Christine Gets Talked Into a 3-Way

"No, it's too embarrassing," Amy blushed.

Christine pressed on, "Oh, c'mon, you got me to tell you mine and now you're shy?"

"Seriously, it's really ... I'm weird. You'd think less of me." Amy was young and unsure of herself, shy and pretty but without strutting herself around the office. She so could have because men glared at her bubble butt all the time.

Both of them were shuffling papers around, auditing stacks of receipts. It was end of the month and this was repetitive tedious work they could've done in their sleep. At first they talked about the office, how boring it was. Then TV shows. Then stupid things. Then they broke into the inappropriate, talking shit about their coworkers. Somehow they drifted into funny sex things involving boyfriends and husbands. When they ran out of things to talk about, it escalated to their kinks.

Christine scoffed, then leaned into Amy conspiratorially and whispered, "a mechanic asked me to pee on him once."

Amy looked at her, eyes bulging in surprise. "No!" she laughed, "No! You didn't!" She covered her mouth up laughing hysterically.

No, Christine didn't actually do it. But she didn't want to come out looking like a boring square in front of the younger woman and she wanted to coax Amy's little secret out of her. "It was a long time ago, when I was about your age." Little fib. No harm. "I promise I won't think any less of you." More pages flipped through her fingers, annoyed by Amy's reticence.

Amy bit her lip and stopped shuffling papers for a moment, then just sort of blurted it out.

"I wanna watch an older woman fuck my boyfriend while I'm tied up."

Jesus. Christine was stunned. She was not expecting something that hardcore. Or comprehensive.

After an exhale Amy added, "and she doesn't have to be nice about it..."

"Uh..."

Christine definitely never saw this one coming. Shy sweet Amy from accounting, sexually submissive? Was that the term? She wanted to watch someone fuck her boyfriend? An older woman? She felt suddenly warm around the neck, as if she was under a heat lamp. Did it get brighter in here all of a sudden, she wondered?

"See, I told you that ... oh God, I made it weird." Amy was visibly dejected. "Yeah, I made it weird." She nervously shuffled papers from the pile, lost her place and started over.

It was getting awkward. "Well, ... does your boyfriend know about it?" Christine asked casually. She didn't know how to reassure Amy but she wanted to put her at ease somehow. She felt a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach and it started spreading around in pulses.

Come to think of it, she didn't know how she really felt about this. At all. Was there an implied something there? Christine was twice Amy's age. The stomach feeling now felt as a pulsing throb deep inside her.

"No, but he'd go along with it. You know how guys are."

Christine shifted her legs and realized certain ... places got a tiny bit slicker. Of course Amy's young boyfriend would go for something freaky like that. She wondered if her own husband would be equally enlightened by comparison. Was that new age openness or just a stage of youthful horniness she once went through?

She didn't know what to say. She didn't feel like she was sexually repressed, but she had never thought about what Amy described as her hottest kink. Somewhere vaguely between her thighs she felt a dull pulse spreading into an unceasing tingle. Christine immediately regretted asking, "So you haven't done it before?" because Amy was biting her lip hard and staring at her.

"Umm... n- no..." Amy croaked breathlessly and stared expectantly at Christine, her nipples obscenely hard and poking through her shirt.

Oh God, Christine realized, this was beyond a suggestive implication. Her ears were burning now. Was she being invited to fuck Amy's boyfriend? While Amy watched? Her heart started pounding because that was too bold of a thought, let alone a passive question. She marveled at how casually the invitation was delivered. Somehow the idea of being watched having sex was more of a barrier to her than cheating on her husband. Huh.

But she said nothing. The silence was a reply of sorts and after a few seconds she was a little scared to answer. She didn't want to make Amy feel bad but she honestly didn't know what to think or say to the revelation. It was shocking. The conversation petered out and they finished the audit in near silence. Longer the silence went on, Christine felt worse. For chrissakes, she was put in a spot. The tingling slowly dulled to a numb feeling. They locked up the office after finishing and parted ways in sullen gloom.

Christine drove home steering single-handed, her heart throbbing and other hand confusingly buried inside her jeans. Her mind was entirely blank but she felt this need to touch herself. At the first light she unbuttoned herself and by the next one she was teasing herself with a finger. Two blocks before reaching home she parked on the side of the road and finished herself off in comfort. She walked into the house with wobbly knees, so ready for bed.

Next week the two of them pretended like nothing had ever happened. The unspoken come-on faded away in memory and Christine later wasn't sure if it had been a question after all. To be honest, Amy was beautiful and Christine, well, she felt she really wasn't in her category. There's no way she meant ... her. More she thought about it, more Christine felt that she overreacted.

Amy walked by in the hallway and smiled brightly at her. So they were still alright then. Christine was worried about upsetting things between them because they had to work together.

Did she overshare and force Amy to go even further, she wondered? Maybe this whole thing, this awkward moment, was actually Christine's fault and so ... she felt bad. As the days went on she rehashed the conversation until every part of it blurred together with every other part and made everything more confusing. But individual parts were there and nagged at her.

That night Christine told Amy her dirty secrets. Now she cringed at realizing the level of detail she went into. It ranged from innocent to filthy. She described how Roy liked for her to wear pantyhose all the time, which annoyed her. She described how he particularly liked to get blown. His affinity for short skirts and absurd lingerie, nude thigh highs and garter belts, white lacy undies. Christ, why didn't she stop herself?

She'd make it up to Amy. Toward middle of the week she went up to her and offered her a sincere smile and a peace offering.

"Drinks after work?"

"Would love to!"

Hours later they went next door to the ratty outlet bar with moldy ceiling tiles. Some boisterous guy was railing about gas prices at the bar and wouldn't shut up so they grabbed a quiet high top. Christine wanted to put Amy at ease and show her she didn't think anything less of her for what she confided. It had been just an idle conversation, something to pass the time. But when the drinks arrived, Amy beat her to the punch.

"Really sorry ... about the thing," Amy uttered, looking at a distant point off to the side.

Oh God, Christine realized, so that night, that moment - it was real. It wasn't a misunderstanding and now it was front and center. Christine's heart beat faster because those hard nipples were meant for her after all. The bizarre full-body experience she felt that night started coming back.

"Noooo," Christine interrupted her with a stopping hand, "no, no, not at all, I just wanted to get out of that paperwork and go home." A lie. A blatant lie and they both knew it was one. But it was also a peace offering. The hand rested on Amy's forearm. It stayed there.

"Yeah, me too," Amy also lied and laughed, "how did we get stuck with bitchwork anyway?"

She had such a sweet laugh, Christine realized. They both had to exchange the lies first because that's how you moved on from something unpleasant. Her hand stayed there too long, Christine suddenly realized because it made her tingle, so she used it to return to her drink. What was the matter with her? Suddenly it felt hot inside. Why the fuck was she thinking about Amy's laugh anyway?

"Besides you didn't go into details. I mean, naked, on a chair, or what? And who would tie the knots?"

Amy immediately answered "oh, her." Deadpan.

The answer was too immediate for comfort, Christine thought but they laughed it off and quickly changed the topic of conversation. She felt so unprepared to deal with this. But that was also how you moved on, cake that incompatible yearning nice and thick and bury it deep inside in plain sight. As the evening went on, Christine shocked herself by gradually realizing that Amy was definitely attracted to her. It was a disturbing and yet somehow flattering thought. Little mannerisms gave it away, the cocked look, the eyes, the metered touching - warm and increasingly probing for rejections, for acceptances. Christine wasn't into women, but, it felt good to be appreciated by someone. Amy must've been bi. Had to have been because this felt real. Such a sweet laugh.

Two rounds and a coaster shim under a table leg later, Christine put some money down and let out a well-rehearsed line from that morning, "Say, are you doing anything this weekend? Roy's making a mean cookout on Sunday and we're having some friends over."

"Would love to," said Amy, "What time?"

Christine spent rest of the workweek reassembling the conversation in her mind, breaking it down to basics. Would she fuck a younger guy? Yes, that'd be hot. Cheating wasn't a problem. Would she let someone watch? She wasn't so sure about that. On Saturday, she was cleaning sliding glass door rails with an old sock slipped over her hand when she wondered why hadn't she cheated on her husband before? She was sure she was now open to the idea, absolutely certain of it. Years ago, maybe not so much. Huh.

That Sunday Amy came to the house and "some friends" ended up being nearly two dozen people. As she made her way to the back yard, she ran into Christine and gave her a vase of flowers and a wide smile.

"Oh gosh, you really didn't have to! That's so sweet of you." Christine put them aside and introduced Amy to some of their friends. "This here is my husband Roy," she finally introduced her to the cook.

Roy just stared at Amy, nearly whitefaced but flushed by the searing grill. Christine wanted to die. Hello, man-child, have you ever seen a pretty girl before? She brewed inside and ahem-ed him into coming to. Amy extended her hand and shook his limply. Christine fumed at his crudity, but at least he didn't stare at her ass. Others at the party did.

"Pleased to meet you Roy." He shook her hand nervously.

That night in bed Christine admonished her husband, "You know you didn't have to stare at her like a piece of meat, it was embarrassing."

Roy looked guilty and said nothing, reading his West Marine catalog. Best thing to do when she chewed him out was be quiet so he did that. Christine honestly thought, who could blame him for staring at Amy? Amy was young and pretty and that little summer dress was so cute on her. There's a fit, and then there's a fit. And that dress fit so perfectly on her. Showed her beautiful figure just right. Flattering. Little lithe thing, she didn't even sweat in her pantyhose.

As Christine drifted toward sleep she completely randomly imagined rope tied around Amy in that outfit and felt uncomfortably hot and bothered by the thought. She pulled the blanket off her feet and turned over. She wasn't bi. She dry swallowed. She wasn't bi. She wasn't bi.

Next morning, Christine's first conscious thought was about fucking Amy's boyfriend. She'd never met him before but in that instant she felt greedy about the idea. If her husband could stare and imagine, why couldn't she think about fucking a younger man? She touched herself and felt mildly guilty for nursing the thought, but her hand kept going. Roy slept through his opportunity for a morning fuck before work.

That week the guilt went away entirely. Throughout the day thoughts of it invaded her mind. Frequently she recalled what Amy had said, framing that unspoken invitation in many different ways. Any which way she picked at it, it distilled into the same thing. For whatever reason she couldn't comprehend, her younger coworker's invitation just stood there. Christine was invited to fuck Amy's boyfriend. Amy wanted it, and she wanted to please Amy.

The offer had some kind of an expiration date, and she never said no. There was a price for it, and it was cheap but made her blush. All she had to do was make it a slightly bit dirty. Amy would get something out of it, and so would Christine. Rational but ... unimaginable. This couldn't happen, could it? Tying up someone wasn't bi, was it? Why did the idea both turn her on and shame her, she wondered?

As weeks went by rational went out the window and became intensely irrational and Christine was fine with it. Every time she saw Amy, she felt like she'd gone both pale and blushed simultaneously. She was mildly unsettled throughout the day because she kept constantly thinking about the invitation. It was real and it felt more real by each passing moment. But she couldn't let someone watch. Just couldn't. Sex was a private thing. If someone watched, what's the point of decent behavior to begin with? Without privacy, things would just go to shit. Improper. A step away from people groping each other in public.

Her sex drive was slow this year but decidedly quick on the uptake. She thought she needed to get this ... thing out of her system before she got herself in trouble, so she initiated sex with Roy few times over the weekends. Or tried to. He couldn't keep up, kept making excuses, slipping out of the moments. She gave him head once or started to but he got soft and claimed to be tired. She remembered being younger and them doing it several times a day, it was marvelous. And now this was so disappointing and so demoralizing. For crying out loud, she just tried to suck him off but he pushed her away. As she tried going back to sleep, she thought how she could fuck Amy's boyfriend instead. She was invited to. He was offered. Was she really allowed to?

As she drifted off her brain went totally sideways. Amy would be tied up and could that imply consent any more than it did? Her logic inverted over that last point, but it made total sense while she touched herself. Just a couple of brief comforting touches and she was finally convinced.

"What're you doing after work?" she asked Amy as Wednesday rolled in. Christine was supposed to go to a yoga class after work.

Amy didn't sound too excited, "No plans. Maybe just hanging out with my boyfriend."

Christine looked at her sheepishly and daring herself to do it, finally overcame her reticence. Fuck it. She needed to hint that she was interested before this whole thing evaporated.

"If you guys want some company sometime, ..." Christine trailed off and got interrupted by Amy walking away, looking startled. Her heart was beating fast.

"Uh... let me get back to you real quick... I mean, hang on real quick," Amy looked back for a second and skipped away quickly. Ran away more like.

Christine felt foolish. She wanted the Earth to open up and swallow her. Eons passed in her head but only seconds at the office went by. Finally she realized Amy dashed off into a private corner to make a phone call. Maybe some kind of an emergency, she felt relieved.

After Amy returned and spoke to her, Christine's head swam. She couldn't remember what Amy literally said, but, Christ, tonight? So soon, she thought. Christine was the emergency, she was exhilarated to discover. She instantly decided to skip the yoga class. Her stomach had butterflies and they were the naughty kind.

In her head, she just meant to leave a positive sign for some later day in the future, but Amy pounced on tonight. Just like that. No delay. And Christ, on a weekday! That felt novel all by itself. There were no explicit promises, just a follow-me to his place after work. No talk about what they'd do there, nothing about hanging out, or watching a movie or playing cards, nothing. Total blank. It left everything to the imagination and that unexplored promise made it so naughty.

Christine spent rest of the day in a haze, passage of time unrecognizably distorted. Nervous. The day ended quickly, just snuck up on her. She drove tensed up behind Amy's car and was confused when Amy seemed to have backtracked in a place, but they finally pulled up at a slightly run-down apartment building. Christine was clearly nervous and anxious walking around the complex and at one point Amy grabbed her hand to reassure her. It felt warm and holding her hand was electrifying.

The boyfriend was unremarkable, but, younger than her own husband and far more fit by comparison. He seemed nice enough and Christine figured he lived alone, it looked like a total bachelor pad. When the boyfriend closed the blinds, Christine started to feel vulnerable.

Christine's hands were shaking and she hid them behind her jeans. "I don't know what I'm doing here," she confessed. Amy took her by the hand and gently walked her to the couch. Christine's heart rate shot up when Amy handed her a striped red and white nylon rope out of her purse and looked at her with an open-mouthed grin.

Amy sat down and as Christine unsteadily looped the rope around Amy's legs, Amy shuddered and closed her eyes, moaning. Suddenly that moan excited Christine ... because it excited Amy. It was a fucked-up feedback effect. Jesus, I am ignorant, Christine thought. So many unexplored pleasures in life. She tied Amy's legs together in a knot and when she yanked to tighten it, she felt a sense of power surging through her. Power that she now held over Amy. It was intoxicating. She wanted to savor the moment longer so she stroked Amy's leg and wondered whether that was sexual. Slightly, maybe. But she stroked her leg and felt the coils of rope under her fingertips, unrushed.

With every subsequent step she felt more and more power building up within her. It was so crazy. As she was tying Amy's hands behind her back an inspiration visited her and she spontaneously brushed Amy's ear with her lips, whispering in it.

"Now you can't stop me."

Amy moaned and closed her eyes. Christine thought she clearly understood by now what Amy's drive was about. It aroused her more than she believed possible. She was the older woman...

"Do you want me to fuck your boyfriend?" she whispered in her ear.

"Nooo," Amy said pleadingly. Pouting. Unconvincingly.

"Do you want to watch me fuck your boyfriend?" Christine demanded, putting emphasis on fuck and tasting the words. God, this was agonizingly raunchy. How could it be this way, this fun, she wondered.

Amy bit her lip and replied, "Yesss..." She looked sad, pitiful. Unsure of herself. This was becoming so deviant, so hot. It stroked Christine's ego unimaginably.

Having tied her up, Christine sat down next to Amy's boyfriend and was suddenly very nervous. But then she was immediately rescued by youthful eagerness.

"Oh," she quietly yelped.

Without being invited to, the boyfriend just savagely shoved a hand through her neckline and grabbed her breast without a preamble, his fingers reaching under her bra, going wildly. Holding her tits for size. Pressing them, weighing them. He kissed her and she eyed Amy, and watched her face get upset. Is this what Amy got out of it? Frustration of not being able to stop them? Two of them kissed and he was so quick to unzip himself and pull his cock out. Impatient. Christine had no time to reflect on it, she touched it, stroked it immediately, marveling at how long it'd been since she felt a new one. This felt... novel. Hot. Insane. She looked at Amy and smiled.