Sharing Khym

Author's note:

This is the third James/Khym story. The second installment wasn't as well received as the first, but several 'loyal readers' encouraged me to keep going. As with the first two installments, I spoke with several readers and Literotica friends for perspective.

This is a work of fiction. All characters are over age eighteen. Thanks for reading!

-----------------------------------------------

It wasn't one of the dates where she was allowed to cum.

James leaned against the headboard of the cheap bed, his back propped up by the otherwise useless pile of pillows that Khym practically littered the room with. The brunette straddled him, impaled on his cock, her body bouncing and grinding.

"Ooooooooh," Khym moaned. "Master, yes." Thick leather cuffs restricted her movement, and the long session had sapped her strength. Only fitness, and determination to please her master, kept her pumping.

"Do not cum," James warned. "I cum tonight, not you." In fact, he was already nearing release. After twenty minutes in Khym's snug, slick kitty, the older man was perched on the brink. Watching the beautiful brunette thrash and grind against him, her face written in ecstasy, he wouldn't hold out another minute.

"Only you," Khym panted. "Only Master."

"Yeah," James groaned. "I'm almost done with that worthless pussy."

"Cum in it. Cum in my slut pussy." Khym's jet hair was a lustrous, wild tangle.

"A wet, tight, warm hole." James's own dirty talk dragged him to the edge. "That's your worth, nothing else."

"I need that cummmm," Khym gasped. She was trembling, mouth open, eyes shut, her pussy beginning to clench against his cock.

"No!" James slapped her, snapping the brunette's face to one side. "I said do NOT cum."

"Noooooo, please Master, I'm sorry!" The girl was near her limit physically and emotionally, legs trembling with fatigue, her taut body glistening with perspiration. "I won't!"

Everything converged at once, the exquisite tight pussy welcoming his cock, the girl's fresh beauty, her complete dedication to her master, and her acceptance of his abuse. With a protracted groan, James came.

"Fuuuuuuck!," he bellowed. "Oh, you worthless cunt!" James's balls ejected a blast of thick cum into Khym's trembling pussy. Ecstasy swirled around and into him, its paralyzing grip controlling James as much as he controlled Khym.

Obediently, Khym kept pumping, her own orgasm held at bay. The young woman who accepted his collar accepted his cum. Both were a gift.

"Unhhhhhhhh!" The orgasm tore through James. His world shrank to his cock, Khym's pussy, and the exquisite feel of her silky skin against him. Another shot of hot cum ripped into his willing slave. "Fu, fuhhhhhhhhhhh," he gasped. James yanked Khym's leash, dragging her against him. He held the girl close as the tremors gradually eased. Khym panted with exhaustion. When there was no more pleasure left to extract from her body, he rolled her off of him and stood.

James washed his face in the apartment's cramped bathroom. The man looking back at him in the mirror was in his mid-fifties. Laugh lines and greying at the temples confirmed it. He stayed in good shape, mostly keeping at bay the spare tire that afflicted so many of his friends. An active lifestyle helped him keep some bulk and definition through his arms and chest. Still, no one looking at him would be fooled. He was aging.

And yet somehow, at this point in his life, James had claimed Khym as his plaything and slave. Back in the bedroom she waited for him on the bed, laying on her side, her wrists still cuffed. He took a minute to admire her. As delicious as her youthful body was, James was just as entranced by the beauty of Khym's hair. Long, wavy, jet-black tresses spilled from her head to the sheets in a gorgeous tangle. Some spilled over her face, adding a trace of mystery. James pushed them back with his finger. Wide, vulnerable eyes peered back.

James unbuckled the handcuffs, gave Khym a tender kiss at the top of her head, then settled back on the bed with her once more. With a sigh, the young woman wriggled close to rest her head on James's chest. "Master..." she said contentedly.

For a time the two lay together. Somewhere, Khym's phone chirped, trying to get her attention, but the brunette ignored it entirely. James smiled. He wouldn't spend the night with Khym, but had learned to appreciate a few minutes together after one of their sessions. They had a calming effect on him, and Khym was less needy when James didn't leave immediately after fucking her. He had learned a great deal about the young woman, what she needed, and what she would do for him. It was as good a time as any to clarify their relationship even further.

"Here," James said. He stood again, his still plump, contented cock swinging lazily. "Sit up."

Khym sat upright, crossing her legs. She brushed back a strand of unruly hair and peered up at James. He reached for her collar.

***

Khym lay against her master, content and fulfilled. Their session had been a trial. Her legs ached from fatigue, her pussy was sore from the rough pounding James had subjected her to, and her face still stung from his corrections. These were her badges of honor. She had obeyed, endured, and succeeded in pleasing her demanding master. The way he had bellowed out in ecstasy when he finally came had been proof of that. That he had granted her a few more minutes pressed against his warm, strong body was heavenly. Such tender moments were gems.

Now James reached toward her neck. Startled, Khym felt the tug of his fingers against the buckle. Panic rose in her. Master never removed her collar unless he was very angry. It was the essential symbol of their relationship. She struggled to understand.

"Please Master, no! What did I do?" She reached to grab at his wrist.

"Hush," James said sternly. He swatted her hand away. "Close your eyes. Stand up."

Khym obeyed, closing her eyes and letting James tug her to a standing position. With his finger still looped through the buckle, he led her blindly forward. She felt the tile of the bathroom against her feet. "Master, I don't-"

"Shhhhhhhhh." James quieted her. He loosened the buckle and slid the collar from the girl's neck.

She heard a heavy slap as the collar fell away, accompanied by a crinkling of plastic. James had thrown it into the trash. Khym struggled to control her panic. Frantically, she reviewed their session, her time together with James. He had corrected her, of course. But nothing about his demeanor had suggested he was displeased with her. Where had she gone wrong? Her body began to shake.

"Hold your hair up," James said.

Khym obeyed quickly, lifting her heavy black tresses up and away.

"You have such a slender, delicate neck," James said. He was close behind her, his breath hot in her ear. "You've earned this."

Something cold touched her neck, first in the back, then both sides. James's rough fingers touched her as well, busy with something at her throat.

"Open your eyes."

Khym gasped. The new collar was achingly beautiful. The band was silver, wrapped in a seemingly random, serpentine manner by a delicate gold wire, little more than a thread. In the spaces in between, the band had been carved with tiny orchids, her favorite flower. In width and weight, the collar was halfway between a choker and the slave collar that James had just removed. It was too heavy to be mistaken for a conventional choker, but not obviously a totem of submission. James hadn't fastened it yet.

"Oh, oh Master." Khym's heart swelled with relief, and with pure joy. "It's so beautiful! It's the most perfect thing I've ever seen. Orchids!" She was almost sobbing.

"It isn't complete." James regarded her seriously. Still standing behind her, he reached a hand to her throat. Where the opposite sides of the collar met, he attached a small, but serious-looking lock. It snapped shut with a solid click. They faced each other through the mirror. James held up a small ring with two keys. "I keep these," he said flatly.

Overflowing with joy, Khym admired the collar in the mirror. No one would mistake it for a trinket, she was sure. Anyone who saw it on her, anyone who had any clue about the indescribable bond between master and slave, would know she was owned. It was a treasure. Running her fingers across the front, Khym spotted something. There was a series of engraved stripes of different widths. A barcode.

James noticed. "Get your phone," he said. It was hard to be sure, but he might have been, almost, smiling.

Khym eagerly darted to get her smartphone, the wave of panic already forgotten. James showed her how to scan the code with her phone's camera. A website opened.

Slave registry, the site proudly declared. Where masters mark their property! Beneath the header was a panel with the details:

Master: James C.

Slave: Khym L.

Collared and claimed: August 2020

Khym flung herself against James, hugging her master with all of her strength. She was crying. "Oh Master," she said. "Thank you, oh thank you."

James stroked her hair tenderly. "You're truly mine now," he said. "My property."

"I am, yes!" Khym's tears ran freely, down her cheeks and onto James's chest. She inhaled his scent. "You own this worthless slut."

Something brushed her thigh. Uncharacteristically, James was getting hard again, less than half an hour after their session. She would show him her appreciation, show him her attentiveness.

Khym sank to her knees.

***

"Okay, three more extensions. Two more! Stretch as far as you can. Farther!"

Brooke paced aggressively along the line of mats, exhorting the class of mostly young, fit women. Some she passed by, nodding in appreciation or complimenting them on their form. Some she offered encouragement. "You can do it, Jessica! Plank, thirty more seconds. C'mon!"

Khym always seemed to require hands-on instruction.

"Keep that back straight," Brooke said. The blonde stopped and knelt, resting her hand on the small of Khym's back. "Yes, that's it. Nice!" The next time down the line she offered another minor tweak to Khym's form. "Legs just a touch farther apart, Khym." Brooke slipped a hand between her student's thighs. "Just like that."

"Yes, Brooke," Khym said, eager to please her instructor. At the encouragement of one of her yoga classmates, Khym had signed up for a series of 'yoga fusion' classes. Combining yoga and mat pilates, the class was intended to both stretch and strengthen. Invariably, by the end of each class, Khym was pleasantly exhausted.

"You did well tonight, Khym." Brooke had found her in the studio's little changing area.

Khym finished tugging a fresh t-shirt over her skimpy yoga top. Brooke had a reputation for being intense and focused. The same qualities that made her a good instructor bled into her physical presence. Her severe blonde braid and bright green eyes could be unsettling up close. The two were close now.

"Th-thank you," Khym stuttered. Brooke's confident sexuality was equally unsettling and inviting. When she put her hands on Khym was it merely good instruction, or something more? Khym blushed at the thought.

The instructor held her eyes just a moment longer than was comfortable before fixing on the collar at Khym's throat. "That's lovely," she said, the trace of a knowing smile on her lips. "I don't remember seeing it before."

"It's new, thanks," Khym said. The attention gave her a spark of pleasure. Brooke was standing close enough to kiss. Today the blonde wore a sport top with straps across a single shoulder. The other shoulder was flagrantly bare, as was a wide expanse of the instructor's flat belly. Khym was almost afraid to look at how round Brooke's ass looked in her yoga tights.

"Did your boyfriend give it to you?" The blonde reached out to inspect the collar, her fingers brushing and lingering against Khym's neck. She touched the engraved code.

"My..." Khym stumbled over the words. No other man could own her, but James wasn't exactly her boyfriend. "A friend, yes."

"Mmm," Brooke said, clearly intrigued by the collar. The woman's physical presence was unnerving. Brooke was taller than Khym, plainly athletic, and in a severe way, beautiful, with high cheekbones and a pronounced chin. "It's custom?"

Although James hadn't said so, Khym was sure the collar was, in fact, custom made. Not only the orchids carefully worked into the design, but the fit itself said as much. It was just snug enough against Khym to remind her of its presence, and to highlight the hollows of her neck. Any tighter and it would be uncomfortable. Any looser and it wouldn't feel like part of her.

"Yes, Brooke."

"Your friend has good taste," Brooke said, then, after a pause, "in jewelry and women." She glanced at Khym, a small twist to her smile. "I'd like a photo if you don't mind."

Not waiting for assent, the blonde lifted her phone.

***

"What's wrong?"

The aimless and self-absorbed young woman that James had met almost half a year earlier was gradually melting away. Khym had been given a promotion at her work, and had begun to consider grad school. With James giving her the direction and control she needed in the bedroom, the young woman was more focused, self-confident, and relaxed elsewhere in her life. She was much less likely to overreact or become defensive. All of this made her recent mood difficult for James to understand.

"I... what?" Khym had been staring off into nowhere.

"Something's on your mind."

The brunette turned to her plate, toying with the Thai noodles that she had barely touched. Thursdays were one of the pair's most enjoyable rituals. James would bring carryout food, the two would catch up on their respective weeks, they would shower together, then hit the bed for an intense session. Tonight Khym was somewhere far away. For a moment, James thought she would evade the question. She surprised him.

"I told you about the instructor at the yoga studio, the one that teaches fusion?" Khym was eyeing him carefully, looking for a reaction.

"Yeah. Said you liked her."

"The class is really good, yeah."

"Buuuuuuut?" James said, drawing out the single word into a question.

"Well..." Khym started. "Well, here." She slid her phone across the table. On screen was a text conversation.

Evening Khym.

Hi. Who is this?

Brooke. Your number is on file at the studio. Hope you don't mind.

Oh. It's okay.

Good! How are you doing tonight?

Good, thanks.

The texts were dated from the evening before. One day after Khym's Tuesday night class.

I noticed you aren't signed up for any more fusion classes.

Oh. I got a deal on a ten-pack last time. I'm waiting for another deal.

Thought maybe it was me, lol.

No, I like the class.

Just the class?

Lol. Everyone in the class, too?

Anyway, I thought maybe you'd be interested in a private lesson.

Private? At the studio?

My place. You and me.

James studied the time stamps. At this point in the exchange Khym paused more than a minute before responding.

Not sure I'm ready. For private lessons, I mean.

Oh Khym, I think you're ready. I could teach you so much in just one night.

Let me think about it.

I'm sure James wouldn't mind.

James raised his eyes from the phone to Khym, who looked back nervously. "She saw the collar, right?"

"Yes," Khym said. "Was that okay?"

"Yes, yes," James assured her. "That's the purpose of the collar, Khym, so others will know you're mine." He turned back to the phone. Again, Khym had paused before replying to Brooke.

You saw?

Of course, Khym. I think it's hot.

Oh.

This weekend?

Let me think about it.

I don't think you understand what I'm offering.

James gawked in disbelief at the selfie that Brooke had sent. In it, the instructor stood topless in what presumably was her bedroom. She was looking confidently into the camera, a sly twist to her smile. Her tight, blonde braid was flipped forward to rest between firm breasts. Even in the dim light of the room, traces of muscle were visible on her neck and shoulders. Her belly was taut. Brooke was athletic and fit, and like Khym herself, unmistakably sexy. Behind her on the bed lay a young woman tangled in the sheets and seemingly asleep. Even out of focus and in the dim light, James could see she was naked, her brown hair in a tangle.

I think I wore her out. Lol.

A storm of conflicting emotions shot through James. The boldness of the woman was appalling. Even knowing Khym had a master, she had pushed hard for a date. Brooke hadn't even kept up the facade of yoga instruction. Assuming Khym had firmly said no, what would Brooke do once the two were together again at the studio? He would have to put an end to it.

But he was also aroused. Brooke was undeniably sexy. She would have caught James's eye regardless. He took her to be in her early thirties, but with the obvious care she gave her body, the blonde could easily pass for younger. The topless selfie, including the clearly spent young woman on the bed, was erotic as well. It reinforced Brooke's image as a dominant and confident lover. Hundreds of women must pass through the studio every year. James began to wonder how many of them Brooke had seduced and bedded. His cock swelled as he kept reading.

Oh. I'm flattered, Brooke, but I'm not a lesbian.

Of course not. But all women are bi, Khym. Wouldn't you like to find out what it feels like to be touched by another woman? To touch her?

I'm really sorry.

I understand, but I'll see you at the studio sooner or later. I'm used to getting what I want, Khym.

James had reached the end of the text conversation. "I'm glad you showed this to me," he said.

Khym had her face down, but looked up. "I don't know what I should do."

"You said no to her. I'm proud."

The brunette smiled weakly. "She won't let it go, will she?"

"No," James admitted. As much was obvious. To a competitive woman like Brooke, being turned down would only fuel her interest. A harsher rejection might have solved the problem, but such extremes weren't in Khym's nature. Plus, James thought he spotted something else in Khym's expression. He scrolled up to Brooke's photo before turning the phone back toward Khym. "Do you like this photo?"

Khym glanced at the photo, then back to James. "What? I-"

"The photo," James said, firmly. "Tell me one thing you like about it."

Uncomfortably, Khym looked back at the photo. After a few nervous glances back at James, she had an answer. "The other girl."

"What do you feel when you look at the other girl?"

Again, Khym studied the photo. "She looks... drained."

"But what do you feel, Khym? When you see the other girl."

"I feel..." she trailed off. As before, Khym twisted her fingers together anxiously.

James groaned. "Here," he said. James motioned Khym to stand, and led her to the couch. He sat, while his slave remained standing. "Take your leggings off."

Khym scrambled to obey, tugging off the tight garment while James eyed her cooly.

"Spread your legs."

Again, Khym obeyed, parting her thighs. Her bare slit was at James's eye level.

Casually, James explored the lips of Khym's slit. As he had suspected, there was more than a trace of dampness. The older man slipped in his middle finger without difficulty, as Khym let out a small gasp. "You're wet."

"Yes, Master."

"So I'm going to ask you again, what do you feel when you look at the other girl." James worked his finger all the way in, turning it slightly back and forth to coat it with the girl's slickness.