle. Her tits pressed flat and cheek resting against the rug, she strained to reach around and kiss up and down the heel. When she switched to the other boot and began all over again, she heard Catherine sigh contentedly. The bell around her neck clinked with her every move, reminding her constantly of her low position. The beautiful Dominant crossed her legs, pressing the heel of her left boot between Venice’s shoulder blades, and Venice moaned, pressing her lips even more fervently to the leather, urged on by Catherine’s delighted chuckle, and breathing in the leather’s polished, earthy scent.
Catherine had the pliant submissive lie on the floor, flat on her back, and offered the sole of her left boot for her to kiss. She did so, squeezing her eyes shut and breathing through the pain of the sharp angles of the heel digging in between her tits. “Look at me.”
“Yes, Catherine.” She opened her eyes, lips still at the sole of her boot, to see Catherine lifting and fondling her own breasts.
When she trailed her boot down to Venice’s vulnerable yet bulging Venus mound, she could have fainted with the pleasure. But she didn’t even close her eyes, or take them off Catherine, where she sat above her, elegant and superior, pressing the heel of her left boot against her clit. Down on the floor with her legs sprawled wide, she watched Catherine play with herself while grinding her heel between Venice’s slick, wet pink labia, back and forth. The pleasuring was relentless with a sharp edge of pain, and she timed it *just right*—she matched the rhythm of her leg working to grind her heel between her cunt-lips with the rhythm of her hands tweaking her own nipples and stroking between her own thighs, until they came at the same time, growls mingling with gasps, Venice’s pain and Catherine’s pleasure and Venice’s pleasure all coming to a head and colliding and melding.
Catherine told her to stand up and undress her.
“And once you have,” Tucker added, “I have something for you to attend to.” He gave Venice a meaningful look, which he did not have to elaborate upon.
As soon as Catherine was naked and stretched out on the bed opposite Tucker, Venice crawled over to him and lapped at the clear drops seeping from the slit at the head of his prick, then thought better of the teasing preambles and eagerly rammed her open lips down over the shaft. She could sense when he didn’t want to wait. She adored the velvety-sleek flesh of his prick, and she knew that receiving and pleasing him with her mouth was a more refined, highly-evolved act than any other function her mouth could perform.
She felt Catherine’s hand on the back of her head, entwining in her hair, pulling, pushing her face forward, pulling, helping Tucker to mouth-fuck her, and she fell into even deeper worship of the power being wielded over her. Grasping his tool with one hand, she cupped and teased his balls with the other, sucking him far into her hot, deep mouth, and it wasn’t long before he rewarded her, filling her mouth up with come—she had to keep swallowing, quickly, so none of it would escape her lips and go dripping back down his pulsing shaft. Whenever he came in her mouth, he was her world, her entire universe. She didn’t come physically then, of course, but she reached her own kind of emotional peak with him, and felt a similar afterglow. And the bigger the load she swallowed from him, the more she yearned for.
Catherine pulled her up with a painful tug at a fistful of her hair, and gave her a probing tongue-kiss. She looked into Venice’s eyes and said, “I can taste your lover’s come. You like it in your mouth, don’t you?”
“Yes, Catherine.”
“Well, you’re going to be getting your first taste of pussy tonight, I promise you that, but right now, I want you on your back.”
“Yes, Catherine.”
Catherine took Venice’s rose-pink stockings off, and used them to bind her wrists to the bedposts. She moved to mount her, and laughed when she saw the confusion on Venice’s face. “Tucker told me how much you like lesbian porn. Haven’t you seen them do this?”
“Only with a strap-on.”
“Those are fun, but not… as you’re about to learn… necessary.”
With that, Catherine lowered her body onto Venice’s, covering her, and their vulvas seemed to open against each other, as if this was the most natural act in the world. The thickly-furred outer lips of Catherine’s quiver lightly scratched and tickled at her bare-shaven ones.
Tucker was lying on his side, watching languidly, his prick now standing all the way up again, steel-firm. He reached over between them, to clamp each of Venice’s teasers between his thumb and forefinger and give it a quick twist.
Catherine’s sex slid so smoothly against her own, and the ease of it all made her feel like even more of a slut. That thumping thrum in her clitoris was quickening, all the heat in her body contracting and gathering in that one hard, tight place. She knew it would soon reach its critical mass and go rushing back outward throughout her frame again, suffusing her with sensitivity and sapping her strength. She moaned like a porno star, and her last clear thought, before the thread of her logic broke off in the throes of what was about to prove to be a multi-orgasmic, oh-my-God fuck for both her and Catherine, was that they were having *true* lesbian sex, abandoning themselves to an act of which only women could partake.

Tucker and Catherine untied her, and worked together to lace her up in the waist cincher after that, and Tucker then commanded her to crouch on the bed on her knees and elbows. Once she’d assumed this position, near the foot of the mattress, Catherine sat in front of her, leaning back against the pillows with her legs open wide.
He renewed the bright pink glow that Catherine’s spanking had brought out on Venice’s ass earlier with his own open hand now, while Venice licked her for as long as Catherine wished. No matter how hard Tucker’s hand landed, she dared not falter, and she lapped with a hunger that shocked even her, tasting both Catherine’s sex-juices and her own between the slack, sopping-wet cunt-lips proffered her.
Once Catherine’s admirably vast appetite for pleasure had been sated for the moment, Tucker pulled Venice up, but had her stay on her knees. Catherine got up, and he murmured something to her. Venice couldn’t make out what he said, but it was something which Catherine seemed to take great interest in. Before Venice had time to wonder about it, Tucker was on the bed, positioning himself to lie underneath her, and Catherine was climbing back onto the bed beside the couple.
There was something surrealistic about Catherine’s touch, gently gripping and lifting her hips and spreading her labial slit, and the sight of her taking hold of Tucker’s erection and guiding the head into her waiting quiver. Catherine pressed down on the small of Venice’s back, causing her drenched cunt to slide easily down until it snugly covered his prick. Even as Catherine kissed her, it occurred to Venice that it was as if she and Tucker were two beasts that Catherine was guiding and helping to mate. Had she been in any less of an aroused state, this thought would have amused her, but now, it only drove her need to a new fever pitch.
The moment Catherine’s lips left hers, was the moment the paddle made startlingly sharp contact with her ass. Thrills of lust coursed up her body with each strike, which Catherine timed with the couple’s thrusting. Underneath the unyielding crack of wood resounding through the bedroom, Venice moaned, and bounced her hips, driven to frenzy by the pain. He was lavishing Venice’s breasts with his endearingly coarse attentions, while Catherine sped up her strikes to match the lovers’ rutting rhythm.
“So close, so close,” Venice suddenly heard herself crying out, forming the words out loud instead of merely thinking them like she’d thought she’d been. “I’m going to come so hard—so hard!”
“Let it all go, babe,” he urged with a gruff, lascivious chuckle, but she needed no encouragement. Before he finished his sentence, she was already arriving at her peak, waves of exquisite emotion pouring through her, and the sensuous severity of the paddle’s staccato thudding against her pumping, upraised buttocks driving her hard through the climax. The slaps of the stiff, skillfully-wielded instrument did not stop until the final little clenches and shivers of her slowly fading orgasm ended.
And then, with a schoolgirlish squeal, she found herself flipped onto her back. Again, the measured, metallic groan of the bedsprings would have struck her as comical, if she hadn’t been in such a sexed-up haze. Tucker didn’t let up—in fact, the banging of his tensed loins against the soft, shockingly naked lips of her quiver only seemed to grow more brutal then, and she knew this was exactly what she needed. She clutched his buttocks, cupping and pulling down as if it was possible to have him deeper inside her than he already was. She could’ve sworn she could feel the tip of his hard-on rising to kiss the very mouth of her womb each time he drove his hips inward.
Catherine was stroking her cheek, tangling playful fingers in her hair. “Kiss me,” was her whispered command. The union of their lips and tongues gave Venice’s body that final nudge, into a softer but deeper orgasm, unfolding inside her womb, spreading through her torso, tingling her teasers as they stood on end at the tips of her swollen breasts. She clamped her quiver down, and the chain reaction continued on to trigger Tucker’s release. Moaning into Catherine’s throat-deep kiss, Venice readily received the thick jets of come he spurted into her with a force that was startling even for him.

At some point in the wee hours, the three fell asleep with the light still on. Venice was vaguely aware, sometime later, of someone switching off the light, of being lifted and coaxed to crawl underneath the bedcovers, and of the deliciously warm naked bodies of both Dominants pressing up to either side of her, Tucker’s hard and hairy, Catherine’s curvy and silk-soft. She smiled into the dark, and whimpered in profound contentment, and the blackness of sleep closed back over her consciousness.
She suspected it was near dawn when she was next woken, this time by the sounds of Catherine getting ready to leave and obviously trying not to wake them. Too tired to so much as open her eyes, she nuzzled against Tucker’s shoulder and went back to sleep. She loved his broad, strong shoulders.
When the alarm clock went off awhile later, Venice had to work a lot harder than usual at forcing herself to move, and Tucker seemed to have to make a similar effort. It was going to be one hell of a long Monday—the previous night had been worth it, certainly, and she had every intention of letting Tucker know how grateful she was for the gift that it had been—but, yeah, it was going to be a long day.
Her nipples perked to full attention as soon as the cold air touched them. She turned up the thermostat, and then, stretching her pleasantly aching arms, she stumbled into the bathroom, laughing silently to herself at the memories that had flooded back to her upon waking. She never would have thought she’d be part of a threesome!
In the bathroom, she stood in front of the mirror and admired the handiwork of the two Dominants—lavender bruises blooming on the flesh of her backside—and splashed some cool water in her eyes. It was then that she noticed the note on the far end of the bathroom counter:

Tucker—
Thank you for inviting me, and for sharing your lovely submissive. Please tell her I had a wonderful time. This was the best stay I’ve ever had in Shadow Ridge! Maybe we’ll run into each other again at next year’s Fair… Maybe you’ll bring some wedding pictures with you?
Wishing you both all the best,
Catherine