Tourists

Chazy, by contrast, seems socially adept and relational. Yes, she's complimentary and it's clear now she really does enjoy seeing our two males in this state, but that novel (to her) erotic situation hasn't overridden her social sense. She is appreciative of the chance to observe and genuinely curious as to the range and variety of sexual uses they are available to serve. Yet even in her curiosity, she remains politely deferential to our prior plans and sensitive that her unexpected arrival not unduly interfere with our superior claims to the use and enjoyment of this 'nice pair.' She also seems a bit embarrassed by Brenda's lack of perspective in that regard.

In short, while Brenda is off on her solo quest for travel souvenirs, Chazy demonstrates an intuitive understanding of the feminine camaraderie that underlies the deeper gratifications of the sport.

I have a sudden urge to do something nice to acknowledge her good sense.

"Chaz, Chazy," I say, giving her a warm smile, "is that short for...?"

"It's Charlise," she says with a quick tilt of her head. "which I actually like. But if I tell people Charlise, it always winds up 'Charlie', which people think is cute but I hate. So, Chazy;" she shrugs and laughs, "self defense."

"Charlise then." Astare says from her other side.

She and I exchange silent glances. I nod. She nods.

"What?" Charlise asks, looking from one side to the other.

"Is there anything you might enjoy or be interested in before you go?" I ask.

"With them, you mean?" she asks me, then turns to Astare, "Have them do, you mean?"

"Sure." Astare says with smile. "If something interests you, or maybe you'd enjoy doing yourself if you..."

"No, I'm good just watching." she says quickly. "I mean, thanks, but mostly I was just curious about..." she breaks off distractedly, her eyes straying back out to where Brenda has my husband in that prone, legs spread, hips raised position. She's kneeling up close between his legs holding the camera up with one hand, reaching forward with the other, trying to get pictures as she toys with his balls. 'There. That's my hand.' I imagine her telling her friends proudly as she shares the shots with them.

"Something you'd enjoy watching then." I suggest.

"Uhm, yeah." she says a bit vaguely, then, "I mean," she gains a little color, "I do like watching. I'm not pretending I don't. But you had your own..."

"Come on then." Astare says sweetly. "Brenda's got enough to remember them by. Let's get comfortable on the blanket and see if we can't come up with something you'd like."

"But I don't want to be..." she starts.

"Oh, please." I cut her off easily. "Just join us for a bit. The males are here to entertain. Let's get some better use of them."

"The 'males'." Charlise echoes with a sniff, shakes her head, amused; relents. "Well, okay, but only for a bit. Our bus leaves at 1:30 so we don't have..."

"Splendid." Astare purrs.

Brenda seems confused by the sudden termination of her photo session when we order the males to get busy and finish the last preparations for our picnic. She does accept a glass of wine but otherwise settles down cross legged on the blanket, head down, scrolling back and forth through the pictures she's taken as Mathew and Greg open the umbrella and take various items out of the coolers for our lunch.

The four of us form a circle on the blanket. Astare and I recline on some of the gathered cushions. Charlise sits on the blanket nearby with her legs tucked under, looking comfortable, somewhat pensive but very alert, her gaze following the males attentively as they move about.

"So you were saying about later," Charlise says, looking up at Greg as he approaches carrying an ice bucket with a second uncorked bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio for us, "you'd have them kind of" she pauses a moment as Greg leans down to deposit the wine within convenient reach, "work themselves till they're" another pause as Greg straightens back up. I see her eyes flit from his penis up to his face then back again before he turns away to continue his assigned duties, "work so they're just about to come. I know what edging means so..." she waves away the rest, "But you would just make them do that, and what, just watch?" She turns to me, "You said tell them you wanted a show." she recounts.

I nod. "Yeah. At least if that's what we decide we want." I answer. "It was just a first suggestion. We can do as we please with them. But in a setting like this, especially with a new male to use," I see her expression; she looks slightly puzzled, so explain that, "It's my first time using Greg, and Mathew is new to Astare."

"Oh, yeah, you said." Charlise says with a nod. "But so, you mean like you really..." her eyes scanning across the way to the two males then back and forth between Astare and I.

"Just met." I finish for her, "Over dinner last night actually."

"So these guys are, like, 'new' new." she raises a brow, a bemused smile and shake of her head, then settles her gaze on me, "So with new guys," she pauses, then, "males" she clarifies with a sniff, then makes sarcastic air quotes, "to use" but she's smiling, "making them edge themselves is a good use for new males."

"Well," I smile at her affectionately, "no one is making them do anything. But yes, at least for me. I like it anyway. It keeps the males busy so the women can focus on enjoying each others' company while we tease or ignore them as the mood strikes; puts it on them to keep it entertaining. But with a new male, especially in a setting like this where it's not busy like it gets with a larger group of women all sharing or competing for their attention, I can take my time and make them work and perform just for me, show me how eager and excited they are for it and why they deserve to empty their balls for me..."

"Jesus," Charlise is laughing, shaking her head, "you're fucking seriously into this."

"Well, yes," I agree, "but I also love just talking about it."

"I can tell." she snorts.

Brenda's head is still down scrolling through her pictures, she seems hardly to be listening.

But Charlise is frowning thoughtfully as she watches Mathew approach carrying a tray of finger sandwiches.

"So, they do get to come." she says as he comes to stand over us just outside our little circle. As with Greg I note she is not at all shy about showing her interest, her gaze focused attentively up between Mathew's legs as if trying to ground the conversation visually. "I mean, you let them come at some point, or not?" she asks, her chin lifting and eyes narrowing slightly in concentration.

I sit up quickly and lift my hands to take the tray from Mathew before he leans to set it down, keeping him upright, and "Stay." I instruct to keep him where he is. Then, "We insist upon it." I answer Charlise. "The game is, we decide when and how and they need to be ready to comply whenever and however it's asked for."

"It's really more for them than us." Astare interjects. "I mean, it is fun to watch them edge; see that look on their faces as their penises and bodies beg to be allowed to finish, that little shudder and exhale as it passes and they start working it again, always hoping this time, oh please," she says melodramatically and laughs, "maybe this time they get to come. But what Laura was saying earlier about putting it on them to keep us entertained, that's the sweet spot. She and I are here to enjoy the gardens and have a pleasant picnic lunch. The males are for scenery and erotic ambiance. Like nice live piano music over dinner at a restaurant; not meant to drown out conversation, but enjoyable to pay attention to off and on, worth a polite round of applause now and again for a particularly nice number." She's laughing again, "But for them, they absolutely live for their chance to perform, have our attention and interest, the good ones at least."

I am pleased to see that throughout this soliloquy Charlise has been intently examining the particular naked and erect male standing over us listening. That he happens to be my husband and well worth her attention on purely erotic/aesthetic grounds, triggers that familiar proprietary pride and arousal that always enhances my already potent urges to share and see him used for sport by other appreciative women.

"The good ones at least," I echo Astare's sentiment and reach a hand up between my husband's open legs, "like this one." I say and jounce his balls playfully with a flick of my fingers.

"Yes, Laura." Mathew exhales in a sharp whisper, his hips coming further forward to offer himself, his penis flexing.

I glance quickly across at Astare who sits opposite me. Her smile and a quick nod tells me she approves, is interested in seeing where I take this.

It is only now that Brenda manages to pull her head out of her digital anus...

Sorry. But for all that we encouraged her to do it as a way to prod and toy with the males, I can't help but feel an aesthetic contempt for the mental and emotional absorption in 'documentation' of experiences our digital addictions foster; the process of 'capturing' the place, mood or moment replacing life with its vicarious reflection in the curated vacuum of an Instagram post.

Anyway, Brenda does look up and notice my husband there. But, presumably, finding the perspective offered of his genitals already adequately documented by her earlier images, quickly drops her gaze to the platter of finger sandwiches which is of more immediate interest to her.

"You gotta see some of these." she says somewhat absently to Charlise, hefting her camera vaguely in our direction as her eyes scan the sandwiches.

Charlise winces slightly, ignores the comment itself, but offers, "We just met, too." she explains with a meaningful dart of her eyes in Brenda's direction.

"Ah." I respond with raised eyebrows, "I get it."

"Yes." She smiles wanly. But then her eyes go back up between my husband's legs and, "So, you were saying, like this one." she prompts.

"Yes, this one." I purr lifting my hand to flick my husband's balls again, pleased by their now somewhat restricted jounce in the sack, showing me his mounting excitement and arousal at my staging him this way for the curious new woman. "You heard what we were talking about." I say to him, "Edge and display. Show Charlise and Astare what you're good for."

He does.

"Yes, Laura. Thank you." A shudder in his chest, the pent breath of his anticipation released as he takes himself in hand.

From below this way in that open, hips forward stance, the view up between his legs as he works is a pornographic visual cliché; it's cock and balls and that fine clenching ass, his knees bending and thighs opening wider now and then in his quickly mounting excitement to 'show Charlise and Astare' as he strokes slowly from base to tip, his thumb behind and only the index and middle finger sweeping the shaft in front to offer a largely unobstructed view of the penis as it flushes and darkens.

It's the little things that so often deepen my pleasure in such moments; those nuances of tone and circumstance that frame and lend context to the exercise of my sexual entitlement. Even things that would seem distractions or annoyances, like Brenda's obliviousness, can enrich the experience.

Brenda does glance up at my husband briefly, but the lure of those sandwiches...

Astare, focused on Mathew, gropes for the platter in her peripheral vision, and drags it towards Brenda, says, "Help yourself."

There is something comical yet also grounding in Brenda's quiet absorption in selecting and devouring a finger sandwich as the male standing over us strokes and gasps as he climbs toward orgasm, pausing now and again, hand driven hard to the base, to accentuate the display of his throbbing penis as Brenda contentedly chews and considers whether to go with the tuna or the ham salad next.

It is, after all, food before sex in the hierarchy of survival. And as for sex, this is surely a Darwinian dead end. He doesn't even get to come if he does it right. Yet, I simply say 'show them' and, just look at him; such visceral, ball tightening desperation over something, in the end, entirely inconsequential; sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Just so, that sweet twinge of amusement and sexual superiority when Greg, seeing Mathew in use, approaches, hoping to be included. But Astare stops him a couple steps short with a raised, open hand, then, without taking her eyes from Mathew, shoos him with an impatient flick of her fingers and a clipt "Not now."

He looks momentarily so forlorn, standing there clutching his erection, meeting my gaze in mute appeal; really, it's so sweet. But sweeter still the way Astare affirms her prerogative with a sniff and to see him turn obediently away, that fine ass flexing as he walks off, a pretty, visual coda to his compliance.

As a proprietor, I am pleased by Astare's dismissal of Greg; her preference to focus on my husband without other distractions feels like an implicit compliment to his show quality. He works so earnestly to be worthy of it, looking back and forth between Astare and Charlise, making eye contact when they occasionally glance up from his cock to see his expression. I enjoy watching them watch as my husband does as he's been told, masturbating himself with their attention as much as that stroking hand.

His excitement mounts quickly now, his penis flushed dark, his balls pulled in to frame the thick root of his cock. I know the signs, that catch in his breathing, the change in his stroking, working just the top portion of the shaft now near the head to tease the frenulum and bring himself just to the edge without...

"Ah, fuhhck." His hand driven hard and tight to the base to clamp the root and keep it in his balls as the penis rears and twitches with ejaculatory dry heaves. "Ah, fuck," he says again his hips jerking reflexively as he meets Charlise's gaze.

Charlise smiles softly, her eyes dropping from his to his cock which she examines with an expression of bemused interest. She draws a deep breath, considering whatever it is she's considering, then glances around the circle at the rest of us as,

"Very nice." Astare says, lifting her wine glass in my direction in a small toast. "It'll be fun to try him myself later; tease him up to it slower. But that's a nice finish." She nods towards his still pulsing cock.

Brenda has her camera up snapping another picture and I notice Charlise shying away to be out of the frame.

"Hey, could you just..." Charlise says and waves the camera away, clearly not wanting to be any part of Brenda's Italy photoshoot.

"Enough pictures." I say, trying to restrain my irritation with Brenda whose digital voyeurism is now spoiling the mood for the real variety.

"Oh, sure." Brenda says, looking baffled, "Sorry." She lowers the camera, "Thought they didn't mind." she says lamely, defensive.

Charlise straightens back up, gives me a wry smile, "Thanks." she says softly, darting her eyes meaningfully in Brenda's direction. Then, "So, I can see having some fun with that." she says, her eyes swinging back up between my husband's legs.

I read her tone, her use of Astare's word; 'fun', and her deliberately calm manner as she scans my husband. She's mirroring the tone and demeanor set by Astare and I; trying, as a good guest, not to be intrusive or disruptive, but to join in and honor the spirit and ambiance of the occasion. She is not feigning interest. She clearly enjoys both the novelty (to her) and sexual aesthetics of my husband's display. But she's equally interested in and curious about the dynamic of shared feminine sexual dominance; what it's like to be 'one of the girls' who can induce and inspire, can command this sort of male obeisance. She wants to fit in, see how it's done, what it's like and whether it's worth exploring further at some other time.

Personally, I feel all women should have the opportunity to explore using males this way, if only as an antidote to the prevailing macho aesthetic. That may be a selfish wish on my part. I love having new playmates to share my husband and a variety of other males with. But I do have a bit of a crusading spirit about it too. I believe it's both healthy and cathartic for any woman, at least once, to take off the passive socio/sexual gloves and use a man, preferably more than one, as an aesthetic object for sexual entertainment.

All that to say, Charlise's demeanor calls forth my crusading spirit and when she asks...

"And you like keeping them on edge like this, at least you were thinking for today, that's how you'd do it, keep them ready to come but don't let them, at least till you're done with lunch. But then you make them, right?"

I decide she simply must have a come-shot to round out her first CFNM experience.

"Oh, it's nothing set in stone." I say with a short laugh. "They come when they're told to. The edging just assures they're prompt about it. Like I said earlier, it's fun keeping them guessing, hoping." I look up at my husband, "On your knees." I tell him.

"Yes, Laura." He moans softly and drops to his knees between Charlise and I on the blanket, quickly assumes position to present his genitals; knees splayed, back arched, hips forward, pelvis tipped upward so his cock points vertically, his balls lifted.

I leave him there, don't say anything right away as he looks from one to another of the women around him. I'm watching for Charlise's reaction to this rather abrupt, more intimate positioning. He is only a couple feet from where she sits, and she had earlier turned down the offer to handle them, and shied away from being included in Brenda's photo. But she doesn't shy away. She meets his gaze calmly when he looks her way, examining his expression with interest before dropping her gaze to his penis.

Astare is all smiles.

It is Brenda, on my other side, who looks uncomfortable, looking away when his gaze comes to hers, fidgeting with the camera in her lap. I realize the lens is her defense against anything too 'personal', a way to mediate the intimacy of a naked aroused and erect male offering himself for viewing this way, so close. Taking photos gives her agency, an 'excuse' beyond raw voyeurism; a busyness that shields her from acknowledging her own complicity as 'one of those women who get off watching this stuff.' She's just saving it all for posterity.

"Again, and keep yourself there." I instruct my husband.

Astare laughs delightedly. "Oh, no rest for the wicked." she taunts him gently.

I realize this is forcing things. He's driven himself very close to ejaculation and been given little time to come back from the edge. Add to that the command to drop to his knees and the excitement induced by displaying in this more intimate position. Even without teasing himself he might just come from the anticipation induced by the command to edge and display again. I half hope he does and can all but picture that lovely penis spasming and spurting helplessly, that expression of mixed release and apology as he bucks and groans,

"Yes, Laura." and shudders, his balls too tight now to jounce with that reflexive buck of his hips.

But as Astare observed earlier, he's been well groomed for service by me and many other women who have honed, conditioned and trained his pleasures to meet and answer theirs. He keeps it in his balls, but the deep flush and frantic twitching of his penis tell me it is a near run thing.

Charlise watches intently, her eyes narrowing, "He almost lost it." she snorts in amusement.

"Would you enjoy that?" I ask.

Her eyes come to mine. "Sure." she says looking surprised, "I mean, I thought you said that was for later and..." she stops herself, waves the rest away, "Like now you mean?"

I nod.

"Yeah, sure." she laughs, focuses on Mathew with fresh interest. "He'll just do it, huh?" she asks.