Max & Cheri

One morning, a courier with a special-delivery parcel, addressed to Cheryl, came to the penthouse door. Max eagerly opened the package while Cheryl signed for it, chattering away, feigning surprise. She revealed a large vibrating dildo, waving it about, to the apparent chagrin of both the delivery man and Cheryl, and loudly proclaiming, it to be just what they needed.

Flashing an almost malevolent grin at Cheryl, she purred, "Don't you think he deserves a tip, for bringing such a delightful toy?" Much to her surprise, Cheryl found that she was still able to be shocked, as it dawned on her just what Maxine is saying. "I'll use our new toy on you, while you give the man his tip, eh? What do you think? Okay?" Lightly guiding Cheri down, Max pulled the stunned delivery man in, out of the elevator landing. She didn't even give Cheri a chance to respond.

Beyond flustered, dropping woodenly to her knees, Cheryl reached for the dumbfounded man's fly. Max crouched beside her, whispering in her ear, "Do a good job now," while reaching around to thread the buzzing appliance up under Cheri's robe and onto her quim.

He was a rather short and pudgy, twenty-something, and he stood stock-still as Cheri fiddled with his fly, peeling down his briefs, to release his penis, which was, coincidentally short and pudgy. However, it was gaining substance rapidly. Cheri studied it in the moment before Max gently pushed her head forward. The man's thick thatch smelled of sweat and urine, but, with Max still whispering encouragement in her ear, Cheri knew she shouldn't—she mustn't balk. By the time she got her mouth poised over the burgeoning tip, after a few tentative strokes of her hand, it had grown rock-hard and straight. It was about the size of a Red Bull can, and as Cheri slipped the 'O' of her lips over the end, and began sliding down the root, it filled her oral cavity to capacity.

Cheri didn't get that deep before he completely blocked her airways. Gasping and gagging, she could hear Max's smooth instruction in her ear. "That's it. Gobble him up. Bob on it—slowly now!" Cheri was almost in crisis; the maddening arousal of the dildo buzzing her clitoris was dueling the suffocating fullness of the hot, quivering tool in her mouth. It only took a very few withdrawals and insertions before, as his wiry pubes tickled her nose the spellbound driver jolted hard, his hands going to the sides of Cheryl's head, and, with a stifled bellow, let go gush upon gush of his thick, hot love-liquor. Cheri was reasonably successful at swallowing the load—at least, she didn't drown. As the cock wilted and withdrew Cheri became hyper-aware of the sensation building in her sex, but as the man stepped back, re-stuffed and zipped, Max withdrew the vibrator, wiping it casually on Cheryl's robe, and leaving her in a state of shimmering frustration. The twinkle in Max's eye indicated that it was not by accident.

Varying her requirements, Max made every outing just a little different, a little novel in one aspect or another. For instance, in getting ready for one particular excursion, Max introduced a garter-like harness affair made with strapping and buckles, to secure sexual appliances. She inserted a large semi-flexible dildo in Cheri's vagina, and a remote-control, vibrating butt-plug up her poop-chute, before heading out to the shops. Cruising the mall, Max made Cheri flash from time to time, briefly displaying complex girdle and her threaded orifices. Firing up the anal vibrator, Max managed, at least once, to time Cheryl's exposure with the muffled eruption of her climax. While Cheri was definitely mortified, she also found that the humiliation seemed to intensify her arousal. She desperately wanted Max to rescue her from her public embarrassment, yet, she relished the complex mix of sensations and emotions.

Another time, when Cheryl was nude beneath her mini-skirt, Max took her, the subservient partner, into a stall in the ladies' washroom, and, sitting herself on the toilet, pulled from her bag their old suction-cupped dildo. "Stand this on the floor," she ordered, baring her own pussy, "and ride it while you eat me to orgasm!" Cheri coped with her shock very well, dropping to her knees and lowering herself onto the faux-cock. Gently humping it, she pushed her face into Max's quim and began sucking and licking in earnest.

The activity visible under the cubicle walls inevitably attracted a modicum of attention; though surprisingly, most of it was indifference. While a bit was, understandably quite negative, some was very positive: "Someone's having fun, eh?" "Are you sharing?" "Can I be next?"

After stifling her orgasmic scream, Max responded to the anonymous questions, while lifting Cheri off her phallic penetration, "Maybe another time." Swiftly bustling themselves back into the tide of shoppers, Max pulled Cheri close and whispered, "Next time we're about, maybe I will get you to go down on a complete stranger. Wouldn't that be a blast?"

Max's threat sent a shiver down her back. "What if?" Cheri pondered. "Would Max really tell her to? Could she, if required?" Oddly, the very consideration caused her cunt to spasm and clench.

In her occasional moments of solitary quiet, Cheryl tried to comprehend what was happening with Maxine. Feeling a bemusement bordering on despair, she could barely recognize her new self. It seemed, over the course of several—although, not that many—weeks, Max had unleashed a wanton slut; someone her inner-self hadn't even known existed. And even more surprising was that fact that she not only didn't mind, she realized, honestly, that she delighted in being able to give up responsibility for her newfound sexual gratification—in being a totally submissive harlot.

Meanwhile Max realized she was more than endlessly thrilled playing the part, as she called it, of the benevolent dominatrix. She loved giving orders, loved the power—taking over complete control of Cheri's erotic satisfaction. She loved the look of delight she elicited in Cheryl's eyes—delight mixed with consternation—suffering mixed with adoration.

It became routine, during any given stay-at-home session, that Maxine would arouse Cheri mercilessly, then demand that she hold off. "You'd better not get there until after me!" Often as not, of course Cheryl couldn't manage it, hence, requiring some form of discipline. Max would pull out the big strap-on, which she'd christened the 'rocket dong', and demand Cheri practice her felatio. "Deeper! Deeper! You need to go right down on it," she exhorted, pushing her hips forward. Detecting Cheri's arousal, she barked, "This is not supposed to be fun, you little tart!" Then reach around with another dildo, or rigid vibrator, and with a rough shove, begin punching it in and out of Cheri's defenceless butt—buggering her while she deep-throated Max's faux cock, insisting, "And don't you dare cum until it's your turn!"

Eventually, of course, when Cheri couldn't hold off long enough, Max turned her about and took her anally with the 'rocket-dong', adding yet another element to their growing repertoire of BDSM scenarios. Despite all the disciplinary bluster and play-acting, they both became very turned on, and enjoyed the ensuing hyper-arousal immensely.

9 - Diversify

Still, some mornings they took time out to just talk and sip coffee. On, albeit rare, occasions, that's all they did. "You mean, after all of this, you've never woken Jeff up with a blowjob?" Max asked in astonishment. Cheri shook her head subtly. "I mean," Max went on, taking the part, once again, of resident expert in all things sexual. "Every man loves a BJ in the morning. Many, in fact, think there's nothing better than a "Good Morning!" blowjob—than a good, morning-blowjob." Max was getting on a roll, now. Cheryl knew better than to interrupt her. "A wake-up blowjob is different from any other cock-sucking in two ways," Max intoned, soundings much like a college professor, lecturing. "First: it's different starting with a flaccid tool and he's probably gonna be all shrunken and soft at first. Depending on how fast he gets chubby, this may or may not bring on breathing difficulties for you." Cheri felt like she should be taking notes. "Secondly: you must be very gentle, so that he is woken by the sensual stimulation you elicit, and not by your movement or touch."

Max considered this another important milestone in Cheri's ongoing education, and took up instructing Cheri; beginning with how to make a stealthy entrance. She described, in detail, sneaking up from the foot of the bed under the covers, and positioning herself over the, presumably, dormant dick. "Once you're in position, you need to start very, ver-r-r-ry subtly. Gripping him lightly, begin stroking him gently—up-stroking only, at first— to initiate erection. Pulling, stretching him up. And before you know it, he'll start getting chubby—start firming up." Standing suddenly, Max ushered Cheri towards the bedroom. "Right now," she pronounced, "we need to practice a little. Role playing. I'll be the guy—the sleeping male target; you be the slut." From a night-table drawer she produced the floppy latex double-ended dildo Cheri had been introduced to earlier. "We can use the 'Ol'-Elephant's-Trunk', eh?"

Max deftly inserted the device and climbed under the bedsheet to lie still. "Okay," she said, "start from the very beginning. They practiced several times, Max giving advice and commentary the whole time—except when she climaxed from the pressure and movement of the rubber cock within her as Cheri energetically went down on it.

Coincidentally, or not, a matter of mere days later, Paul didn't leave for work in the morning, as was usual. He stayed in bed late, as he would when he had to fly out on a business trip later in the afternoon. Mind you, this was all unbeknownst to Cheryl, so, she thought nothing of Max summoning her to the penthouse shortly after Jeff had left. "Come on up, as soon as you can. And don't bother getting dressed. See you in a bit." Such an invitation—mandatory invitation—was hardly unusual. Hustling into her slippers and robe, Cheryl hurriedly complied.

Inviting Cheri in, Max didn't let on that Paul was still at home. Whether the whole episode was planned by Maxine or simply a serendipitous chance, Cheri would never know; notwithstanding, as Cheri was guided into Max's bedroom, Max put a finger to her lips. "Shhhh!" Gesturing silently to the sleeping form of her unsuspecting husband, Max whispered, "Okay, now. This is for real." Sliding Cheri's robe off her shoulders, and lifting the bedsheet, she started Cheri tunneling up the mattress, ordering her, with a hiss, to silently weasel into position between Paul's legs. And Max whispered further instructions as Cheri disappeared. "Make sure you suck him off fully. You've tasted him before," Max snickered, "this just takes out the middle-man—moi!" As Cheri's bare bottom vanished beneath the sheets, squirming up the bed, Max was absolutely delighted. Wouldn't Paul be surprised being woken by 'anonymous' felatio.

Cheri concentrated on what they had practiced. She was determined to do it right—to please Maxine. Paul thicken right away in Cheryl's grip, and stiffened rapidly as soon as she began to stroke him. Rounding her lips and raising her head, she pushed herself over him, not letting up until she felt his pubic beard against her lips, his balls against her chin. In some objective corner of her brain she thought, "He's a lot bigger than Jeff, though not nearly as big 'Ol'-Elephant's-Trunk'."

She smiled to herself when she felt him twitch right away. Holding him deep for a long moment, she gradually pulled back before plunging over him again. In less than a dozen strokes, up and down, his body suddenly went stiff. His hands grabbed her head through the bedcovers, and held her tight against his thrusting hips. He came in torrents, gush upon gush! Cheri struggled to swallow and not gag. She was astonished at the sheer volume of cum he spat out, into her throat and down her gullet. I seemed to be way, way more than Jeff ever produced.

A soon as his orgasm finished, Max joined Paul in bed, snuggling up beside him, nibbling his nipples, teasingly ignoring his questioning look, while Cheri continued sucking him—licking him clean.

Once Cheri's 'wake-up practical', was effectively completed, without missing a beat, Max lifted the sheet slightly, and demanded, "Get Paul up again—using your hand; and eat me while you're doing it." Cheri set to, conscientiously trying to arouse them both, together, and, as they both—husband and wife—got closer and closer, Max suddenly and unceremoniously pushed Cheryl out of the way. She swung her leg over, straddling Paul, and smoothly engulfed him with her quivering cunt.

At the same time, Max basically dismissed Cheryl. "I'll see you later. I'll drop by this afternoon, after I get Paul off." She chuckled at her unintended double-entendre, then clarified, "to the airport, that is." After an instant, Max added, almost flippantly, "Oh. And don't cum until I get there. I wanna see your undiluted orgasm, so NO cheating!" With that, she turned her full attention back to humping her husband.

Getting back to her own apartment, Cheri was disappointed that she was not allowed to get herself off. Her pussy tingled, her fingers were restless, as, once again, she asked herself, "Why do I let her boss me around so much?" Still, she knew she wouldn't defy Max's orders.

Later, as mid-afternoon approached, she could feel a glowing arousal growing in her gut as she anticipated masturbating for Maxine.

Following her command performance, in which, under Maxine's watchful eye, Cheryl brought herself to an amazingly powerful solo orgasm, Max said to her, "Okay, your assignment is to surprise Jeff, tomorrow morning, with a 'wake-up' blowjob; a superlative effort, just like you can. And once he goes off to work, come on up and tell me about it. I'll want to hear everything—all the fine details." As she turned to leave, leaving Cheri to wonder just how she was going to explain it to Jeff, Max added over her shoulder, "My advice is don't let him cum tonight, contrive to have him save it up for the morning."

So, next morning, just as instructed, Cheri ascended to the penthouse, and, over a cup of coffee, began to relate the details of her mission.

"Well, I waited until dawn," she began, still, oddly embarrassed, after all this time and everything she'd done. "I realized it was different than we'd practiced. For one thing, to start, I had to wiggle down the bed, under the covers, as I was already in bed with him. Then, I had to turn around and insinuate myself between his knees, without waking him. When I finally got in position, and gently gripped him, he was already chubby—semi-turgid. It only took a few strokes. He got an erection very quickly. Right away, he was twitching and jerking so much that it was a challenge to capture him with my mouth."

"Was he awake by then?"

"No, I don't think so; but he began to toss and turn as pushed hard onto him, gripping him with my cheeks. Holding onto his hips, I finally got him fully engulfed—deep-throated. Stroking his quivering hard-on, I could feel him approaching climax. That's when he woke up. He reached down to grab my head, muttering, 'Wha...? What?' I don't know if he actually got my telepathic message, but he did stop struggling and just went with it. His cock continued to get even harder as I bobbed up and down in his lap. His prick did wobble a few times, as he uttered a few 'Jeezs!' or asked, again, what, exactly, I was doing. Eventually, though, he got rock-hard, and, overcome by his rushing orgasm, sprayed litres of semen down my throat."

"I stayed on him, letting his cock slowly soften in my mouth—just like you told me—and when I finally surfaced, I looked to gauge Jeff's reaction. Initially, he wouldn't just accept it at face-value. He wasn't, as I had hoped he would be, especially pleased. Oh, he was surprised, perhaps puzzled, but also, I felt, a bit suspicious. So, I reminded him that over the last few months, I've given him lots of head—quite often, during morning quickies. And, certainly, we've both enjoyed it. So, I explained, I just thought I'd try something new. I told him I'd read about it in a magazine. I think I finally alleviated his suspicion, or some of it. In the end, he had to admit, it was a great addition to our sexual... er... picnic-basket."

"I assured him that I loved it, too; even though I didn't have an orgasm... this time, anyway." And she did love it, but that was as much because she had been directed to do it by Max, as because it pleased her hubby. Cheri continued to be exhilarated by just the prospect of being required to comply with Max's instructions, as well as being required to report to Max all the little details. For reason's she couldn't understand, let alone explain, she reveled in Max's praise. It was difficult to reconcile, but, while she truly loved her husband, she craved what she could—what she did—get from Maxine.

Not long after the 'wake-up' incidents, Maxine called Cheri early, telling her to dress up for a special excursion. "Something different," she teased when Cheri asked for details. "I know you'll just love it—trust me." At that, an old axiom wafted unbidden across Cheryl's mind: 'Anyone who feels the need to say "Trust me", should, categorially, not be trusted.' Once again, though, defiance was not even considered. Cheri dolled herself up and met Maxine at the door. "I'll drive," Max breezed, after giving Cheri an assessing up and down.

"Isn't this where Paul works?" Cheryl asked, as they ascended from the parking level.

"Yes," Max purred. "He's invited me for lunch." Cheryl followed along like a puppy, obviously puzzled. Alighting at a busy reception area, Max bustled past the receptionist, saying, "He's expecting us," and taking Cheri's hand, towed her like a child into Paul's ostentatious office.

As they entered the office Max turned and said, "Close the door." After giving Paul a quick kiss, with a sweeping gesture she announced, "Look who I've brought."

Without getting out of his seat, Paul greeted her—"Cheryl."—with a smile and a nod. Hoisting her shapely bottom onto the desk, next to her husband, Maxine said, very matter-of-factly, to Cheri, "I promised Paul a blowjob before lunch, so, be a dear, and just suck him off for me." Cheri responded with shocked silence, as Max continued blithely, "I just need to speak with my husband, here."

Cheryl was completely flabbergasted. She watched as Paul wheeled himself back and to the side, spreading his knees in invitation. He, obviously found the whole thing very amusing. Nonetheless, under the weight of Maxine's glare, Cheri slowly shuffled around the desk to drop between Paul's legs and squatted back beneath the desktop—closed in, as Paul rolled his chair back in position.

"Get on it, dearie," Max exhorted from above. "And don't, for Christ's sake, get cum on his pants! We're going for lunch afterwards."

Her mind a-whirl, Cheryl reached up to work Paul's trousers open. She could hear them talking above, but understood little, as she fished out Paul's flaccid serpent. Gripping it with both hands, she held it poised for a bit, studying it in the dimness of her cavern, and licking her lips in preparation. Abruptly pushing her face forward, Cheri impaled her 'O-ed' mouth, continuing her assault until the spongy cock-head hit the back of her throat.

Up above Maxine laughed as Paul's eyes went wide, a breathy hiss escaping his lips.

Cramped and trapped, Cheri worked at establishing a rhythm without bashing her head. She swirled and sucked with her tongue and inner cheeks, gripping and stroking the growing shaft with both hands on each put-stroke, before plunging back on to the quivering, rapidly stiffening man-meat.