Tourists

"Ah, fuck Laura, yes." a whispered moan from my husband, his hand going back to his cock, beginning to slip slowly and lightly up and back the length of the shaft, thumb behind, two finger grazing the front, teasing himself in anticipation.

"He'll do as he's told." I say feeling that familiar pulse of pleasure in my cunt as I verbalize my entitlement to summon the semen from his balls at my whim to amuse my new friends. I look across at Astare, not because I think she will object, but for the pleasure of sharing the moment, making him wait just that little longer for the command that will answer his body's need as the 'committee' considers whether he's deserving of it.

"I suppose." Astare says with a mischievous smirk. "We've got another that'll still be fresh for later." she says with a toss of her head in Greg's direction.

I look across to where Greg stands a few yards off. I've glanced his way once or twice in the interim, seen him working his penis, pleasuring himself as he watched and listened from a distance. I can tell by the flush of his cock, the way his body shudders slightly, that pleading expression when he sees me looking at him, that the excitement of seeing us use my husband has got him worked up nicely.

Astare's off hand reference to a 'fresh one' for later reminds him she knows he's over there watching and listening and that we'll expect the same from him later. A woman after my own heart; using one male's ejaculation to taunt and prod another. They are so visually empathic that when edging themselves in a group the sight of one male's spurting will often trigger another and then another. It's cute how helpless they can be to shut it off when they see each other come. Greg should make an interesting sideshow as he dutifully strokes and watches.

"Wait," Brenda says looking back and forth between the two males, "are they gonna come now?" her hands fretting again with the camera in her lap.

Charlise frowns, pointedly ignoring Brenda, and misreading Astare's taunting of Greg as actual reticence, "Like I said, I don't mean to make you change your plans just for..." she begins, considerate as always.

"Don't be silly." Astare cuts her off gently. "there's no fixed plans, and I've been curious to see this one put out since dinner last night." she says meeting my husband's gaze meaningfully.

"Ah, fuck!" Mathew groans softly, his hand going still, he clutches his cock at the base, trying not to come until he's told.

The way he looks at me now is so perfect; just a word, a nod, the flick of my hand to grant his release and that penis will spasm and spurt. I love having other women see him this way, want to keep him there, pleading for the mercy of that final word or gesture that alone can render his ejaculation an act of compliance with and obeisance to the feminine will. He needs to come, yes, so badly. But even more he needs to feel and know it's demanded of and accepted from him as an act of submission.

I withhold grace. Let him watch me as I survey that pulsing penis in his grip with casual pleasure as Astare is saying,

"Besides, we don't want you missing your bus and after getting his hopes up like this," she pauses, waits for Mathew's anxious gaze to swing back and meet hers, "I think he'd be just so disappointed not to show you." she says sweetly.

It's a signal and trigger, of course; to any male in service, the feminine assertion of opinion or expectation in matters sexual, summons the visceral impulse to affirm the opinion or meet the expectation. The fact that it is a conditioned response only makes it more gratifying for both; the puppy who sits obediently when told, pleases his mistress but also basks in her approval for performing well. A skilled handler knows the requested performance must align with the natural tendencies and inclinations of the male; one cannot teach a puppy chess, but 'fetch' can be fun for the owner and exciting for a breed inclined to the chase.

Astare, a skilled handler familiar with the breed, frames the assertion to summon the impulse. My husband knows the performance expected. The urge, the need to do it was there already, straining at the leash. But the expectation intensifies the impulse and heightens his excitement to demonstrate to Charlise just how right Astare is about him and how 'disappointed' he would be if she left without seeing him ejaculate.

"Please." his voice tight, he shifts on his knees to face her directly, his hands falling away to hang at his side as he curls his pelvis under to present for her, "Let me, please. Let me come for you."

I see the sincerity of his plea in the hard clench of his ass as I watch from behind.

"You see?" Astare says in smug satisfaction, her eyes meeting mine in sisterly approval and enjoyment.

I nod to acknowledge the compliment, then look past Mathew to Charlise who, to my relief seems unruffled; wearing that same slightly bemused, curious expression, adjusting her glasses slightly on the bridge of her nose as she surveys him, considers. Her eyes shift slightly, meet mine.

"Say the word." I tell her, letting Mathew know the baton of prerogative over his release has now passed to Charlise.

"Ah, fuck." A reflexive buck of his hips, a hoarse "Please."

"Fine." Charlise sniffs, a slight shrug and smile, "Go on then, but," she twirls a finger at him, "that way." She directs him to turn back towards the middle of the circle.

I sense in that little twirl of her finger, the poise and self-possession of a natural sportswoman coming into her own. Whatever she may have known or guessed about the sport before stepping into our little alcove, having listened to and observed the sexual dynamic for less than an hour, she already exhibits both the confidence of entitlement and the ease of privilege in its exercise.

So she makes no grand gesture, no melodramatic pronouncement; a shrug, a smile, a slight twirl of her hand, a simple 'Go on then', and his semen shall be offered as directed. Charlise seems to grasp intuitively how to tap the deeper pleasures of imperium; we sip our wine and chat, enjoy the show at our leisure. The melodrama, the angst, the pleading and display, the visceral clench, buck and shudder of flesh under the tease and prod of whatever use we put them to; that is theirs to provide for our entertainment.

That little twirl of her hand... Welcome, Charlise, to the sisterhood.

Brenda, on the other hand, seems slightly alarmed when Mathew turns back in her direction. Her body draws back slightly, her eyes darting around the circle.

"So he's gonna come." she says or asks (not clear which, but either way) needlessly, her eyes dropping now to where Mathew's hand has begun to gently stroke and tease his already hypersensitive penis. "I mean..." she frets again with the camera in her lap.

"Yes." Charlise answers, then, looking to me, "I don't want to be in them, but I can just," she motions with her eyes towards Astare, "if Brenda wants pictures. Besides," she grins then turns and stretches out on her side on the blanket towards Astare, propped on an elbow, head resting on her hand, "better view from here." she says surveying Mathew from this new vantage.

"Ah, fuck, yes." Mathew rasps, his hand slipping to the base of his cock to display it to best advantage for Charlise, his gaze fixed on her as she eyes it.

"Very nice." Charlise says approvingly. Then, looking to me again, "Will he shoot it this far?" she asks. "I don't mind, just curious."

Which, predictably, makes my husband buck and moan, his knees splaying wider on the blanket.

Astare is laughing. "Fuck, girl, you are just the perfect tease, aren't you?" she compliments the new girl. "I think you're in the wrong tour group."

And we are all laughing now, except for Brenda who eyes my husband's penis with mild trepidation as he goes back to stroking it, as if worried he might, in fact, shoot his semen far enough to reach her.

Well, I consider, not without a twinge of pride in his ejaculatory show quality, he just might.

He could come very quickly now if it were only a matter of mechanics. But the effusion of semen is, in many ways, incidental to his need. Now that he knows it's wanted, the pleasure of performing for the group, being the focus of three new women and knowing the pleasure I take in sharing him this way, he wants to meet my expectations and provide a good show. He knows not to drag things out too long, but the audience always likes a little build up and anticipation, the sense that the male understands his role and is making the effort to entertain properly.

His stroking is slow and light, those two fingertips brushing the front of the shaft, the thumb behind leaving most of the penis visible, the light touch allowing it to twitch and bob freely in pre-ejaculatory spasms as he keeps himself on edge.

I grow tired of Brenda's fidgeting, decide it's the lesser of two evils to just let her,

"Take pictures if you want." I tell her.

"Cool. Thanks." she says and hurriedly lifts the camera to mediate the moment. Then, "Ah, yeah," she purrs as she looks now through the lens and focuses, "the girls will love this." Leaning in, suddenly unconcerned with speculation on seminal trajectories.

I know he'd like to bask in our attention and interest a bit longer, but I also know this is one stimulus too many for my husband's restraint. His hand goes still once more and clutches the base of his penis hard to keep the come in his balls as the shaft spasms and Brenda's shutter clicks. I know when he strokes again, he'll come.

"Ah, Laura," Astare sighs happily, "I think this one could turn out to be best in show for the weekend."

Charlise rolls her eyes. "The way you talk." she laughs.

'Best of show'; I leave him there for a moment to reward him, because, really, it is so lovely seeing him this way in front of other women. But now for his big moment.

"I want Brenda to have a good come-shot to share with her girlfriends." I tell him, doubling down.

"Go on." Charlise, reclining comfortably, repeats her earlier command. "Come for the camera."

He does.

A single sweep of the shaft and then his hand falls away. The penis bobs prettily, slinging a droplet of pre-come from the tip, casting a fine strand of viscous liquid to glisten a moment in the afternoon sun, like a fisherman's line cast from the rod, till snaped by the quicker, harder spasm of the shaft, flexing back and ejecting a rope of the pent up semen from his balls. He knows I like to see the penis flex and spurt on its own as the male comes, so leaves it free to dance for us as he bucks and gasps,

"Here's my come! Here's my come!"

Brenda's shutter clicking.

Astare nodding in approval at each spurt, smiling smugly.

Charlise, darling Charlise, watching intently with lifted chin and a slight frown, like an art student examining an Italianate fresco.