I have started a new club called "Couples in Love."

Check it out and see if you might have something to show off there.

Day Zero

The DSM-IV excluded nymphomania as a clinical diagnosis, replacing it with "hypersexuality," in which sexual activity is an insatiable need interfering with other areas of everyday functioning. Hypersexuality’s disruptive manifestations include frequent and compulsive masturbation, unsafe sexual practices, and interference with interpersonal relationships. Many, if not most, hypersexuals find sex impersonal, with no emotional intimacy. Despite frequent orgasms, from one source or another, sexual activity is generally not satisfying.

Much to my last pshrink’s consternation, I still prefer the term "nymphomaniac," perhaps because of my luck last year in meeting Mistress, and thereby — against all diagnostic expectations — finding a sturdy and fully satisfying interpersonal relationship. Until meeting Mistress, my "insatiable needs" certainly did "interfere with other areas of everyday functioning." I finally managed to get an English B.A. summa cum laude, but then dropped out of grad school. I’d always found it difficult to keep up with schoolwork. It’s impossible to concentrate on abstruse but influential works of literature, and obtuse but required scholarly journals, when not an hour passes that you don’t desperately crave to stop whatever you’re doing and get yourself off. Three-hour graduate seminars became almost impossible to bear!

The pshrinks tried treating me for ADHD and various depressions, manias, and personality disorders, but to no avail except myriad pharmaceutical side effects, each less pleasant than the last. Mistress saved me from all that. Now I ingest nothing but the healthy organic vegetarian fare Mistress provides.

To the extent that prescriptions used to help me focus on school, that doesn’t matter. I dropped out of school a few weeks after meeting Mistress.

* * * Day Zero minus 78 * * *

"No," she’d simply replied on that Sunday of our second weekend of the most satisfying sex I’d ever known when I asked permission to leave her condo to go home and study. Despite my surprise, I kept my face tilted down and gaze steadfastly to the floor, as she requires of me in her presence.

"I beg your forgiveness, Mistress, but I have over two hundred pages to read to be ready for class in the morning." Feeling both sexually and emotionally satisfied, perhaps for the first time in my life, I knew I could finish all of my overdue and pending schoolwork if I left right then.

"You won’t be going to class tomorrow," she informed me with her consistent steadfast confidence that makes me feel so wholly secure when around her. "In fact, you’re never going back to school."

She declared this as such an obvious and incontrovertible fact that it never occurred to me to doubt its truth. I simply asked, "why?"

Mistress sighed, and I’ve no doubt she rolled her eyes at my idiocy, but with charitable patience she explained, showing that her Cytherean body contains a Socratic intellect. "How do you feel when you’re in class?"

"It gets awful," I admitted. "Just sitting there, I want to touch myself so badly I can’t stand it."

"Of course," Mistress affirmed. "After all, everyone now knows what a ‘shameless little slut’ you are."

"Yes, Mistress." I could feel the blush heating my face as I recalled how, on the evening we met, Mistress tied me face up across her livingroom coffee tabletop and used a smooth plastic vibrator to keep me just short of an orgasm. She said she’d neither untie me nor let me climax until I screamed my name and declared as loudly as I could that I was a "shameless little slut who would do anything just to come." She’d opened her patio door, and I still remember my reprehensible confessions and salacious begging echoing around her neighborhood, but not caring because moments later my even louder screams of consummate ecstacy publicly substantiated my base divulgences. At the time, Mistress said I was lucky none of the neighbors had called the police, because she would have simply turned me over to them for disorderly conduct and disturbing the peace with my obscene outcries, pornographic pleas, and lewd wailing. I winced with the lingering shame as Mistress continued her colloquy.

"So ‘it gets awful’ in class, you say — ‘it’ being your tawdry lust. Does that mean it’s easier to study at home?"

"No, Mistress. I usually have trouble getting anything done at home. Once my mind gets fully focused on whatever I’m reading or studying, my hand just automatically goes, you know, down there, and before I realize it, my eyes are closed and I’ve slipped my fingers inside my pants, and then, well, You know...."

"Don’t tell Me what I ‘know,’ slut! If I ask you a question, I expect a full answer; ‘and then’ what?"

"’And then’ I touch myself."

"Touch yourself? I’ve told you before not to waste my time with that namby-pampy Catholic school shit! Say in plain words what you ‘and then’ do."

"’And then’ I mas... m...." I took a deep breath and nearly shouted my noneuphemistic acknowledgment. "’And then’ I masturbate."

"For how long?"

"Um... it depends."

"On what?"

"On how quickly and how many times I come."

"Well, regardless of that, why don’t you just go back to your schoolwork afterward?"

"But even if it doesn’t take long, it’s still almost impossible to study when you’re stopping every hour or so to m... m-m-masturbate." I felt the blush on my face growing ever redder. Mistress already knew all of this, but she had learned it from me over time, as part of comfortable pillow talk. Having to profess it all together, in plain words, and in the full light of a Sunday afternoon, grieved my innate modesty. I tried to use Mistresses wholly merited pride in her sexual virtuosity to agree to my request. "That’s why I need to go home now, Mistress. The joy and ecstacy you so mercifully bestowed upon me over the past 48 hours should calm me enough to get all I need done tonight to catch up in school."

"But if school is that important to you," Mistress chuckled at my transparent attempt to manipulate her. Then her voice became icily serious, warning me that she had reached the crux of the lesson. "Shouldn’t you always be able to stop masturbating long enough to sit through class or finish your homework."

"I know I should," I sighed with shame and felt a tear slip from my right eye. "But, it’s like... you know, an illness. Dr. Mur...."

"Don’t give me any of that headshrinkers’ mumbo-jumbo!" she growled. "The human brain is too complex, and human emotions too explicit, for anyone to make an honest living by telling someone why they think certain things or what makes them feel the way they do. Every shrink is just a con-artist with a Doctorate."

Mistress stepped forward, cupped my chin in her palm, and permitted me something I’d craved all weekend. "Look into my eyes, pet. Don’t I already know you better than any shrink ever could?"

I lifted my face no faster than Mistress’s gentle finger coaxed. Her large, beautiful eyes — usually like cold steel — now sparkled with the inviting blue of the warm Caribbean. I knew she spoke the truth. From the moment we’d met ten days before, it seemed as if she could look right into my mind and read there my every thought, from what I wanted to drink, to my most secret emotions and suppressed desires.

* * *

I finally stopped trying any drugs when Mistress explained I’m just too stupid for any more school. Mistress makes things so much easier.

And Mistress lets me touch myself almost every time I need to! She encourages me to use my toys. Mistress lets me be far happier than the pshrinks ever did. They tried to teach me to stop touching myself so much.

I cannot remember the exact age at which I started masturbating, but it was well before high school. I always assumed I had made myself a nymphomaniac by getting myself off so many times each day as a teenager. All the psrinks said no, I frigged so much during and since puberty because of some underlying psychological condition. Chicken or egg, I don’t care. Vices become habits. When a habit releases all that endorphin and the other wonderful side effects of orgasm, a habit becomes a compulsion, even after addressing any "underlying psychological condition." My life now works much better for me since I stopped seeing any pshrinks. Mistress takes care of me. I have no need to change it.

Mistress confirms what I guess I’ve always known deep down, despite what the pshrinks all said: I can’t stop touching myself because I’m a dirty little slut. I’m just lucky that she took pity on me and let me start to serve her. I finally have a purpose and goal in life more meaningful and permanent than trying to find an excuse to slip into the bathroom for a quick frig.

I would do my best to resist that tonight. I would need to be as horny as possible to accomplish what Mistress wants of me. Fortunately, men have always seemed to find me attractive. Even Mistress said I am "pretty enough." I’m not sure if I have ever been prouder than when Mistress said that.

Dressed tonight in my best black mini, I had attracted plenty of notice from various men all over the nightclub. Having always preferred girls since my first lesbian experience at 15, I had no trouble remaining aloof until I spotted the right "stud." I smiled at the private joke, thinking the word had never been so apt.

He stood tall and solid, his back against the bar. His Eddie Bauer chinos and chartreuse Ralph Lauren polo practically screamed lawyer or CPA. The tight, smooth muscles rippling underneath just as loudly proclaimed him a swimmer or bicyclist, probably both.

The barely discernable pattern of his hair on his shaved head only slightly darkened the deep mahogany skin, so perfectly set against his green shirt and bright, white smile. His eyes were even a darker brown than mine, and sparkled with intelligence and a bit of lust as I walked up to the bar next to him and ordered a Cosmo.

"Please, allow me to pay for that," he offered with a rumbling voice that suggested Ivy League. "Then, perhaps, you’ll honor me with a dance."

"You’re a foot and a half taller than me!" I laughed. "We’d look ridiculous together on the dance floor. Let’s just find someplace quite to talk."

As I expected, "someplace quiet" became — by way of a quick Starbucks cappuccino — his small but luxurious eighteenth floor condo with a partial water view. We’d both understood our mutual intent within thirty seconds of meeting, so neither of us spoke, although he whistled appreciatively when I pulled off my dress to reveal all I wore underneath was the black lace garter belt holding up my sheer ebony stockings. I didn’t bother to remove my patent leather ankle strap pumps. I didn’t plan to stay that long.

He took no time undressing himself, and retrieved a condom from the drawer of his night stand. I took it from him as I sat on the bed and drew him into my mouth. I love that salty nectar that gathers on the tip of a fresh erection.

After that one quick lick, I pulled my face away and put the condom on him. Any disappointment this might have caused him immediately vanished when I tuned around, got up on all fours on his bed, and sighed, "I want it in my ass."

I needed an excuse to get the condom off of him in a few minutes, and this would provide it. Besides, I absolutely adore anal sex!

I almost forgot myself when he squirted some baby oil on my bung hole and worked it loose with his thumb before pressing the head of his penis into it. It opened readily for him as I bit the satin bedspread to keep from crying out in the unique excruciating ecstacy of being buggered. About half his length had forced it’s way up my bum when he reached around with his right hand to start fingering my bald womanhood. I groaned as his finger brushed my clit hood. I think he meant for us both to come that way, which would have ruined everything.

"Not yet, Baby!" I managed to gasp and crawled forward to get him out of my ass. I rolled over onto my back and spread my legs. "I want you to fuck me."

He climbed up between my legs, eager to comply, and I made my move.

"Ew... You can’t stick that in my pussy, not after where it’s been." I reached up and rolled the condom off his erection. He hesitated, but I took hold of his now bare organ and pulled him over me.

"Don’t worry honey. I’m careful and clean," which was true. "And I’m on the Pill."

That last claim was a lie. In fact, according to the calendar in my purse and the thermometer on my sink back home, I couldn’t have been more fertile. I closed my eyes, feeling a little guilty for deceiving him. None the less, the anal sex and the sheer perversity of this had me incredibly horny and wet. I screamed with unexpected pleasure as his length slid into me is a single, steady thrust.

I fucked him like a wild woman. I dug the stiletto heels of my pumps into his muscular little ass and slammed my hips against his, clamping down with each counter thrust, barely conscious of my intent to milk every last sperm from him.

It didn’t take long. I felt him swell just a bit just before he ejaculated deep inside me, and I immediately started to come, more from the knowledge that I’d carried out Mistress’s wishes than from the physical pleasure itself. I used my sharp heels to hold him in place, trying to drain every last drop before he withdrew.

"My God, woman!" he groaned when I finally let go and he rolled off of me and collpsed across the bed. "Where you been all my life?"

I glanced over, glad to see his eyes closed. That way he wouldn’t notice the uncomfortable way I had elevated my hips to tilt up my vagina. I wanted those little swimmers to have a good head start.

I stayed in that position while I counted slowly to 500. By the time I reached that mark, he had started snoring softly next to me. I slipped out of bed and started to dress, suddenly realizing I hadn’t quite thought of everything.

I rarely wear panties as it is, and wanted to leave myself as available as possible tonight. I had forgotten how messy men leave you. I wiped myself with his polo shirt, then put on his white cotton briefs. At least now I wouldn’t have anything embarrassing running down my leg.

As I slipped out of the condo, I wondered when it would occur to him that he’d never asked my name. Not that it mattered; I’d have lied anyway.

I took the elevator to the lobby and the doorman called me a taxi. I couldn’t wait to get home to tell Mistress I’d done as she’d asked. In a few weeks, we’d know if it worked.

© Copyright 2009, 2012, 2014

As we always do, the whole gang assembled at the Union after classes on Friday. We sat around, had a few beers, threw some darts, then went off together for pizza. After dinner, almost everyone had to leave to go see a hockey game. We were playing North Dakota that night, and I guess that’s a big deal. Personally, I despise hockey. Most of my friends, on the other hand, think it’s the greatest sport on Earth, so after they left there were just three of us left. Craig, Shelly, and I stood on State Street trying to decide what to do next. I suggested hitting a bar.

“Nah,” Craig said. “The bars will be jammed tonight. I really don’t feel like dealing with crowds.”

“But what else is there to do?” I asked.

“I have an idea,” Shelly said. “I got a new game for Christmas that I want to try. I think you guys will really like it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Craig agreed, so we headed for Shelly’s apartment. On the way we stopped at a liquor store and Craig and I went in and bought a big bottle of wine. Shelly had to wait outside because she is still under age. A light snow had started to fall, and the walk to Shelly’s place was very pleasant. It was like being in some old movie. Shelly has a beautiful one bedroom apartment facing Lake Mendota. She’s here on a scholarship and can afford that kind of thing. We went inside, hung up our coats, and Shelly went to find the game while Craig and I went to the kitchen and poured three glasses of wine.

Shelly came out of her bedroom holding a game box. She started to take off the shrink-wrap and explained, “It’s called Therapy. I played it at my cousin’s house over Thanksgiving and enjoyed it so much that I asked my Mom to get me a copy for Christmas. Basically, we sit around and analyze each other. What do you think?”

“Sounds great!” Craig said. I thought so, too. We were certainly an interesting group. Shelly is an nineteen year old sophomore math and computer science major. Craig is twenty-four and studying economics in graduate school, and I’m twenty-two years old and a senior in nursing. A more diverse set of “therapists” probably couldn’t be found anywhere on campus.

Shelly went to her stereo and turned on some mellow jazz. We set up the game on the floor and started playing. You win Therapy by collecting six pegs on your playing piece, which looks like a little couch. There are six categories, and you need a peg from each category. There are two ways to get a peg. One way is to answer a scientific, psychological question in one of the categories. The questions are like:

True or False: A baby whose mother responds quickly and consistently whenever it cries will end up being a chronic crier; or

What percentage of American women admit they wear uncomfortable shoes because they look good? 10%, 24%, or 45%.

If you get one of these right, you get a peg in its category.

The more interesting way to get a peg is by “curing” another player, either in one-to-one or in group therapy. In this case the “therapist” reads a question, and the “patient” writes down her response. The therapist then tries to guess what the patient wrote. If the therapist is right, the patient is cured and the therapist gets a peg as her fee. If the therapist is wrong, the patient remains in therapy and they try again next turn. The therapy questions are things like:

So tell me, which player do you think would be most likely to sneak into a movie? or

So tell me, on a rating scale of 1 to 10, how moody are you? or

So tell me, which player do you think would be most likely to have a dream about a large snake?

This last question raised a couple eyebrows. I was the therapist, and Craig was the patient. I guessed that he had said I would be most likely, but he had written “Shelly.” I guess his opinion was confirmed a few turns later when Shelly was his patient and the question was: “So tell me, on a rating scale of 1 to 10, what is your level of sexual appetite?” Shelly had written “10” and Craig guessed right.

As you might imagine, a lot of the questions dealt with sex, and I think all of us were already feeling a little fresh. For instance, “Therapist” cards became “The Rapist” cards, and whenever a question about sex came up, we always gave the highest possible answer. Actually, we learned a lot about each other’s personalities and feelings. In the end, I won the first game. We were having so much fun we decided to play again, after we got up to get more wine.

I suppose I should have seen it coming. When we sat down to play the second game, Craig and Shelly sat down quite close to each other. Their knees were touching, and every now and then they’d find some excuse to rub each other’s back or legs. For my sake, they acted like it was all in good fun, but I could tell, by the way they looked at each other, what they each had silently planned for later that night. I would have left then, but we had already started the second game.

I must admit I was pretty jealous; partly because at the beginning of the evening we had been three friends on equal footing, and now I felt like an outsider. I was mainly jealous, however, because ever since I met him, I have had a big crush on Craig, but he never asked me out. I didn’t blame Craig for picking Shelly. She is uncommonly pretty with lustrous blonde hair and big blue eyes. And I couldn’t blame Shelly for wanting what I wanted.

What bothered me was that I had known Craig for over a year and he had never seen me as more than a friend. We had met Shelly only a few weeks before. Now she was going to be taking him to bed that night. It really frustrated me that she had only gotten him to notice her by using this game to indirectly, yet unquestionably, let him know she was interested. I had the same opportunity, but I have never been able to do that kind of thing. I’m too shy, and at that moment I blamed Shelly for my shyness. No one ever said jealousy was rational.

I couldn’t help myself. I just got more jealous as we continued playing and they got continually more friendly with each other. I virtually burned when Shelly read: “So tell me, which of the following parts of your body would you most like to have attention paid to? a) legs, b) lips, c) ear lobes?” and when Craig answered “c” she leaned over and gently bit his ear lobe. I felt even angrier when Craig asked Shelly: “So tell me, what sense do you derive the most pleasure from?” and she practically moaned her answer “Touch.” They obviously had almost forgotten my existence, interacting with me only when the game required. I was answering the same kinds of questions as Shelly, and many of my answers showed that I too was available and interested, but Craig never noticed. I was just too shy to expose my feelings with my body and voice the way Shelly did.

A few turns latter, reading from the card, Craig asked Shelly: “So tell me, which player do you think will most likely dream tonight of being bound in chains?” She wrote down her answer and Craig said: “You.”

Shelly held up her paper and answered: “That’s right. Me, of course.”

I guess that was the last straw. I started yelling. “Like Hell he’s right! You’re both wrong. I’m the most likely to dream about being bound in chains. Bondage is my biggest fantasy. I do have dreams like that, and I love each and every one of them!”

I don’t know what caused me to confess my secret like that. I had never even told any of my boyfriends about my fantasy. I guess I was so jealous I just had to do something to call Craig’s attention to me.

Craig and Shelly weren’t looking at me, but each other. I was afraid they would start laughing. Instead, Shelly turned to look me in the eye and said, her voice husky: “How about tonight?”

My jaw dropped, but my nipples sprang up and I felt moist heat between my legs. It was like I had lost control of myself. My common sense told me to get up and leave, but my true desires had taken over.

“Yes!” I heard myself whisper.

The game forgotten, Craig and Shelly each took one of my arms and helped me to my feet. They led me into Shelly’s bedroom. Shelly let go of me, but Craig took both of my wrists and held them together behind my back. No one spoke, we were united in a common purpose. Shelly rummaged through her closet and came up with four long sashes from various robes and dresses. She took these and started tying them to the bed frame at the corners of her full size bed. As I watched her carefully tying good strong knots, I grew hornier and hornier. My panties were becoming absolutely soaked!

While she finished attaching the sashes to the bed frame, Craig pulled off my sweater and took off my bra. Then he reached down and pulled down my jeans and panties. I stepped out of my jeans, leaving my socks in the crumpled legs. I was completely naked. Craig picked me up and set me down in the middle of the big bed. He spread my arms as far as they would go and started tying the sashes around my wrists, making sure there was no slack. Then, together, he and Shelly pulled my feet toward each corner of the bed. When they had me spread out as far as possible in all directions, they tied the sashes around my ankles. I was totally spread eagle, face up on the bed. It was actually quite comfortable, perhaps because of the equal tension on each of my limbs. I tried pulling against the sashes. Those knots were strong! There was no way I could ever free myself.

Shelly turned to Craig and said: “Well, she’s not going anywhere. What do you want to do now?”

“We could go in the other room and make love. You know, I’ve never even kissed you yet.”

“It wouldn’t be very nice to leave Sandy here alone. Besides, the first time I make love to you, I want it to be in my own bed, even if it is a little crowded.”

They started kissing and undressing each other. I had been so caught up in my excitement about being tied up by Craig, that it had not occurred to me until then that I would be sharing him and this bed with another woman. Normally, this would have turned me off, but under the circumstances it only added more excitement to the adventure.

Impulsively, I strained against the bindings. Even if I wanted to, there was nothing I could do to stop Shelly from getting into bed with me. Despite my trepidation about her being here, I moaned with automatic lust when I realized my total helplessness, such defenselessness being the core element of the craving I had set out to satiate.

They had finished undressing and turned to consider me. I had often seen Craig in a swimming suit, so I realized how good he’d look naked. His good looks were improved by the way his penis stuck straight out, all big and hard. He has a very hairy chest, and is tall and broad shouldered.

Shelly is just the opposite, with a slender, sylph’s body. Her breasts are rather small, but her long nipples were erect and pointing straight out. Breast size is the only advantage I have on her — we have identical dimensions everywhere else — my breasts are pretty big, and my nipples tend to stick out too. Her pubic hair is very blonde, unlike mine which is light brown, like the hair on my head. In fact, her pubic hair is so blonde and fine that it looks almost transparent. This gave her an exotic look that I found compelling.

Understand, I am certainly not a lesbian, and I don’t think that I’m even bisexual, but just then I found myself wanting to touch Shelly’s pussy, to feel its silky hair covering its firm lips. I imagined taking Craig’s penis in one hand, and Shelly’s pussy in the other and squeezing and rubbing them so they both would moan. I tried to pull my hands free, but they were tied too tightly. I think being tied up automatically makes you want the things you can see but can’t reach. Under any other conditions I don’t think I would ever have developed desires for another woman. I suddenly found that I desperately needed to touch and be touched by both of them.

Shelly laid next to me, and Craig laid right on top of me and started licking my breasts. Already primed by being tied up, and the perverse thoughts I’s been having, I immediately lost control and started whispering. “I’m yours! Please let me be yours. Let me touch you, let me stroke you wherever you want.”

Shelly said, “I know what you can do that will be good for both of us. Suck Craig off right now. That way he won’t come too fast when I make love to him.”

Craig must have liked this idea because he got right up on his knees and lowered his big, hard penis into my waiting mouth. I have always loved oral sex and I think I’m pretty good at it. After a couple of minutes I had Craig groaning and clutching at the headboard as he pumped what seemed like mouthful after mouthful of semen down my throat.

Craig fell back and sat between my spread legs, his knees laying across my thighs. Shelly said: “That was fun to watch.”

She ran her finger over my lips, cleaning Craig’s come from them. She tasted it and said: “Yum! I was too generous with you, Sandy. I should have done that. He tastes wonderful. I’ll get my revenge now, though. I’m going to make love to him and you’ll have to watch while I have the orgasm that should have been yours.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I protested.

“You’re right,” she conceded. “I just thought of a way you can participate. It turned me on so much watching you give Craig head, that maybe we have invented a new kind of foreplay.”

“Call it ‘Surrogate Foreplay,’” Craig suggested.

“Yeah, Surrogate Foreplay,” Shelly agreed. “We’ll divide things evenly. Sandy can have half of my love making. She gets the foreplay half, and I get the play.”

Craig had moved up and before I could protest he was kissing me deeply. I realized that they intended to make me hornier and hornier but not let me come. Tied up like I was there was nothing I could do to stop them, and knowing this just made me all the hornier.

Craig kissed my breasts, sucked my nipples, and started licking my pussy. But he always pulled back whenever I was close to coming. Shelly sat on the bed watching us. We obviously turned her on. She sat Indian style and was wiggling softly, slowly but keenly stroking her own clitoris. Craig moved back up my body and started giving me a hickey on my neck. He was totally hard again and rubbing his penis up and down my pussy.

“Please make love to me,” I begged again and again. Craig centered himself over me and I gasped as the head of his big penis slipped into my vagina.

“That’s the end of foreplay,” Shelly whispered. “It’s my turn now.”

I tried to tighten my vagina around his penis, but Shelly wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him out of me. I tried to pull my hands and legs free. I just had to keep Craig inside of me. It was no use. I was tied too tightly to escape. As Shelly laid back next to me with Craig on top of her, the knowledge of my helplessness sent waves of desire crashing through my body.

It was utter torture laying there while they made love, wishing it was me Craig was making gasp, moan, and occasionally scream. I could stain my neck to watch Craig’s glistening penis rising and falling as it thrust in and out of Shelly’s pussy. Having just come in my mouth, Craig easily controlled himself to prolong their lovemaking. Shelly came several times and with each orgasm, besides screaming, she would reach out and grab hold of something like a pillow, or my arm or hair. Once, she clutched my right breast. The initial pain, and lingering tingle after she let go, just made me hornier and hornier.

After about twenty minutes, Craig finally came and Shelly had one last big orgasm. Shelly’s head came to rest on my shoulder and she laid there a minute whispering. “Oh, he’s wonderful. He’s wonderful.”

I think she fell asleep, and I was hoping that it was now my turn. In a way it was. Craig touched Shelly and said, “I want to keep on going. I think it’s your turn to do Surrogate Foreplay. Only this time, Sandy will be my surrogate.”

For the first time all evening, Shelly seemed out of sorts. “But I’ve never made love to a woman before. I don’t know how.”

“Sure you do. Who knows what a woman wants better than a woman. Just do to Sandy what you would want done to you.”

Shelly nodded and snuggled up next to me. I was apprehensive at first, but what Shelly started doing, however hesitantly, felt so good, I soon managed to relax and enjoy it. Craig was right. Shelly touched and kissed me in all the best places which no guy has ever been able to find.

Soon she was licking the sensitive skin right at the top of my thighs, but I was relieved to find that she was no more interested in giving me oral sex than I was in having a woman eat me. As good as it felt to have her tongue tickling my hips and plowing through my pubic hair, I simply did not want a woman giving me oral sex. Yet all this attention made me unbearably horny. I opened my eyes and turned my head to find that Craig was again fully erect.

“Please,” I begged. “I just can’t take any more of this. Oh please, oh please. I need you to make me come!”

“I can do that,” he said simply. But instead of making Shelly move over and mounting me — which is what I expected and wanted — he untied my right hand and guided it to the back of Shelly’s head.

I wanted to push Shelly out of the way so that Craig could mount me and do for me what he had done for her, but Craig had other ideas. Pinning my hand between his palm and her scalp, he pressed her face firmly against my pussy. Shelly had not expected this and for a second her extended tongue slipped into my slick vagina. Shelly quickly withdrew her tongue. She did not want this anymore than I did.

Greg whispered passionately: “I would love to watch you make her come.”

I felt Shelly nod resignedly, then I groaned involuntarily as Shelly’s tongue timidly tasted my clitoris. She again stuck it hesitantly into me, just the tip at first, then an inch or two, then its full length, making me pant with breathless rapidity. It think Shelly resisted for just a moment, then I felt her whole body tremble. A violent sigh hissed through her teeth as she suddenly began eating me like a shark on a feeding frenzy.

It was wonderful. Shelly knew exactly what I needed, and I quickly started coming. Shelly didn’t stop, however, and I quickly came again. And again!

At some point, Craig had let go of my hand. I no longer wanted to push Shelly away. She did not try to escape from between my legs.

I honestly don’t remember, but as orgasm piled on orgasm after orgasm, I’m sure I started screaming like a banshee. I know Shelly did; I think she might have been playing with herself while she ate me. The vibrations of her moans and screams into my pussy served to intensify the pleasure she gave me.

After what could have been five seconds or five hours (Craig said it was about fifteen minutes), I was all spent and managed to coax Shelly’s tongue out of my pussy. She was anything but finished. Almost frantically, she crawled on top of me, and using her left leg to pin my arm against my body, she sat on my face.

I still had no real desire to make love to a woman, but tied up like I was, I knew Shelly would have her way. Besides, after what she had done for me, I figured I owed it to her. Reluctantly, I stuck my tongue into her vagina.

And I loved it! I suddenly knew why Shelly had gone so wild after her first taste of my pussy. Not only did its smooth wetness feel good against my lips and tongue, but Shelly’s pussy tasted great: like all of sex rolled into a bite size package. As I mentioned earlier, I had always enjoyed oral sex. Now I knew how much better it was with a woman!

Not only did I prefer the texture and flavor of Shelly’s privates to any penis I’d ever tasted, I didn’t have to worry about gagging on anything shoved or squirted down my throat. I also quickly discovered that women are far more sublimely responsive than are men to the subtle nuances of what I can do with my dexterous tongue, making it all the more fun to do.

I started eating Shelly as enthusiastically and skillfully as I could. She started wailing and screaming just like she had for Craig! I now know why guys like “screamers” so much. There is nothing so satisfying — nor so much of a turn on — as knowing that you are giving someone so much pleasure that she actually screams. By the time Shelly had her last orgasm and fell into Craig’s arms, I was as horny as I had been after they first tied me up.

So was Craig. While Shelly rested, Craig started rubbing his hard penis all over my face, breasts, stomach, thighs and pussy. He held my free arm down so that I could not interfere. Soon I was begging him to make love to me like I have never pleaded for anything before, but Craig continued to torture me. The head of his penis glided up and down between the wet lips of my pussy, but it never once stopped to enter me.

I was surprised when Shelly interceded on my behalf. She whispered: “For God’s sake, Craig, don’t be so cruel. Make love to her. I want to watch.”

Shelly had sat up in bed next to us and was vigorously masturbating as she stared at Craig’s and my hips rubbing together.

Craig never was one for taking orders. Instead of doing what Shelly asked, he moved off of me and sat down next to her. She immediately slid into his lap and they started making love.

My right hand was finally free. I tried to untie the other, but my feet were tied too tightly and I could not turn my body enough to reach my left wrist. Besides, I was distracted by the beautiful sight of Craig and Shelly moving together with rising passion. In my imagination it was me in Craig’s lap and I would soon come when I felt him coming inside of me. My right hand automatically started tracing a line down my body. Closing my eyes, I fantasized that it was Craig’s penis and that he was still on top of me. My hand reached my vagina and I plunged one, then two, fingers in, pretending they were Craig’s hard penis. Then I started rubbing my clitoris with my index finger. Masturbation had never before felt so wonderful, perhaps because usually it’s a lonely act, but for once I wasn’t alone. I came so hard, I think I almost passed out!

I opened my eyes to find that Craig and Shelly had been watching me. Craig was still erect. They must have stopped making love right after I closed my eyes. I felt embarrassed, but they had obviously not minded my selfishness.

“That was beautiful!” Shelly purred. “After that, you deserve the real thing.” Without another word she pulled my hand away from my crotch as Craig mounted me. His long penis slid all the way into me.

So soon after my strong, self-inflicted orgasm, the pleasure from Craig’s penetration was almost too intense to bear! I would have tried to push him away, but I was again helpless since Shelly had taken a firm grip on my right hand. Soon, however, I began to settle down and Craig’s steady thrusts had another orgasm building inside of me. I wanted to wrap my legs around him, but they were still tied. I just laid back and concentrating on the ecstasy pulsing through my body.

Making love with Craig was better than I had imagined, and soon he and I enjoyed a simultaneous orgasm. I felt totally spent, but that lusty pair would not let me rest. As soon as had Craig got off of me, Shelly climbed on top of me with her face in my crotch and her pussy hovering over my mouth.

Sixty-nine has long been my favorite number, but it was never as good as it was with Shelly. When I do sixty-nine with a guy, I never have an orgasm because I have to concentrate too much on giving him pleasure without him choking me. With Shelly, I could let my tongue do its best while the rest of my body relaxed and enjoyed what her tongue did to me. We had each come only a couple times when Craig interfered.

I would have complained, but Craig only moved Shelly’s hips away from my face, he did not move Shelly’s face from my pussy. He turned Shelly around so that she again lay between my legs. Her tongue never left my clitoris. It was as if she couldn’t get enough of me!

Laying on her stomach between my legs like that, Shelly’s hips rested on the edge of the mattress while her knees touched the floor. Craig knelt behind her and started making love to her doggie style. I enjoyed feeling Craig’s steady thrusts rocking the bed while Shelly ate me more voraciously than ever. Shelly and I each came several times before all three of us came together in a beautiful, perfectly simultaneous, three-way, screaming orgasm.

After that, they untied me and we rested, Craig in the middle with Shelly and I snuggling up to either side of him. We spent the rest of the evening making love together, or in pairs, or, occasionally, alone while the others watched. In the morning we kissed Shelly good-bye and Craig walked me home. He kissed me good-bye at the door, but as he turned to leave I grabbed Craig’s collar and hauled him into my apartment. I have learned that Craig prefers outgoing women.

We showered together and made love afterward. We spent the afternoon in each other’s arms, catching up on some needed sleep. I had the most wonderful dreams!

There is another hockey game tonight. Craig, Shelly, and I plan to get together and play Therapy again. I hope I get the question: “So tell me, on a scale of 1 to 10, how sexually experimental are you?” I’ll answer “12” and then spend the rest of the night showing them what I mean. As far as I’m concerned, making love with Craig and Shelly is all the therapy anyone could ever need.