Z

I met Z when we both attended a special lecture at the local college and had one of those love-at-first-sight connections, the kind that is of both the heart and the loins. We were instantly in love, but also both immediately so hot for each other it was hard to maintain any kind of decorum from the first glance. Only the fact that we were across the room from each other at the lecture prevented us from falling all over each other. That and the fact that we were there with other people – we both had a date.

But once the lecture had ended we found each other at the back of the auditorium in the hall, and ditched our dates without much ceremony, both more aware of the other's almost frantic efforts to get away than we were of the people we had come with. It wasn't very nice, we know, but it must have been obvious to everyone in the lecture hall what was going on with us, and it was sure visible to our poor dates – we were simply too hot to hide it.

Once we were free, we walked toward one another and instinctively turned together and headed for the Student Union. Our hands found each other in a way that seemed perfectly natural, and the sexual connection when we first touched was electric.

"We have something going on between us, don't we?" I offered. "Yes. This is going to be it for both of us, isn't it? We're going to be together from now on, aren't we?" was Z's reply. They were our first words. I didn't even know her name.

"I think so. Pretty fast, wasn't it? What do I call you?"

"People call me Z. I know it's fast, but I just don't feel nervous about it. I already know I'll do anything for you, always. What do I call you?"

"Larson. Anything is a big word. We should at least get through the first date before we believe that. I'm guessing the sex will be great, but we should find out."

"I know the sex will be great. And I will do anything for you, forever. Anything. I know it's a big word. I meant it big. Test me. Now."

"Really? Test you? With anything?" I was a little skeptical, but somehow I guessed she knew what she meant, even then.

"Yes. And if you're going to question me when I give that kind of a commitment, at least make the test worth it."

We were in the student union now and navigated across the main room past the grill to a large back study room that was often empty. There was one person there, a student sitting off on the other side at a small table, a book open in front of him, reading. "I'll do anything for you," Z repeated, "Just tell me what to do."

The look in her eyes said she wanted me to do it, to test her, and my mind raced trying to think of something. Perhaps understandably given the arousal we both obviously felt, I zeroed in on the sexual. I imagined what I wanted to do with Z. I imagined not only fucking her, because that, I was very sure, was about to happen that very night anyway, but also of trying things I had never done yet with a woman but wanted to – my dark secret desires.

But Z had a little surprise for me. "Just don't make it something having to do with sex with you; that's going to happen anyway, and you know it. There's no test in that – you can have me any way you want, any time you like."

For some reason the phrase "sex with you" jumped out at me, and almost without thinking about it I glanced over at the guy studying across the room and blurted out what I would have thought, only an hour ago, was an unthinkable challenge. "Go over to the guy at the table over there, reach up under your skirt and take off your panties, and then sit on the chair next to him, pull your legs up behind your elbows, and spread your vagina open for him so he can see inside."

I couldn't believe I had said it, and as soon as I did thought I might have messed up the best thing I had ever had. I turned back, ready to plead that I hadn't really meant it, and had already started to reach out with my hand to hold her, but Z was already starting across the room, and right in front of my eyes she did exactly as I had asked, removing her white cotton panties and spreading herself open, without hesitation or embarrassment, for the very surprised guy at the table.

Surprised, but, after the initial shock, obviously appreciative. I saw him say something to Z that I couldn't quite hear from across the room, saw her answer and nod her head toward me, and then turn to look at me, all the while holding her legs wide apart, feet back over her shoulders. I watched from behind them, maybe thirty feet away, fascinated and breathless, aroused beyond measure, as Z let him stare at her exposed genitals.

He said something else, and Z turned back towards him and nodded as his hands went between her legs. Her head fell back and her eyes closed, and I saw his wrist move gently back and forth – he was finger-fucking her, sliding in and out of her open vagina. Z rocked a little in rhythm for a few strokes, and then, abruptly, the guy sat back, closed his books, said something else to Z, and got up and left.

Z turned to look at me as he did, picked her panties up from the floor by the chair, and crossed the room to me again, giving me a long, slow, wet kiss – our first kiss – when she reached me. "Anything, anytime, always," she said.

"Let's go back to my apartment," was all I could think of to say; I was too hot and too hard to know what else to do.

"Don't you want to see a little of what our friend saw first?" Z asked.

"Sure," was all I could manage. Not real eloquent, but I had just seen something hotter than anything I had ever imagined, and I was still reeling.

"Tell me. Order me to," was her reply.

I knew what I wanted, and it helped me recover. "Lie down on the bench, pull your skirt up over your head, and open your legs," I said as I motioned to the wide platform against the wall on our side of the room. Z smiled at me and lifted her skirt. I saw her pubic mound and dark brown bush for the first time as she did, and she watched my eyes as she sat down, pulled her loose green skirt over her head, and laid herself back on the bench, drawing her legs over her head as she did. She opened her labia with her fingertips and I could see her vagina, beautifully pink, glistening wet, still gaping slightly from the fingers of the stranger who had been inside her a few seconds ago. And I realized that I was essentially a stranger, too, and I was going to cum inside her in a few minutes.

I remembered we were in a public place, and my heart was racing at the thought that someone could just walk in on us at any minute, but I was too aroused, too hot, too hard to do anything else now but stand up and unzip my pants, taking them down with my underwear as I positioned myself between Z's legs. She couldn't see with the skirt over her face, but she could tell what was going to happen, and she opened her legs a little more, lifting her hips for the thrust as my penis found her opening and plunged inside. Our relief was instantaneous, and we found a rhythm with each other as I slid in and out of her, Z thrusting her hips up to take me in with every stroke, her sopping wet vagina drawing me in and resisting my withdrawal with a slippery, silky, stickiness as I plunged in and out of her gaping cunt.

We fucked each other without stopping for what must have been 30 minutes, both of us not wanting it to end, aching for it to continue, but, eventually neither of us could hold it back any more and we came together in a soul-emptying orgasm - I jetted my huge load inside her and she gave up her insides to me as she received it; our climax lasted longer than any I could recall.

We lay there for a little while longer, but eventually got up and straightened ourselves out. As we did, we noticed the guy who had been studying at the table across the room earlier, the stranger who had fingered Z before I had fucked her, who had seen her open her labia before I had seen the vagina I had just poured myself into, who had felt her silky-wet vagina with his fingers before I had been inside her, watching quietly from just inside the door. He had obviously come back in while we were fucking and had watched us fuck each other mindless. I was wondering if he regretted not trying to do more to Z than put his fingers inside her vagina. As we started in his direction for the door, he flushed and started to turn away to go, but then hesitated, looked at Z and said as we got closer, "I figured I could at least guard the door for you so you weren't interrupted."

Z smiled at him, turned to me and kissed me again, and then stepped over to our new friend. "Thank you," she said as she stood on tiptoes to give him a little peck on the lips. She paused for a second as he put his hands tentatively on her breasts through her blouse. Z looked down tolerantly, even appreciatively, to watch, tacitly giving him permission to fondle her a bit, and then gently stepped away, all the while looking at him. "Thank you," she whispered to him again, and then she took my hand, gazed up at me and walked with me out of the room.

We leaned on each other as we traveled slowly across campus and to my apartment a few blocks away, hardly talking at all. We both knew we would always be together, but we also realized something else, something we couldn't really even understand yet – that this was the beginning of a relationship that would take us the heights of sexual passion and arousal, but also to extremes of sexual behavior that neither of us could guess at yet and that most of society would shun, even condemn. "You liked it, didn't you?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered. "I liked it that you fucked me, and I liked it that you made me do that with him. I'll do anything for you, whenever you want."

"Would you have let him fuck you if I had asked you to?" I continued.

"Yes. I thought that's what you wanted me to do. I told him he could do it, and if he had wanted to I would have let him. That's what you wanted to happen isn't it?"

I didn't answer for a while, but I realized as she said it that it was exactly what I had wanted. I had wanted to see her let another man, a stranger, fuck her before I did, as a way of knowing her offer to do anything was real, but also because I just wanted to see her do it. "Yes," I answered. "I wanted to see him fuck you. I guess the only way to know if you'll really do anything for me is for you actually to have to do it. If you really will do anything for I'll make you. I'll want you fuck someone else, and more."

"I know," Z answered. "I will. Make me do it. Make me do more. I want to do it for you."

It took us a while to get there. We got married soon afterward we met, but we had a regular life as well as our passionate sexual life, and we were, off and on, an almost conventional couple at first. But we always returned to her promise to do anything for me, and to testing her, in fantasy and, over time, with more and more real things, explicit things – having Z flash in public, asking her to engage in more and more extreme sexual acts with me, requiring her to accept pain and deprivation willingly and even gladly by being pierced, branded, spanked, blindfolded, restrained. And eventually, as I realized that I wouldn't lose her for it, and that I wanted it too, we moved on to having other men fuck her. And more.

Almost twenty-five years later we're still together, still just as much in love, and even more extreme in our tastes and sexual encounters. Z was right on that fist day – she would do anything – and over the years we've tested the edge of what is possible, what is acceptable, what is tolerable, for both her and for me, because I've learned that such acts involve both of us. For although Z is the one who submits sexually to whatever I think of, or, later, whatever she thought of, as a way of showing her willingness to do anything, I now understand that I have to accept it too, to watch her do it, knowing what she is feeling, understanding that Z wants and needs to perform these acts of sexual submission, and that having other men fuck her is as much a part of her sexuality, and mine, as getting to fuck her myself.

Z has never balked, or even hesitated, at anything I have ever asked her to do, at any sexual act, with anyone I've asked her to submit to, and there have been a few hundred now. And I've never balked either, at letting her, at wanting her to do it, at loving her for it.

Would it have been this way if I had thought of some other test for Z on that first date together? We have wondered about that many times, and we agree that we just don't know. But we also agree that we are glad that was the test, happy that it's the way we continue to show our love for each other – me by having Z perform increasingly extreme sexual acts with others, and Z by submitting willingly and happily to them, in front of me. Others may not understand it, but it has worked for us our whole lives.