Atlantea Ch. 02

Phoebe was lying on a bench that, as far as I could tell, she had designed and constructed herself. She had kept the project secret, as a surprise gift. Weeks had gone by since my break-up with Meg, yet I remained depressed, or "mopey" as Phoebe liked to say, except for when she was sucking me off. This present would, she hoped, take the oral sex to new heights of enjoyment, in the hopes of knocking me out of my persistent funk. It looked like it might do the trick.

The bench was comfortably padded, and rose to precisely the right height such that, when Phoebe lay her head back on the plush, downward-sloping headrest, her mouth would be aligned with my erect penis, and her throat lined up along a perfect horizontal plane. There were comfortable wooden hand-holds for her to grip, extending out from the bench near her hips, and a large, sturdy circular wooden hoop was mounted around where her shoulders would rest, giving me something to hang on to for leverage. The feet of the bench were made of metal, and were, at present, bolted into holes that she had drilled into the concrete floor of the wood shop.

"Are you ready?" I said.

My body was already flushed red and covered with goosebumps.

"Good to go," she said neutrally.

"Should I, uh, take it easy the first time? Since we haven't done this before."

"Naw, pound away. I think this is actually gonna be easier 'cuz my throat's, like, in a line with my mouth. Also, can you cum in my mouth some of the time? It's been a while."

As always, she seemed indifferent to what we were about to do together, her tone of voice the same as one would use to plan a picnic or a hike. This incongruity, rather than being a turn-off, had exactly the opposite effect on me. My cock swelled further, and, since she had already opened her mouth wide, I slid it all the way down her throat in a swift, smooth motion. The bench was perfectly sized to our respective bodies, and, with excitement, I realized I would be able to fuck her throat as if it were a vagina. She gripped the hand-holds, which gave her plenty of leverage to avoid slipping back. And with my own hands on the broad hoop, I was able to put all of my power into my hips.

I fucked her throat for about twenty minutes before cumming the first time, having, by this point built up a tremendous amount of staying power. During this first session on the bench, I tried, within reason, to discover some limit that would make her tap out, but she never did. I held my dick all the way down her throat for two minutes straight, at one point, but she patiently breathed through her nose until I pulled out again. I then began to thrust fully in and then all the way out, pulling the tip of my cock past her lips, over and over, but she never complained, and unfailingly licked my head and shaft with her tongue whenever they slid past. Finally, I lost control and released my load into her mouth, as she had requested. With her head held on a decline, she found it harder to handle than usual, and a substantial amount of cum burbled from her nose and lips. Still, she did not tap out and allowed me to keep the tip of my cock in her mouth, swallowing frequently until I was spent.

"I'm gonna have to work on my technique there," she said, smiling through a substantial accumulation of saliva and cum, which she'd made no attempt to clean up. "What'd ya think?"

"Um," I said, "All I can say is that was mind-blowing, and that's saying something, given what we've been up to lately. I can barely think straight. This is the best gift I've ever received, surprise or no, that's for sure."

Phoebe got up and removed her shirt, knowing that seeing her boobs usually got me hard. Soon enough I was working her throat again, and over the next hour came twice more, both times with my cock fully inserted down her esophagus.

* * *

After the session on the bench, we were both hungry, so quickly took our separate showers and then joined Rosalind for lunch in the kitchen. Both women seemed nervous throughout the meal, limiting the conversation to small talk rather than the candid, substantive discussions they usually preferred. I had come to know both of them well over the previous two years, and guessed that they had something awkward to ask me.

"Um, Jason," Phoebe began, at last. "You know how you've been wanting to do me another favor?"

"Of course!" I said excitedly, hoping this would be a much bigger one than helping with Rhea's research project had been.

"Well, I --" Phoebe started to say, but Rosalind interrupted.

"We, honey," she corrected, patting Phoebe's hand.

"Right! We, uh, do have a favor to ask you, but it's a big one." Phoebe's face was red. "Really, really, big."

The two women went on to explain that, having been married for a decade, their sex life had some of its earlier passion and excitement. Phoebe had hinted as much to me many times, especially after a few beers, so I was not surprised.

"It's one of the few things we don't see eye to eye on," Rosalind was explaining. "Phee thinks we should invite another woman sometimes, but as you probably know I am very much not okay with that."

Rosalind's face flushed slightly; this was a sore subject.

"However," Rosalind continued, "as you also obviously know, I don't mind what you two do together. In fact, I encourage it."

A theory popped into my head as she said this, and, overcome with sudden curiosity, I blurted out a question.

"Wait, was that bench your idea?"

Rosalind grinned, Phoebe looked sheepish, and I never did find out the truth of this particular matter.

"Perhaps," Rosalind said ambiguously. "But anyways, I realized that maybe you can help us out with this, um, little problem?"

"Me?" I said, incredulously. "I mean, sure, I'd be happy to, but how?"

"You can be our 'third' during sex. Well, sometimes," she said.

"But--" I said.

I hadn't seen this coming. Neither woman had even the slightest interest in men. Rosalind held up a hand, palm towards me, cutting me off.

"I know what you're thinking," she said, "And the answer is that, no, we're not suddenly coming out as bi, and, yes, you would be joining the two of us. But in a, shall we say, very 'stylized' way."

"Stylized?" was all I managed to croak out, still floored by the direction the conversation had taken.

"Yes, 'stylized' is all I really want to say at this time. It'll be more fun if it's a surprise," Rosalind said. A feline grin had surfaced.

"I want to be clear though, we will be asking a lot from you," Phoebe added. "And, uh, you'll need a safe word."

"Wow."

Although I never would have anticipated this particular request, I knew right away that I would agree. I would have agreed to move heaven and earth for Phoebe. Plus how bad could whatever Rosalind had in mind actually be? The two women were still staring at me, waiting for an answer. I drew in a deep breath.

"Well, um, yeah, I'll definitely do this. I'd do anything for you Phee, and in any case this sounds like it might be fun."

"It might be," Rosalind conceded. "So, if you're sure, you will need that safe word."

For some reason, one which I still don't understand, the first image to flash into my mind was that of a gas station in Los Angeles. I had once stopped there during a long road trip.

"Chevron," I said.

Both women looked quizzical.

"Uh, okay, 'Chevron' it is," Phoebe acknowledged. "Also, you may not always be able to talk, so in that case you'll need to make this hand gesture."

Phoebe demonstrated by holding her right hand against her upper thigh, as if pinned there, and flapping from the wrist. It looked like a penguin's wing.

'What am I getting myself into?', I thought.

"So, uh," I said, "When would you two like to do this?"

"Would Saturday night work for you?" Rosalind asked.

"Saturday works."

"And Jason?" Rosalind continued in her sweetest radio DJ voice. "If you wouldn't mind, no getting yourself off starting Thursday morning, okay?"

* * *

By the time Saturday night rolled around, I was pent-up, to say the least. Phoebe had helped as much as she could by suggesting that we use the "throat-fuck bench", as she called it, on Wednesday night, something I readily agreed to. Despite a record-setting (for us) five ejaculations down her throat, the following almost 72 hours were hard to bear, and by the time I was standing in front of the lesbian couple I was feeling edgy and distracted.

"Do you remember your safe word and hand signal? Without that, I'll assume you're okay with whatever's going on."

"Yup, got it," I said, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet.

Rosalind was wearing an outfit I'd never seen before. Normally she wore a skirt and blouse combination like the ones she work to work. Today, she had on high leather boots, laced up over her calves, fishnet stockings, a black leather mini-skirt that clung to her shapely midsection, and a tight, black leather top that went down only slightly below her large bosoms, leaving her midriff exposed. Forgoing the usual over-the-shoulder braid, her hair was pulled back into a bun. She was also wearing makeup, something I'd also never before witnessed on her, the most prominent aspect being her bright red lipstick. While the overall effect was to give her a severe look, none of it detracted from her natural beauty.

"Now, for the rest of the evening, you two are going to do exactly what I say," Rosalind pronounced.

Phoebe was dressed in her favorite hiking boots, rugged jeans and loose white t-shirt.

"I can't hear you," Rosalind said, her usual radio-DJ voice suddenly turned caustic.

"Um, sure," I said.

"Yes, Miss Thorn," Phoebe said meekly.

"Ah yes, I forgot to mention," Rosalind added, facing me. "You are to address me as 'Miss Thorn', and to properly acknowledge me, you need to say 'Yes, Miss Thorn'. Assuming you can talk at the time, of course."

She looked at me expectantly. After a few beats, it dawned on me that she was waiting for me to utter the words, as Phoebe had. At first, I felt a wave of humiliation, followed by a flash of anger. Then, almost as quickly, guilt washed over me as I remembered I was doing this for Phoebe.

"Yes, Miss Thorn," I said, as seriously as I could.

"Good, good," Miss Thorn said. "Now I will explain your roles to you and assign you names appropriate to those roles."

Thorn turned to face Phoebe.

"Since you are my pet, dear, I will simply call you Pet. Now come here, please."

Phoebe, or rather Pet, walked over to the spot indicated. She was now facing the Thorn and me. Thorn looked expectantly at Pet, as if waiting for her to do something so obvious it did not bear mentioning. Pet looked confused. At last, Thorn relented.

"Do pets wear clothes?"

Blushing red, Pet began to disrobe, starting with her boots and socks, then taking off her shirt, revealing her magnificent breasts, which, as usual were unencumbered by a bra. So far, there was almost nothing I hadn't seen before, although I appreciated the sight. The one difference, in fact, was that her normally inverted nipples were swollen and protruding from their surrounding areolae. That had never happened during our oral sex sessions.

Pet seemed reluctant to go further, but when Thorn didn't say anything, diffidently pulled down her jeans and stepped out of them. She was wearing loose, gray men's boxer shorts with a y-front opening. Her unshaven legs were muscular and lovely, with generous, toned thighs and calves. She seemed to be drawing the line at taking off her underpants, presumably because of my presence. She had never before shown her vagina to me, despite being so casual about everything else.

"I've never heard of an animal wearing underpants, now; have you, Pet?" Thorn chided with a lilting tone.

A deep red flush suffused Pet's entire body as she began to pull down the boxer shorts. As she stood up tall once more, I got a full view of her unshaven pubic hair, a brown forest so thick I could not see her vagina. The furry area extended down between her legs, where her thick thighs came together.

"Now that's a little better Pet," Thorn said melodiously to her palpably embarrassed wife. "But puppies like yourself also don't stand on two legs, not unless they're doing a trick for their owner."

She made a casual twirling motion with her right hand, indicating Pet should turn around before getting onto her hands and knees. Pet had a miserable look on her face, although I noted that her nipples were standing out even more prominently than before. She got down on all fours. Hoping not to expose herself to me, she kept her thighs together. Like Thorn, Pet worked out frequently and had a large, rounded ass. Between her closed legs and large ass cheeks, I could not see much.

"So stiff and awkward," her owner chided. "Pets don't stand like that. Spread your legs, Pet."

Pet had the presence of mind to say, "Yes, Miss Thorn," as she complied with the order. She spread her legs a bit, allowing me a glimpse, through a thicket of hair, of her puffy outer vagina lips. Her inner lips were hidden. Thorn commanded her to spread her knees farther from each other, however, now giving me a view of her anus as well. Although Pet clearly didn't shave or wax, her sphincter was so clean that I wondered if she got it bleached. Most likely, Thorn required her to do just that. Seeing my best friend so open and exposed had my cock straining at my clothes.

"Oh, and I almost forgot," Thorn added, pretending that she had not planned this all along. "You'll need this, of course."

She retrieved an ordinary dog collar made of black mesh. Hanging from a ring was a tag inscribed "Property of Thorn." After making a show of adjusting its size, and attaching the collar to her wife's throat, she turned to me with a scowl on her face.

"Now, today your one and only job is to be my sex toy," she said, "And so your name will be Toy. I like to keep things simple for you two. Pet, get up and help prepare Toy for his task."

Gratefully, Pet got up and stood to the side.

"So Toy, since Pet seemed to be missing a lot of basics about how pets act, I'm not that confident that you know how a sex toy works, either. I'm going to spell it out for you. First, does a sex toy have hands it can just move around however it wants?"

Once again, I felt instinctual humiliation and anger, followed quickly by guilt over even the possibility of ruining this couple's role-playing.

"No, Miss Thorn," I said, in as meek a tone as I could muster. I was never that good in drama class, so I hoped I was convincing.

"Yay, so much smarter than Pet here!" Thorn slow-clapped as she said this. "Pet, please get the hand restraints."

Pet went over to a drawer and retrieved what looked like a brown leather weight-lifter's belt, except with two padded cuffs on either side. She motioned for me to lift off my shirt, buckled the belt around my waist, and then put each wrist into its respective restraint and cinched tightly. I could no longer move my arms.

Indicating my bare chest, Thorn said, "Ugh, the naked male body so ruins the mood for me. We will be addressing that next, thankfully. I'm going to turn around and Pet will undress you then put one of these on the sex toy."

As she said this last point, she held up a large, unnaturally bright blue condom. It looked ridiculous, and was probably a bit too small for me. I presumed this was all to make my dick look as much as possible as if it were made of rubber instead of flesh. Thorn turned around, and instructed Pet to remove the rest of my clothing. Then I was commanded to lie down on a large mattress on the floor. I had only paid slight attention to it before, so was surprised to discover it was fitted with a plastic sheet. Pet supported me under my shoulder as I awkwardly settled onto the bed. It was difficult with my hands unable to move. I was now lying flat on the bed, my erect penis sticking straight up towards the ceiling. Pet put a small pillow under my head for comfort, then took the condom and rolled it down over my head of my cock. It was long enough to roll out all the way down to the base, but it was not as wide as it should have been to match my girth. The net effect of the tightly clinging material was indeed to make my dick look like an enormous dildo.

Still facing away, Thorn narrated, "Another thing, Toy? Toys don't talk."

At this, Pet returned to the same drawer that had produced the restraining belt, this time returning with four red ball-gags, each of a different size. Kneeling next to my head, Pet first tried to fit the biggest one, a dimpled red rubber sphere several times bigger than a golf ball, into my mouth.

"I know it might be a bit difficult, Toy, but we really do need to fit you with the biggest ball we have. If you accidentally make any gross man-noises, let alone utter any words, it would spoil all the fun!"

Unable to fit the largest one past my teeth, Pet tried the next size down. This one fit, albeit barely. There was no way I would be able to speak intelligibly from this point onward. Drool began pooling in my mouth, and I knew it would soon dribble down onto the pillow behind my head.

Pet looked down at my hands for the penguin motion. I kept my hand still. Although this was probably my last chance to back out, there was no way I was going to do that. I owed Phoebe this experience, many times over even, and, in any case, it seemed like whatever was about to happen might be enjoyable, humiliating or not.

Before Thorn was willing to turn around, I had to be almost fully invisible, so next Pet got out a thick black sheet, in the center of which was a hole with a thick rubber grommet sewn in to prevent tearing. This hole was fitted over my penis such that only the blue-clad shaft of my dick was could be seen, once Pet pulled the sheet over the rest of my body. Before tucking it around my right hand, she slipped some kind of plastic thing between my fingers and made a squeezing motion, in front of my face, with her hand. When I made the same motion with my fingers, the device made a loud click. This was clearly intended to be the mechanism by which I'd tap out, now that the two women would be unable to see the penguin flapping signal. Pet looked at me questioningly and made a thumbs up gesture. I nodded to indicate I understood what it was for. She drew the dark sheet over my head and for the rest of this adventure I was unable to see anything. Lastly, she attached cuffs to my ankles, and then to these attached a heavy metal bar.

"He's prepared, Miss Thorn," Pet said, after first pausing to see if there were any telltale clicks from my right hand.

"What is prepared?" Thorn queried, sternly. She emphasized the word "what".

"Sorry, Miss Thorn," Pet said. "Um, your sex toy is ready."

"That's a good correction, Pet," Thorn said. "But I'm afraid you've been making too many mistakes tonight. 'Sorry' isn't good enough, I'm afraid."

"Sorry, Miss Thorn," Pet said, nervousness creeping into her voice as she realized she'd just done precisely what Thorn had already said was insufficient.

"What did I just say? Back on all fours, Pet!" Thorn commanded.

Seconds later I heard a loud slap as Thorn spanked Pet on the ass. It sounded hard.

"Ow!" Pet yelped involuntarily.

"It doesn't count unless you do," Thorn said unsympathetically. "So we're still at one, and you have five to go."

Instead of a slapping sound, however, the next thing I heard was a squelching noise, as Thorn put a finger into Pet's vagina and, I think, moved it in and out vigorously.

"Hm," Thorn said, "You seem to be enjoying the punishment too much. I don't think five is going to be enough. Let's make it ten."

Pet whimpered, and then I heard another loud slapping sound as Thorn spanked her wife again.

"One," Pet said, almost inaudibly.