Valentine's Day

"So, then, I should send, what? Just a letter, or . . ." Deborah breaks off, momentarily distracted from our conversation by,

"Oh, oh, oh" the playful, gently taunting chants of the four women in the far corner of the sunroom across from us.

I pause with her to turn our full attention back to the proceedings we've been intermittently focused on just across the way where a naked young male kneels on a large, padded dressing bench that doubles as an ottoman for the nearby settee. He leans back on two straight arms, knees splayed wide, as he bucks his hips to thrust his erection through the curled hand of my neighbor Mariam. Mariam stands to one side, leaning in to offer her hand. She's careful not to obstruct the view of the three other women who lounge in the cozy corner sitting area on the cushioned wicker chair and settee.

The women chant playfully in time with his thrusting. Mariam lets him do most of the work, masturbating himself by fucking her hand, his young, clean shaven balls jouncing in the sack with each upward buck of his hips.

"There it is." I say softly to Deborah.

"Hmm?" Deborah queries absently as the women continue their chanting, getting progressively more melodramatic, "Oh, Oh! OH! OHh!" in teasing parody of the mounting urgency of his thrusts as he climbs towards ejaculation.

"Ah, the balls, you mean, yes." Deborah says recalling my earlier comments about this particular male's endowments.

It's one of the pleasures of the sport to compare notes and observations on the various physical attributes and performance qualities of the males who put themselves forward for service. It enhances the sense of shared entitlement and feminine camaraderie, creating a secondary layering of objectification and superiority that enriches the purely voyeuristic enjoyment they offer. I would suppose it's not unlike the added pleasure and enjoyment coinsures of fine wines get from discussing and sharing knowing commentary on the characteristics of various vintages. The wine, of course, must still be pleasing to the palette, as this young male's display is to the eye. But the discernment and verbalization of quality, detail and nuance, enlivens and enriches the sensory experience.

In that spirit, I had commented favorably on the pleasing, to me, articulation and jounce of this one's balls in the sack as we watch earlier rounds of his teasing by the group, even as he neared the point of ejaculation.

We had been watching this group of women take turns edging him for a while now; repeatedly bringing him tauntingly close to ejaculation before abruptly ceasing their ministrations to leave him gasping and bucking reflexively, his flushed penis dancing prettily in frustration. I had noted to Deborah that, unlike many males whose balls draw inward to the point of immobility (and, on occasion, near invisibility) as they near orgasm, this one's, though pleasantly taut, remained nicely articulated and still jogged along in time as he thrust for or was stroked by a couple of the earlier women who took a turn edging him. They had toyed with him in various positions previously, but Mariam's choice of staging for her round; putting him up on the ottoman, knees spread, hips forward, leaning back as he bucks upward to fuck her hand; displays this feature to good advantage. Especially as he grows more excited and his thrusts become more abrupt, his balls slapping up sharply against the heel of Mariam's hand with a pleasing urgency as he exerts himself to gain release.

"That's a good look for him, Deb." I say. And it is. Twenty something, not movie star handsome, but for the rest; lithe, nicely muscled, good sized circumcised penis with a prominent glans, taut ass and, as mentioned, those plump, jouncing balls; he's a welcome addition to the afternoon's entertainment. But knowing Deborah has her own special reasons for enjoying such commentary, I continue "So sweet how eager he is. You can tell he knows you're watching."

"Yes." she says with a dismissive sniff. "It always enhances his performance." As soft laugh and wave of her hand, "He tries so hard not to disappoint." But despite her casual air, I can discern that soft smile of proprietary pride as the chanting reaches a crescendo and

"Ohhhhh!" an extended, collective sigh of mock sympathy and laughter from the women when Miriam pulls her hand away to leave him to buck and gasp just short of orgasm; his back arched, hips lifted and thrust forward, his flushed penis flexing in pre-ejaculatory frustration.

"Ah, that's so sweet." Sandra, one of the watching women says, leaning back in her chair. She lifts her wine glass to Mariam in congratulations. "That got him."

"Awh, fuck!" the male gasps, his penis still flexing. Then, "Fuck!" a buck of his hips as a short spurt of semen pops from the bobbing head.

Now that really is sweet. There is something charming about a free standing penis flexing and spurting on its own; a kind of helpless confession; the semen often ejected weakly as the male shudders and (in these settings at least, unless directed otherwise) restrains the urge to stroke himself to a more satisfying (to him) completion. And for just a moment I anticipate the pleasure of watching this one complete his interrupted pleasure that way.

But Mariam sees that first spurt and, "Ooooh, too much?" she says in mild consternation and reaches in quickly again to finish jerking him off, laughing as her friends "Aaawhh" in mock condolence of this inadvertent termination of their sport with him.

"Give it to us." one says.

He does; his breath catching and body shuddering slightly as Mariam continues to work his increasingly sensitive cock. His head turns slowly our direction, his hooded eyes settling on Deborah; mouth half open, a vacant slack expression. His brows lift slightly and his frame shudders when Deborah's presence and attention fully registers.

"Always." she says again with an amused snort, then, raising her voice, "Yes," she coos at him approvingly, "that was fine. But you aren't done. I expect another from you, at least one, later when we're all together out at the pool."

"Aahh, fuck Deb!" he gasps and bucks in Miriam's grip.

Mariam releases him, straightens up and looks across at us. "Sorry." she says with a slight wince. "Let it go a bit too long. We're new to this and . . ."

"No worries." Deborah cuts this off easily. "Like I said, we'll get another out of him, maybe two, depending on the pleasure of the group. The young ones are good for that. I'm surprised he lasted this long. You girls make a great tag team."

The 'girls' in this instance are my neighbor Miriam and her three friends. They're mostly in their sixties and play cards every Tuesday night at Miriam's next door. They 'discovered' my Valentine's Day soirees last year (Miriam still insists, only inadvertently) when my chosen date happened to fall on a Tuesday. The patio, pool and sunroom area where I host are in the back of the property and well secluded from public view. But there is apparently an upstairs quest bathroom at Miriam's that offers at least a partial vantage on poolside activities and, supposedly, one of them 'just happened' to be up there and . . . anyway.

Though I was somewhat surprised when Mariam knocked that next Wednesday morning and began to hint a bit sheepishly that "you know, this town can be awfully hard to find men to date at my age, though I suspect you have no problem on that score and besides, you're married, I know so . . ." and "not that any of us are looking for anything long term at this point; we're all pretty settled in our ways; but it would just be nice to, you know, on occasion . . ." and "well, like you had that get together last evening, seemed like a nice bunch, I mean, just you know, anyway, . . ."

I scarcely knew her at the time, so I understand her reticence to just come right out with it. But once I discerned what this rather rambling fishing expedition was after, I promised I'd extend an invitation next Valentine's. I was a bit skeptical at first but, they did show up and, after some initial time to adjust and get comfortable, have entered enthusiastically into the spirit of the thing, playing and experimenting as a group with this new (to them at least) freedom to use and enjoy male bodies.

"Thanks so much for sharing." Sandra, one of the seated women says. "It's really so generous of you, both of you, and the others, of course, to include us this way even though we're not able to contribute our own . . ."

"Don't be silly." I wave this away. "It's our pleasure. And besides, the males are always more excitable and entertaining with more women to watch and handle them. They crave the attention. Why else would they be here?"

"Really." Deborah chimes in quickly. "It's such a kick to see him well used and enjoyed by other women who know how to appreciate him properly. Like Laura says; it's what they're here for."

I can relate; knowing that simmering pleasure and arousal I myself feel at seeing my husband used and enjoyed this and other ways by other women. I credit my good Catholic upbringing and early indoctrination for that delicious sense of transgression it triggers even now, long after I have intellectually jettisoned other aspects of the creed. I'm sure, given my enjoyment of other males in these settings, that it's not just this early sexual repression that fuels my pleasure in the sport. But I am distinctly aware of the emotional and vaginal frisson it triggers to see my Mathew in use; to say to some happy participant, 'That's my husband', and get that sly smirk and congratulatory brow lift in response before she turns back to . . . whatever the going use of him is. I can even trigger it just by saying it in my own head as I watch, reminding my little first communal veiled inner child that 'that's my husband'. Like masturbating in the confessional.

There is a vicarious version of that frisson as well when, as now, I'm aware of a formal or romantic relationship between a fellow sportswoman and a particular male in service. There is a distinct pleasure in reminding myself (and her) of that triangular dynamic; mentally framing my enjoyment in terms of the male's non-play connection to the other woman. The tension between the societally normative role of husband, lover, boyfriend, even 'colleague' and their objectification and use in these settings adds a trangressive spice to the shared pleasures of sexual dominance and entitlement.

That, in fact, had been my inspiration for these annual Valentine's Day soirees. This is the third I've hosted, not always exactly on the day itself as logistics require certain accommodations to assure attendance of suitable male material. But in the spirit of the day, my closer female friends who share this particular taste, are invited to attend and 'contribute' their lovers, husbands, boyfriends etc. to the day's entertainment. We've got a good set here this evening; three husbands (four if you count my Mathew), one ex-husband still on amicable terms, two long-term, live in boyfriends and, in an interesting twist, a brother in law. Then of course, there is Deborah's contribution.

"How long have you been engaged now?" I inquire pleasantly of Deborah as one of the seated women tosses Miriam a small towel to dry the semen from her hands.

"Just since last August." Deborah answers as we watch her fiancée dismount a bit unsteadily from the ottoman and accept another of the small hand towels I always provide for my guests, stacked conveniently on the side tables for just such eventualities.

As he dabs the traces of semen from his chest and abs I notice his erection remains fairly robust. This is often the case with, as Deborah noted, the young ones; particularly in cases such as this where their release may have been somewhat less than complete; that charming partial ejaculation before Miriam finished him for example. But even after full ejaculation, their sense of continuing exposure and availability to the sexual whims of multiple interested women often just won't let them shut it off; the exhibitionist impulse inducing a reflexive priapism that always tempts me to toy with and test its limits.

As he finishes drying himself, he looks again in our direction. I catch his eye, jut my chin at him, then tilt my head slightly to one side to indicate my interest in his still tumescent state.

"So, yes," I am saying to Deborah, picking up once more on our interrupted conversation "just a letter would be fine, expressing your interest." as her fiancée, responding to my gaze, turns fully towards us, opens his stance and curls his pelvis under and forward to present himself. "Maybe just a very short bit on your experience, not a full CV or anything, but, you know, the work you did for the gallery, arts related stuff." Yes, that penis still stiff and lively. I flick a hand to summon him.

"Sure." Deborah says, glancing at me sideways as she registers my summons. "But the seat won't be open till fall, you said."

"Right. But if you think you want it" I continue as the male starts across the room towards us, his erection swaying with each step, "we won't keep looking or accept other applicants. I've mentioned it to the other board members already and we'd be thrilled to have you." I stretch out a hand, palm up, as he draws near, "You'd be a great fit." I say as Deborah's fiancée steps up beside the arm to my chair, straddles my hand and lowers himself to place his balls in my palm. "Uhm, as are these." I say playfully to Deborah as I cup them, squeeze gently.

He exhales hard and Deborah pauses a moment, glancing up at his face briefly, then dropping her gaze to my hand and the penis that strains and flexes excitedly above it as I fondle him.

"I can do that." She says, turning her focus back to me.

"No big hurry." I assure her. "I'll tell the board to expect it unless you tell me otherwise. We just need something, you know, so we can say we've got it filled if anyone else inquires."

I raise my hand slowly so he can unbend his knees and stand more comfortably, amused yet pleased by the way he takes advantage of this to bring his hips further forward to present his erection for closer inspection. It's a nice cock and I do enjoy nice cock presented this way. But the deeper pleasure in the game is toying with the male's eagerness to have my attention on it; hearing that catch in his breath when I clutch his balls more tightly but, alas, turn away towards Deborah and,

"So, have you set a date yet?" I ask pleasantly, eliciting a soft groan and reflexive thrust from the male whose marital prospects are under discussion. I can't help but smile as I watch his penis bob plaintively in my peripheral vision and feel the pulse of it in the root of his cock.

"Not just yet." Deborah answers with a diffident shrug. "He's got the bar this July. Not that I expect any trouble with that. He's already got offers. But one thing at a time."

I glance past Deborah out through the glass of the sunroom to the pool patio where one of the other males in service leans to refill the wine glasses for two of my poolside guests, enjoying the fine view of his ass, that quick glimpse of his balls from behind between his legs as he bends forward to pour. I pause for a moment to bask in the ambiance of unhurried sexual privilege; hear the relaxed banter of the four women across the way, one saying, "He looks ready for another round." of the male I have in hand; the pleasant sight of yet another male's erection in profile through the floor to ceiling sunroom windows as he passes from the serving station out towards the hot tub area with his serving tray; feeling that pulse again in the root between the balls of Deborah's fiancée as his cock twitches in anticipation of the use I may yet make of his body and arousal.

Or may not; and that is the sport of it. Perhaps I'll just give these balls another soft squeeze and dismiss him to take up his waitering duties once more; let him retrieve that half full bottle of chardonnay he set there on the side table when Miriam and her friends decided to experiment with other things he might dispense more entertainingly. Or maybe, just because I can, I'll tell him we want another come shot; not later, but now; have him stroke that still sensitive penis as Deborah and I only half pay attention as we chat about other things for a while; just a while.

I'm not sure, asked for it again so soon, he can make himself come in a reasonable (for my enjoyment) time. But it's not really the particular result that matters so much; though I do like seeing them come that way. It's the control and freedom, and his need and excitement that I should have and exercise both over his body and pleasure. So maybe we'll put him to work, watch him take himself in hand and stroke that penis in his eagerness, as Deborah so aptly put it, not to disappoint us. But if he can't come in a few minutes, we'll just send him off. It's the effort he'll make to try and please me, and my freedom to decide whether it does or doesn't; that unhurried privilege to direct and judge his performance; that's my elixir of choice.

But right now, it's that transgressive itch I mentioned earlier that I feel the need to scratch.

"Do you think you'll still make him available after the wedding?" I ask, and again that pulse in the root of his cock tells me his interest in the conversation isn't lagging. I fondle his balls gently to let him know I know.

"Oh, definitely. I mean, at least if we stay here." she answers. "You know, we've talked, this was all more for him to start with, still is to some extent. But at this point, I've developed my own taste for it. I'd miss the occasional play time with the girls, at least the way you and your fellow, what do you call them, sportswomen?," she laughs, "but you know, your bunch, Phylis and the others, the way you set things up and manage it, manage the males and don't let things expand to . . . " she pauses, frowns, then, "I'm not taking him anywhere to fuck other women, and he wouldn't be into that anyway."

"You might be moving?" I ask, and for the first time since taking him in hand turn my full attention back to the male, finally focus on that very nice penis, my attention triggering a lovely low moan of "Awh, fuck." and the excited twitching of the shaft as he rolls his hips further under to present himself to best advantage.

"Well, maybe." Deborah says, "if he decides to take the Chicago offer. They'd fast track him into litigation. And I can take my work wherever my laptop can go, so, yeah, maybe. Like I said though, one thing at a time."

Miriam and her friends begin to collect their drinks and napkins to head out to the patio.

I release his balls to enjoy the full view of his genitals, let my eyes trail up over his lean torso and nicely muscled chest to his face.

"Shame to lose this one." I say, meeting his gaze, "He's such a nice addition to the available entertainment."

Sure, it's all posturing and role playing; talking this way about him with his fiancée, letting him feel my appraisal of him as 'a nice addition to the available entertainment' before dropping my gaze pointedly once more to his cock and balls to prod him to show me, again, his eagerness to be just that. He doesn't disappoint; he so wants the part; bucking his hips to make those balls jounce for me just the way he heard me telling Deborah I liked. I smile to let him know I recognize and appreciate the gesture. He does it again. I laugh, turn back to Deborah.

"Well, but I know there are groups who play this way in the Chicago area." I say, then, a bit less definitive. "There's got to be." I assume.

"That's just it." Deborah says. "There are private groups, I'm sure, who do some of this stuff. But I'm not into orgies or swinging or polyamory or the rest. Don't want or need it. You guys manage this very tight; it's CFNM pure and simple and then I take him home and he laps me up like a starving man and fucks my brains out. That's for me and me alone, and I don't want to be pressured or argue about it with some bunch of women, or even one, who think because he's available for this, all bets are off. Fine if they want to dream about fucking him. I obviously like showing him off for other women, see them use their hands, mouths, even fuck his ass, long as I'm there to watch; that's the kick for both of us; and he loves seeing me do other men this way. But he's keeping his own hands and mouth to himself, or rather, for me, and he doesn't need other women flashing their tits at him or . . ." she breaks off. "The way you guys do it, never had a problem. I can remember Phylis asking that one couple to leave last year when they . . ."