Sharing Khym

"I feel wet, Master."

"Yes," James agreed. "It turns you on."

"Yes."

It turned James on, too. As undeniably sexy as Brooke was, it was the implied dynamic between her and her depleted partner that made the scene truly erotic. "You want to be her."

"No!" Khym said sharply. Her pussy tightened around James's finger. "No, I belong to you."

"But you want to feel like her, be used to the point of exhaustion." James began to pump Khym's pussy as she stood before him, trembling. "So drained that you collapse, lost to the world."

For a time, either because she feared the answer, or due to James's fingering, Khym said nothing. At last she replied. "Master, that photo, I do- fuck!" James had slipped in another finger. "I do feel that way," she panted. "I feel that way with you."

"Would you like to feel that way with Brooke?" James asked. "Don't lie to me, Khym."

Again, the brunette paused before answering. She was deliciously slick, the tremble turning into a shudder. "Yes, yes," she groaned. "With you, with her... oh fuck."

James had just one more question before he would allow his slave to tumble into the orgasmic abyss.

"What sports does she play?"

***

"I'll take a cue sheet."

Brooke gazed at James with minimal interest before handing him a sheet of paper. Cue sheets were used on group bicycle rides to tell riders which direction to turn, at what distance, etc.

"I haven't seen you here before," she said. Brooke, James, and a handful of other riders were gathered in a parking lot prior to leaving en masse for the day's training loop.

"My first time," he said, smiling blandly. "Looks like a great day for a ride."

Brooke sized him up. "Yes," she said. "It'll be nice." Then she added, as if an afterthought, "A couple of us ride pretty hard. I hope that's okay."

"No problem," James said. "I'll join you for a while if you don't mind. If we end up going at a different pace, no big deal."

James fetched his bike from his car and waited for the ride to start. He was wearing a pair of baggy shorts more appropriate for mountain biking, a well-worn pair of gloves, and a loose-fitting t-shirt which he usually wore to the gym. Brooke, by contrast, wore a pair of snug cycling shorts with the ends turned up to reveal more of her long, fit legs. On top she wore a seemingly new, sleeveless jersey which hugged her athletic torso. The blonde had unzipped the front just enough to allow an enticing view of her cleavage. When James wheeled his bike alongside her, she didn't bother to hide her disinterest.

"Hey, I thought we might chat for a few minutes, before you drop me, that is." James kept up his naive smile.

The blonde shook her head almost imperceptibly. "I'm here with friends," she said. "We usually ride as a group."

James had anticipated her reluctance. "But today I think you'll want to ride with me for a while." Using his phone, he showed her the topless selfie that Brooke had sent to Khym.

Brooke lost her composure for just a moment, staring blankly first at the photo, then James. She nodded slowly before yelling over her shoulder at the rest of the cyclists. "Hey," she said, "I'm going to ride with the new guy for a bit, give him some tips on the route. I'll catch up!"

Some of the blonde's friends gave her quizzical looks, but obediently started without her. Only after they were out of sight did James and Brooke pedal onto the road.

"You're James," Brooke said flatly. She made a show of running her eyes over him. "I expected somebody younger." The battle between the two was underway.

"Did you?" James said, grinning. He set a deliberately slow pace, assuring that Brooke's friends would get ever farther in front of the pair. "I hope you're not disappointed."

Brooke kept a wheel ahead of James as if trying to urge him forward. "Not disappointed," she said. "Just don't particularly care."

"Obviously. That's why you're riding back here with me."

She flashed him an irritated glance. "Why are you here, James?"

"I thought we'd talk about Khym."

"Okay, talk about her." Brooke kicked her pedals, surging ahead of James. When he didn't take the bait, she slowed again.

"She's mine," James said, no longer smiling.

Brooke shrugged. "You can have her back when I'm done." She turned to James, a sly smile on her face. "Maybe I'll teach her a few things."

"Maybe I'll teach you a few things." It was James's turn to make a hungry sweep of Brooke's body.

"Oh, please!" Brooke laughed, practically snorting. "Play in your own pond. Isn't there a senior citizens' dating site, or something?"

"You're afraid you'd like it."

"I've had dick," Brooke laughed. She was enjoying herself now, no longer trying to pull ahead. "Done with it now."

"I bet you are," James said. "Bet you liked it, but women are more to your taste."

"Absolutely," Brooke said. She licked her lips. "Khym can tell you all about it once we're through."

"You like women more because they don't challenge you like men do."

"That's bullshit," Brooke said.

"No it isn't," James replied. "Men are stronger than women. That extends into the bedroom. You like being in control, and you're bi, so you pursue women."

'No, I like women because they aren't assholes!" She shot him a venomous look. "And women are just as strong as men."

It was James's turn to snort. "Yeah, okay."

"We're back here because of your slow ass," Brooke said angrily. "Your old, slow ass."

James didn't need to look at the cue sheet to know the route. The two riders were almost to the foot of a climb which dominated the first third of the route. After that was the twisting descent, and a long, flat run-in to the finish. By now he was nicely warmed-up, and Brooke's friends were miles in front of them.

"Make you a deal," James said.

"What?" snapped Brooke.

"Let's race."

The blonde let out a strained laugh. "Okay, sure. I mean, I'll crush you." She shook her head. "What are we racing for?"

"Khym, of course. You win, and I won't get in the way. You can keep asking her until she gives in. Her decision."

"So, by next weekend then." Again, Brooke licked her lips suggestively. "And if you somehow win?"

"So you admit I might then?" James said.

"Not really," Brooke said, pretending to be interested in her nails.

"If I win then I set the terms. Take 'em or leave 'em. If you don't like the terms then you agree not to touch Khym, or talk to her outside of the classroom. Ever." That his terms would require all three sharing a bed, he kept to himself.

"You know you're, like, a thousand years old, right?"

"And you know you're a chick, right?"

"So, we're racing then?"

"Anytime," James said, waving Brooke forward with an exaggerated sweep of his hand.

"See ya!"

The two were racing. Brooke stood on her pedals, shooting out in front of James, who tucked in behind her. He stayed on her wheel for the next mile, saving his energy, but the strategy didn't last. At the foot of the climb James geared down and settled in for a long grind, while Brooke danced out of the saddle, easily pulling away from him. The older man was briefly treated to a view of the yoga instructor's tight, round ass and long legs, but soon Brooke was little more than a dot. After the first turn, she was out of sight.

James settled into the climb. Of course Brooke was faster. In addition to being at least twenty years younger than him, she had a slender, light build suited to climbing. Unlike James, who was bulkier in the shoulders, chest, and arms, Brooke carried little extra muscle. She was fit and strong, but not heavy of limb. She would beat James to the top of the climb without difficulty. Whether he would be able to make up the lost time was the real question.

Not that he hadn't planned. By slowing Brooke down for so long, he had limited the possibility that either of them would catch the rest of the group any time soon. Brooke wouldn't have her friends there to help her on the descent, or the long flat finish. Winds were forecast later. A lightweight rider like Brooke would be battered by them, whereas a heavier rider like James could power through.

Still, the climb weighed on him. Before long, James found himself in his lowest gear, laboring against gravity, against the years. Sweat poured from under his helmet, stinging his eyes. His heart and lungs begged for mercy. Just slow down, they urged. Ease up! He refused to.

Finally, he spotted a rider ahead of him. It was one of Brooke's friends, struggling like him, nearly broken by the climb. Inch by inch he gained on her. James wondered if Brooke had shared anything in passing with the young woman? Had she given some clue that she and James were racing? The rider's face, when he finally caught her, revealed nothing besides the shared pain of tackling the climb.

The catch boosted his energy. Like Brooke had, James stood on the pedals, gutting out the last mile at full effort. When he reached the top he groaned in fatigue.

"Fuck," he said, squandering a lung full of air.

The descent offered little reprieve. Turns which pedaling uphill were easily negotiated, were perilous at high speeds. Too often, James found himself braking aggressively, or overcooking, shooting dangerously near the edge. He cursed his own arrogance. Certainly, he was an experienced rider, but would experience, and some small advantage in male biology suffice?

It wasn't until he reached the flats that James began to regain confidence. First was the trio of riders that he caught and passed at the foot of the descent. All three had settled into a plodding, sustainable pace that signaled exhaustion. They would reach the finish, but without power. Brooke had claimed they rode together as a group, but plainly the group had fractured.

Gradually his speed increased. James shifted onto the big chainring, accelerating despite the unpredictable crosswinds. He felt powerful and alive, in control of his bike and his body. The miles flew by. Deep into an aero tuck, James knifed into the wind as he caught and passed another cluster of riders.

He caught her with two miles to go. Rounding a curve, James spotted Brooke, pushing hard, but inelegantly. Her elbows were poking out awkwardly, and the bike rocked erratically beneath her. Her back rose and fell. The woman was either at the point of exhaustion, buffeted by the winds, or both. Nearing his own limits, James closed ground.

The older man tucked-in behind his rival, sheltering in her draft for several minutes before she noticed. When she finally looked back at him, Brooke's expression was feral. With a near snarl, the blonde punched the pedals, and once more shot away. The effort was short lived. Less than thirty seconds later James caught her again.

"Oh, hi," James said, trying to feign confidence. He pulled alongside Brooke. The blonde only grimaced at him, a fleck of spittle on her lip. "I thought you'd already be at the finish," he panted. "Having a soy, nutberry latte or something."

The taunt was ill advised. James was already at his limit, having chased down Brooke over the last half of the course. Luckily, it worked. The much younger blonde again dug deep, stamping on the pedals of her bike to surge ahead. Desperately, James clung to her wheel, barely able to hang on. Only when Brooke sagged against her bike did he know he'd won. With the last of his strength, James drove steadily forward, first dropping, then distancing Brooke. Broken, she quickly fell behind.

James was still trying to catch his breath when his competitor rolled into the parking lot. He didn't bother to conceal his fatigue, leaning on his handlebars, and pouring the last of his water down his back. Brooke, he could tell, was even worse off. The blonde practically threw her bike down and flopped onto the nearby grass, struggling to breathe. Only after several minutes did she look up.

"Fuck!" Brooke swore. She tugged off her sunglasses, revealing bright, green eyes. At some point she had almost completely unzipped her jersey to expose a plain, but sexy sports bra. Drops of sweat ran across and between her breasts. If she was bothered by James's eyes on her body, she said nothing.

"You're a strong rider, I'll admit." James stretched, keeping an appraising eye on Brooke. "But I think I made my point."

"Yeah, yeah, enough." Brooke raised her hand. "I get it." Her breath still came ragged. The blonde didn't quite meet his eyes. Some of the other riders were beginning to pull into the parking lot.

Satisfied by the workout, and certain that he had blunted Brooke's aggressive pursuit of Khym, James turned away. He lifted his bike to the roof rack on his car, fastened it, and prepared to pull out. Before he could put his car into gear, Brooke found him.

The blonde leaned into James's car window, once again providing him with a tantalizing view of her cleavage. Her braid flopped forward. Brooke paused briefly before letting the question slip out. "What terms?"

"What?"

"You said I'd either leave Khym alone, or accept your terms. What are they?" Her earlier defiance was gone, but Brooke's eyes still burned with desire.

James tried to conceal his surprise. He had assumed that Brooke would be completely opposed to the idea of accepting terms. The revelation opened enticing possibilities. James let his eyes wander boldly over the blonde's body before responding.

"I'll text you."

***

It's James.

It was Monday evening, just two days after the training ride. James was relaxing at home, listening to jazz, and sipping scotch. If he was any judge, Brooke would still be stinging from her loss, but hopefully, curious about what he might ask of her.

Hi James.

I have the terms.

Right to it, I see.

You'd prefer some small talk first?

I just stepped out of the shower. Naked. Just a sec.

It was, James thought, an odd statement. He wondered how Brooke would look, naked and wet, water dripping from her body. Was she flirting with him? Less than a minute later, she texted again.

Okay. Your terms.

One night only.

That's it? That's your terms?

That's the first one. Whatever happens, it's only one night.

Okay, agree, but Khym will want another.

Separate conversation. Right now, the agreement is one night only.

Okay. What else?

It ends when any of us say so. You, me, Khym.

K. What else?

I have you before you have Khym.

It was James's gambit, the one piece without which the rest meant nothing. He had no interest in sharing Khym, but the idea of taming Brooke was irresistible. Long seconds ticked by without a response. James began to wonder if the instructor would reply at all. For all he knew she had flung down the phone in disgust. She hadn't.

I have terms, too, James.

That one isn't negotiable.

You can watch.

I will. I'll be there the entire time, Brooke. Khym is mine. That means I look after her.

You'll watch me have my way with Khym?

After she watches me have my way with you. I'll take you the same way I take her.

You're not my master.

One night, Brooke. We both want something here.

Again, the blonde paused before replying.

You won't collar me.

Fine. Obey me, surrender yourself to me for one night. I won't need to collar you.

K. What else?

James's head spun. The imposing, but beautiful and erotically charged woman had just agreed to give herself to him as his slave for an evening of sexual exploration. For a moment he forgot what else he had meant to ask for, but rallied.

You don't punish Khym without my permission.

I wouldn't dream of it.

You said you had terms?

Yes. I'll bring some toys.

Like...

Feel good toys. She'll like them, I promise.

I'll need to approve each one.

K. She'll call me Mistress.

You call me Master, she calls you Mistress.

Fuck.

What?

Brooke sent a picture. She was reclining in bed, naked. The camera was pointed down, pulled back just far enough to include a view of her modest, but firm breasts. Farther down, between spread legs, she had curled two fingers into her slit. James was stunned.

You've been doing this?

You aren't hard?

He was. The more the reality of the impending encounter sunk home, the wilder and more graphic his fantasies became.

Very.

Something else occurred to James.

When's the last time you had dick?

I have toys.

But when's the last time you had the real thing?

Three years.

I'll be ready to end that streak. You understand that, right?

This isn't a trade, James. I'm not going to let you fuck me just so I can have Khym.

We already agreed on this.

What I mean is you'll have to earn it. If you're as strong in bed as you are on the bike then you can take what you want.

James's cock twitched, struggling against his jeans for room to expand.

Next Saturday?

Next Saturday. I'm already wet.

***

"Nice place you have here."

Brooke breezed into the suite, her eyes swiftly taking in the clever kitchenette, well appointed sitting area, and wall of windows. Just as James had done upon checking in, she peered out at the city lights. "Looks... expensive."

"It's only money," James said, with a dismissive smile. Splurging for the luxury hotel suite had been an easy decision. The older man sank into the room's most comfortable lounger. He watched, relaxed, as Brooke completed her circuit, trailing her hands across the furniture and drapes. The blonde was dressed in loose, drawstring pants, a plain black sport top, and, incongruously, an open jean jacket. James didn't hide his appreciation.

Brooke turned to face him, slouching against a window. "Where's Khym?"

"Bedroom of course." James waved a hand toward the closed door to the suite's bedroom and bath. "Anyway, you and I have a few things to discuss first. Relax."

"Sure," Brooke said. She practically vaulted over the back of the sofa to face James. "Talk."

"Would you like a drink?"

It wasn't the question Brooke was expecting. "I'm not a big drinker," she said.

"You don't have to be a big drinker to have one drink," James said. He rose. "I'll make you one."

Brooke watched curiously as James poured two drinks. "You brought that bottle from home?" she asked.

"I did." He returned, handing a modest pour of caramel-colored spirit to Brooke. "Minibar scotch is awful."

The blonde held the glass to her nose. "What makes you think I drink scotch?"

"You do," James said. "Khym drinks rosé. Yoga girls drink rosé. You don't drink rosé."

Brooke laughed. "Okay," she said. She held it to her nose a second time, then took a sip. "Mmmm," she said. "Yeah, that's nice."

"What's your safeword," James asked.

"Wow, right to it," Brooke said, but not without a smile.

"I did offer you a drink first."

"Artichoke," Brooke said.

"That's your safeword? It has the word 'choke' in it," James pointed out.

"Kinky, right?"

It was James's turn to laugh. "I like it."

Brooke's eyes took in James. "You clean up nicely," she admitted.

In fact, James had chosen his attire carefully. He typically changed out of his professional wardrobe as quickly as he could, preferring to spend his evenings and weekends in shorts or jeans, but today had dressed in lightweight wool trousers, a crisp white dress shirt, and an understated tie.

"All of my ratty t-shirts are in the wash."

Brooke smiled again. "What are we doing right now, James?"