A gay story: My Neighbors' Bodyguard Life with Marissa is a challenge. Sexually, anyway.
Don’t get me wrong, she’s great. She works hard and earns a lot of money. So while I work on my novel I don’t have to have some job. That’s part of my problem. Some days the writing goes well, other days … not.
The other part is of the problem is having a wife who travels a lot for her high-paying job. That leaves a guy with plenty of time on his hands, especially when the writing isn’t going well.
And when you have the sex drive of a 30-year-old, that plenty of time can seem extra plenty.
Of course masturbation helps to keep things under control.
Though that’s only fun up to a point.
And I have to be careful there, as my writer’s imagination sometimes takes my fantasies in strange directions. I’m careful not to let them get too weird.
I could find a lover.
That’s not me, though. I’m not a cheater.
I really love Marissa, so having a lover on the side just feels … wrong.
Maybe it also comes from my strict upbringing–it was drilled into me that you don’t have sex before marriage, and you don’t have sex outside of marriage. And you don’t do any of the perverted gay or fetish things that modern society seems to think is okay. I’m not as prudish as all that, but still there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed.
Or maybe I’m kidding myself about being so moral, and it’s only that I haven’t been put to the test of temptation.
But I do get unbearably horny sometimes, like I’m going to explode, and that’s my biggest problem.
* *
I stay home mostly in our wonderful big house. We live in a neighborhood where the homes are widely spaced and people generally keep to themselves. I write, or I don’t write, and the days go by.
So when some new people moved into the neighborhood–actually, into the house behind ours, partially hidden from view by all the trees–I thought it might be nice to have someone to visit or have a chat with once in a while. So I decided to make an effort to meet the new couple.
I’d observed them for a few days as they settled in. Maybe they were a few years older than Marissa and me. They drove expensive cars and appeared to have been successful relatively young. Now they had a lot of life ahead and a lot of money and could do whatever they wanted.
From a distance they looked normal, even pleasant and charming. We waved if we happened to see each other outside, like the other day when I was out doing some yard work and yesterday when I was out tanning by the pool. I thought they might make good friends.
The only odd thing was that they seemed to have a bodyguard. A big guy who moved like he was ex-military or something. He was outside whenever one of the couple was outside, and he had this air of alertness and vigilance about him.
Or maybe he was just a combination of chauffer and personal assistant to the couple.
I put on some nice summer slacks, combed my hair, and slipped into my flip flops. Then I gathered my courage and headed over with a fruit basket I’d arranged as a welcome gift for them.
* *
I’d overdone the fruit basket a little, and it took both hands to hold it and the fruit almost hid me. I had to turn sideways to greet the woman when she opened the door for me. I told her who I was and said I just stopped by with a housewarming gift.
In a direct and friendly way, she looked me up and down, the beginnings of a pleasant smile on her face.
Then she surprised me and asked me to wait a moment–and shut the door on me. I stood there and got a little pissed.
I waited a couple of minutes. Then I started to walk away when the door opened and they were both there, the man and the woman both smiling, welcoming me in. I put on a big smile too and went inside, expecting someone to take the basket.
I was about to suggest it–when suddenly I felt some hands go up under my shirt and move all over my stomach and chest. Then the hands slid around my torso to run up and down my back.
I swiveled my head–and saw that it was the bodyguard! I froze at this unexpected groping, and I didn’t want to drop the fruit basket.
“We hope you don’t mind,” the man of the couple said. “For our security we like to be sure that our guests are not armed or wearing a wire.”
I didn’t know what to say. Of course I wasn’t wearing a wire! And where would I hide a gun in the light summer clothes I was wearing?
But in the interest of neighborliness, I didn’t protest. Some people have strange customs, and that’s just the way it is.
The couple were admiring my basket of fruit, still making no attempt to relieve me of it. Meanwhile the bodyguard was running his hands up and down my back and shoulders and along my arms.
Then his hands dropped to my butt, and I couldn’t believe the invasiveness of his strong fingers as they check around my hips and between my thighs.
The woman of the couple finally said “Thank you” for the fruit basket and took it from me, while the man asked me to turn around so the bodyguard could check my front.
They also took a step back to make room for the big man to get at me. He quickly knelt down and grabbed my ankles, working his way up my legs. But he stopped at my thighs, before standing up and running his hands again over my chest and stomach.
I have to confess: The strangest feeling came over me. The man’s sure hands and fingers running over me and probing me was almost erotic. And having a powerful male body so close to mind made me feel relatively powerless. I am not a weak man, but being under the control of this larger, stronger guy had an unexpected effect on me.
And I could see the couple standing there, amused smiles on their faces, as they watched him touch me at will.
Then the man’s hands moved from my stomach to my hips, pausing there, and all of us looked down at my crotch.
I was suddenly embarrassed, because it was obvious that I had gotten an erection from being handled. My lightweight slacks had tented out, and even a drop of moisture from my penis had leaked out to show a liquid spot on my pants.
Then it got worse, for the bodyguard’s hands went directly to my crotch, squeezing and probing me there. We could all see the liquid spot expanding.
My predicament sent a rush of excitement through me. They could see that I wasn’t going to bolt for the door. The woman simply set the fruit basket on a side table, and returned to watching their bodyguard’s hands moving carefully over my hips, thighs, and crotch.
I gently tried to push the hands away, but I didn’t really mean it and they could see that.
I managed to croak out the words, “Is he almost finished?” but they both stood back and watched, their eyes focused at my crotch, with amused grins. I didn’t know what to say, and couldn’t speak if I did, gripped as I was by the eroticism of the strange situation.
Gradually I stopped struggling, realizing that if they weren’t going to help I had no chance. I couldn’t even run. I just stood there with this stupid, far-off stare, letting their bodyguard caress and probe away at my aroused groin.
I suddenly felt a rush of air in that area, as the button and zipper of my pants closed gave way and with a brush of his hands the bodyguard pushed them halfway down my thighs.
Then his hands grabbed my penis directly, and his strokes were driving me crazy. I was so sensitive, and it felt so damned good. I didn’t want it to stop. My arms hung limply at my side as the couple began talking to me as though nothing out of the ordinary were going on. I tried to pay attention, and nodded frequently. The novelty of the situation added to the excitement. They were playing some sort of sexual game with me and I began to like the game very much.
After several long minutes, the woman came closer and asked if I’d like to sit. She took my elbow and led me, saying, “Just ease back slowly, my dear boy.”
I eased back taking baby steps, trying not to disturb the bodyguard’s hold on my crotch. When the back of my knees encountered the sofa, I collapsed back onto it. The bodyguard–I didn’t even know his name–went down on one knee to maintain his grip on my erect cock, and now increased his pace of stroking. The couple took seats on either side of me, while the man’s hands were making me mad with lust.
Without warning my orgasm erupted, and my sperm shot up into the air, splashing down onto my belly, onto my thighs, some running down my shaft and over my balls and disappearing down between my legs. I soon felt my own liquid wetness reach my anus, where it felt warm and sticky.
I couldn’t believe what had happened. And so fast. I must have been extra horny today, since Marissa had been gone for so long. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such a powerful orgasm so quickly.
The woman leaned over and examined my sperm-splattered stomach and thighs, saying, “I’d better get something to clean that mess up for you. Just sit tight, dear boy.”
With sperm cooling on my skin, I sat waiting. Her husband simply smiled. He said they’d seen me across the way and were glad I’d come over. He said I reminded him of an actor in a certain movie and wondered if I’d seen it. I said I hadn’t but would remember to.
It was strange talking casually with him, half naked on their sofa while we waited for the woman to return. I tried to act nonchalant, but my eyes kept returning to the bodyguard standing above me. His eyes were simply staring at me with erotic intent
When the woman returned with a warm wash cloth, she set about wiping my stomach, and then pushed my pants fully off, “so that we can clean everywhere.” She applied the wash cloth to my legs, lifting each higher than was necessary, putting the mess between my legs on display.
She raised one leg so high and wide that she exposed my wet anus. Her husband peered between my legs while she worked, taking her sweet time about it. I thought about covering myself, but something in me liked having their eyes on my nakedness. I simply lay back and allowed her to do as she pleased.
She took this as a silent assent to further expose and humiliate me. She raised my leg straight up, making more of the sperm run down my inner thigh toward my anus. My shirt was now also scrunched up around my neck. The man sat on the forward edge of the sofa looking directly at my crotch, making no attempt to conceal the fact that he was staring at my cock and balls. She did not clean quickly and efficiently but was taking her time, dabbing at the sticky mess and sometimes spreading it around more.
I could not believe they were treating me this way. They looked and talked so normal. Nothing seemed to faze them. You’d have thought the bodyguard had merely made me spill a glass of wine in my lap.
Some silent signal passed between the three of them. I gazed up at the bodyguard, and watched him then peel off his black t-shirt to reveal a powerful chest and flat stomach. He undid his pants and in one fluid motion pushed them down and off his legs. Then he stood naked above me as I remained sprawled back on the sofa. He was a hard man in every way–prominent muscles and lined abs, strong arms and defined thighs.
And a very hard cock pointing straight at me.
I had never had sex with a man before. Yet somehow in the ten minutes that I’d been inside their house I’d been transformed into someone who desperately wanted to do whatever this powerful man and this couple wanted to do.
Soon I found out. The man’s eyes seemed to bore into me as he looked at my bare chest and thighs, roaming from my face down to my crotch–as he started to masturbated himself, stroking his long cock faster and faster while his legs anchored him to the ground between my spread legs.
The woman said, “We really appreciate you indulging our bodyguard. His name is Donovan. He has his needs too, though perhaps his needs are different from most men’s.”
I could only nod that I understood.
She continued. “Most guys would have bolted at the first feel of a strange man’s hands grabbing their bodies. We especially appreciate you allowing him to relieve himself on your lovely body. It is lovely, isn’t it, Patrick?”
The man said, “Oh yes, Justine is right. We could tell that you had a fine body when we saw you out tanning yesterday, but up close you’re even more handsome.”
So their names were Justine and Patrick. Somehow it seemed appropriate that we were finally on a first-name basis.
They continued talking throughout all this, while Donovan the bodyguard’s hand was reaching a fevered pace of stroking and his breathing became more forced. His cock seemed to be getting thicker and darker in his pumping hand, and his testicles swayed heavily with the motion.
–Suddenly hot jets of white spurted from his cock. The first stream landed on my chest and a second even stronger stream hit my face and hair. There was a momentary pause before a third and final long stream landed on my crotch, covering part of my penis and testicles with his sperm.
The bodyguard’s stroking hand slowed to a stop, and a heavy silence filled the air.
Justine leaned over and gazed right at my crotch and said, “Quite lovely.” Patrick looked at my sperm-spattered face and said, “Very handsome. By the looks of things, I’m sure Donovan was well pleased with you.”
* *
After a few more moments of exchange like this, they helped me sit up and then to stand weakly on my legs. Patrick gathered my pants and flip flops from wherever they’d been tossed and gave them back to me as a bundle, and Justine placed the wash cloth on top of them as they guided me to the front door.
“Donovan’s sperm looks lovely on you, and you can enjoy that at your leisure. But take this cloth for when you decide to clean yourself. You can wash it and return it to us later.”
At that, Patrick ushered me through the door. My legs still felt shaky, and I was holding my bundled pants and flip flops away from my body to avoid getting any of the sticky mess on them.
As I passed outside he said, “Come back anytime. We’re sure Donovan will be pleased to see you again.”
The door closed behind me and I could hear their faint laughter.
* *
I left their house in a stupor. I trotted though our yards to my house, the trees hopefully preventing any passing eyes from seeing my state.
After two days, I went back.
In the meantime Marissa came and went on another trip. She was home for all of one day. We had pleasant sex late that night. But I have to admit that I was distracted, my imagination preoccupied in other directions.
For two day I was in a state of quiet shock, trying to adjust to what that unexpected encounter had sparked in me.
* *
When our eyes met at their front door, they knew exactly why I was there. And I knew that they knew.
I offered Justine the wash cloth, now laundered and neatly folded. We all knew what that meant. No explanation needed.
She invited me in as Patrick went to the patio and called for their bodyguard, Donovan.
The same thing happened again, but I was much better prepared for it, mentally anticipating and physically needy. They were also more daring and at ease. Nothing overt was said. We played the game. Donovan took one look at me and his hands went directly for my crotch. I made no move to prevent access to my groin and remained standing under his hands’ assault much longer than the first time. This time when I sat on their sofa, I purposefully sat in a slump to extend and spread my legs more. When he stood above me between my open legs, his cock pointed purposively at me. When he shot his load, the ropy strands went directly onto my stomach, along the insides of my thighs, and some hit my crotch. This time, the woman cleaned me and my crotch very thoroughly under her husband’s watchful eyes. She had my shirt folded up high on my chest, ostensibly to make sure she got it all.
I found an excuse to stop by pretty much every other day. We played pretend games. The perverse things we did wrapped in a cover of conversational normalcy made it more fun for all of us. After several visits I’d lost my inhibitions about what lines shouldn’t be crossed.
I stopped wearing underwear. Or I’d leave my shirt unbuttoned and be already half undressed when they opened their door. Or I’d wear only a thong that I used for tanning, arriving breathless at their front door after dashing through the trees that divided our yards. I was suddenly in love with finding new ways to display my body for them.
Donovan’s favorite thing was to masturbate himself while he looked at my body and then to shoot onto me. The hot splashes of the man’s sperm on my skin was both degrading in some dark way and also incredibly erotic. The man and the woman seemed to love especially the clean-up ritual after. The woman found clever ways of displaying my naked groin to her husband and explaining the clean-up.
“Oh look, some more has dripped down his inner thigh here.” And she would have Patrick raise my legs higher so she could get to it.
She pretended that some of the semen that had slid down to my anus had gone inside my hole. She had her husband hold my legs out wide while she swabbed my opening, commenting how cute it looked. I’d never heard of an anus described that way, but Justine and Patrick seemed delighted by it.
After that, we became more brazen. We’d start the sessions by having me walk around semi-naked, wearing whatever clothing I’d brought that felt sexy. I’d put on a little show for Donovan’s benefit while the couple sat on their sofa and made comments.
Or we would drag out the sessions after the bodyguard had masturbated onto me. They’d have me walk around naked, his sperm still on my body as I paraded around.
I loved it our silly games, but my fantasies were running away with me, and I wanted more.
They did too.
Patrick would say something like, “I can’t tell you how pleased we are to find a man who is willing to service our bodyguard.” Or Justine might say, “You’d be surprised how many men freak out when they feel a bodyguard’s hot hands snaking up and along their skin.”
I let them know I enjoyed these crude statements. Openly drawing attention to my indecent behavior made what I was doing seem all the more obscene.
Usually, I’d smile and offer them a more lewd pose. One time I was bending over in front of Donovan, showing him my behind, when he placed one big hand on the small of my back and pressed a finger against my hole. I widened my stance, bent over further, and used my fingers to open my cheeks as wide as I could. God, it felt so perverse doing that with them watching.
And then his thick finger was suddenly far up inside me, and I heard his change of breath as he wiggled it around.
Patrick said, “Whatever you have up there really has Donovan excited.” This prompted Justine to say, “Yes, that’s very good. Is his finger getting way up inside your anus, Steven?”
I said, “Yes, almost to my stomach, I think.”
She smiled and said, “You are such a dear to allow him to do that. I didn’t know there were men like you around. We were ready to hire a professional, but where do you find human males willing to be bitches for a horny bodyguard?”
I loved their crude language. Justine and Patrick had many things they like to say to demean and humiliate me, though they were always said in the nicest, most matter-of-fact way possible.
But that became their favorite name for me: Donovan’s bitch.
* *
I knew in the canine world how bitches served their dogs, and the raw animal feeling of that word turned me on. Plus the fact that I was not a woman but a man made it more sexy-perverse.
I’d been starting to hope more and more that they would suggest letting the bodyguard fuck me. But they seemed content to wait for things to unfold naturally. Maybe they were waiting for me to degrade myself even more by asking for it.
It’s one thing to play erotic exhibitionist games and do some mutual masturbation. But it’s quite another thing for a man to admit that he wants to be penetrated by another man.
Feelings don’t lie, though, and deep inside I knew that I wanted the bodyguard to fuck me.
I was planning to go over for a visit when a phone call came. It was Justine. She said, “Steven, we want you to come over and service our bodyguard, but I must tell you, we are both upset with your last performance.”
I knew this was a put-on; she was in her game voice. I assumed my playful tone and said, “Oh, I try very hard to please you and your bodyguard, Mrs. Petrie.” I like to call them Mr. and Mrs. Petrie in game mode, Justine and Patrick when we just talk and visit.
“You’re not trying hard enough. It has been weeks, and you still haven’t properly serviced him.”
Weeks, yes, and I knew what I had been hoping for, and now it was clear we were on the same wavelength.
She continued, “We think you are holding back, trying to avoid the obvious. Are you trying to preserve some of your dignity? You know very well what I am referring to, don’t you, Steven?”
I did. “You want me to let him to fuck me.”
“Correct, Steven.”
“And let him come inside me?”
“That is exactly right, my boy. That is the service we expect from a male bitch. That is what you are, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Petrie.” I liked when they said the word, but it was still hard for me to say it out loud.
“Well, you’re not a good bitch if he can’t fuck you in the ass and shoot his sperm way up inside your anus where it belongs.”
Her dirty talk was so crude. My cock was hardening as we spoke and my imagination was becoming inflamed.
I had a sudden image of being on all fours and Donovan’s powerful body behind me, his cock thrusting into me fast, doggie-style.
“Also,” she continued, breaking my reverie, “I’m tired of cleaning up the messes you make, Steven. If you were a good bitch, you’d think ahead and bring something along to plug your asshole so you could carry the sperm home with you.”
Her vulgar banter excited me. What a perversely delicious idea.
I pleaded, “Mrs. Petrie, I’m so sorry I’ve been inconsiderate. Please don’t abandon me. I will do better. I will let him fuck me any time he needs. And I’ll find something big to plug myself with after. I won’t spill a drop, I promise.”
“That’s much better. All right. We will expect you within the hour. When you arrive at our front door, take off your clothes and leave them on the doorstep. Do you understand?”
I swallowed, but said, “Yes, I understand. I’ll be there soon.”
* *
I hurriedly showered, then rummaged around the house for a suitable plug. What the hell would work?
We didn’t even have any sex toys in the house. How ridiculous was that? Again no doubt my strict upbringing keeping doors closed.
Then I remembered that we had a bag of carrots in the fridge. I settled on the largest carrot we had, recalling how thick Donovan’s penis was. I carefully peeled the carrot and then near one end shaped it so it had a smooth notch around its circumference.
I took it up to the bedroom and tried it out. It was difficult to insert. I thought about using a body cream, but wasn’t sure how long that would last. Maybe vegetable oil?
I returned from the kitchen with a bottle of a thick cooking oil, massaging a liberal amount into the area. Then on impulse I worked some into my hole while lying on my back with my ass up in the air. What a sensation. I hoped Donovan would like the sensation too. When I stood, what leaked out I rubbed into my legs.
With my ass well-oiled, I tried re-inserting the carrot plug. After some effort it slide in, and once my anal muscle closed over the notch near the end, it remained firmly in place.
I walked around with the plug inside, liking the feeling of being stretched out and filled up. Why hadn’t I tried this before?
I patted my ass and said, “Get used to this thing. After you get fucked, it isn’t coming out for a long time.” A smile crossed my face as I pictured myself eventually pulling the plug out.
I decided to wear the plug over to Justine and Patrick’s house, thinking to make an impression. I modeled my nude form before a full-length mirror, liking the sight of a couple of inches of carrot sticking out from behind me. And I loved the way it shifted from side to side with each step.
I slipped on a light robe and my flip flops and stepped out my back door.
* *
What if someone saw me outside? Only few houses had a view of some part of my crossing through the back yard. Several more had a view of the front of Patrick and Justine’s home, so that would be where the biggest risk would be.
I didn’t see anyone, so I crossed through our back yards, around the side of their house and went to the front door. Justine had said to remove my clothes before going in, and I debated waiting to drop the robe until the door opened. A movement at the window to the side of their door suggested they were observing me. I had my instructions. Plus they had a security camera trained on their front-door area.
So I took a moment to listen for cars, then shrugged out of my robe and kicked off my flip flops before ringing the door bell.
Excitement welled in me knowing that was naked outdoors with a large carrot inside my anus. My aroused penis was also on full display. I prayed for the door to quickly open.
It did not. I waited anxiously for two minutes before giving another ring. They were playing a new game with me. I enjoyed my predicament–though an undercurrent of nervousness was there too. What if somebody did see me? If anyone recognized me, how would I explain being naked outside, cock swaying in the breeze, with a carrot sticking out of a very private place? Perhaps through some gossip grapevine Marissa would find out.
For five long minutes, I paced around their front area without the door opening or a car passing. I rang again, growing impatient.
The sound of an approaching car stood my hairs on end, and I rang the bell yet again. I pounded the door as the car drew near, then stood motionless as it passed by the Petrie house. I looked over my shoulder and saw that the couple driving by never even looked my way. A flood of relief coursed through me.
The door opened. I smiled at the couple who stood looking at my naked body.
“Welcome, Steven,” he said. “You look lovely as always,” she said.
She added, “Did you come prepared?”
I turned around and opened my stance, thrust out my ass for them to inspect. “Will this do?”
Before they responded, I decided to get vulgar, knowing the type of lewd banter they loved. I added, “Will this plug keep all of your bodyguard’s hot semen inside me where it belongs after he fucks me?”
My words brought smiles. She said, “I don’t know, Steven. I’ve never known a bitch to use a carrot as a plug. What do you think, Patrick?”
Patrick said, “Bend over further, Steven. Let’s just see how tight a fit we have here. I wouldn’t want any accidents to occur. Donovan shoots a lot of sperm, and it is hard to get out of a carpet.”
I was still standing in the open, on the front porch, but did as requested, spreading my feet wide and bending low to grasp my ankles. While bent almost double, Justine stepped up and grabbed the carrot, turning it, twisting it, then removing it with a sucking pop, saying, “I’ll be damned, an anal carrot.”
I groaned as she re-inserted it.
Then she told me to stand and turn around. Patrick said, “Okay, now do a few jumping jacks.” I smiled inwardly, then did a dozen. Each jump made the carrot feel like it was twice as big. “Do a few deep squats.” I did a dozen squats.
On the final squat, I remained squatting, with my hands braced on my knees, keeping my legs widespread. The exposed tip of the carrot almost touched the concrete as I held my pose.
I said, “See, I am well-plugged. After Donovan fuck me he shoots inside me, I’ll plug my hole. No sperm will leak out to spoil your carpet, I promise.”
They pretended to stall, “I don’t know.”
“Look, I want to make up for being a bad … bitch. He is entitled to proper sexual service, and I am sorry to have denied him access.”
“Well,” Patrick said, “how do we know you have learned your lesson?”
Justine added, “What will you do afterward to demonstrate your changed attitude?”
I sensed what they wanted me to say, so I said it. “His sperm belongs inside me, and I should have to keep it there as a lesson. I promise to keep this plug in even after I get home. You can stop by unannounced and check on me. I’ll wear it in place until the next morning.”
This monologue pleased them, and saying those words out loud felt like a confessional to me. They looked happy, and I was hopeful.
She said to Patrick, “Honey, I think he has learned his lesson. He deserves another chance, don’t you think?”
“Well, it is hard to find a guy willing to grovel naked on our doorstep in broad daylight,” he pointed out. “Especially where anyone can see him, just for the opportunity to mate with our bodyguard.”
“That’s true,” she said.
“And he even came with a carrot stuffed up his anus so he can carry Donovan’s sperm back to his home.”
“That says a lot,” she agreed.
* *
Five minutes later, we were into our usual game, but this time I sat on the edge of the sofa between them and spread my legs wider. I was being as overt as possible, clearly offering Donovan my ass to penetrate. Yet the bodyguard was so into his favorite activity of masturbating onto me that he seemed unaware of my silent request.
Patrick and Justine could see what I was trying to do, and they knew what I wanted, but they offered no assistance. They simply watched me expose myself more desperately, squirming like a bitch in heat while their bodyguard stroked himself above me.
I was frustrated now, and I hungered to have that big penis inside me, thrusting to fill that needy place. I reached up and firmly gripped Donovan’s thickness, pulling it and him down on top of me.
In my fantasies I had imagined the first time would be classic doggie-style, but events had taken their own course, and now Donovan had clearly gotten my message. He was lying on top of me, his heavy weight squashing me into the sofa, his hard cock and balls mashed against my crotch.
He quickly adjusted himself, sliding back onto his knees so his cock was freed and pointing at my anus. The missionary position also gave Justine and Patrick a better view. Each of them was holding one of my legs open high and wide to give Donovan better access to me.
Some kind of nature took over–or a perversion of it did–and Donovan thrust into me, the oil enabling him to penetrate me smoothly. Still, it felt like an invasion, and all of my consciousness was taken over by the sensations of being opened wide and filled with hardness.
The couple both leaned in to observe my penetration from each side. Donovan’s humping loins quickly drove home his substantial cock, bringing forth a swoon from me. I felt him deep inside me, as though his cock was denting the back of my ass and pressing all the way to my stomach. I cried out, “Oh, god help me, I love this. Oh, fuck me, Donovan! Fuck me hard!”
The bodyguard humped hard and fast for ten minutes, his hands gripping my hips and his eyes taking in my nakedness underneath him. His breathing reached a crescendo and then stopped–and he began pumping a copious load of semen up my ass. I could feel the hot jets and I announced, “I can feel you shooting inside me!”
The couple made encouraging sounds as Donovan continued his orgasm until completion and then as he remained inside while his cock eased back and the swelling receded. When he emerged, he slumped back on his haunches, his breathing slowing.
I relaxed in a slump with a satisfied look on my face, and the couple eased my legs down but stayed beside me, surveying the aftermath.
I soon felt that some of the bodyguard’s semen was about to leak out, but Justine was ready with the plug and quickly inserted it, saying, “There, now take that home with you.”
A few minutes later I was walking from their back yard to mine, carrot firmly inserted. Thoughts of being seen evaporated. I no longer cared. The joy of walking naked outside with my new neighbors watching gave me satisfaction. I took my time. I even stopped at my garden hose and rinsed myself off in the cold spray. At my back door, I waved.
* *
Our next encounter was classic doggie-style and deeply pleasurable. It’s hard to put in words what it means to feel fulfilled from being on your hands and knees while a strong man fucks you from behind.
But in the immediate aftermath the couple communicated a mood change and said we needed to have a serious talk.
Patrick said, “Steven, what about your wife?”
I looked carefully at their faces, reading their expressions. This was, in some hidden way, still part of the game for them. I said, “That part turns you on, doesn’t it?”
“It does. It turns us both on.”
“I’m glad. Tell me, what do you really want?”
“She doesn’t know anything, right?”
“No, nothing.”
“We want her to know.”
I said slowly, “That is kinky. I like it.” Though I’d been avoiding thinking too much about what this meant for my relationship with Marissa. “And it’s proper that she should know anyway, especially now that things have gone so far.”
Justine spoke up, “We’ll leave that aside for now. There’s something else to cover first.”
“Like what?”
“Like a special something Patrick and I purchased for you, which we want you to wear for our special games.”
“That’s wonderful.” I was as happy as a kid on his birthday. They’d gotten me a present!
Justine smiled and said, “Wait here.”
She returned a minute later with a medium-size velvet bag, which she handed to Patrick who in turn presented it to me.
Curious, I opened it and pulled out a leather strip with a buckle at one end.
“Bitches wear collars,” she said. “And it’s a glossy brown, which matches your hair,” he pointed out.
I was shocked at the symbolism of the thing, and a tremor of pleasure went through me too. I was shocked further when the bodyguard came closer, took the collar out of my hands and fastened it himself around my neck.
All three of them inspected me approvingly, and didn’t know what to say about what this implied for us going forward.
“Should I be thanking you for this gift? It feels like an honor to wear it, knowing that that you want to play these games with me and let me service your bodyguard sexually.”
Patrick said sharply, “‘Honor’ is hardly the right word for a man who lets us say and do the things to him that we do.”
“Nor is it the right word,” Justine added, “for a man who willingly spreads his legs for another man to fuck him.”
I was forgetting their favorite word for me. But that word didn’t capture everything that our escapades meant for me.
“Enough for now,” she said. “Play time is over and you’ll have to return home. I trust that carrot plugging you is working but let’s not take any chances with our carpet. Honey,” she said to Patrick, “get the door for our new bitch.”
* *
Their front door closed and I was back outside, my clothes bundled in my hands, my carrot plug doing its job, my new collar feeling tight and heavy around my neck.
Before making a dash, I took a quick look up and down the street. Just as I started I heard a car coming and I took off like a rocket, getting around the corner of the house and out of sight just as it passed. It was a close call that got my heart pounding.
That pounding energy carried my feet quickly to my home. I arrived in record time, closing the back patio door behind me, safe now in the privacy of my own house.
Marissa had just gotten home–and I don’t know which of us was more surprised to see the other.
She halted dead in her tracks and looked me over, almost dropping her briefcase. “Honey, what the fuck?”
I caught my breath, steeled my resolve, and walked closer to her.
Her eyes went to the collar around my neck, scanned downward along my bare torso to my nakedness, and then noticed the mess of liquid running down both legs.
“What’s that?!?”
I turned around, knowing that she would see the end of the carrot inserted there.
“My god,” was all she said.
I suddenly felt unclean and desperately wanted a shower, but I knew I most wanted to be fully honest with her.
“It’s semen, Marissa,” I said. “For three weeks I’ve been fucking the neighbor’s bodyguard.”
I brushed past her on my way to the shower. Marissa followed as I expected. I turned on the water and stepped into the stall.
Marissa said, “Would you please clarify that?”
“Yes, but can we talk while I’m in the shower?”
“Okay. Why a bodyguard?”
“Because he works for our new neighbors.”
“Do the neighbors know?”
“They set it up. My new position is to service their bodyguard.”
“What? Why?”
“Because … it’s hard to explain.”
“I have time.”
* *
I took a minute to shampoo my hair and soap my whole body, being extra careful in the sensitive area surrounding the still-inserted carrot. It seemed ridiculous to use a carrot that way, and now that my sexual fever was lessened I was tempted to remove it. But I’d made a promise to leave it inside me until later.
Marissa eyed the protruding carrot but mostly her eyes couldn’t leave the collar around my neck.
“So why were you running around naked outside?”
I told her. I came out of the shower clean and wrapped a bathrobe around myself, and then I came clean about everything I’d done in the last three weeks.
There was a lot to tell, and she listened quietly as I told her how I’d first noticed the new neighbors, how I’d decided to go meet them, how immediately they’d gotten me under their spell, how I voluntarily went back repeatedly, and how our sexual games had gone from one thing to the next to the latest.
I could see that Marissa wasn’t as upset as she could have been–especially given the bizarre way my secret had come to light.
And I started to feel a tiny bit more hopeful when she asked me to spell out in fuller detail how things were.
She asked me to go back to the first time I’d orgasmed, sprawled half naked on the Petries’ couch. I tried to explain how it felt with them watching while the bodyguard stroked me.
She ask for more information about the “bitch” word, what I thought it meant to them when they called me that and why I accepted it.
She wanted to know who had come up with the carrot plug idea, and she wanted to know why I had carefully prepared it the way had.
And she especially wanted to know about the bodyguard–about how he looked and moved, but mostly about how I responded to him and the various things he did to me.
Her face betrayed nothing as I gave her a detailed description of the acts we’d done and their effects on me, both physically and emotionally.
* *
We were both silent for a few minutes.
“You know, Steven,” she said thoughtfully. “I know you love me, and I know I’m away a lot, and I know that men will be men. But I’ve also sensed something about you, and I’m not surprised that it was a man when you took a lover.”
I couldn’t believe what she was saying. How could she sense something like that about me when I hadn’t known myself?
“And let me guess,” she continued. “He’s a big man, yes?”
I nodded.
“And strong and good-looking?”
“He’s quite strong,” I said, “but I wouldn’t exactly call him good-looking. It’s more that he’s very masculine and has this aura of power about him.”
“That makes sense,” she said. “And it excites you when he puts his hands on you and forces himself into you.”
My face turned red, and my body flushed, but I nodded. “It excites me a lot.”
“And what about this couple, the new neighbors? How do they fit into this?”
“That’s harder for me to explain,” I said. And that was true. I didn’t understand them. “They like to talk to me a certain way. They gently get me under their spell, and maneuver me into vulnerable positions.”
“It sounds like some sort of magic,” she said.
“Not really, of course, but something like that. It’s like they know how to put me into a sexually needy trance.”
“And when you’re in that state, they like to do things to you?”
“Yes and no. They do get involved, touching me and taking off my clothes and adjusting things. But mostly they like to watch me with their bodyguard.”
“They’re watchers.”
“And they like to make a running commentary on what they see us doing and what they think of me for doing those things.”
“And somehow the word ‘bitch’ best captures all of that for them.”
I nodded yes.
“Which also explains why you’re wearing a collar. I assume they bought it and put it around your neck?”
“They bought it and gave it to me. But Donovan, the bodyguard, put it on me himself.”
“Ah, yes,” she said, “that makes sense.”
* *
A few minutes later. “Do you have their phone number?” she asked me.
I looked at her in surprise.
My phone was in the other room, so I padded off to get it, handing it to her when I returned.
“It’s here in RECENT CALLS. The name is Patrick and Justine Petrie.”
My wife pressed the CALL button, and looked me straight in the eyes while she waited for them to pick up. When someone did, she put the phone on speaker and placed it on the bed between us.
The next several minutes were the most bizarre phone conversation I’ve ever known.
“This is Marissa, your new neighbor. I understand that you and your bodyguard have been playing with my husband Steven for a few weeks now?”
“Why hello, Marissa”–it was Justine’s voice that responded. “Yes, indeed we have been enjoying him. He’s such a lovely man and so well suited to our needs.”
Patrick’s jumped in. “This is Patrick, Marissa. I hope we haven’t crossed any firm boundaries, but your husband was such a tempting morsel, and we hadn’t really had a chance to meet you yet.”
“I understand,” Marissa said, “and thank you for being so sweet and straightforward about this situation.”
“Naturally,” Justine said. “Please just let us know anything on your mind.”
“Let me see if I grasp what has been going on, correctly,” Marissa continued.
And for the next half-hour I listened as she and the new neighbors discussed in graphic terms the nature of the special relationship that had developed. I had no idea Marissa had so many lewd words in her vocabulary–nor, more surprisingly, how easily she embraced the game-playing spirit of crude banter about sexual positions and kinky psychology.
She quickly discovered the key words and phrases that turned the neighbors on and used them liberally, and she listened increasingly happily as they described in graphic terms what they had done with me and sketched some future possibilities.
I got hard and almost orgasmed just listening to my wife and our neighbors agree that our special relationship would continue–that I was to continue to be their plaything and Donovan’s bitch too.
“I have only two conditions,” Marissa said firmly. She wasn’t a high-flying businesswoman for no reason, and her voice had an edge to it.
“We’ll be happy to accept any reasonable conditions,” Justine replied quickly.
“Unfortunately, I am not going to be around to join in these sex games for the foreseeable future,” Marissa said. “My work will keep me traveling. Yet I know my husband has needs–and now apparently very special needs–that I would like to know are satisfied regularly.”
Patrick’s voice: “Perfectly sensible.”
“So condition one is for you, Justine and Patrick. I want you to keep me in the loop–by means of pictures and videos of your sexual encounters with my man. Not necessarily every single time, but I want pictures frequently, and even better video clips of Steven doing all of the perverse things you want to do to him.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Justine breathed into the phone.
“I will send you an anonymous email address, and you can send and upload them there.”
“Perfect,” said Patrick. “We’ll do that happily. You will know everything that happens.”
“And before I let you go,” Marissa said, “Let me keep you on the line while I explain my second condition, which is for Steven alone to fulfill.”
“We’re listening,” they said.
“You may not know this, but Steven is working on a novel. He’s very good at describing scenes, developing storylines, and evoking what his characters are thinking and feeling. He’s very sensitive.”
“So, Steven, my condition for you is this.” She was looking directly at me, but her voice was both for me and our phone audience.
“Every time you have one of your sexual encounters with Justine, Patrick, and the bodyguard Donovan–afterwards I want you to write an account of it. I want to know what you feel when they say those dirty words to you. I want you to describe what it is that makes your cock get so hard when they expose your body. I want you to express what emotions and sensations you experience when that big bodyguard touches you and fucks you.”
I was speechless.
“I want to know it all, and I want to know it directly from you.”
I nodded, inwardly excited at the prospect of living in reality and then re-living in words the open-ended perversities to come.
“You can send them to that same email. I will read your stories while I’m traveling. And we can talk about them more when I am home.”
“I will,” I said.
Justine’s voice came out of the speaker: “That sounds like a delightful plan, Marissa. So thoughtful.”
“Great,” my wife replied.
“When do you leave on your next trip?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, unfortunately.”
“Ah, so soon. Fortunately for us, though.”
Marissa laughed at that, and Patrick and Justine joined in the merriment.
“As you’re leaving tomorrow, please send the bitch over to us for mating. We have plans for him.”
I suddenly felt like the luckiest man in the world.
* *