The Finer Things in Life

When one's family and money date back to the Mayflower, one learns the value of presenting a respectable exterior to the world. Which is why I've always enjoyed the subversion of those markers of wealth and privilege.

Today's nod to the libidinous creature beneath my tasteful exterior? A new Rolex with initials inscribed upon the back of it. While my name is Susan, the remainder of my initials are not l, u, and t.

I wonder if the salesgirl blushed when Mark ordered the inscription? Did she contemplate what he might do to her? Was she aroused, as I am, by the hands of a concert pianist? Could she even begin to guess how those hands could play her body as deftly as they played Chopin, or that he enjoys doing both in front of an audience?

My heart skitters with excitement as I enter the hotel. A well-dressed woman of my age doesn't draw attention when she walks purposefully through a hotel lobby—she looks as though she belongs there.

I exchange pleasantries with an older couple in the elevator. They share that they're from Savannah, and I lie that I'm in town from Chicago for the week. The husband gives me a subtle once-over as I stand beside him.

I fantasize about this stranger who's old enough to be my father. What might he enjoy doing to me? I picture him reaching behind me and lifting my skirt. He would fill my starving cunt with four fingers as his thumb penetrates my ass. My clit swells at the idea. I can almost see our reflections enacting my carnal cravings.

The elevator reaches my floor, and I give them a polite nod as I disembark. The oblivious wife continues to hunt through her massive bag for their room key, unaware that I thoroughly debauched her husband in under a minute.

1302, 1304, 1306.

I raise my hand and knock. Mark yanks me into the bathroom. He blindfolds me, and binds my arms behind me with what feels like my favorite Hermès scarf.

"Ready?" he demands. A chance to bow out before the games begin.

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl." Mark takes my arm and guides me into the bedroom.

"Hello, sweetheart." I know that voice. Familiar, but I can't place it. Did I meet him at the gala after Mark's last concert?

I am bent over the bed, and my skirt lifted. Two sets of hands touching me—rubbing my cheeks and thighs, fingers dipping into my wetness, pressing against my back passage, stroking my clit.

Finally.

"Already soaking wet. What did you do on the way over here, little slut?" Mark's voice.

"Nothing!" I'm indignant. It's a point of pride that I'm perfectly obedient during our games.

I receive a hard slap on my ass. "Liar." The other man's voice again. Someone's husband?

I confess about my lustful thoughts about the Southern gentleman in the elevator. "But I didn't do anything!"

Fingers thrust into my wet pussy. "You wanted him to do this?" A former colleague from Barclay's?

More fingers, stretching me wide.

"Yes," I whisper. A thumb joins them as they push deeper.

I tremble, wondering if this is the time I'll be fisted. I've told Mark all my deepest desires, the things I've needed but never had the courage to say out loud. I trust him to fulfill them when he senses I'm ready.

Disappointed when the hand withdraws, I whimper at the emptiness. Moments later, beads are fed into me until they form a large knot pressing against the walls of my vagina. I clench my pussy as they are slowly drawn out again and gasp as an orgasm builds.

"Oh, God. More, please. Slower, I'm almost there. Don't stop!" The makeshift toy is yanked out of me, and I am denied my release.

"You don't ask for things. You take what we give you!" Mark snaps.

I've broken the rules. Worse, I've done so in front of a stranger.

Mark has always liked the sound of a triplet in music, and invariably he uses that rhythm on my body. He plays them on my body so frequently, whenever I hear a musical one my body feels phantom pain. If he's in a particularly erotic mood, he'll tie me up and play Mozart's Concerto 19. As the music crashes over me, I feel as though I've had a thorough beating without his ever stepping away from the Steinway.

Conductor's batons make a surprisingly durable cane, and they leave welts that take days to heal. Tears soak into the coverlet as I take my punishment—a triplet on each cheek.

"Your turn," Mark says.

I am rolled onto my back, and a mouth possesses mine. A hand holding what I'm nearly certain is a pearl necklace rubs against my clit, causing my hips to buck. The hard orbs are delicious torment, as is rough comforter against the fresh stripes on my bottom.

"Open your mouth." The violinist that accompanied Mark in Seattle? He groped my ass more than once.

I obey. Rather than the expected cock, I taste my own juices. My mouth is filled with what is likely my favorite strand of heirloom pearls,

"Suck them clean." One of the men I've met when poker night is at our house? As they're slowly withdrawn from my mouth, I take care to lave each one thoroughly.

My breasts ache to be touched, but Mark didn't expose them—they aren't part of this scene.

"Get up," Mark orders me. "Straddle me facing away from my face."

My hands are released from their bond. I do as I've been told and Mark's cock slams up into me.

"So good," I groan.

"It's about to get better."

I don't care who this other man is anymore. I just need whatever they're going to do to me.

I feel the mattress shift when the other man put a foot on the bed. I sense him bending over us. Mark leans up on his elbows and I am cradled against him, his cock still buried deep in my pussy. The stranger lifts my knees and I understand I was untied so I could keep myself balanced while in this position. I gasp when a second cock attempts to enter me.

"Remember the hand? You did so well. You can handle both of us at the same time. Do it, and you'll earn that fisting you want as a reward tonight," Mark's voice, suddenly gentle as a lullaby coaxes me. "Will you take us both?"

"Yes." I close my eyes behind the blindfold and breathe slowly, relaxing. I nod when I think I'm ready.

Mark withdraws until only his head is still inside of me. The second cock petitions for entry. Tremendous pressure, and then they are both stuffing me.

Two cocks rub against each other inside of me.

Two men eager for the feel of my cunt and the other's cock against their own. One thrusts and then the other does. They fuck me together in unison. Hands are on my legs and my ass, keeping me wide open for their use. I ache to grab them and pull them closer but I've not been given permission to be anything but their passive plaything.

The three of us are grunting, moaning, egging each other on. I come first, screaming my pleasure. My spasms sends them into a frenzy and they redouble their efforts, each dick competing to be the more forceful jackhammer. Swearing like a sailor, the man above me shudders and withdraws. Mark gives a few last thrusts and then gives himself over to his orgasm.

I am lifted off of Mark, and placed face-down on the bed. The blindfold remains in place.

"Stay there."

Abandoned on the bed, I'm patient. I listen to the shower run twice. Clothing rustles. Keys make a soft clink. The door closes once.

"Game over," Mark says, before I hear the door open and close a second time.

I remove the blindfold, and see I was right. Great-Aunt Elizabeth's pearls are curled next to me.

The following day, I wear the pearls. Every time I grow bored while chairing what feels like an interminable parent volunteer meeting, I finger them. Vivid flashbacks of yesterday's fucking are a small reward for listening to Lillian's droning report on the upcoming silent auction.

A knock at the door interrupts Lillian, and I gratefully wave in the principal.

"Mr. Lin has asked if he could have a moment of our time today," I announce, gesturing for

Lillian to sit down.

"Thank you, Abigail. Ladies—"

A buzzing fills my ears.

I knew I'd heard that voice before...