Postcards from Sex Camp

2006-12-25T21:35:00.001-05:00

This site accompanies Jefferson’s One Life, Take Two.

Welcome to Sex Camp! This site relates the adventures of four friends at Dark Odyssey, an annual adults-only retreat held at a bucolic campsite near Washington, D.C.

For the long weekend of “sex camp,” participants took part in sessions on BDSM, Tantra, polyamory, intimacy, alternative lifestyles, or simply enjoyed the company of like-minded campers in a clothing-optional, sex-on-premises environment.

Which is to say: it was quite an adventure, novel even for our intrepid company of doyenne, hippie, whore and slut.

The four friends—Viviane, Selina, Marcus and Jefferson—met many fine folks at camp, most notably in these tales, BDSM instructor Lolita Wolf. Links to their individual blogs can be found on the blogroll at left.

Dark Odyssey took place September 15-17, 2006. These stories were originally published at One Life, Take Two between mid September and mid December of the same year. The stories are presented here in sequential order, as twenty-one chapters of a single narrative. Each title is given in bold type, and each story concludes with a link to the original post, which includes additional commentary from readers.

Ready? Enjoy!

Jefferson

Ready

“It’s really great that you came down from New York,” Tristan said, pushing her glasses back on her nose. “It’s super to have sex bloggers here. And frankly, we need bisexual men to be a presence.”

When we entered the dining hall for supper, Viviane spotted Tristan Taormino looking over schedules with a group of presenters. Viviane brought us over to make introductions.

Tristan, one of the four co-producers of Dark Odyssey, is its most recognizable face. She gives presentations at national and international conferences, directs porn films, writes columns and has published three books, including the celebrated Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women. She’s young and looks even younger, exuding a brainy enthusiasm that has led her to be regarded, particularly among twentysomething women, as a leader of the sex positive movement.

She also has a gift for making the person she is talking to feel like the most important person in the room.

“Why are you so interested in bisexual men?” Marcus asked.

“Well, that’s been a challenging demographic to recruit,” Tristan explained. “We do a lot of outreach to make Dark Odyssey a very inclusive event. That’s what makes it unique—we have swingers mixing with BDSM, mixing with nudists, mixing with transgendered and queer communities . . . I go to many, many events, and believe me, that doesn’t happen anywhere else.”

“It really is a beautiful, beautiful thing,” Selina nodded.

“It is, right?” Tristan nodded. “And we really, really try to bring in gay men’s organizations. But they resist. You know, they say they are more interested in their own events and aren’t interested in those with women or heterosexuals. They are understandably concerned about judgment and ridicule.”

“Sure, that’s understandable,” Selina agreed.

“It is, and there’s nothing wrong with gender exclusive events per se. They serve a very important function. But we are all about inclusion. Hopefully, an increased bisexual presence will encourage gay participation. It's a challenge, though; while female bisexuality is accepted among our communities, male bisexuality is still very taboo.”

“I hear that,” I nodded.

“It’s sad, because there are so many bi curious men here,” Tristan went on. “But they are locked into other identities. Like, a male swinger is expected to put aside desire for other men, for example, and dominants in BDSM might consider it submissive to please a man sexually.”

“Those labels,” Viviane nodded.

“Pathetic, really,” I said, putting an arm around Marcus. “Well, we’ll do our part. Anywhere you want us to fuck, just say the word. We put on a hot show.”

Tristan laughed.

“Yes, Jefferson is so generous like that,” Marcus added.

“Oh, you’re Jefferson?” said a woman opposite Tristan. “I’m Lolita Wolf. We’ve corresponded on the community message board.”

“Of course!” I smiled. I leaned to kiss her cheek. “I am very happy to meet you, Lolita. I’m a fan.”

Lolita laughed. She had a broad, open smile. “Well, thanks. I’m a fan too. I really enjoy your blog.”

“Oh, you read me? I’m honored.”

“We all read you. Jefferson,” Tristan said, feigning exasperation. “Well, look, we need to finish this meeting so we can make announcements during dinner, so . . . “

“Of course,” Viviane said. “We just wanted to say hello. It’s great to be here.”

“It’s great to have you,” Tristan nodded.

I kissed Lolita again. “We’ll talk,” I said. “I’m your new best friend.”

Lolita laughed.

“Everybody complains about the food,” Tristan said, pointing her pen toward the buffet. “But it’s not that bad. If you hate it, it’s not my fault. The camp cooks it, not me!”

We walked to the buffet line.

“That’s the woman you have a crush on, right?” Viviane asked, looking back to Lolita.

“Uh huh,” I nodded, looking at all the people. “Too bad for me that she prefers the ladies.”

We had only been at camp a few hours, but we were beginning to get into its rhythms.

Viviane, Selina and I had driven down from the city in a rented car filled with suitcases, bedding, decorations, and booze. Selina and I sang along to Sweet and Foghat as Viviane focused on the road.

As we checked in at the camp entrance, we were flashed by a woman who looked a little like Susan Sarandon; underneath her trench coat, she wore only a strap-on with a large dildo.

“Nice view,” I nudged Viviane.

We were outfitted with wristbands saying we were not to be photographed. The only camera allowed at Dark Odyssey is that of Barbara Nitke, a much admired and trusted photographer who has been documenting sex communities for over two decades. Much as we supported Barbara’s work, the three of us couldn’t risk exposure of the real identities behind our pseudonyms.

We unpacked at our cabin, which would be shared with about eight other people we had never met. We had signed up to be included in a cluster of cabins that identified as “polymorphously perverse.” It seemed as good a label as any for our gang.

As we unloaded our stuff, we met some of our cabin mates and neighbors. Several were nude and drinking beer. A few were assembling a portable hot tub.

“Do you have any messages?” I was asked by a cute young woman sporting pigtails, wings and a wand.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I’m a Cupid,” she said, showing me her clipboard holding folded pink notes. “You can give me messages to deliver to anyone in the camp. It’s easy! See, there are even boxes to check off. You don’t have to be clever or anything!”

“Well, clever I’ve got, but no one to send a note. Thanks.” I turned, then remembered a name. “Wait, Cupid, maybe I do.”

I had traded emails with a few people listed in the community message board. Many were presenters, so I figured I would meet them easily enough. But one was, like me, just a camper. She was an artist and seemed nice. I checked off a box indicating that I was “intrigued,” and gave her my cabin number.

Cupid waved her wand over my head as I wrote.

“Here you go!” I said, handing the note to Cupid.

She looked at the recipient’s name. “I don’t know her. What does she look like?”

“Short brown hair. That’s about all I know.”

Cupid put the note in her clipboard. “I’ll do my best then. See you at dinner!” As she skipped away, I saw that Cupid was nude under her tutu.

Viviane called me back inside. Marcus had arrived before us and reserved four adjacent beds. Viviane and I pushed our bunks together to form a full-sized bed. Selina draped fabric from the beams over her bunk.

Marcus had left a note saying was attending Lolita’s class on “Spanking for Pleasure,” and would meet up with us before dinner. We had about twenty minutes before his class ended, so Viviane and I toured the camp.

Rows of cabins lined paved walkways, where golf carts served as a taxi service between the camp buildings. Across from our cabin was a barn, where many of the sessions would be held. Down the hill were the dining hall, pool, and pavilion. Beyond was a lake, the location of the nightly bonfire.

In the other direction, beyond a wide lawn, were more cabins, tennis courts, and a gymnasium converted into a dungeon. Nearby was Sex-o-Rama, a cabin reserved for orgies. The dungeon and Sex-o-Rama were to be open around the clock.

“Some set up, huh?” I asked, putting my hand in Viviane’s.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she said, as an older nude couple walked by. They smiled and greeted us.

I saw Marcus crossing the lawn, waving as he walked toward us.

“Hey, baby,” he called. “Hi, Viviane.”

“Marcus!” she shouted.

I walked over to my boyfriend and embraced him. I kissed his neck.

“I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” he said.

“Hmmm, I’ve missed you,” I echoed, holding him close. I looked up to kiss him. He took my mouth in his.

“All right, all right, boys,” Viviane said. “Save it for the orgy. Let’s get to dinner. We have a lot to do tonight.”

We picked up Selina, introducing her to Marcus. As we strolled to the dining hall, I took Marcus’s hand in mine.

“You ready, baby?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m ready,” he said, waving at a naked man by the hot tub.

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Down on a Clown

This story is also told by Lolita.

“Ladies and Gentlemen—and everyone who self-identifies somewhere in between or beyond assigned genders—welcome to Cirkus Erotikus!”

We applauded, moving closer to the stage.

“Hot ringmaster,” I whispered.

“Very nice,” Viviane agreed.

“Tonight, we bring you the very finest in erotic performances,” the ringmaster bellowed, adjusting his top hat. “We offer you the opportunity to participate and earn heaps of Kundalini Kash to be spent tomorrow night. You can take part in each and every of tonight’s stupendous acts! Be daring and be rich! Be cowardly and remain impoverished, in cash and in experience.”

“What’s that?” Marcus asked me.

“It’s like Monopoly money,” I whispered. “You get to exchange it at a brothel tomorrow, for sexual favors and such like.”

“Huh, I’ll need lots of that.”

“Yeah,” Viviane said. “Though you are just as likely to sell sexual favors as buy them.”

“Shh, come on. I really want to keep that quiet.” Marcus had asked us all to be circumspect about his work as a whore. He wasn’t sure how it would go over with the people we would meet. “I don’t want them to think I’m diseased or whatever,” he had explained. “It’s complicated.”

“Our Cirkus Erotikus features astounding talents,” the ringmaster continued. “Be amazed by the long whip of Boymeat—and let balloons beware!”

In one corner, a caped man took a bow and turned to face a woman with red balloons fixed to her breasts. Boymeat cracked his whip, bursting one balloon. He cracked it again, bursting the other.

We applauded.

“What, we’re supposed to volunteer to be whipped?” Viviane said. “No thanks!”

“Feel the thrashes of the whirling dervishes under the command of BillySir!”

At another corner, a woman in leather bowed, and then turned to flog a bare-backed woman tied to a wooden cross. BillySir smiled as her wrists gracefully alternated strikes from two identical flogs.

“Wow,” I marveled. “I can’t even see her hands move.”

“I’m doing that,” Selina said.

“Feel your flesh singe under the fires commanded by PyroSadist!”

A flame burst from another corner.

“Shit! What was that?” Viviane asked.

“It looked like he set that woman on fire,” Selina said. “But she’s not burning?”

“I missed it,” Marcus said, craning his neck.

“Beware, the ferocious talons of the bad, bad Kitty!”

A woman in black tights purred from a cage in the center of the crowd. She wore a headband with black cat ears.

“She may look tamed, but beware, beware: she is fresh from the wilds! Only the most brave—or most foolish!—would dare to enter the confines of her cage!”

The bad kitty reached from her cage to strike at her keeper, who yelped and beat her back.

The ringmaster led us through other acts, including someone who used a Tazer to zap participants with electricity (“No, thanks,” Marcus grimaced), a man who treated victims like a human punching bag (“Too violent,” Selina winced), and a couple who tingled flesh with knifes and metal fingernails (“Oh, that looks nice,” Viviane smiled).

“And now, not for the faint of heart. Those who dare to do so are invited to—go down on the clown!”

A clown sat back on a chair, waving arms and legs in the air. She lifted her billowy costume to reveal a large strap-on dildo. A woman came forward on her knees, rolled a condom on the cock, and began to swallow it deep.

The clown smiled and nodded happily.

“Okay, I’m hot for the clown,” I said, taking a swig from my flask.

“She’s great,” Viviane agreed. “I wonder who it is?”

“Look at her smile,” I said. “And think about who makes me hot.”

Viviane watched the clown’s face move through rubbery contortions.

“Oh my God, that’s Lolita!” Viviane laughed, her hand covering her mouth.

“I dunno, but I can’t see Lolita anywhere else in the room.”

“Be safe, be sane, and let the festivities begin!” the ringmaster exhorted.

Selina rushed to the flogging. We followed to watch. She spoke to BillySir as she removed her bodice before settling onto the cross.

The flogs flew across Selina’s back. BillySir smiled, her face focused on her task.

“Fuck,” Viviane said. She settled on a bench to watch.

“I’m going to tackle that cat,” Marcus said, heading to the cage.

I looked at the que already forming for knife play and decided to stay put for Selina’s flogging.

“That was . . . incredible,” Selina said afterwards, pulling her bodice into place. She tucked the three hundred Kundalini she had earned into her cleavage.

“Your back doesn’t have a scratch on it,” Viviane admired.

“It was very soothing, very relaxing,” Selina said. “You have to try it.”

I looked up and realized the clown was beckoning me.

The clown pointed to the woman blowing her, then to me. I pointed to my chest, then to the woman. The clown nodded enthusiastically.

“Excuse me,” I said to my friends. “I think I need to go suck some clown cock.”

The clown bent to pat the woman on the head. She rose and held out her palm. The clown reached into a watering can and surrendered three bills to the cocksucker. She curtsied and left.

I walked up to the clown. I looked into her eyes, just past her blinking nose.

“I hear you need your dick sucked.”

The clown nodded happily.

“Show me what you’re packing, clown.”

The clown lifted her costume and pushed her hips forward, thrusting an eight-inch cock my way.

“Not much,” I sighed. “But it will have to do.”

With great exaggeration, the clown presented me with a fresh condom. I bent to my knees and rolled it onto her dick.

I looked up to her eyes as I lolled it on my tongue. I left it there, shallow and waiting at the edge of my lips.

I let her soak in that pretty picture.

Then I took her cock whole.

I rested my hands on her thighs as I bobbed her cock deep to my throat. I sucked back and forth, realizing, with laugh to myself, that I was wasting my tongue’s gentle flicks on her shaft.

I also realized that the clown was keeping her hips still as I worked her over.

I pulled the cock from my mouth and stood. I looked into her eyes and held out my palm.

“You may as well pay me now if you don’t want it sucked.”

The clown nodded, grinning, and pushed out her hips. Her cock flopped in the air. She waved it from side to side.

“Look, I’ll suck your dick, clown, but maybe you could fuck my face like you give a rat’s ass.”

The clown nodded. I got back on my knees. I put my hands on her hips and looked up.

She gave it to me, just as I asked.

I had shot my mouth off. She showed me what that hole was for.

That clown knew how to get her cock sucked.

“All right,” I pulled back. “You proved you are a bigger man than me. Now pay me off.”

The clown clapped and reached into her watering can. She greased my palm with one bill, then another, and a third.

“That’s what you pay girls,” I said. “I want a man’s wages.”

She slipped me another bill.

“Gratuities are not included.”

She gave me another.

I looked into my palm, then up at her. She shrugged.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Fucking cheap ass mime motherfucker.”

She kicked me as I left the stage.

Marcus was right behind me.

He bowed before the clown and removed his shirt. He rolled a condom on her cock and began to suck.

His body undulated with the movement of his head.

The clown’s eyes rolled back with pleasure.

A crowd gathered and began to cheer.

Viviane nudged me. “He’s good.”

“Huh, bitch is moving in on my clown,” I sneered. “I’ll fucking scratch out that whore’s eyes.”

The clown rained bills on Marcus’s head.

I took Marcus’s arm and led him to the bullwhip. The clown waved goodbye, pointing to an imaginary tear on her cheek.

“Thank God, some boys, at last,” Boymeat said. “The other boys are all chicken.”

“Yeah, well, boys are pussies,” Marcus said.

I looked down as Boymeat’s lovely assistant affixed balloons to our groins. I pulled off my shirt and wrapped my arms around Marcus’s shoulder.

“All right,” Boymeat cautioned. “Be very still.”

He cracked the whip above his head. It came down to my dick, knocking the balloon to the floor.

“Whoa,” I said.

Boymeat pulled the whip back. It cracked to Marcus’s groin, knocking the balloon to the ground.

“Sorry they didn’t pop,” Boymeat said, crushing the balloons under his boot. “But the Kundalini are yours.”

“You’re awesome, Boymeat,” I said.

“And you two are hot,” he smiled. “Thanks.”

“Hell yeah, we are,” I kissed Marcus.

I found Viviane. “Well, I’ve been at the end of a bullwhip,” I said. “I think I’m ready to be set on fire.”

“Oh shit, I want to do that,” she said.

We got in line for PyroSadist, pulling Selina and Marcus with us.

We watched as the PyroSadist—a stocky man with a thick moustache—worked over a woman. He swabbed lines of alcohol over her nude torso, then set flames to the fluid. The fire burned blue before expiring within a moment.

Viviane was up. She removed her shirt and bra, presenting her tits to the PyroSadist.

“Don’t go anywhere, okay?” she asked me.

“Of course not,” I assured her. “Here, let me do you one better.” I took her elbows behind her back, holding them in place with my forearms. I nuzzled my mouth to the back of her neck. “I’m here,” I murmured, taking a muscle in my teeth.

Viviane nodded as a man she had never before met assured her and then, gently, sent her body up in flames.

“Unh-oh!” she moaned, watching the flames lick over her. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Was it okay?” I asked when it was over.

“Yes,” she said, dazed. “My God, though. I was on fire! Did you see?”

“I did, sweet.” I pulled off my shirt to prepare for my turn.

“Honey, you should be careful with the hair on your belly,” Viviane fretted.

I turned to the PyroSadist. “Is it all the same if I give you my back?” I asked.

“Sure, it’s all the same,” he nodded.

“Okay.” I turned and lowered my pants. I wrapped my arms around Viviane’s shoulders, hugging her close. “Don’t go anywhere,” I whispered, then turned to the man holding a burning swab. “All right, I’m ready,” I said.

I felt the cold burn of alcohol against my skin. It was swiftly replaced by intense heat. “Hunh!” I flinched.

“Are you all right?” Warm hands caressed my back.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “That was just . . . gee!”

The PyroSadist laughed. “Here’s more then.”

I rested my head on Viviane’s shoulder as my back burst into flame again and again. My ass burned. The fine hairs on the back of my thighs singed, as fire burned my testicles.

I heard Viviane talking to Selina.

“Shut up,” I flicked Viviane’s ear. “This is about me.”

“Sorry, baby,” she whispered, holding me close.

When it ended, I turned to shake hands with the PyroSadist. “You done me right, sir,” I said. “Thank you.”

His wife laughed. “I’m in the dungeon when you want more,” he smiled.

I pulled up my pants and buckled my belt. I pulled on my shirt. “Where’s Marcus?” I asked. “It’s his turn.”

“He’s over there,” Viviane pointed, “Going down on the clown.”

The clown had removed her cock and lowered her pants. Marcus’s mouth was buried in her pussy.

I walked to her side.

“How much did that cost you?” I asked her.

“I charged him six hundred!” she laughed. “So he got it subsidized by a voyeur.” She pointed at a man smiling nearby.

“Fucking whore,” I said, kicking his leg.

“Mmph!” Marcus muttered into the clown’s cunt.

“Ain’t nobody got to talk if you make it evident,” I retorted.

“Come on, kids, break it up,” Viviane said, holding her schedule. “Now we are off to the icebreakers,” she said.

“Now we go to the icebreakers?” I laughed. “We just melted a fucking glacier!”

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Vampires

Selina and Viviane pressed behind me as we worked our way through a line into the barn. It was just after midnight.

“It looks like we have to register at that table or something,” I said. “But no one is moving.”

Viviane looked past me. “I think they are choosing personas,” she said, craning her neck.

“They need to pick it up,” I said. “I can’t be waiting in line for no persona.”

Up ahead, the organizer raised his hand.

“Everyone, please, can I have your attention? Quiet, please!”

“Quiet!” someone hollered.

The hubbub in the barn fell silent.

“Thank you. And thank you all for joining us for Midnight Seduction!”

There was a smattering of applause that grew louder.

The organizer raised his hand again. He stepped up onto a wooden coffin in the center of the barn, using it as a stage. His chain mail vest reflected the colored lights.

“My name is Anon . . . “ he began, interrupted by more applause. “Thank you. And we are here to play Midnight Seduction, a role-playing game that will introduce you to others here at Dark Odyssey. Now, the rules are very simple . . . ”

“That’s the guy Marcus was flirting with at dinner,” Viviane whispered.

“He goes for the pretty ones first,” I explained. “Then moves on down the line.”

“I can’t hear,” Selina complained.

“Do you need anything?” Windsor asked. Windsor was one of several men trailing in Selina’s wake.

“No, I’m fine, thanks, I just can’t hear,” Selina smiled.

“Okay,” Anon continued. “Each of you has taken on a new persona, which is indicated on your name badges. You also have a seduction card. Can everyone please hold these up these two items?”

“We don’t have that,” Viviane worried.

“I think we get them at the table, if the line ever moves.”

“Now, on the seduction card, there are two seductions. When you greet someone, you will ask, ‘May I offer you a seduction?’ If the answer is yes, you ask, ‘One or two?’ If the answer is one, then you role play the first seduction. If the answer is two, you role play the second. Is everyone clear on that?”

A chorus of “yes, Anon” lifted to the rafters.

“Two seductions? Do we do both, or just one?” I asked Selina.

“I can’t hear anything,” she replied.

“I can try to get closer for you,” Windsor offered.

“Okay, great,” Anon continued. “Now, this is where it gets interesting. For in your midst, there are vampires . . . “

“Ohhhh!” someone moaned. The crowd laughed.

“ . . . and this creature is Elvon, Lord of the Vampires!” Anon pointed to a man who raised his arms and bared his teeth.

“Shit, I don’t get this,” I groused. I reached for my flask.

“Now, Elvon and his minions may attempt to seduce you, so beware! You may be seduced by one of the undead.”

To emphasis the danger of this, Elvon crossed the barn to a large chain web suspended between two posts. A nearly nude woman was restrained into the web. Her body writhed and she screamed helplessly as Elvon grabbed her cunt and dug his teeth into her neck.

The crowd cheered.

Up ahead, I saw Marcus talking to Felix.

My friends and I had all walked to the barn from another icebreaker, a Hawaiian-themed party at the Sex-o-Rama cabin. There had also been a game there, but with much easier rules.

The goal of the luau was simply to get laid as often as possible.

A bikini-clad woman carried a bag filled with slips of paper, each assigning a task to be fulfilled during a brief duration of time. Once the task was completed, she would give the player a lei and a new task. The player who accumulated the most leis was designated the person who got “laid” more than anyone.

In keeping with the theme, some players wore sarongs or floral print shirts. Many others played nude.

Marcus took to this game like a Parrotfish to coral. He ditched his shirt and kept returning for more and more tasks. He spanked bottoms, kissed boys, licked feet, and counted as the leis accumulated around his neck.

Viviane and I bypassed the game, working the room like a cocktail party. We shook hands and engaged people in conversations, always talking up the blogs.

I was sitting with a couple who taught Tantric sex when Viviane deposited a boy with me.

“This is Felix,” she said. “He’s a camp virgin, like us, and he hopes to have some bi experiences. Maybe you can play with him.”

Only in this life does that serve as an introduction, I thought.

“Nice to meet you, Felix,” I said. I introduced him to the Tantra instructors. They fell into conversation with one another, leaving me to talk with Felix.

Viviane stayed with us long enough to be polite before melting back into the crowd.

“So, what brings you to sex camp?” I asked.

“Um, nothing, really.” He tossed the hair from his eyes. “I just heard about it and thought it would be a beast way to, you know, try things.” He paused. “I haven’t done so much, so . . .”

“Yeah, I hear you. I hope to try new things, too.”

He smiled.

Viviane had done well in procuring Felix. He was just my flavor—young, cute and inexperienced, but eager to learn.

I eat that mix for breakfast.

Felix and I sat on a day bed, getting acquainted in dim light as, all around us, people did their best to get laid in the party’s allotted time.

As we talked, a woman sat next to me. She was wearing black body stockings, a tight lace web top and high heels. Her short hair was cut into stylish bangs.

She was easily in her seventies.

She bent a young woman over her knees, lowered her panties, and spanked her bare ass pink in a few swift strokes.

Felix and I watched, surprised by the old lady’s ferocity.

The woman who taught Tantra leaned over. “That’s Eliza,” she said, her voice low and reverent. “She’s the very best. She was a fetish model in the sixties and seventies.”

“Awesome,” Felix said.

“No shit,” I nodded. That was a story I wanted to hear.

Eliza administered her spanking. The woman on her lap stood and bent to offer a kiss before leaving to collect her lei.

“Excuse me, Eliza?” I asked. “Would you mind sitting with me for a moment?”

She looked back. “No, not at all. What’s your name?”

I introduced myself, saying I was from New York. I explained that I wrote a sex blog, then explained what a sex blog was. I mentioned that I edited sex blogs for Fleshbot, applying special emphasis to the word “edit,” as I had to “New York,” in case “Fleshbot” meant nothing to her.

She nodded, apparently glad to meet a sex-something editor from New York.

I introduced Felix, who said hello, and indicated the Tantra teachers, who waved hello.

I was pulling out my credentials and recommendations. Eliza smiled, no doubt impressed that I was trying to impress her.

She then sat, waiting.

I realized that I was fingering an opportunity to get to know her a bit. “Anyway,” I said, glancing at my slip of paper. “I have this task to accomplish to get a lei . . . can you help me?”

“I can try,” she smiled.

I read the assignment. “’Massage someone for three minutes.’ Eliza, would you mind if I massaged you?”

“No, of course not.” She wriggled in her seat. “You want my top on or off?”

“Oh, I think off is best.”

Eliza slowly pulled her top over her head. She wore nothing underneath.

Her breasts were small, pale and firm on her petite frame.

“Would you prefer me on my back, or on my stomach?” she smiled.

I forgot about Felix. I forgot about the Tantra couple. This old lady got my juices going.

“On your back, I think,” I said. “You’ve got a great smile, and I want to see it as I touch you.”

She parted her ruby lips and smiled, easing herself back.

I lightly touched my fingers over her shoulders, moving past her breasts to her ribcage. I stroked her tight belly, gingerly tracing the waistband of her hose.

Eliza closed her eyes, her head rolling to one side. She moaned lightly.

“Your body is so responsive, Eliza.” I leaned forward to touch my lips to her flesh, detecting a faint perfume. She touched my hand in response.

My lips roamed her torso, my tongue flicking slightly. My mouth reached a nipple. I took it, rolling a finger around its opposite.

Eliza moaned her pleasure. I was getting pretty worked up myself.

My kisses traced up her neck to her ear.

“I think my three minutes are up, Eliza. I don’t want to monopolize you. Thank you so much for this—I’ll hope for more.”

“Hmmm, thank you, Jefferson,” she smiled, kissing my cheek.

Eliza sat up and put on her top. She smiled as someone took her hand, pulling her to another task.

I collected my lei.

When time was called, the three finalists were assembled before a judge. Each wore leis up past their ears.

Marcus was among the finalists. Once the leis were counted, he had come in third, beat out only by two very alluring naked women.

Marcus thrives on competition. In a sexual contest with that boy, even naked ladies get a run for their money.

Now, in this vampire role-playing scenario, he was collecting seductions as readily as he had collected leis. He had already moved past Felix as I finally acquired a persona.

“I think I’m Lord Something.” I said to Selina, reading my new name tag. “I have to power to do blah blah blah.”

“I’m a Seductress, in tune with the Earth Mother,” Selina laughed.

“Type casting,” I nodded. “Well, I’m in.”

I walked around a bit, hoping someone would seduce me, as I had no idea what I was expected to do. Around me, people were embracing, kissing, touching and evading vampires.

I gravitated to the wallflowers.

“Do you get this game?” I asked a red-haired woman.

“Not so much,” she said. “But I enjoy watching.”

“Ah, one of those. A watcher. Well, mind if I join you?”

She didn’t mind. We talked about where we were from, what brought us to camp, and pointed out our friends in the crowd.

Marcus joined us. “Who’s your friend?” he asked me.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” I said.

“Susan.” She looked at her name tag. “Or Argon, take your pick.”

“Hi Susan, I’m Marcus. Mind if I seduce you?”

Susan smiled. “Sure, why not?”

“Okay, would you prefer one or two?”

“Two seductions?” I asked.

“No, level one or level two,” Marcus said. “Pay attention to the rules, Jefferson.”

“One, please,” Susan replied.

“Okay.” Marcus looked at his card. “Will you please sit on my lap?”

“Of course!”

Marcus took Susan’s hand and led her to the coffin in the center of the party. She sat on his lap.

“Okay,” he said. “Now I have to lean back to keep my hands from touching you, ‘cause that would be level two.”

“Oh, you can touch me,” Susan said. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh, I can? Great.” Marcus leaned into Susan’s back, caressing her arms and shoulders. “Your hair smells great, Susan. What do you use?”

“Really? Thanks. Herbal Essence.”

“My God, I used to use that too!” Marcus exclaimed, as though they had discovered a friend in common. She laughed as his hands cupped her breasts.

“Mind if I join in this touching thing?” I asked. “I really need to figure out this game.”

“Yes, please, don’t be left out,” Susan grinned.

I crouched before her, touching her bare calves and thighs. I took her heels and rested them on my own thighs.

Susan leaned back into Marcus as he hands slid under her skirt and into her panties.

“This is so nice,” she said. I licked her inner thigh as Marcus toyed with her clit.

My face moved forward to her pussy.

Susan bent forward to whisper into my ear. “I’m on meds for a yeast infection,” she said. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll have to take your mouth instead.”

Susan leaned into my kiss.

“Okay, well let me up,” Marcus said. “I better get back into the game.”

“Oh, okay, sure,” Susan said, standing.

“Nice to meet you,” Marcus said curtly. He picked up his seduction card and left. He quickly introduced himself to Eliza.

“I guess he’s serious about the game,” Susan said.

“I guess. But I’m serious about kissing you. Shall we resume?”

“Sure!” she said. We sat on the coffin. I wrapped my arm around her waist and took her mouth in mine. My hand followed the path blazed by Marcus, under her skirt and to her clit.

She was wet from my kisses and his touch.

I fingered her clit gently until I found her sweet spot. She spread her legs and began to sigh into my mouth.

“Give it to me, Susan,” I whispered.

There, on a coffin in the center of a crowded barn, Susan came for me. Her body shook in my arm.

As her orgasm subsided, I kissed her cheek and neck. “That was really lovely,” I said. “Thank you for that.”

“Sure,” she breathed. “I mean, thank you.” Susan leaned forward and tousled her hair. She sat back rapidly, shaking her hair over her shoulders. She turned to look across the room. “Wow. Well, thanks . . . uh, Jefferson. I guess I should go back to my friends.”

“Okay, sure.” I held out a hand. “Nice to have met you.”

“You too,” she smiled. Susan stood, leaving me with my fingers still damp from her cunt.

Marcus rejoined me. “Susan’s gone? Whatever. She didn’t like me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because she whispered for you to get rid of me.”

“That’s not what she said. But I guess that explains why you left.”

He looked around. “She wasn’t doing it for me anyway.”

“This vampire mumbo-jumbo doesn’t do it for me,” I said. “Let’s skeedaddle.”

It was after one.

I was less than eight hours into “sex camp.” I had been bullwhipped and set on fire. I had blown a clown and made out with a seventysomething fetish model.

When it came to camp, this was about as camp as it gets.

I had also finger fucked a stranger to orgasm. I would never see her again.

When it came to sex, I had better odds back home.

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Hot Tub

“Jefferson, have you had a chance to meet Windsor?” Selina asked.

“Yes, we spoke at the Cirkus Erotikus,” I said, extending my hand to Windsor. “Actually, we met just after we arrived. He was looking for you at our cabin while you were out for a bit.”

“Oh right, you did mention that,” Selina said. “And Windsor, this is Marcus.”

Marcus took the cigar from his mouth and exhaled. “Nice to meet you, Windsor.”

“Thank you,” Windsor said, quietly.

“Windsor has confessed a very specific fantasy I think we can help him with,” Selina said. “But it would require you both to fulfill it perfectly.”

“Oh yeah?” I looked at Windsor. “What do you have for us?”

“Well,” he began. “I’m, uh . . .”

“Go ahead, it’s okay,” Selina encouraged.

“Yeah, spit it out, man.”

“Okay. Well, I would like . . . my fantasy is, well, okay.” He took a breath. “I would like to be dominated by two women. I want them to force me to dress like a woman, and then force me to be dominated by two men.”

Marcus flicked an ash and walked off.

“Oh, is that all?” I laughed. “Pal, that little fantasy would take all four of our gang to fulfill. We just met you, man! It’s good to dream large, but you may need to dial that back a few pegs.”

“Now, it might work if we make it . . . manageable,” Selina said, patting Windsor’s shoulder. “It is a pretty big goal for one weekend.”

“I guess so,” Windsor said. “It’s just a fantasy I’ve had for a long, long time.”

“Well, we’ll see what we can do,” I said. “But all four of us working on you? That’s a lot to ask.”

“Thanks for thinking about it, though,” Windsor said. He turned to Selina. “Would you like me to walk with you to your cabin?”

“No,” she said. “It’s right across the path. Anyway, it’s late and I want to be with my friends. I’ll find you tomorrow.” She kissed his cheek. “Sleep well.”

“Thank you, Selina. Good night, Jefferson.” He called ahead. “Good night, Marcus.”

I turned to Selina. “Please take me away from the vampires.”

We walked away from the barn toward our cabin.

“Selina’s got a project, Selina’s got a project,” I teased.

“I know, I know. But Windsor seems nice, and, I don’t know, I’m feeling dominant. It might be fun to have an adoring submissive.”

I put my arm in hers. “I’m just giving you shit. But look, if you turn this into something you want to do, I’m in it for you. Otherwise, he’s nothing to me.”

“He might like being your nothing,” she smiled.

We walked a bit. “’Oh, I’m a straight boy,’” I mocked. “’And I’ve always fantasized about two women and two men forcing me to be a girl. And looky, looky, here come two women and two men now! How’s my hair?’”

Selina laughed. “Be nice, Jefferson.”

We found Marcus at the hot tub outside our cabin, talking with JoAnn. She was nude in the steaming water with Pete and Ellie, a blonde couple whose bed was near ours.

The hot tub was a portable rig that JoAnn had set up that afternoon. It was above ground and made of a soft, heavy-duty plastic. A nearby generator kept the water warm and frothy.

It was set up just off the main path under a canopy lined with bright hanging lights. As we talked, people wandered by, on their way from the role-playing game in the barn or midnight snack in the dining hall.

One thirty in the morning seemed just as active as one thirty in the afternoon.

“Looks like you've got it running well!” I admired.

“Only took half the damn day,” JoAnn laughed.

“Shame you missed the vampires,” I said. “They were spo-oo-oky. Hey, do you mind if we join you?”

JoAnn looked at the couple. They shrugged and slid over to make room.

“Great, thanks!” Marcus said, putting out his cigar. He began to strip. Selina and I followed suit.

“Oh, this is soooo good,” Selina sighed, easing herself into the water.

Six naked people in a hot tub. Finally, sex camp was beginning to feel a bit more like a sex party.

Above water, our eyes peered over our conversation as our arms overlapped one another’s shoulders. Underwater, our thighs pressed close and our feet floated toward other feet, calves meeting in the middle. Water jets undulated our flesh, caressing us against one another with no effort on our parts.

In this small space, each of us touched the other in some way. We were strangers to one another, many of us, but we had all been in this hot tub at some point in our lives. We knew the touching would only remain random for so long.

JoAnn took my cock in her left hand, stroking me. I knew, without needing to look, that her right hand held Pete’s cock.

JoAnn’s breasts floated between Pete and me as she talked to Ellie. His mouth took one nipple. Mine took the other.

I looked over. Marcus was kissing Ellie, grasping her breast. Selina’s hand found my thigh. Her other hand, no doubt, was on Marcus’s thigh.

Some passers by stopped to watch.

The fingers of my left hand floated to JoAnn’s pussy, adjusting her clit until she began to make noises. I turned up the volume by sliding two fingers into her, joined by two fingers from my right hand in her ass.

My fingers felt one another inside her body. Pete kissed her neck.

Marcus stood as Ellie sucked his cock. His eyes were closed, as were hers. They retreated to that place where his cock was every cock she desired, her mouth every hole he wanted.

Selina’s touch was light on me.

JoAnn grunted before cumming hard on my hand, her pussy and ass clenching my fingers.

“Oh, shit,” she said. “Man. Okay, I need a cig. Be right back.”

She stood and turned, stepping from the tub onto the lawn.

“Got a good one, did you, JoAnn?” called one of her friends with an Australian accent.

“I’ve never had a bad one!” she laughed. “Hand me a beer, will you?”

“That looked very, very nice,” Selina said.

I looked over. “One seat, no waiting.” Pete held out his hand. She took it, and floated to the space JoAnn had vacated.

Pete’s wife groaned as she blew my boyfriend.

Selina settled between us. Pete and I divided ourselves between tits, as before. This time, he joined me in fingering the woman between us. My free hand felt the small of Selina’s back, trying to be as light as the water.

Marcus reached forward to finger Ellie as she blew him.

The crowd around the tub moved closer. I realized Viviane and Lolita were watching. I smiled to them before closing my eyes and returning to Selina’s flesh.

I could feel her slickness moist in the water.

I slid closer to hold her as she came.

“Oh, well!” Selina sighed, and then laughed. She kissed Pete’s cheek, then mine. We laughed too.

We sank into the water. Marcus and Ellie also slowed, slipping back under the steam.

I looked over to Viviane, then to the people around her. “Next show: Five o’clock. Please use all available exits.”

The crowd laughed, and then began to disperse.

“That was . . . amazing,” Selina sighed.

“Very nice,” Pete agreed. “What was your name again?”

Selina made introductions with Pete and Ellie. I leaned over to talk to Viviane and Lolita.

“Hey, where’ve y’all been?”

“I was just at midnight snack . . . ,” Lolita began.

“Yeah, Lolita just had a very intense session with a total dom,” Viviane said. “She’s wiped out.”

“Is that so?” I smiled.

“Yeah,” Lolita said, jumping from foot to foot. “It was pretty intense all right. It was the only bottom session I scheduled this weekend, and it was . . . intense.”

“Sounds like.” I gathered my hands in one another.

“Yeah. I know, I’m not saying anything, am I?”

“She’s fucked stupid!” Viviane laughed. “Fuckstruck.”

“Well, we don’t fuck, but . . . yeah.”

“Right,” Viviane said. “He was a guy and you like girls.”

“Oh, no, men are hot. I mean, hot men are hot. I mean, not that he wasn't hot, he was, he is, but we didn't fuck. That's what I'm saying."

Viviane looked at me. “I thought you thought she was only into women?”

I shrugged and sank back into the water. “She’s got the haircut. What do I know?”

“Well, I like girls, who doesn’t?” Lolita explained, twirling her long sweep of curly hair. “In fact, that reminds me, I have a snuggle date at three.”

“A snuggle date?” Viviane asked.

“Yeah, this hot girl. She’s coming over to snuggle with me tonight.”

“You make dates for three in the morning?” I laughed. “You are the most overscheduled person I know.”

Lolita grinned. “I’m very, very good with schedules.”

“Word is, you’re very, very good at a few things,” I said. “But I begin to despair of getting face time with you.” I stood. Water rained down my body. “May I escort you to your snuggle date with your hot girl?”

“Hang on, I’ll get you a towel,” Viviane said.

I offered my hand to Lolita. She took it, helping me from the tub.

I stood close to her—naked, wet and steaming in the night air—my face in hers.

“Thank you, Lolita.”

She gave me her smile. “You’re very welcome.”

Viviane returned with a towel. I wrapped it around my waist without drying off. Viviane and Lolita talked. I stood silent, my eyes on Lolita’s profile. Waiting.

She looked over at me a few times as she talked.

“Okay, well . . . you want to go?” she asked.

“When you’re ready,” I said. “It’s your date who is waiting.”

Lolita turned away, keeping her eyes on me. “Okay, well, good night everyone. See you in the morning.”

“Yes, see you at breakfast,” Viviane smiled.

I held out my hand. Lolita took it.

We walked away from lights and people into the darkness.

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Grass

This story is also told by by Lolita.

I adjusted the towel around my waist as we walked. A golf cart full of campers whirred past.

“Hey, Lolita!” a woman's voice called. “Oink, oink!”

Lolita looked back and oinked in response, explaining that this greeting referred to her all-female cabin's affiliation as self-annointed "pigs." This aside barely interrupted the stream-of-consciousness conversation in which I was more audience than participant.

She was obviously nervous. I took her hand.

“So, what was so taxing about your play date earlier?” I asked.

“Oh, he was mean! Mean, mean, mean,” she said. She stopped and lifted her skirt slightly. “I’m sure you can’t see it in the dark, but I know my thighs will be bruised tomorrow.”

“Ouch,” I said, looking at her legs glowing pale in the moonless night.

“The price I pay, huh? For being nice to a friend.” She lowered her skirt and continued to walk.

“You were pummeled for being nice?”

“Yeah, see, Bratboy is pretty new to ropes, so I let him tie me up. He wanted to do impact too, and I said that was fine . . .”

“Impact?”

“You know, a beating. With toys. So anyway, he wailed on me, but good. I was in tears from the get go. That was fine by me, really, ‘cause I needed to release those toxins, those emotional toxins. Just too much . . . you know, stuff lately.”

“I can understand that.” I took her hand again.

Lolita talked about some of the things going on her life. After a bit, I stopped in the path and looked around. It was a dark area, and we were alone.

“Keep talking,” I said over my shoulder, stepping onto the grass. “I just need to pee.”

“Oh! Mind if I watch?” she asked, following me.

“No, that’s fine. Here, hold my towel.”

I set my feet apart and aimed my stream high into a bush.

“It’s too dark!” she complained. “I can’t see.”

“Come closer. You can at least hear my urine.”

She stood next to me. My free hand went around her waist.

We kissed.

We kissed like we had been waiting much too long for this moment. We had first seen one another about nine hours earlier.

My bladder empty, I gave it a good shake and turned to press myself against Lolita. My hands held her cheeks as our tongues found one another.

“Okay,” she said, pulling back. “Wow. Okay, so, I guess I should tell you a few things.”

“Tell me things,” I murmured into her ear.

“It’s just that . . . let’s just say I have issues.”

“Tell me about your issues,” I growled, licking my way down her neck.

She enumerated her issues. I unbuttoned her shirt.

I dropped her shirt to the path. She had a few more issues to go, so I unfastened her bra as I listened.

She reached the end of her list as I pinched her bare nipples.

“Is that it?” I asked, lowering my mouth to her cleavage. “Because ain’t nothing in that I can’t handle.”

“Well, sure, I mean, that’s it.” She wriggled under my tongue. “Pretty much. I mean, other than that, I have some issues with my body image.”

I stopped. I stood to look at her eyes.

“Your what?”

“My body image. You know, I find it hard to believe that anyone would find me attractive.”

I squinted at her.

She shifted from side to side, nervously, lifting her hands to her neck. “You know,” she said, looking away before finally dropping her hands in resignation. “Because I’m fat.”

She looked back to me. My face was impassive.

I leaned to kiss her, my hand gently caressing the back her head. “Poor fat girl,” I whispered.

I grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled down, hard. She yelped and bent over.

“We need to have a little talk,” I said, calmly. “Come with me.”

I tugged on her hair and lead her off the path toward a tree. I walked at a casual pace, just faster than she could manage, bent and stumbling by my side.

I pushed past the low hanging branches to reach the grassy field at the campus center. I walked in long strides now; she struggled to keep pace.

Distant lamplight gleamed on the early morning dew.

My towel remained in a clump on the path, beside her shirt and bra.

Several yards into the field I let go of her hair. She stood up and shook out her hair. I unfastened her skirt and let it drop to the ground.

She was reduced to black leather boots.

“Huh, no panties,” I noted. I took her hair in hand again, forcing her to her knees. I brought her face to my cock and put my thumb on her lips. She opened her mouth, instinctively. I gave her my cock.

She began to suck it, fast, as I grew in her mouth. My hand kept a firm grip on her hair.

When I was fully erect, I gave a few deep thrusts to her throat, waiting for her gag. I heard a gurgle. I pulled out and pushed her head down. Lolita tumbled into the grass.

She rolled on her back, panting and looking up at me.

“Poor fat girl,” I said, looking down as I stepped to stand over her torso, my legs apart at either side of her. “No one would find her attractive.” I squatted down over her ribcage. I took her cheeks in my hand and leaned to kiss her, hard.

I sat back and grabbed her hair. I slapped her. Hard.

She gasped. I smiled and leaned forward. “Lolita, why the fuck should I be concerned with your ‘body image?’” I said with utter disdain. “What the hell do you take me for?”

She looked up at me, choking back sobs. “It’s just . . .” she swallowed. “I, you know, I read your blog . . .”

“Yes, Lolita, we’ve talked about my blog.”

“And . . . ,” she panted. “And the way you write about that big girl, Bridget . . .”

“What about Bridget, Lolita?” I asked, cocking my head to one side.

“Well . . . ,” she drew a breath and exhaled. “You just really like her.”

I leaned forward. “No, Lolita, I don’t ‘like’ Bridget. I love Bridget.”

I slapped her again. She cried out and turned with the blow. I moved my hand to hold her face in place. Her tears wet my palm.

“I love her because she is smart.” I slapped her.

“I love her because she is funny.” Slap.

“I love her because she is kind.” Slap.

“I love her because she is sexy.” Slap.

I leaned closer. Lolita winced in anticipation, sobbing out loud.

“And you know what else is true about Bridget, that big girl I love?” I caressed Lolita’s cheek as she looked at me, her eyes wet, her cheeks streaked. “Bridget, whom I love, sucks dick like a motherfucker.”

I pulled myself up Lolita’s body and lowered my cock into her mouth. She gasped for a breath as she took it. I leaned forward to rest my palms on the grass, and raised my legs on the balls of my feet.

I did pushups into Lolita’s face, forcing my cock in and out of her throat.

She gurgled and moaned.

She gagged and I pulled back. She burst into laughter. I stood over her, looking down.

“You have an absolutely gorgeous laugh,” I said, sweetly. “It really makes me happy to hear it.”

Lolita convulsed in giggles. I leaned down to roll her over. Her back was flecked with freshly mown grass. I put my foot on the side of her face, pushing her cheek into the earth. “You are making me very happy,” I repeated.

I crouched and slapped her ass. Lolita howled. I began to spank her, hard and fast.

“I’m so sorry I missed your spanking class today,” I apologized, rubbing her flesh to feel it warm to my beating. “I really am such an amateur.”

Lolita gasped in laughter as I rolled her again. I pushed her legs apart and fingered her slit to feel her wetness. Her laughter broke into forced breathing as I fingered the piercing on her clit.

Our conversation was over for now.

I leaned to bury my face in her skin, biting marks into her shoulders, her breasts, her belly.

After so much foreplay during the evening, my teeth ached to taste flesh.

I moved to kneel between her legs, taking her piercing between my teeth. I flicked rapidly with my tongue. Lolita moaned, giggling lightly, as two of my fingers entered her.

I curved my fingers up inside her until I heard the moan I wanted. She was no longer giggling.

My palm grew wet, her juices joining her tears in my hand.

As her body went limp, I pulled out and lay over her, kissing her neck and face. My body thrust against hers.

She put her hands on my hips.

“You’re not fucking me without a condom,” Lolita said, admonishment at the edges of her tone.

“Of course I’m not fucking you without a condom,” I said. I lifted myself to look at her. “What do you take me for?”

“I know, I know, I just . . . ,” She laughed, then whispered. “I don’t suppose you have one?”

I furrowed my brow, “Baby, did you not just see me get out of a hot tub and walk here naked? I ain’t hiding nothing.” I leaned into kiss her again. “Anyway, don’t you have date?”

Lolita looked back to the path. “I do. I mean, it’s a snuggle date. I mean, I guess I can be late to that . . .”

“You’re already late,” I said. “It’s got to be way past three. Anyway, we don’t have to do everything tonight. We just met, after all.” I looked away. “I don’t want you to think I’m . . . easy.”

She roared, her body shuddering under mine.

I stood and offered her my hand. We walked hand in hand back to her clothes on the path. I brushed the grass from her body as she dressed.

“I don’t know why I bother dressing,” she said, buttoning her shirt. “I’m only walking a short way to my cabin.”

I shook out my towel and wrapped it around my shoulder. “Maybe because you’re cold. I just realized: it’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Aw, and you’re naked,” she smiled, rubbing her palms on my shoulder. “Do you need anything?”

“No,” I looked in her eyes. “I’ll just crawl under the blankets.”

“Okay. Well . . . um, nice to meet you, Jefferson.”

We laughed. I held out my hand. “Yes, likewise. Let’s do lunch.”

“Lunch,” she moaned, looking at cloudy sky. “Ugh, I have to teach a class in a few hours. I’ll be a wreck.”

“Good night. Lolita.”

“Good night, Jefferson.”

We kissed, our tongues already fast friends.

I waved as she walked up the path.

I turned back in the opposite direction, walking under the sky, nude and swinging my towel.

I was very worked up.

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Fight

“Okay, so if you have any more questions about that, just look for me, or the Manager on Duty, and we’ll take care of it,” Tristan said. “Now, let’s move on to tonight.”

Tristan sat on edge of a stage in the gymnasium-cum-dungeon, facing a dozen or so people on folding chairs. She spoke extemporaneously as she helped us to anticipate what we might expect from Dark Odyssey.

We had arrived too late for the orientation on Friday, so Viviane, Selina and I wanted to hear it from Tristan just after breakfast on Saturday.

We had done pretty well on our first night, flying by the seat of pants that weren’t always on. Still, we wanted to be prepared for the big doings to come.

I thought of Lolita, who was just then teaching a morning session on flogging. I was flying high from our tumble in the grass and about three hours sleep. I hoped she was holding out.

“Now, tonight’s main event is the Garden of Carnal Delights. That takes place at the Sex-o-Rama cabin, which—if you haven’t found it yet—is just out the dungeon and to the . . .” Tristan looked at her hands, “. . . right. Left if you are walking up from the barn.

“Okay, so: the Garden is divided into four rooms. The first is a make-out room. It’s purely for kissing and light sensual play. There’s no sex in this room.

“The next room is the brothel. This is where you can buy sexual favors and other erotic encounters with the Kundalini Kash you earned at the Cirkus last night. If you want more Kash, you can always earn it by offering favors.

“Then comes the orgy room. That is pretty self-explanatory.” Tristan held out her hands and shrugged. “It’s an orgy.”

We laughed.

“I’ll go over the rules for that in a moment, but let me finish talking about the rooms. The next is our most controversial—the objectification room.”

A hand went up.

“Hang on a sec,” she nodded. “Let me explain and then we can take questions.”

The hand went down.

“Okay, so in the objectification room, there are five cots, and on each cot, you can see the lower half of someone’s body. The top half is hidden by a black curtain. Above each body is posted a chart of things you can do to the body, and things you can’t do to the body. The whole thing is monitored by a facilitator, so ask if you have questions.

“Now, this is controversial, of course, because we are taught not to objectify people, but . . . yes? You have a question?”

“I can see how this would offend anyone with a modicum of exposure to feminism,” Selina said, lowering her hand. “That’s one of the key points of feminism: that women are not just bodies, but sentient beings. Society is still dealing with that.”

“That’s true, of course,” Tristan nodded. “Thank you for stating that objection so clearly. But the thing is, as that translates to sex, and to BDSM, there are many women—and men, and many submissives and doms—who are drawn to just that idea of the body as an object to be used for the pleasure of others. In fact, there is a class on objectification today, taught by Phantom and Femcar, so if you are interested in this, or have questions I can’t answer, you should attend that class.”

Selina nodded. I made a mental note.

“Now, the thing to remember about the Garden, as everywhere in camp, is: use good manners. As always, ask before you touch. I can’t stress enough the importance of good manners. I meet people who worry that they aren’t so hot, that they don’t have so much experience, or whatever. And I tell them: the people who are the most polite get laid like crazy here. It doesn’t matter if you are the best looking guy in the world, if you have bad manners . . .”

She looked over our heads and smiled. “And speaking of good looking guys with bad manners—good morning, Marcus.”

We all turned in our chairs. Marcus sauntered into the dungeon, grinning for having been called out as tardy to class.

“Good morning, Tristan,” he replied.

“Yes, dear Marcus could use a lesson in good manners,” I sneered, my voice as queen bitch as I could manage for so early an hour.

Marcus took his time crossing the room. He popped me on the back of the head, and then sat next to Viviane. She leaned over to fill him in.

Tristan looked us over. She adjusted her glasses. “Okay, so are there any questions at this point?”

Marcus raised his hand.

“Yes, Marcus?” Tristan said warily.

“Yes, I have a question,” Marcus said. “Who did Jefferson have sex with last night?”

There were nervous titters.

“It’s with whom I didn’t have sex, he should be asking,” I stage whispered to Selina.

“Boys, if this is a cat fight, it needs to go outside,” Tristan warned.

I looked at Marcus and smiled. He smiled back. We had a truce.

Not that he deserved it, the motherfucking whore ass selfish bitch.

After rolling in the grass with Lolita the night before, I had felt high and very horny. I had to let her go to her snuggle date, thinking it was probably best to let our first time together end as it had.

First impressions being what they are, this one was as good as they get.

But as I walked back to my cabin, I was itching to just please fuck someone before I went to sleep.

Since arriving at sex camp that late afternoon, I had made out with one woman and fingered three others to orgasm before rolling around with Lolita. That time with her was so intense, and we were so aroused, that we each went home with blue balls.

I had no idea what time it was, but it was approaching dawn. About twenty-four hours earlier, I had awoken to get the kids to school. I had made tuna salad sandwiches for their lunches.

I had dropped them off and kissed them goodbye before heading over to Viviane’s to fuck and pack for sex camp.

I had chased so many orgasms during that long day. But my own was still left waiting in the starting gate.

As I walked to my cabin, I saw Barry by the hot tub. Maybe, I thought, I would get off after all.

Like me, Barry was nude, as he had been all day. He had already presented himself as fair game, having hit on Marcus and me, as he had hit on everyone. Barry was outgoing to a fault, and very easy on the eyes—muscled, tan and in his early twenties, a recent veteran of the war in Afghanistan.

Man, I thought, if we could just swap blowjobs with no muss, I’d go to bed a happy camper.

I joined Barry only to find he was hours into the seduction of a woman who seemed, as daylight approached, all but willing to fuck him if only to shut him up.

I decided to steer clear of that, cash in my chips, and go to sleep.

I brushed my teeth and snuggled close to Viviane. On the way to bed, I noticed Marcus’s cot was empty. I supposed that my boyfriend was somewhere getting some, the lucky cunt.

I couldn’t sleep.

I lay in bed, cozying under the covers and ignoring my erection. I wondered if it would be too pathetic to jerk off at sex camp.

The cabin door swung open and slammed shut. Marcus walked in, followed by someone else. As they passed my bed, I could see that his companion was Felix, the boy that Viviane had found for me earlier that night.

I stayed under my covers, feigning sleep.

Soon, I heard Marcus’s body pounding rapidly against flesh. He was giving the boy a jackhammer fucking. I looked to see Felix on his back, his legs in the air.

This was perfect. Marcus had wound up with a boy who already seemed interested in me. I was keyed up for anything, and here was something very hot, delivered to my bedside.

The thought of tossing Felix back and forth with Marcus fit the bill nicely.

I peeled back my blanket and strolled to Marcus’s bunk.

“Hey boys,” I whispered, slipping my arm around Marcus. “We’re up late.”

I made no effort to disguise my hard on.

“Hey, Jefferson,” Felix smiled.

“Nice of you to remember my name, Felix.” I caressed his leg, my hand arriving at his balls. I felt Marcus’s cock in him. “You guys looked so hot, I thought I would come say hello.”

“Thanks for saying hello,” Marcus said.

“Yes, sure,” I smiled.

Marcus said nothing more. I picked up the conversation.

“So, it’s kind of crowded in here, with so many people sleeping. Why don’t we go someplace else so we don’t wake them?”

“Like where, Jefferson?” Marcus asked, a little too loud.

“I don’t know, there are so many options,” I whispered. “We could head over to the barn, or down to the pavilion. We could walk to the dungeon, or Sex-o-Rama. Or heck, we could just go to it on the lawn.”

“I don’t know, Jefferson,” Marcus said. “It’s pretty cold out there.” He adjusted his cock in Felix’s ass. Felix groaned. “You okay?” Marcus asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Felix said. “I just haven’t been fucked in, like, six years, since that one time in high school.”

My cock bounced.

“The barn is closest,” I said. “And it has all those risers.”

“They didn’t look all that comfortable, really,” Marcus said, rubbing Felix’s slender hips.

“I’ve got a picnic blanket, and some pillows,” I said. I smiled at Felix. He smiled back, tossing the hair from his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Marcus said. “I think we are fine here, don’t you, Felix?”

“This is great, but whatever you want.”

“This is great, but for the fact that ten other people are asleep in the room, and ten more just over that wall,” I whispered. “If we just crossed the path to the barn, we’d be all alone, in a big open space. We could make as much noise as we wanted.”

“It’s cold, Jefferson,” Marcus said.

“Please,” I said. “I was just rolling in the grass naked with someone for an hour or more. You’ve been outside all night. It’s not that bad.”

Marcus looked in my eyes. “Who were you with?”

“That doesn’t matter,” I said. “Can we please go fuck this boy, please?”

Felix looked on amused as my boyfriend and I bickered.

“I’d like to know who you fucked,” Marcus said, pressing his hips in and out of Felix.

I sat back. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything,” he said. “Look, Felix and I are having a special time. If you want to join us, great. But I don’t want to go outside.”

“Yeah. Don’t risk crossing the path. Don’t walk twenty fucking feet—you’ll fucking freeze to death. Fine.” I sat forward to kiss Felix’s forehead. I thumped Marcus on the ear, hard.

“Ow!”

“Enjoy your ‘special time,’” I said.

I went back to bed and listened as Marcus fucked Felix. The boy was quiet. Marcus moaned and groaned.

When I woke in the morning, Viviane was already up and dressed. The cabin was full of activity. “Good morning, sweetie,” she said. “We have about an hour until breakfast is over.”

“Thanks, dear,” I said. “I’ll be up in a few.” I closed my eyes.

A moment later, Marcus crawled into bed with me. I curled up in his arms, resting my face on his chest.

“What happened to your boy?” I asked sweetly.

“I don’t know, he’s gone,” Marcus replied.

“Maybe he went to get the justice of the peace, you were having such a special time,” I yawned.

“He was all right,” Marcus yawned in reply. “I like more experience in a bottom.”

“He might have had more experience if you had unplugged his ass for a moment to give me a go.” My finger toyed with his nipple. ‘You selfish prick.” I pinched his tit.

“Ow! Wait, wait, wait,” Marcus winced. “Now, hang on. This is really your fault.”

“My fault? Why is it my fault you didn’t share a boy?”

“Remember that time Madeline was visiting me, and you came, and you fucked her for like, five straight hours, and I couldn’t get at her?”

I laughed and punched him. “Yes, I remember that time last year when you had been fucking my girlfriend for two days before I joined you for a few hours. Why do you ask?”

Marcus grabbed my wrists. “Well, this was your payback.”

I laughed. “You sorry sack of shit!” I pushed back on his grasp. He held me firm.

He twisted his body to jump on my shoulders. I was pinned between his knees, his balls on my chin.

“Boys!” Viviane admonished.

Our cabin mates hooted.

“Submit! Submit!” Marcus demanded.

“Fuck you,” I grimaced. I twisted and turned, kicking my feet up to his head. He feinted and dodged my kicks so I couldn’t connect.

“Submit!” Marcus demanded.

“Will you please submit so we can get to breakfast before the bacon is gone?” Viviane intervened.

“Fine, fine,” I sighed. “Submit.”

Marcus leaped from me, gloating. I kicked his ass as he pranced across my bed.

Our cabin mates cheered his victory lap to the shower. Marcus grinned that everyone saw this and thought it was so funny.

I threw back the covers and reached for my pants.

“Every damn morning,” I muttered. “The same damn routine.”

Our mates laughed.

Later that morning, as orientation drew to a close, we were joined by the dungeon master. He gave us a quick tour of the equipment.

Tristan climbed onto the dungeon furniture to show how bodies should be properly situated.

I admired the Saint Andrew’s crosses and the scaffolding with winches and support bars.

Marcus was drawn to the mats. He pulled me over to ask a few questions. I nodded and made suggestions.

During lunch, Marcus wrote notes to give to Tristan as she prepared her midday announcements.

“Okay, and finally,” she said, speaking into a microphone. “Tonight, at seven thirty, after dinner but before the Sex Idol Contest—this is before the Garden of Carnal Delights, remember—join us in the dungeon for our first ever Bi Male Wrestling Competition!”

The diners cheered.

“We can expect lots of sweaty male-on-male action, I am told, by our organizer, Marcus! You should go to Marcus with questions and to sign up. Can you stand, Marcus, so everyone knows who you are?”

Marcus stood next to me and raised his arm.

I jumped up and wrapped my elbow around his neck, pulling him down in a stranglehold.

“Fight!” someone shouted.

“Your ass is going down tonight,” I scowled.

“You are too pathetic,” Marcus scoffed.

“All right boys, all right,” Viviane said. “Save it for the match.”

Lolita watched me kiss Marcus before releasing him. Her mind was racing.

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Handshake

“I never eat like this,” Selina said, closing the bun on her hamburger. “Thank God for the salad bar.”

“Yeah, it’s camp food,” Lolita said. “About which, the less said, the better.”

“It’s not so bad,” Barry disagreed, pouring ketchup on two cheeseburgers. “No worse than the Marines, anyway.”

“You’re a regular recruiting poster, you are,” I said, taking a large bite of raw spinach greens.

A young woman with short brown hair tapped on Lolita’s shoulder. “Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Lolita turned. “Oh, hi, delicious. I was wondering when you would find me.” Lolita sat back and patted her lap. The woman sat on her knee, wrapping an arm around Lolita’s shoulder.

I recognized her as the artist with whom I had corresponded before coming to Dark Odyssey. I had sent her a Cupid note when we arrived the day before, but I had heard nothing in response.

I had seen her photograph. She was even cuter in person.

Lolita introduced us. I nodded, reminding the artist of our email exchanges.

“I remember,” she smiled. “Nice to meet you, Jefferson.” She turned back to Lolita. “So, Lolita, are you going to have time to spank me? You are the very best there is.”

“Thanks, but I really doubt it. I’m sorry, I’m just booked solid this weekend.”

The woman pouted. “Not at all?”

“I can’t promise anything, but try me at the Garden of Carnal Delights tonight. I’ll be there with my friends,” she said, nodding to us.

“Oh, you’re a friend of Lolita’s?” she asked me.

I nodded. “We go way back.”

“Hmmm, okay, I’ll look for you there, Lolita.” She stood from Lolita’s lap and bent to kiss her. “Thanks!”

Lolita swatted the artist’s ass as she walked away. She squealed.

“Too bad you may miss out on spanking her,” I said, peppering my potato salad. “She’s a doll.”

“You want to spank her?” Lolita asked.

“I’d happily do her, yes.”

“I’ll make it happen,” she said.

“Really? You’d do that?”

Lolita smiled. “I make things happen. That’s what I do.”

I grinned, amused by the seemingly limitless abilities of my new best friend.

Marcus had moved to the end of the table to take names from men who wanted to participate in that evening’s wrestling match. Barry moved his plate to sit closer, offering advice on the best way to organize wrestlers.

“You and Marcus seem to have a very special relationship,” Lolita said, nodding toward him.

“I’ve known him most of my life. I love him,” I said, chewing more spinach. “He’s a bitch, but he’s my bitch.”

Viviane laughed.

“It’s very clear you two love each other very much,” Selina said. “I’m impressed that you are so warm and caring with each other.”

“You even let him top you,” Viviane interjected.

I rolled my eyes. “I let him fuck me sometimes, if that’s what you mean. But really, it’s not like anyone can stop him from doing what he wants. He’s pure id.”

“No, it’s not just that,” Selina said. “I mean, you relax around him. You trust him. It isn’t like you have to be in the one in control when you are around him. You are more, I don’t know . . . free.”

I nodded and speared a chickpea with my fork. “He’s my boyfriend, and the only one I’ve got,” I said, popping the pea in my mouth. “He’ll just have to do.”

“I don’t know if you understand what I’m saying . . . ,” Selina began.

“I think it would be fun to top Jefferson,” Lolita said casually, as though the thought had just occurred to her. I doubted it had.

“Ha! I’d like to see that,” Viviane said. “I’d pay three hundred in Kundalini Kash to see that.”

“No, now it’s you who doesn’t understand,” Selina began, patting Lolita’s hand. “Let me explain Jefferson to you.”

I took a bite of potato salad and listened.

“See, Lolita, Jefferson always has to be in control,” Selina went on. “I totally understand why. He was married to a control freak. That didn’t work out, so he’s reluctant to let anyone else be in charge. He always has to be the boss.”

“Yeah, he’s a total dom,” Viviane nodded. “One hundred percent.”

Lolita kept her eyes on me.

“That’s why he’s so arrogant about it,” Selina nodded. “He needs to assert himself in this totally arrogant fashion, which . . . well, it’s not for me, I don’t go for it, but I understand where he’s coming from.” She turned to me and rested a hand on my shoulder. “I mean, I think you are great as you are, Jefferson, but, you know, the dominance, the arrogance, is something of a . . . I don’t know, a defense mechanism.”

“Why, Selina Fire,” I drawled. “I do believe you are falling in love with me!”

She looked surprised, then laughed. “Huh, well, let’s just say I understand you. And I think Lolita has to understand that you would never surrender control to anyone.”

I sipped my coffee. “I would let Lolita tie me up.”

Selina looked at me.

“Five hundred,” Viviane said quietly.

“It’s yours,” Lolita said.

“On one condition,” I added, picking up my cheeseburger. “I want the good stuff. Top shelf. I want to be suspended.”

“Done.” Lolita smiled.

“I thought you were booked solid this weekend,” I said.

“I am. But I will open a space for this.”

“Then we have a deal,” I said, extending a hand. We shook on it.

“Six hundred,” Viviane said.

“You don’t need to bid, honey,” I said, biting into my cheeseburger. “It’s done. We shook on it.”

“I can watch?”

“Sure, you can both watch, if Jefferson’s cool with it,” Lolita said. “Just remember, it’s a session, not a demo. You have to be a good audience.”

“Jefferson, I’m surprised,” Selina said. “I mean, truly surprised. You would submit to Lolita? That’s . . . well, that’s brave.”

“I may be a dom, but I’m not stupid,” I said, swallowing my bite. “The opportunity to be suspended by someone so skilled as Lolita is not to be passed. I mean, anyone who would let that go because he’s so stuck on his identity as a ‘dom’ would be an idiot.”

“True, true, I can see that,” Selina nodded. “But still, very brave.”

“Thanks, Selina. I appreciate that.”

I sipped my coffee.

Later that evening, as I waited in line for dinner, a man approached me. I recognized him as Elvon, Lord of Vampires.

“You Jefferson?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Cupid. Message.” He took a crumbled pink note from his pocket, read it, and passed it to me.

It was from Lolita. She wrote that she looked forward to meeting me sometime at camp. She checked off that she was “intrigued,” and added a box by hand to say she thought I was “smart.”

“Thanks,” I said to Elvon. “But I think I already got this message.”

“Sorry,” he said, grabbing a bare-breasted girl who was passing by. “I’ve been busy.”

She giggled and squirmed as he buried his face in her neck.

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Strap-On 101

“I think the sex magic class sounds intriguing,” Selina said, pointing to the schedule in her hands.

“I’m not into the New Age stuff,” I said, reading over her shoulder. “But I’m down for the ritual baths. You can keep your spirituality off my body, thank you very much, but being outside with naked people is awesome.”

“You are rather predictable, aren’t you, Jefferson?” Viviane said. She looked at Selina. “Put me down for ritual baths, too.”

We had arrived too late to take advantage of the Friday schedule of classes. On Saturday morning, after Tristan’s orientation, Selina, Viviane and I set off to learn about strap-ons. Nina Hartley was the instructor.

Marcus had no use for strap–ons. He headed off for a class designed for people with libidos that didn’t match those of their partners. I could see why this topic might be of interest to Marcus; no one could possibly keep up with his insatiability.

“Have fun with fake dicks,” he said, a little derisively. “I’m taking my real one with me.”

Marcus could scoff, but I needed to learn more about strap-ons. They are all the rage with the crowd at my sex parties. I sometimes josh that they are going to make cock superfluous. And it’s not entirely a joke: when Emma acquired her strap-on, she immediately bypassed me as the most popular blonde top. When she’s around, I’m lucky to get sloppy seconds.

As we crossed the lawn to the barn, where the strap-on class was to be conducted, I saw Lolita walking toward us. She was fresh from teaching a session on flogging, and carried a bag of flogs and other implements.

It was the first time I had seen her since our spontaneous roll in the grass. We had parted company near dawn, just a few hours earlier. Lolita had just spent nearly two of those hours on her feet conducting an introduction to beating.

She looked up and saw us. She slumped forward, her body giving over to weariness.

I skipped ahead to her side.

“Lolita, you poor thing,” I kissed her cheek. “You look like death. Did you get any sleep at all?”

“I don’t remember,” she frowned. “If I did, I must have slept through it.”

“Oh, ma pauvre. I’m sorry I kept you from your bed. You must have been so late for your cuddle date.”

“Yeah, well, she was asleep, so . . .”

I put my hands on her cheeks and interrupted her with a kiss. My tongue parted her lips. I felt giddy as my cock woke to the sensation.

“I think this answers Marcus’s question about where Jefferson was last night,” Selina teased, catching up to us.

“Of course, we knew,” Viviane responded.

I pulled back, putting a finger to my lips. “Busted,” I shrugged to Lolita.

She shrugged and smiled. I grinned at her smile. We were behaving so coyly with one another, enjoying the flush of puppy love at camp.

“Are you coming to strap-on class?” Viviane asked. “Nina Hartley is supposed to be amazing!”

“She’s really great, but I can’t,” Lolita said. “I have a play date before lunch.”

“Don’t wear yourself out,” I said quietly, rubbing my toe into the grass. “It might be nice if you had some energy left . . . you know, later, if, you know, you needed it.”

Viviane slapped my arm lightly. “Don’t be mean to her.”

“I don’t have a mean bone in my body,” I smiled. I leaned close to rub against Lolita. “My warm, soft, electric body . . .”

Lolita laughed and pushed me away. “Go play with dildos. I have a girl to carve up, and I’m late already.”

“Okay, okay, later,” I waved. We both looked back at one another as we walked away. She began to run, a lightness in her step.

“You two are too cute,” Selina said. “When did all that transpire?”

“Oh, it’s been transpiring,” I said, patting her back. “Do try to keep up.”

On the way to the barn, I was distracted by something going on at the basketball court. Selina and Viviane went ahead to class.

A wooden frame had been erected at one end of the asphalt. A nude man was bound to the frame, his legs and arms spread apart so that his body was splayed wide. He was surrounded by a small group of young women in pigtails and schoolgirl uniforms.

One of the girls was beating his back with a flogger as another used his torso as a chalkboard.

The man howled with each blow.

“Why is he being punished?” I asked a schoolgirl sitting in the grass.

“Because is a bad teacher,” she replied, her eyes wide. She looked back at the teacher and narrowed her gaze to slits. “Bad, bad, bad!” she spat.

“Bad, bad, bad teacher!” echoed the girl with the flogger, accentuating each use of the word “bad” with a descending blow.

The teacher squirmed and cried out with each impact.

“Huh,” I said. “He must have been very bad indeed.”

“Yes,” the schoolgirl nodded. “Bad, bad, bad!” she shouted.

“Bad, bad, bad!” echoed the flogger.

The teacher screamed in agony.

I figured it was best for me to keep my mouth shut.

I watched for a moment before saying goodbye to the schoolgirl. I was late for class.

The barn door was open when I arrived.

“Look, as far as I’m concerned, anything bigger than six inches is just showboating. Okay?”

Everyone nodded, riveted as the naked porn star explained dildos.

I don’t know why I was surprised to discover Nina Hartley nude.

She sat on her haunches on a long wooden table behind an array of silicone phalluses. She held one in each hand.

“Now, you see the curve to this one?” she said, holding her left hand aloft. “This is great for hitting the g-spot if you curve it up. But,” she flipped the dildo, “turn it down if you doing it doggy style, or to hit the prostate on a man. That’s one advantage dildos have over bio cocks—you can adjust the size and position to suit your needs.”

Selina sat in a folding chair close to the front, bent over to take notes. Viviane waved from the risers, where she had saved a place for me.

“Thanks for the seat,” I whispered. “Uh, Nina Hartley is kinda hot, all naked and shit.”

“’Kinda?’” Viviane said. “She’s fucking gorgeous.”

Of course, like everyone else in the room, I had seen Nina nude many times. She’s been in over six hundred porn films since her debut in the mid-eighties, and she appears nude in her books and website. Even so, I hadn’t expected her to conduct the class in the all together.

I was still new to sex camp.

Nina stepped from the table to demonstrate a few different harnesses and attachment rings. She fitted the straps over her hips and smooth pussy.

I was attentive, if distracted by her luminous skin, glowing under the contrast between indoor spotlights and the gray morning light from the windows. I wasn’t sure which was stronger, the desire for oil paints or a palm of spit.

All those porn videos crowding my eyes, and I had never noticed the translucence of Nina Hartley’s creamy smooth skin.

Eventually, I was able to focus on her instructions. She was, as it happened, an engaging and funny speaker. Nina was in her element before an audience of admirers who all felt that she was already an intimate friend.

“Okay, so, lube: there are all kinds of lube, and you will find the one you like. My advice, though, is to use lots and lots of it. And of course, no silicone lube on silicone toys. The toys will melt in your mouth and your hands, and that’s only fun with M&Ms.”

Barry arrived and sat beside me. I barely recognized him in clothes.

“Man, she’s hot!” he whispered to me.

“Yeah, we already covered that. I didn’t see you at breakfast.”

“I slept in,” he said. “I was up late fucking that girl for two hours.”

“Nice work.”

“Yeah, you should’ve been there.”

“Next time, you should invite me.” I had missed a second threesome in the wee hours, in addition to the one my so-called boyfriend had cockblocked.

As Nina tried on different harnesses and dildos, I noticed a couple sitting to my left. He was burly fellow in his mid-fifties, with a ring of close-cropped white hair circling his round skull. He held a long chain attached to the neck of a tall curly-haired woman in her mid-twenties. She smiled blankly as she watched the class.

Her torso was encased in a straight jacket.

Now, that must be nice, I thought. When I grow up, I might also like to keep a pretty girl on a leash.

Nina called on a volunteer to assist with her demonstration. I recognized her as the woman who had flashed us the day before, the one who reminded me of Susan Sarandon.

She was wearing only boots and a corset.

“You just couldn’t be hotter,” Nina admired, absentmindedly stroking her cock. “Though, I don’t know—should you keep the corset or show your tits?”

“Tits!” someone called from the audience.

“I think so, too,” Nina agreed. The volunteer turned so that Nina could untie the corset. Her breasts were exposed as it slid forward.

The audience murmured its approval. Nina turned to face her. “That is even hotter. You have amazing tits.”

“And they are real!” someone shouted. The audience laughed.

“Hey, if you are born with them, that’s great,” Nina replied. She cupped her own breasts and pressed them up. “Mine may not be natural, but they are sure enough real. And they are paid for.”

She bowed as her breasts were applauded.

“Okay, now,” Nina clapped her hand. “Let’s get you on the table so I can fuck you. Lay on your back while I put a condom on this cock.”

The volunteer hopped onto the table and lay back as instructed.

“What, is she really going to fuck her?” Viviane asked.

“Sure looks that way,” I nodded.

“Damn,” Barry said.

“Now, for my money, you can get by with six dildos, max,” Nina said, taking her position between the volunteer’s spread legs. “I don’t even know how many I own, maybe a few dozen, but I always rely on the same ones.” She eased her cock into the woman’s body. “I keep a big one, of course, but I never use it, except on size queens.” She looked down at the volunteer. “How does that feel?”

“Oh, very good,” she laughed. Titters erupted across the audience.

“Good,” Nina smiled. “And see, this is only six inches, but that’s all you need—just like bio cock. If I sit back a bit, and pull up her legs, like this, I can hit her g-spot very well.”

“Oh yeah, very well!” the volunteer moaned.

“Good! Now, obviously, if this was a real session, we would have had foreplay, and I would have played with her tits more, like this.” Nina began to massage her volunteer’s breasts. “Just like any sex, fucking with strap-ons is hotter with foreplay. Then I would be more likely to make her cum.”

“Actually, you’re getting close,” her volunteer said.

“Oh really?” Nina smiled. “Well, let’s focus on that a bit.” Nina continued thrusting, her posture erect as her ass pivoted back and forth.

“Okay, that’s it . . . that’s it . . . ,” her volunteer sighed, before issuing a loud moan.

“Good, go with it, go with it,” Nina encouraged. When her orgasm subsided, the volunteer went limp. We applauded.

“Nice,” Nina said, pulling out. “That’s what we like to see. Thank you so much for helping out.” Nina stepped off the table, and gave her hand to the woman. We applauded again as she returned to her seat.

“Smoking,” I said to Viviane.

“That was lovely,” she said. “She couldn’t have done it better with a bio cock.”

A new phrase hand entered our shared vocabulary. Henceforth, I would no longer have a penis. I would have a “bio cock.”

The next volunteer was also fitted with a bio cock, a bisexual man I recognized as Switchme, one of the camp instructors. He was nude, and had brought a dildo he wanted Nina to use on him.

“Now, with guys, or with anal sex with women, you want to have them clean out first,” Nina said. “So I’ve asked my male volunteers to use an enema before class. Did you do that, Switchme?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Now, how do you want me? On the table? Face up or down?”

“Let’s have you face up, just to be consistent,” Nina said.

Switchme lay back on the table and lubed his ass as Nina attached his condom to her harness. It was much larger than the one she had previously used. She twisted her hips to watch it wriggle.

“So Switchme is obviously something of a size queen,” she teased.

“Dead to rights,” Switchme nodded.

Nina rolled a condom on her cock and covered it in lube. She crouched between Switchme’s legs and began to ease it into his hole.

“Ouch, wait a second,” Switchme complained. He fingered himself, applying more lube. “Okay, try again.”

Nina began to enter him. Again, he stopped her.

“This is just not working,” Switchme said.

“Maybe if you turned over,” Nina suggested. “You may be tensing up in front of an audience.”

“That’s never been much of an issue before,” he said, flipping over. He raised his ass to Nina. She tried again, and once again, he stopped her.

Nina slapped his ass. “I think we have to accept that this isn’t working,” she said. She turned to the class. “Again, in a real session, we’d have more time for foreplay, to relax him and prepare him for anal play. We don’t have time for that now, but it’s important to remember that—with strap-ons, just like bio cocks, you really need foreplay with anal sex.”

Selina scribbled, nodding.

Switchme demonstrated a strap-on harness he uses, explaining that it was useful for men who wanted to try sex with a larger penis.

“You can also use that for double penetration,” Nina added. “So you can use your dildo for one hole, and your bio cock for another.”

“We should try that,” Viviane whispered.

I smiled. “I know, we usually have more bio cock around than dildos.”

Nina called forward another volunteer, another beautiful woman who wore only knee-high leather boots.

“Now, we’re going to try doing it doggy style,” Nina said as she picked out a new dildo.

Nina instructed the volunteer to arch her ass high. She talked to the class as she entered the woman’s pussy, discussing various positions as she demonstrated them.

“And this,” she said, “Is the best way I know to stimulate the g-spot.” She poised herself high over the volunteer’s ass and aimed her thrusts down. Nina’s body barely touched that of the volunteer as she fucked her. She held herself aloft on her toes.

The audience was hushed in awe. The only sounds were the volunteer breathing through her moans, and the cries of the bad teacher outside, still enduring his beating.

I have never seen anyone use that position to better visual effect. I applauded. The audience joined me.

“She is in amazing shape,” Viviane marveled.

I nodded as I clapped.

A sudden movement in my periphery caught my attention. The young woman in the straightjacket had bent forward as she stood, her hair falling into her face. The man had jerked the chain leash, which was positioned between her legs. Evidently, the metal rubbed her clit under her short skirt. With a few swift tugs, he brought her to orgasm. She buckled and twitched silently.

The man noticed me watching and winked. I smiled. He seemed like a nice guy. I wondered if he would let me fuck his charge.

I was kind of turned on by her bruised thighs.

Nina had time for one more volunteer. She had selected another man, a submissive who seemed well known to the other campers. She positioned him on his elbows and knees so that he could look at his mistress as she fucked him.

This time, it worked well. She gave him a good, solid fucking.

Afterwards, class was dismissed.

“That was incredible,” Selina said, closing her notebook. “I was so glad to see that the problems I’ve had with strap-ons can happen to anyone. I learned a lot.”

“I even learned a few tricks to try with my natural endowment,” I said.

“Yeah, but bio cocks are pretty passé,” Viviane teased. “You need to get with the program.”

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Sun Bath

This story is also told by Selina.

“I can’t believe how well this bi male wrestling match thing is going over,” Marcus said, folding papers into his pocket. “Barry and I just signed up a bunch of guys—well, one or two are on the fence.”

“You know those bisexuals,” I said. “They love to sit on fences.”

“Yeah, right,” he grinned. “So what were you and Lolita talking about? She’s so into you, Jefferson.”

“I’m so into her, Marcus,” I said, stirring sugar into yet another cup of coffee. We were halfway into our first full day of sex camp, and, like many campers, I was operating on only a few hours sleep.

“So, what’s the deal?” Marcus persisted.

“Lolita’s going to tie me up. She’s going to suspend me in the air. We shook on it.” I sipped my coffee and lowered my voice. “Lolita says she’s going to make things happen.”

“Wow, I don’t even know what that means.”

“Me neither. It makes my nipples ache to contemplate,” I said. “Come on, the girls are waiting. We need to go outside and get naked.”

As lunch ended, Lolita returned to her overscheduled weekend as she plotted a way to make time to bind me. The four of us, mere tourists at sex camp, were off to the next session: ritual bathing.

Viviane and I walked ahead as Marcus and Selina talked behind us. The sky was overcast, as it had been since our arrival.

“Do you know where we can find the amphitheatre?” Viviane asked a passing Cupid.

“Sure!” Cupid replied. She pointed her wand down a path. “Pass the leather store, around the pool to the left, and there it is!”

“Thanks,” I said. “Any messages for Jefferson?”

“Nope!” she said brightly.

“Are you expecting something?” Viviane asked as we walked away.

“Not really,” I said, thinking of the artist with whom I had traded emails in the week before camp.

The pool was open but unused on such a cloudy afternoon. Viviane pointed to benches in a clearing.

“Tristan told me this camp was built as a retreat for Jewish girls,” she said. “The amphitheater was used for outdoor services.”

“Ha, I like that,” I said. “Do you think religious camps need to be decommissioned, like military bases? I don’t want our faces to melt if we trip over a Raiders of the Lost Ark sacrilege.”

“Oy gevalt,” Viviane laughed.

Up ahead, I saw a wooden stage at the base of a slopping hill. The lawn facing the stage was arrayed with even rows of rough-hewn benches.

On stage, a nude man tended to white plastic tubs of water. I recognized him as Switchme, the volunteer at that morning’s class on strap-ons. Three men sat in the first row, each alone on separate benches. There was no one else in sight.

Apparently, “ritual bathing” was going to involve us getting naked with these shlumps. The three men so lacked in the social graces that they weren’t even making conversation with one another.

As we approached, Marcus continued to fill in Selina on his plans for the evening’s wrestling match.

One of the shlumps looked up to shush us.

“Oh, we should be quiet,” Selina whispered. “It’s a sacred space.”

I bit my tongue. I had hoped that my concession to New Age hokum would at least involve some navels worth the gazing.

“Welcome,” Switchme smiled from the platform stage as he put a CD into a player. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. We’ll begin shortly.”

Marcus looked around as he began to undress. He understands the phrase “get comfortable” to mean “get naked.”

The rest of us followed suit. The shlumps stood and began to do likewise.

I took off my shirt, looking back toward the path we had followed. No sign of anyone joining us.

Viviane caught my eye as she unfastened her bra. I leaned forward to kiss her shoulder.

“Wonderful,” Switchme said as we stood naked in the grass. “Please, join me on the deck.”

We climbed a few stairs to the platform. Marcus nudged me to look to my right. One of the men had peeled off to piss. He faced away from us as he took a leak into a line of trees.

I smiled, unsure if Marcus had wanted me to notice that the man had a nice ass, or to share his amusement that someone would turn away to pee so modestly, given our mutual nudity.

“Welcome,” Switchme smiled, his voice serene and calm. “We might have hoped for a more beautiful day for this ritual, but we are here, and comfortable, and together in a unified group. They say the weather will improve this weekend. Perhaps we can inspire warmth in the environment around us.”

The dawdling pisser climbed the stairs to join us. Switchme looked over to smile at him in greeting.

“Now that we are all here, and together, let us join hands with the person to our left, and to our right. As you do so, step back to form a circle centered around the tubs you see on the deck. Be silent and focus on the air entering and exiting your lungs.”

I looked to my right and took Marcus’s hand in mine. I looked passed him to trade smiles with Selina. She was already breathing deeply, giving herself over to the moment. Nude among trees, grass and other nude people. Selina was in her element.

I caressed Viviane’s thick hair before taking her hand in mine. She kept her eyes on mine as her lips formed a tight grin. I smiled in assurance, knowing that public nudity is less to her taste. She closed her eyes as she took the hand to her left.

Switchme looked up from his CD player. I didn’t know the music, but I guessed its origins lay in the "India" section of the World Music bins.

“Now that we are in a circle, close your eyes and feel the energy move between us.” I let my eyes rest on the man opposite me, the one who had pissed in the woods. I closed my lids to lock the image in place. He was lean, blonde, and Aryan.

A low hum filled the air, moving behind my ears.

“Let us tune our minds to this prayer bowl. Breath in and out as the prayer bowl takes our thoughts deep inside, to a place of peace, of ease, of comfort.

I meditated on the Aryan’s bone structure. I asked my memory to lock on that final glance, so I could gaze at him behind closed lids.

I willed my cock to remain at peace, at ease, at comfort.

The hum circled us once, twice, three times, before echoing into silence. I heard a gentle thud of brass against wood. The deck vibrated dully beneath my feet from Switchme’s gentle footfall.

I heard water splash to wood and cascade to the earth beneath.

The layers of sound faded, only to repeat. I heard Selina gasp.

“As this bath moves across your skin, let it wash away the discomforts and tensions of daily life. Feel your spirit elevate to a place of purity and inner strength.”

I didn’t recall having seen the Aryan before.

I squeezed Marcus’s hand. He squeezed mine in response. I imagined his mind was pretty much in the same place of repose as my own.

We had targeted the Aryan.

Water splashed from Marcus’s body onto mine. His hand tensed, then relaxed. I knew I was next. I braced for cold.

Instead, warm water displaced the cool breeze on my bare flesh. It was a taste of a shower, perfectly tuned, as the humid air turned liquid on my body.

I wanted more. I felt it in splashes as Viviane gasped.

My mind went blank, following the sounds of water around our circle.

I squeezed Viviane’s hand. She held mine tight.

The last of the water dripped to the earth below. A sitar floated above a pulsing rhythm.

“You may open your eyes and lower your arms. Let the feeling of warmth envelope you.”

I opened my eyes, letting them blink open on the man opposite me. My memory had effective kept him in my sight.

I turned to Marcus and Selina, then to Viviane. I put a hand on Viviane’s back and kissed her shoulder.

Switchme indicated a collection of bottles near the tubs. “These oils are soothing to the touch and will open your breathing. Please take some and warm it in your palms. We will each turn to massage the person at our left.”

I took a handful of oil and smelled eucalyptus. I passed the bottle to Viviane. She took it, turning her back to me.

I began to massage her shoulders and back. Viviane’s skin is soft and familiar to my touch. I traced my fingers down her spine to its base and began to rotate my thumb back to her skull.

Marcus’s hands enveloped my back, pulling me to erect posture as he pressed into my muscles.

I slowly rotated my head on its axis.

Viviane turned. I massaged her shoulders, her arms and her breasts. I kissed her. Marcus’s hands massaged my buttocks.

Viviane turned me around. I pressed my body against Marcus and wrapped my hands around him to massage his torso. He moved Selina’s long hair to expose her back to his hands.

Viviane’s palms were gentle after Marcus’s vigorous massage.

“Good, good,” Swtichme said in a low voice. “Feel the bubble of energy from our bodies.”

I was starting to feel energy, all right.

We were encouraged to move around the circle. I massaged the ample belly of one man before stroking his thick cock to hardness.

I wasn’t sure of the protocol of ritual bathing, but I did know how to oil a man. Maybe it was uncouth of me to be giving a handjob to this stranger, but I liked the feel of his cock in my hand and the response of his breathing as I twisted my palm back and forth.

We moved to another partner, as instructed, and I found myself with Marcus. He smiled at me.

I kissed him, pressing my body against his.

For all I knew, kissing might have been entirely the wrong thing to do, but fuck any ritual that keeps me from kissing my man.

I felt us growing hard against one another. I put my hands to his face, pulling myself deeper into his kiss. I felt light as he panted and his body responded to mine.

I felt Viviane’s hands on my back.

At that moment, as Viviane caressed me, as I kissed the man I love, for the first time in days, the sun shone through the clouds.

Selina was the first to notice.

“The sun!” she exclaimed. “We made the sun shine!”

“We have created a bubble of tremendous energy,” Switchme smiled. “And the erotic energy adds to that.”

Good, I thought, as we kissed. Because I’m not stopping now.

Viviane became distracted as Switchme massaged her.

Selina pressed close to Marcus and me. Marcus signaled for the Aryan to join us. We stood facing one another in a close square, our arms around one another. I had Marcus to one side, the Aryan to another.

“It was so beautiful watching you two kiss,” Selina smiled.

“Like this?” I said, giving my mouth to Marcus.

“Yeah, that’s very hot,” she nodded, She traced her hand down the Aryan’s back.

I looked over my shoulder. Switchme was faced the other way, intent on Viviane’s soft skin.

“I don’t want to get busted with the teach,” I whispered. “So cover me—I’m going down.”

I lowered myself to my knees slowly, allowing my hands to drop down the bodies of the two men at my side.

I looked up at Marcus as I took his cock in my mouth.

He gave a deep sigh. His mouth hung open as he watched me swallow him. Almost instinctively, he touched he Aryan’s face and leaned his head on Selina’s shoulder.

I moved my mouth slowly up and back, taking him to the back of my throat, flicking my tongue along his shaft. It was a teasing blowjob, one meant to get him hungry for more.

My hands caressed the two men’s asses.

I took his cock from my mouth and held it in my hand. I turned and looked up at the Aryan.

I took him in my mouth.

He was partially erect, and quickly grew hard in me. I stroked Marcus as my mouth became acquainted with this new cock.

“Take care,” Switchme said, putting a hand on Marcus’s shoulder as he passed. “Don’t burst the bubble.”

I was on my knees outdoors, blowing two hot men. Any bubble that can’t handle that can just go right ahead and pop.

I moved back and forth between the cocks, watching Selina’s nude hips sway. Marcus’s fingers found her clit. I looked up to see that they were kissing.

I surrendered his cock to her hand.

I turned to focus on the Aryan.

I placed my fingers gently on his still hips, pulsing him as I took his dick deep. My own cock was curled hard between my thighs.

Selina and Marcus left our sides.

I was content to suck this boy’s cock for as long as he could take it. I held back on moves I knew would make him cum, anticipating the moment. We had never exchanged words, and I didn’t know his name. But I was prepared to take his orgasm if only to satisfy my own selfish desire to have it.

I felt him growing close. He pulled back to stop me. I pulled him back and sucked him more, greedily daring him to leave my mouth.

He began to thrust, finally, and to fill my face as I wanted. He was getting close.

I stopped.

I raised myself slowly on my legs, licking and nibbing his body as I rose.

When I reached his neck, I wrapped myself close to him. My touch was as intimate as it had been with Marcus, the man I have loved longer than any other.

The Aryan stood still. He avoided my eyes, looking ahead as our hands touched one another’s bodies. Freed from his gaze, I let myself take in his body as I wanted.

I wondered if he was straight. I wondered if he had ever felt a man’s touch before today.

I wondered if he was gay. Maybe one of these other men was his lover.

I kept my body close as I moved behind him. I placed my cock between his legs so that it jutted under his own. I pressed close to him, pushing into his ass. I stroked our cocks together with one hand, tracing his ribcage with the other.

Looking over his shoulder, I could see what he saw.

Marcus was reclining on a blanket as Selina crouched to suck his cock. Switchme was poised over Marcus, lowering his cock into my boyfriend’s throat.

I also saw that we were not alone.

The sun had brought out three groundskeepers. They sat fully clothed and smoking on a bench, their backs to us. Weedwhackers rested nearby as they waited for us to wrap up and leave them to their lawn care.

I nibbled the Aryan’s back.

Viviane approached me and rested a hand on my shoulder.

I turned to kiss her. My mouth was hot and wet. I was incredibly aroused.

I squeezed the Aryan’s shoulders as I turned my attention to Viviane. He moved forward, dreamily, to crouch behind Selina. He began to touch her ass.

Viviane and I found another towel and spread it next to Marcus’s.

I saw that one of the other men was dressing to leave, only to replaced by a new arrival. The two men were touching one another.

A groundskeeper turned to check on us, then looked away.

Viviane lay back on the towel. I hovered over her, kissing her as my hand took a breast. I pinched a nipple and listened for her breath to grow rapid.

My mouth moved down her body, determined to taste cum. Viviane was already liquid when my tongue found her.

“You have the wettest pussy, ever,” I said, taking her clit. She yelped, aroused by my excitement at her arousal. I savored her taste by spoonfuls.

I sat back on my haunches, slipping two fingers into her. Viviane looked up at me, her eyes glazing. She was outdoors, her legs spread in the sun, feeling my touch as people made love around her.

Viviane has always been a good girl. When she finds herself letting go of that, she is only more intently sexual.

She was poised to orgasm.

I heard Marcus ask Selina to torture his balls. That’s right, I thought: she’s never been with him. She’s going to enjoy this.

Selina twisted Marcus’s balls as he furiously pulled his cock, groaning.

The Aryan fingered Selina, stroking himself.

I pulsed on Viviane’s g-spot, waiting for the moment.

It wasn’t long coming.

“Oh God, I’m going to cum,” Marcus said.

I pressed into Viviane. She panted and moaned.

“Fuck!” Marcus shot cream across Selina’s tits and the wooden deck.

“Unh, unh, unh!” Viviane melted into my palm.

We had one hell of a resilient bubble.

We were in high spirits as we gathered around the wash tubs. I washed my hands, then rinsed Marcus from Selina’s body.

I shook hands with the Aryan. “I’m Jefferson,” I said.

“Anton,” he said. “Thanks, that was really nice. I liked the way you pressed against me. That was really hot.”

I wrapped him in my arms. “You know where to find it when you want more,” I said, kissing his neck.

We were winding down, but the two men were just getting into it. One of them had put a condom on the other to blow him.

Marcus was soaping his groin and torso when he noticed the blowjob underway. He crouched next to the men as he washed.

“Say, that looks pretty hot,” he said. “So who’s idea was the condom?”

The man being blown pointed to the man blowing him.

“Do you like condoms, especially? Or are you concerned about disease?” Marcus asked the cocksucker. He shrugged in response, never taking the dick from his mouth.

“Well, unless you happen to like the taste of condoms, it really isn’t necessary for oral sex,” Marcus said, washing his thighs. “The risk of HIV transmission is negligible, and as for other STIs . . .”

“Come on,” I whispered to Viviane. “I’ve heard that lecture.”

“He’s a born sex educator,” she said.

“Boy knows his shit.” I picked up my clothes as we walked away, nude.

The arrival of the sun had transformed sex camp. The pool and decks were now filled with nude people. A couple fucked openly on a reclining lounge chair.

I was suddenly aware of how many young women were at camp, many likely drawn by Tristan’s reputation.

I saw the artist stretched out on her back. Her eyes were closed. She was even lovelier nude. I wondered if I would muster the courage to say hello.

“Come on, let’s swim,” I said.

Selina was first in. I waved for Marcus to join us, and then jumped into the pool. Viviane waded to me.

Marcus arrived and surveyed the bodies laying in the sun. He took a chair next to the artist and immediately engaged her in conversation. She sat up to talk with him.

I hadn’t mentioned my interest in her. Somehow, surrounded by dozens of attractive nude women, he had singled her out.

I turned back to Viviane. She smiled at me.

I held an imaginary bowl in my hand and circled it with my finger. “This is my prayer bowl,” I intoned. “I use it to make people get naked and have sex with me . . .”

She laughed. I held her close and we kissed, standing in waist-high water, our bodies gleaming in the sun.

Weedwhackers whirred nearby.

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Bloody Mary

The instructor was nude, as were a number of the students.

I wasn’t fazed. I had come a long way since the morning’s session on strap-ons, when I had been surprised to find Nina Hartley teaching in the all together.

Now, after our outdoor ritual bath, followed by skinny-dipping among the crowd in the sun, we were practically nudists ourselves. Wet hair and radiant skin made Viviane and Selina feel all but naked in their loose clothes. Marcus and I went shirtless in our shorts.

Twenty fours hours into Dark Odyssey, we were settling into sex camp. It would take a lot to shock us now.

At the afternoon session, we were ready to learn about objectification. Our guides would be Femcar and her husband, Phantom.

As Tristan had mentioned during orientation, objectification was among the most controversial aspects of camp activities. It’s a form of submission in which one surrenders subjectivity, allowing one’s body to be used purely for the gratification of another—or others, plural.

I had seen Femcar around camp. She had first caught my eye on opening night, at the Cirkus Erotikus, when she lay prostrate on the wooden floor wailing as two men kicked and punched her naked groin.

I talked to her briefly that night, after she had endured a brutal pummeling. She was dazed and flush, pushing her long hair from her face and nodding when I asked to talk to her at some point later, if we could find a quiet moment.

I was very curious to hear what she had to say about objectification.

She was already lecturing when we arrived for the session, held in the open-air pavilion that had housed the previous night’s Cirkus. We weren’t late; the lecture seemed to have developed organically from an ongoing conversation Femcar was having with the early arrivals.

Femcar’s lean, compact body seemed unmarked by the previous evening’s beating.

As Femcar spoke, her husband sat at a table, cutting and taping materials for their demonstration. He was a handsome man, with curly hair and glasses perched on his nose as he worked. He looked like a preoccupied teacher, the sort that inspires crushes in high school.

Billowing behind him, a sheet served as a screen. Vodka, celery and tomato juice sat at a corner of the table. Several people in the front row drank Bloody Marys from red plastic cups.

Viviane, Selina and I took seats near the front of the class. Marcus preferred to lean against a railing to one side, near a square frame built of two-by-fours.

Viviane pulled out a fan to circulate the humid air. Selina retrieved her notebook. I took a sip from my flask.

“This desire to be used, to be used, to be used,” Femcar said, her voice ruminating on a phrase. “It comes from within me, from within my mind, my heart, my cunt.” She spread her legs, opening her smooth vagina.

Viviane instinctively looked away.

“I didn’t know it would lead to this, to being used, when everything started. It was a fluke, a bar bet: I was hoping the Cubs would win, and bet that if they did, I would streak down the street.” The class tittered as Femcar paced, her feet clomping in heavy boots, the only thing she wore. “The Cubs pulled it out, so I had to live up to my end of the bargain. So I ran naked down the street, listening to the men calling after me. I was afraid of being seen, of being followed, of being arrested. But when I sat to rest at a bus stop, the police stopped and thought it was cool. So they wound up staying to protect me. Must’ve been Cubs fans!”

We laughed. Femcar’s anecdotes defused a palpable sense of anxiety among the students. The meandering presentation seemed like a preamble to the main event, like we were waiting on something—but what? Why was she wearing boots fitted with clasps and fasteners? What was her husband up to? And what was with the cocktails?

I heard a loud thud and turned to look over my shoulder. A man was suspended from a tree. A woman was using his torso as a punching bag.

Just beyond, a couple lay fucking in the grass.

Femcar moved onto another story, describing how she pursued one masturbatory fantasy to the next, realizing those that seemed possible and keeping after those that eluded her. These fantasies pushed her to ever greater extremes.

“Here, this one may show what you mean,” Phantom said, typing on the keyboard of a laptop. In a moment, a digital film was projected onto the screen.

“Right, this is a good one,” Femcar nodded.

In the film, two men attached straps to a prone figure immobilized in a tightly wrapped material that resembled duct tape.

Femcar continued to narrate a story, but the film distracted me.

“What is that?” Viviane whispered.

“I don’t get it,” I said, furrowing my brow.

Suddenly, the immobilized figure began to move. Or rather, it remained stationary as the ground beneath it moved.

“Wait, look,” I said, pointing. “Get it? That’s a body. It’s being hauled behind something with a fixed camera.”

Viviane leaned forward. “I don’t get it . . . oh, okay, now I see . . . the camera is on a pick-up truck.”

“Yeah. But how’s the body floating behind it?”

The ground below the figure stopped moving. A muffled howl came from the laptop’s speakers.

Phantom looked up and smiled at Femcar. “That worked.”

“Sure did,” she laughed.

“What was that?” someone asked. I turned to look; it was Nina Hartley—nude, of course.

“Oh, well . . .” Femcar began, and then gestured to her husband. “You explain.”

“All right. Well, we rigged up a single-wheel trailer and hitched it to a truck. She’s mummified and attached on top of that, so that’s Femcar in there.”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “And then . . .”

“Yeah, and then there are sensors from the truck’s electrical system hooked up to her. There are some on her tits that zap when the truck is moving, and some inside her cunt that zap when we hit the brakes.”

“Jesus,” Selina gasped. The class murmured.

“Ouch!” Nina said. “That’s got to hurt.”

“It hurt like hell,” Femcar nodded. We heard the squeal of brakes and another howl. “Yeah,” Femcar said, looking at the screen. “That was a good one.”

I looked over at Marcus. He had lit a cigar and watched the film spellbound.

I turned to check on the human punching bag. The boxer was embracing the dangling torso.

From a distance, it was hard to be sure, but it looked like the couple in the grass was taking turns pissing on one another.

Femcar sat on the table, answering a question about how she and Phantom managed to balance sadism and masochism with their responsibilities as parents. As Femcar spoke, her husband fussed with her right arm.

“We have four kids,” she began. “And the oldest is a teenager now. So we have to be careful about that. I mean, he did tell me he found my website, Three Holes, No Waiting, so I asked, ‘Oh my God, you didn’t look, did you?’ He looked at me and said, ‘Mom, no—I don’t want to know.’ So they are aware to some extent, and we’re honest with them, but obviously, we don’t talk about everything, and we’d rather not show them pictures and shit.”

“Oh my God, really? He found your website?” Nina asked. “What did you do?”

“Well, I moved it. I mean, he knows, but I don’t want him to really look into it, or to share it with his friends.”

“That raises an interesting point,” Marcus said. “A number of us have kids and write sex blogs. I know Jefferson does, right Jefferson? And Selina does. And I’m a sex worker, so obviously, we have to use computers and still keep this from the kids.”

I nodded. Viviane squirmed in her seat as her mind raced through necessary precautions and cautionary tales.

“Can’t you just leave false clues in your blogs?” Nina asked. “Like, say you live in Boston or something?”

“Well, I mean, yes, you could, but that won’t work really . . .” Marcus began.

Listening as the porn star and the whore debated privacy and parenting, I realized that Marcus had just let down his guard: he had announced that he was a sex worker. He had planned to withhold that biographical detail at camp, unsure how it might be received.

The lecture had become a conversation, with Femcar chiming in now and then. She reclined as her husband continued to work on her right arm, just out of view on the other side of her body. I was sitting to one side, with a better vantage than most.

Selina craned her neck. “What is he doing?”

I leaned over to whisper. “He’s drawing blood. See the bag collecting it?”

“He is? Why?”

I shrugged.

On the film, Femcar was hauled behind the truck, yowling as it stopped and started. On the table, she talked and squeezed her fist, pumping blood into a bag.

The couple in the grass was fucking again.

As Marcus watched, Carin left her seat to stand next to him. He leaned over to whisper something in her ear.

Carin was at camp to teach a session on swinging. She was a drop-dead beauty—somewhere in her twenties, with a sparkling smile, dark eyes and wavy hair. Her lithe figure was nude but for a silver metal bangle slung low on her hips.

Marcus’s hand toyed with the bangle as he draped an arm around her waist, bringing his lips to her neck.

This was their first meeting.

Carin was apparently intrigued to learn that Marcus is a sex worker. Within moments of ‘fessing up as a hustler, Marcus had found his honesty proving beneficial was she introduced herself.

Carin nuzzled into his arms.

Her boyfriend joined them. He offered Marcus a pretzel.

“Hey, can I get a hand here?” Phantom asked, looking at Marcus. “You too,” he added, nodding at Barry.

Phantom had placed Femcar on the floor and threaded rope though rings on her boots. Marcus and Barry were each instructed to take a boot in hand as Phantom pulled ropes to hoist his wife into the wooden frame.

Upside down.

Femcar steadied herself against the floor with her arms as her husband and his assistants pulled her aloft. Once the ropes were tied and she was secured into place, she released her hold and dangled in midair, her arms and legs splayed.

The lecture had apparently concluded. The demonstration was underway.

On screen, the film had been replaced by another in which Femcar curled on a sidewalk, surrounded by spectators as a man kicked her mercilessly.

Marcus and Barry stepped away from Femcar’s body.

The human punching bag dangled.

The couple in the grass was gone.

Methodically, and with no special concern for showmanship, Phantom retrieved a speculum from the table. Standing behind Femcar, he inserted it into her vagina. He opened the instrument, then taped it into place against her thigh.

Viviane’s fan waved faster.

Selina leaned forward to whisper. Viviane listened, nodding.

Phantom returned to the table and cut a length of celery. He plunged it into his wife's pussy, stirring roughly.

Femcar twisted, screaming.

Phantom poured a jigger of vodka. He sniffed it before pouring it into his wife’s open cunt. He stirred again.

Femcar screamed as the alcohol burned her cervix.

Marcus winced. Selina clenched her pen tightly.

A breeze rustled the trees.

Phantom returned to the table. He lifted the bag, using a knife to cut the cord that had drained the blood from his wife’s arm. He held the cord aloft as he walked back to her side, taking care not to spill the bag’s contents.

He threaded the severed cord into his wife. She writhed as he held the bag over his head. Blood began to flow down the cord and into the body it had only just left.

The blood slowly filled her vagina. It began to overflow her confines, spilling over and streaking around her belly and sides to her breasts and neck. Femcar screamed as the blood trickled into her face and eyes.

It dripped from her forehead onto a drop cloth on the floor.

Viviane closed her fan and placed it in her bag. She picked up her bag, stood, and walked away.

Phantom pulled the cord from his wife’s genitals, allowing blood to drizzle over her torso. Occasionally, he stirred the celery stalk.

Femcar jolted, sending splashes of blood into the air. Marcus took a hit on his forearm. He looked at the splatter in disgust.

Time was moving slowly. Phantom and Femcar were in no rush. This was a scene between dominant and submissive, not simply a show for spectators. We were no longer addressed as a class. We were simply voyeurs.

Selina leaned to me. “I can’t take any more of this. It’s too violent.”

“I was just thinking, though,” I whispered. “It’s gory, but there’s no actual violence. She’s covered in blood, but she’s not bleeding. It's like a horror film—no one is actually hurt.”

“It looks like real violence to me,” Selina said. “Too many associations with violence against women, with war or the Holocaust. It’s what I keep thinking about.”

I nodded and sat back. “I can certainly see that.”

Selina stayed at the edge of her seat, watching.

Pondering Selina’s reaction, I thought that each person watching this unfold might be making very individual associations.

Faced with such a grisly sight, I could understand thinking of war and the Holocaust, of course, but my own mind was wandering to horror films, heavy metal and, more closely, to performance art.

Even as I sat within feet of Femcar as she was abused by her own blood, I felt that what was occurring was not real violence, but rather, the representation of violence. There is a distinction between reality and representation, and in this instance, that difference seemed to do with enacting catharsis in the performer, the viewer, or both.

Femcar was clearly undergoing some physical stress as she was suspended by her ankles, with her genitals distended and her body drenched. That discomfort was only exacerbated by her howls and the display of so much blood. She was clearly conscious of the effect that these sights and sounds would have on us as viewers.

Yet as we sat, watching, we felt no impulse to intercede, as we would in a moment of actual violence. Instead, our minds tried to make sense of what our senses recorded.

In my mind, that meant opening files of images stockpiled by Alfred Hitchcok, George Romero and Roger Corman; Alice Cooper, Ozzy Osbourne and Marilyn Manson; Hermann Nitsch, Carolee Schnemann, Paul McCarthy and Karen Finley.

Femcar had made no mention of film, art or theatre, so performance may or may not have been much in her mind. But in looking at the unfamiliar, one can either look away or try to make sense by making connections to the familiar. Sometimes those associations can be unpleasant, as they were for Selina. Sometimes they may be off base, as they might have been for me. Whatever the case, this was unsettling to our senses, and our minds struggled to keep pace.

In time, Phantom asked Marcus and Barry to help him cut down his wife. Marcus held the ropes, refusing to touch her blood-streaked body.

Phantom guided her to the ground. Femcar lay in pools of her blood, writhing and screeching.

“Okay, show’s over,” I said to Selina. Marcus joined us as we left. We talked, trying to put into words what had transpired.

We met up with Viviane. Later, the four of us sat to dinner with Lolita. We were very animated and eager to compare notes on what we had witnessed.

Lolita listened as I began to describe Femcar’s presentation.

“So she was turned upside down,” I gestured, flipping an imaginary body. “And then, he began to pour blood into her vagina . . .”

“Oh, sure,” Lolita said, opening a napkin in her lap. “That’s a Bloody Mary. Can you pass the pepper?”

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Mano a Mano

Marcus kissed me outside the dungeon.

“I want you to know, I just really love you,” he said. “I’m so glad we are here together.”

“Me too, sweetheart. I love you, too,” I said, resting my head against his neck. “Now, are you ready to get your ass kicked?”

“As if,” he laughed.

“You two are too much,” a trannie called from a bench, where she sat with her girlfriend.

“And you are too gorgeous,” Marcus replied. “Do you want to wrestle tonight?”

“No, baby, I’m one hundred percent a lady. But thanks anyway.”

A few people had already gathered for the evening’s match. Marcus’s Bi Men’s Wrestling Contest—inspired by our impromptu tussle that morning—had proved to be a popular attraction. It would kick off an evening full of events, leading into the Sex Idol Contest and the much-anticipated Garden of Carnal Delights.

I was facing it all on nearly no sleep. Marcus was no better rested, and he now found himself much on center stage as the coordinator of the match. He also planned to participate in the Sex Idol Contest by demonstrating his ability to insert his testicles into his ass, a practice he dubbed “shurgging.”

We also anticipated a tour of active duty in the Garden, as Lolita had promised to make things happen for us.

I found a chair and sat to rest for a moment.

Marcus and Barry began to debate the rules we would follow. As it happened, Barry had wrestled in high school and college.

A camp staffer was wiping down the mats in preparation.

“Okay,” Barry said. “So we’ll stay with a three count on two shoulders down. We’ll count one, two, three, and you’re pinned. Best two out of three sets wins a match.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Marcus said. “But when they lose, they should have to say they submit.”

“And they should wrestle nude, right?” I asked.

“They can submit, I guess,” Barry allowed. “We can keep points. I can track that. Like, it’s two points on a takedown, one point on an escape, two points on a reversal . . .”

“No, no,” Marcus shook his head. “No scoring points. This is like an erotic show, not a real match. So when they submit, they should be required to do anything the winner wants—suck cock, whatever.”

“So they wrestle nude, right?” I asked.

“Yes, Jefferson, we wrestle nude,” Marcus said, wearily. “Now can you please take your mind out of the gutter and do something constructive?”

I opted to talk up potential wrestlers.

It was Saturday night, and the dungeon was already filling with doms and subs there to use the facilities.

At the entrance, one woman was blindfolded and restrained to a Saint Andrew's cross as her bare body was gently knifed. She was awfully pretty, I noticed, with her moist lips parted as she sighed.

Near the mats, a woman was suspended from a frame, also blindfolded as she was lightly flogged by a nude couple. The man took the front as the woman took the back. Their submissive’s mouth seemed frozen in a permanent smile.

Across the gym, a group of naked men jerked off as they surrounded a woman supported in a sling. The group was well into a gangbang; she sucked two cocks and grunted as she was briskly fucked.

Her noises eventually attracted Barry’s attention. He dropped his pants and walked over to inquire how long he would need to wait to have a go at her.

He was told it would be about forty minutes.

That being a long time to wait, Barry contented himself by doing pull-ups, nude in the center of the dungeon.

Music played lowly from a sound system. I caught part of Sarah McLachlan’s “Sweet Surrender.”

I asked one beefy fellow if he wanted to join the wrestlers. He declined.

I asked another young man. He looked to his girlfriend and demurred.

I expected such responses. Some fellows might be resistant to wrestling at all, much less as part of a something billed as a naked throw down among bi men.

“Come on,” I said. “If you don’t wrestle, I’ll have to, and believe me, no one wants to see that. I fight dirty and I cry like a girl.”

I cajoled, but I didn’t want to press the point. He seemed slight and kind of pasty. It’s possible he was worried about being trounced.

“We’re taking care to be sure everyone is evenly matched,” I offered as assurance.

“Go ahead,” his girlfriend nudged. “It’ll be fun.”

He looked at her, then at me. “Okay, sure,” he agreed. “Why not?”

I sent him to Marcus to get his match assignment.

“How’s it going?” Viviane asked. She had walked to the dungeon with Lolita and Selina following dinner.

“Not bad,” I said, looking around. “We’re getting a good crowd, right? And a few men are ready to take to the mats.”

“That’s nice.” She put her hand on my back. “Don’t hurt yourself, okay, sweetie?”

I kissed her hair. “Don’t worry. If I have to wrestle at all, it will be quick business. I’m nobody’s athlete.”

“Okay.” She lowered her voice. “Please don’t wrestle Barry.”

“Uh, not likely. That boy means business.”

Marcus signaled for me. I joined him and a handful of other men as he went over the rules.

“ . . . and if you are pinned, you have to say ‘submit,’ and do anything the winner asks of you.”

“What do you mean, anything?” my recruit asked.

“Let’s say it’s negotiable,” I suggested. “No one should do anything he’s not comfortable doing.”

“Fine, whatever,” Marcus said, impatient with debating fine points. “No one’s asking anyone to get his ass fucked. It’s a wrestling match, okay?”

First up were Barry and Will, a powerful-looking bear of an Aussie. They stripped their shirts and took positions.

Barry circled Will, squatting low to take advantage of his opponent’s height.

“I thought they were supposed to wrestle nude,” Viviane complained. “Judges!”

“Right, we’ll fix that in the next round,” Marcus said, just as Will hit the ground.

“Submit!” Barry commanded. “Submit!”

“Right, right, I submit, you strong bugger.”

Barry jumped back, rotating his arms and bouncing on his heels. “Yes!”

“Now what, I have to suck his cock?” Will asked.

“Yes, that would do,” Marcus said.

“Fine. I owe you a blowjob anyway, you bugger. Come here.” Will raised himself to kneel on the matt. Barry stood before him and lowered his shorts. Will took the victor’s cock in his mouth and pumped his head back and forth.

“Right,” he said. “That’s done. Now, let’s go again.”

Two more rounds, and Will was out three blowjobs.

“Awesome!” Barry said. “Who’s next?”

“Well, come on, we can’t keep throwing opponents at you,” Marcus said. “We’ll run out of men. Let’s do different matches and see who wins. Then we can match the winners.”

“You sure?” Barry asked. “Because eventually I’ll get tired. Someone could beat me.”

“I’m sure,” Marcus said indulgently. “All right, Jefferson . . . let’s match you with Switchme. Come here, guys.”

We huddled. “All right, look,” Switchme said. “This is all good fun, but I’m worried about my back. So let’s not get too rough.”

“That’s fine, I’m a wuss,” I said. “This is all for show. Which reminds me: we should be nude.”

“I have no problem with that,” Switchme said, lowering his shorts.

I tossed my shorts to Viviane.

Switchme and I took to the mat. We crouched as we circled one another, our arms poised for a good position. I was concerned about Switchme’s back, and mindful that he had about ten years on me.

We had to take it easy. Still, I wanted to put on good show. I bounced on my feet, circling him and talking trash.

Switchme lunged for my knees. I was down instantly.

He pinned me before I knew what had happened.

Barry pounded the mat three times. “Submit!” he ordered.

“Ugh,” I winced. “Submit!”

Switchme sat back and smiled. “Sorry about that, Jefferson,” he smiled. He took my cock in his hand and gave me a quick handjob.

I took the opportunity to stare up at the gym ceiling and catch my breath.

Switchme patted my hip and offered me a hand. He pulled me up. We were on for another go.

I focused as we got into position.

“Go for his legs, Jefferson,” Barry shouted. “His legs!”

Right. Go for his legs.

Maybe I should’ve asked for a few basics before agreeing to do this.

I reached for his legs. Switchme twirled and grabbed my thighs, knocking me down.

He pinned my shoulders. I struggled to pull one of them off the mat.

“Yes, yes!” Barry shouted. “Defense, man!”

A nearby dom shushed us.

I heard the sound of a cane hitting flesh, and instantly regretted that I had not made other plans for the evening.

I groaned as I twisted free.

Switchme was on me again.

I soon took another handjob. A third.

I shook his hand and retired to my seat near Viviane. “Well,” I panted. “That was quick work.”

“You’re a lover, sweetie,” she rubbed my shoulder. “Not a fighter.”

I sat back to wheeze and watch the next match. Marcus was taking on the pasty fellow I had recruited. As he stripped, I saw that Marcus’s opponent had very defined muscles.

I would later learn that he had wrestled in high school, not so long ago.

They squared off. They circled for only a few paces before lunging at one another. Marcus’s opponent grabbed him around the waist and lifted him from the ground.

“Shit!” Viviane said, covering her mouth.

Marcus landed, then grabbed for his opponent. He lifted him fast, turning so that they began to tumble. Marcus caught his fall on the mat.

His opponent took advantage of a momentary imbalance to lift Marcus again.

Marcus went up and came down hard. His sudden landing caused the mat to shift. Marcus fell, bringing his opponent down with him.

“Shit!” Marcus shouted, writhing on the mats. His face was contorted in pain. “My knee! Fuck—my knee!”

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Help

For a moment, everyone was stunned.

Then everyone began to help—all at once.

“What happened to your knee?” Viviane asked, quickly standing. “Can you move it?”

“Are you okay?” Selina asked, rushing to his side.

Lolita signaled for someone.

“Ow, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Marcus moaned, rolling and holding his left thigh. “I don’t know, fuck, fuck fuck!”

“Wait, wait, look at me,” Barry commanded, crouching by Marcus. “Eyes on me. Can you stand?”

Marcus opened his eyes and focused. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Can you stand and extend your leg?” Barry repeated. “Like this?” Barry held out his own leg.

“I don’t know . . .” Marcus began. Barry took an elbow as Marcus bounced up on one foot, allowing his injured leg to dangle.

“Okay, now: slowly drop it into place,” Barry said.

Marcus straightened his leg and tried to stand. “Ow, shit! Down, down, put me down!” Barry lowered Marcus back to the mat. “God, don’t ask me to do that again!”

“Okay, that’s it,” Barry stood and faced the crowd pressing close. “He’s wrecked his ACL, maybe torn a ligament.”

The trannie we had met outside rushed over. “Are you having trouble with your leg?”

“Yes, fuck it! It hurts,” Marcus fairly cried.

“Sweetheart . . . “ I said, kneeling.

The trannie took a walkie-talkie from her belt. “Medical, pick up, this is Julie, MOD at the dungeon. Pick up.”

The device in Julie’s hand squawked a reply. Julie described the situation and listened again. She turned to Marcus.

“Can you stand?” she asked.

“Are you fucking kidding?” he said, clutching his thigh again.

“Tell them he ruptured his ACL,” Barry said. “He tore a ligament.”

“Let them do their work, Barry,” Lolita said sternly.

“You need to elevate that leg, honey,” Viviane said, bringing a chair nearby. “I had a bad leg injury once.”

“No one should do anything until medical arrives,” Lolita asserted.

Julie returned the walkie-talkie to her belt. “Medical is on the way. You aren’t to move, honey.”

“Well, I’m glad you agree with me,” Marcus said. He turned to Barry. “What are you saying? I busted an ACLU?”

“The ACL,” Barry said. “It runs from the center of your knee to your femur, right here.” Barry ran a finger over his own knee. “See? And you probably ruptured it when you fell. Did you hear a popping noise?”

“No . . . I don’t know, I just fell . . . does that need surgery?”

“Probably. It happens a lot in sports. It will take you out for about six weeks.”

“Six weeks?!” Marcus said, his shoulders falling. He looked at me. “I can’t miss work for six weeks.”

Lolita put her mouth close to my ear. “Can you make Barry stop? He’s not a doctor. He’s going to upset Marcus.”

I nodded. “Hey Barry, can you give him some room?”

Barry looked up. “We need to see if he can move his knee to the side.”

“Don’t move your knee,” another man said.

“Okay,” Marcus said, noticing the young man who had suddenly appeared from behind a curtain.

“I’m going to take your heel. Try to resist me as I push up.”

“Uh huh, and who are you?” Marcus asked.

“Firefly. Camp first responder. EMT, firefighter. Do you feel my hand on your heel?”

“Yes . . .”

“Barry, give them room to work,” Lolita instructed. Barry moved to one side.

“It’s the ACL,” Barry repeated to the man Marcus had been wrestling. “He’s going to be out for a while.” The poor fellow looked stricken.

Firefly gently moved Marcus’s leg from side to side, asking questions as he did so. He spoke into his walkie-talkie and listened to responses.

“Do you need anything?” Selina asked Marcus.

“Shouldn’t we elevate his leg?” Viviane asked Firefly.

“The medic is on his way,” Firefly said. “Yes, let’s elevate his leg, but no more movement. I’m going to get a kit. Can you stay here, Marcus?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, wincing as Viviane and I lifted his foot into a chair.

Firefly spoke into his walkie-talkie as he stepped away.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” smiled a nude woman holding a whip.

Marcus looked up, taking in the incongruity of the offer. “Uh, yes, I would, thanks.”

“You shouldn’t drink wine,” Viviane warned. “You’re going to be taking ibuprofen for the pain.”

“I can manage a glass,” Marcus said, taking the cup being offered.

Viviane looked at me. “He shouldn’t drink anything.”

Selina sat and held Marcus’s hand. “They’ll be back soon,” she smiled.

“The ACL can usually be repaired, no problem,” Barry told someone.

Marcus sipped his wine and motioned me close. He leaned into my ear.

“I know everyone wants to help,” he whispered. “But I’m kind of going nuts here. Can you, you know, make them stop?”

I nodded. I looked at Viviane and Selina. “I think he needs some space.”

“Of course you do, sweetie,” Viviane said, standing.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Selina squeezed his hand. Our two friends asked the crowd to stand back. The match was over, they announced.

“Jefferson,” Marcus whispered. “I can’t be out for six weeks.”

“Shhh.” I lay beside him and took his head on my shoulder. I kissed his forehead. “Let’s see what the medical people say.”

“I can’t work without my knee,” he said, closing his eyes.

“I know, but let’s not worry about that.” I took the cup from his hand.

“It hurts so much . . . ,“ he trailed off.

“I know.”

Marcus’s head went limp against my neck. I held him still.

“I’m the camp medic,” a voice said from over my shoulder. “What’s happening?”

“His breathing is shallow and he’s unresponsive,” I replied.

“That’s not what I want to hear,” he said, kneeling. He directed Firefly to take Marcus’s blood pressure as he opened Marcus’s eyelids and shined a light into his pupils. Gradually, Marcus came around.

“Wha . . . what happened?” Marcus asked weakly.

“You had a vasovagal reaction,” the medic explained as he put a stethoscope on Marcus’s chest. “Essentially, you fainted. Very common in times of medical stress. Has this happened to you before?”

“No . . . what, you mean the fainting thing?” Marcus said, looking at me. “I don’t think so . . .”

“His pressure is coming back,” Firefly reported, unstrapping the Velcro from Marcus’s arm.

“Good.” The medic turned back to Marcus. “We’re taking you to a hospital. Do you think you can stretch out your leg in a van, or will we need an ambulance?”

“You can stretch your leg, right Marcus?” I asked.

“Yeah, just don’t ask me to bend it,” he said. “What, are we going in an ambulance?”

“Good. We’ll take the camp van. All right, I want your friend to come with us.” The medic turned to me. “Can you get a car and follow the van? You’ll be bringing him back. If you need us for anything, we’ll come back for you. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“Good. You should get dressed and help your friend to get dressed.”

I had forgotten we were still naked.

I dressed and helped Marcus with his clothes. Viviane returned to our cabin for our wallets and keys. A van showed up at the dungeon. Firefly and I helped Marcus into a bench in the back. He winced at any motion to his knee.

Firefly sat with Marcus, his medical kit by his side. Colten was behind the driver’s seat. Tristan hopped into the passenger side.

She turned to the backseat. “Anything for attention, huh, Marcus?” she teased.

“Tristan,” he smiled. “You know, I’ll go to any length to make you notice me.”

At the hospital, Marcus was put into a wheelchair and admitted into Emergency. I waited with Tristan, Colten and Firefly as an administrator took his information.

“Jefferson?” Marcus called. “Can you come here for a moment, please?”

I joined him and rested a hand on his wheelchair. “What’s up?” I asked.

“I want to give them your phone number as an emergency contact and I don’t have my cell. What is it?”

The administrator looked up at me, her pen ready for the information. I gave her my number.

“Okay,” she said, writing the final digit. “And is Jefferson your first or last name?”

I looked at Marcus. I had forgotten. “Jefferson” is not my name at all.

I leaned forward and quietly gave my real name.

Reality had ruptured the neat bubble of sex camp the moment Marcus fell on the mats.

A door opened into the waiting room, near the seats occupied by Tristan, Colton and Firefly. A nurse called loudly for Marcus—using his real name, of course.

“So much for anonymity,” Marcus sighed.

“We can trust them, of all people,” I said, wheeling him to the examination area. Firefly joined us. He spoke to the nurse, bringing her up to speed.

“Okay, that’s all we can do for you,” Firefly said. “You are in good hands, so we are going back to camp, because we are on duty tonight. If you need us for anything, please call us.”

I shook Firefly’s hand and sat with Marcus. He was examined by a doctor and given painkillers before being taken for X-rays.

As we waited for results, Marcus worried that he was now out of commission for the duration of sex camp.

“I can’t fuck anyone if I can’t put weight on my knee,” he fretted.

“You’re very creative,” I assured him. “If there’s someone willing, you’ll find a way.”

To distract him, we made up dirty stories about the cute young father soothing his baby in the next examination area.

The doctor came back to explain that there was no evidence of a break, but Marcus would need to get an MRI when he returned home to rule out further damage. He was released after being outfitted with a brace, crutches and a prescription for more painkillers.

As we prepared to leave, I turned to Marcus.

“Remember this morning, when you said it was my own fault that you didn’t share that boy Felix? That this was my comeuppance for hogging Madeline one night last year?”

“Yes . . .” he began.

“Well, you do realize that it is your own fault that you hurt your knee.”

“And how do you figure that?” he smiled, hobbling.

“If you had shared the boy, we would not have wrestled this morning. If we had not wrestled, you would not have been inspired to organize the match. If there had been no match, you would not have been injured. So you see, this is really all your doing.”

He leaned on a desk to get his balance. “I’m glad you’re my friend,” he said. “I’d hate to be your enemy.”

I held a door as he passed on his crutches. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I'm sure we can find a way to pin this all on Madeline.”

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Back to the Garden

Our tires crunched along the gravel drive until the headlights caught a lone figure in their sights. He stood from a folding chair and waved for us to stop.

“It’s the guard,” I said, rolling down my window.

“Lonely job,” Marcus said, peering ahead. “Maybe we should blow him.”

The guard stepped to the car and shone his flashlight in our faces.

“Evening,” he said. “This is private property. Are you registered guests?”

“Yes, we are,” I said, holding forward my nametag on its lanyard.

“All right, Jefferson, let me just confirm that.” He tucked his flashlight under his chin, aiming it onto a clipboard. He flipped through pages, looking for my name. “All right, Jefferson . . . Jefferson . . . do you happen to have your vehicle’s registration number?”

“I do, one sec.” I opened the glove compartment and pulled out a packet of papers. I found the correct page and give him the number.

“Okay . . . the last two digits are six and three . . . okay, here you are, Jefferson.” The guard leaned in to turn the light onto my passenger. “And who are you, sir?”

“I’m Marcus.”

“Marcus? Well, why didn’t you say so? How’s the knee?”

“I dunno,” Marcus said, holding his brace. “It’s not broken or anything, but I’ll have to have more tests done.”

“Bet it hurts like hell.”

“It sure does.”

“Yeah, I had a pretty bad knee injury once . . . I was laid up for over a month. Still gets a twinge if I put too much weight on it.” The guard shifted his stance, moving weight from one knee to the other.

“Yeah, that sucks,” Marcus replied. “So, how did you know about my knee?”

“Oh, everybody knows,” the guard smiled. He aimed his flashlight into the darkness ahead. “All right, you can proceed to the parking lot.”

We thanked him and began to drive into camp.

“Your fame precedes you, sir,” I said, rolling up my window.

“Yeah, that was weird. How did he know about my knee?”

I shrugged.

It was just after eleven as we returned to sex camp. Thanks to the rapid response of the camp medical team and the attentions of the hospital staff, we were back just a few hours after Marcus first sustained his wrestling injury.

It felt like returning home.

While we were at the hospital, we had missed the Sex Idol Contest; unfortunately, our fellow campers would be denied the sight of Marcus onstage shoving his testicles into his ass.

However, we were arriving in time for the opening of the Garden of Carnal Delights. Marcus was unsure that he would be able to participate, but he didn’t want to miss the sights.

We were both curious to see what Lolita intended when she offered to make things happen.

Camp roads were closed to vehicles other than the golf carts that served as public transportation, but I allowed myself a special exception, given that I was driving a man felled in the line of duty.

Marcus and I had earned several hundred dollars in Kundalini Kash during the previous night’s Cirkus. This currency had only one exchange rate: to purchase sexual favors that night at the Garden’s brothel. After a quick stop at the cabin to pick up our Kash—and to top off my flask—I drove Marcus to the Sex-o-Rama cabins, site of the evening’s festivities.

Our car crept through the clusters of pedestrians making their way to the Garden.

I pulled up near a crowd at the stairs to Sex-o-Rama. It was dark but for flickering lights and candles that lit the way into the Garden of Carnal Delights. I turned off the ignition and shut down my headlights.

I opened my door and stepped out.

A crowd turned to face me.

“It’s Marcus!” a woman shouted. “Marcus is back!”

The car was swarmed. I made my way around to the passenger side, but Carin beat me to it. She opened the door and flung her arms inside.

“Marcus! Are you okay?” she asked, pulling him close and kissing his cheek. “Can you even walk?”

“Can everyone back up?” I asked. “Let’s get his leg clear of the car so he can stand.”

“Oh, I’ve got his leg, Jefferson,” Carin said. “And his crutches. Here, help me get his arms—are you sure you can walk, Marcus?”

“I think so,” Marcus replied. “Thanks Carin, just be careful, okay?”

“Oh, I’ll be careful—my God, you have a cast on it?,” Carin said, her voice raising. She turned and called out: “He’s got a cast!”

“It’s a brace . . . ” Marcus began.

Carin helped Marcus from the car. Once he was balanced on his crutches, I closed the door behind him.

"Man, you're okay!" Barry said, patting Marcus's back. "That's so cool, man. There are a million people here who would love to suck your dick."

Marcus was besieged by campers. I took Carin’s elbow. “Can you just get him up the steps?” I asked. “I need to go park the car.”

“Don’t worry, Jefferson,” she replied, her arm around Marcus’s waist as she lead him away. “He’s in good hands.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Hey Marcus, I need to go park the car—Carin’s got you, okay?”

With so many voices in his ears, Marcus didn’t hear me.

I got back into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The headlights came on, sending the crowd back to the entrance to Sex-o-Rama.

I drove slowly through the crowd, back to the field that served as a parking lot. I found a space at the far end, and made my way back under a quiet, clear sky.

We never have so many stars in Manhattan, I thought.

It took me fifteen or twenty minutes to get back to Sex-o-Rama. I found Marcus at the top of the stairs leading to the cabin. He had walked about ten steps since I dropped him off.

He was leaning against a rail and talking to Eliza, the septuagenarian fetish model who had made out with me the night before.

I leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.

“Marcus,” I said. “You aren’t getting very far. Do you want to sit down?”

“I’m fine,” he said, smiling at Eliza. He leaned forward. “Everybody knows about my knee,” he whispered. “Apparently, my injury was announced at the Sex Idols Contest.”

“Hey Marcus, how’s the knee?” someone shouted.

Marcus turned and waved. “I’m okay!” he called back. “Thanks!”

“That’s nice of everybody,” I said.

“It’s nice, but I have to keep telling the same story,” he complained. “And everybody’s got a story to tell about their own knees. All this medical talk is making me woozy.”

“Maybe we should set you up at the brothel. You can sell the story of your knee injury in exchange for sex.”

“Yeah,” he smiled as he leaned on his crutches. “I can pimp my pain.”

“Jefferson!” Viviane called. “You’re back!”

“Yeah, they did some X-rays on Marcus’s knee, and said it wasn’t broken . . .”

“I know, I know, I heard all about his knee. Come on, I want to take you to the make-out room!” She was giddy with excitement as she took my arm and pulled me away.

“Wait, wait . . . they don’t allow sex in that room, right?”

“You can manage. Come on.”

I looked back to say goodbye to Marcus. He didn’t notice; his eyes were on Eliza as he stroked her short white hair.

As Tristan had told us in the orientation, there were four main rooms at the Garden of Carnal Delights: the orgy room, set aside for sex; the brothel, where sexual favors could be purchased with Kundalini Kash; the objectification room, where bodies were anonymously displayed for use; and the make-out room for kissing and sensuous touch.

Viviane pushed open the screen door and pulled me inside.

Couples were paired on pillows and sofas in various dimly lit corners, their quiet sighs rising above low music as they kissed, fondled and embraced.

We found an available spot on foam sofa shaped like a cresting wave.

“How do you sit on this thing?” I asked.

“Maybe like this?” Viviane said, falling backwards into a crook of the sofa. She giggled as the foam gave way, sending her legs in the air.

“That looks very comfortable,” I smiled. I crouched over her hips and bend forward to kiss her. My hands held her smooth calves then ran up her legs, under her black dress.

“Why Viviane!” I exclaimed, standing erect. “You’re not wearing underwear!”

Viviane’s giggles gave way to peals of laughter.

I took the hem of her dress and, in a swift tug, raised it over her belly. “Good Lord, your pussy is exposed!” I gasped.

“No, no . . .” she hiccupped, laughing as she struggled to lower her dress. I crouched again, foiling her effort by wrapping my legs around her waist.

I leaned to her face. “Viviane, perhaps the rules weren’t clear enough. You are not permitted to be nude in the make-out room.”

“I’m not, I’m not . . .” she sputtered, barely able to get out the words between laughs.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered, kissing her cheek. “I’ll help to hide your shame.” I cupped my hand over her pussy. She nearly splashed in my palm. “The shame of your very, very wet . . . “ I leaned into her ear and savored the next monosyllable. “ . . . twat.”

I slipped my tongue into her ear. She twisted and squirmed as she laughed. “No, no . . . please . . . please, Jefferson, I can’t breath!”

“All right,” I stood. “Enough making out.” I pulled her hem into place and held out my hand. “Let’s go tour this so-called Garden.”

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Object Lesson

This event was also described by Tristan.

Discretion seemed to have informed the décor of the brothel.

The lights were limited to candles and strands of single bulbs. A low wall of shelves divided the space, which was further segmented by drapes and netting separating beds from one another. The resulting cubicles were intimate, yet each was also a stage to be observed by passers by.

I held Viviane’s hand as we surveyed the goings on. We ran into the fellow who had been wrestling Marcus when he fell.

“Oh, hi!” he said in low voice. “It’s good to see you. Is Marcus okay? I feel terrible about what happened.”

“I think he’ll be okay,” I whispered. Our voices were quiet and reverential among the dim lights and copulation. “They sent him back with a brace and crutches. He’ll have to get an MRI and more tests.”

“Crutches? MRI? Oh, that is awful. I was just too rough.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” I said. “It was an accident.” I turned to look at the bed beside him. A man in a black t-shirt was fucking a woman with deep, rough thrusts. His pants remained around his ankles. His boots were firmly planted on the floor.

“Are you in line to be next?” Viviane asked.

“Hmm? Oh, no,” he said, looking over. “That’s my wife. I’m selling her tonight.”

“How much to fuck her?” I asked.

“Four hundred.”

I fingered the wad in my pocket. “Cool, maybe I’ll come back later and fuck your wife.”

“Please do,” he nodded. “Oh, and tell Marcus he can have it on the house. I feel just awful.”

“Will do.” We watched for a bit longer before leaving our new friend to continue pimping his wife for play money.

It would be nice, I thought, to finally fuck someone at sex camp. Here we were, two days into Dark Odyssey, and other than Lolita’s swift, deep blowjob during our roll in the grass the night before, my boner remained bone dry.

The orgy room was much better lit than the brothel, with a soft diaphanous fabric covering the ambient ceiling lights. Stacks of mattresses formed orderly mounds in the middle of the room. Shelves lined two walls, offering condoms, latex gloves, lube and fresh bedding.

One couple talked in the corner. Otherwise, the space was empty.

“No orgy tonight?” Viviane asked.

“No orgy yet, I bet,” I said. “I hope that changes. After all that’s gone on, it would be nice to see something so familiar as a good old-fashioned orgy.”

The objectification room, by contrast, was the happening place to be. Viviane spotted Marcus, Selina and Lolita across the room. We pressed through the crowd to join them.

Lolita and Selina were being updated on Marcus’s knee. Selina changed the subject to tell us how the Sex Idol Contest had gone in our absence.

I took a hit on my flask and passed it to Viviane.

“Too bad we missed seeing your act, Marcus,” Lolita said.

“Yeah well, nobody’s seeing nothing much from me tonight,” he said morosely. “I’m useless.”

Our conversation moved on to other topics, never addressing the five bodies on display nearby.

Marcus grew distracted and decided that maybe the bodies might be worth examining. I offered to join him.

The lower extremities of five nude women were laid out on cots. Their upper bodies were hidden behind a black scrim. As the room was brightly lit, it was possible that the women could see us faintly through the scrim. But from our vantage, they were invisible above the waist.

Above each woman hung a paper describing what could and could not be done to her body. Only one of the bodies was currently being “used,” in the parlance we had learned from Femcar in that afternoon’s lesson. Two men and a woman were crouched over one body, turning a variety of toys onto her genitals.

Marcus had selected a pair of legs shackled to a cot. A Sharpie marker was balanced between her toes. He rested his crutches against a nearby post and leaned forward.

“What do we have here?” he asked, reading the paper over the legs of this woman—or rather, this object. “’Do: talk about me, toys, penis, fingers, write on me. Don’t: talk to me, play with clit piercing, ass, pain.’” He turned to me. “What the fuck does ‘don’t pain’ mean?”

“Maybe it means ‘don’t pain my sensibilities with incomplete sentences,’” I suggested.

“Maybe I should ‘don’t pain’ this thing when I ‘don’t ass’ it,” Marcus said derisively.

The legs squirmed.

I slapped a thigh. “Those shackles are useless if this thing can’t keep still.”

“Cheap shackles, too,” Marcus said, lubbing its pussy. “Real bargain rate product here.”

“You know the good stuff.” I took the Sharpie marker and scribbled a moustache over the shaved slit. “I tell you, this whole ‘bare beaver’ thing is played. It would be nice to see some pubic hair now and then, just for fucking variety.”

“Do you need a glove?” Viviane asked, suddenly at Marcus’s side.

“I’m covered,” he said, a little annoyed at the interruption. He pulled a latex glove from his pocket and put it on his right hand. He slipped three fingers easily into the object.

“What do you think?” I asked.

Marcus shook his head. “Nothing special.”

The legs shivered as a quiet moan issued from behind the scrim.

“God, who can fucking hear a thing with all this racket?” Marcus complained. He retrieved his fingers and pulled off the glove. He threw it on the object’s thigh. “This is boring. I’m going to look for something worth doing.”

“I’ll join you in a minute,” I said, unzipping my shorts. “I’m just going to fuck this hole real quick.”

“Whatever,” Marcus said, reaching for his crutches. “I wouldn’t go near that thing for free.” He hobbled off, leaving me alone with the object.

“I won’t waste breath talking to you,” I told the scrim as I rolled a condom on my cock. “Please do me the courtesy of being still while I enjoy some pussy.”

The legs relaxed in their shackles.

I stepped from my shorts and climbed onto the cot. I poised my cock to enter the object, but found the shackles positioned its legs in an inconvenient position.

I tried to adjust the legs to better vantage, to no avail.

“This won’t last long,” I said, entering it. “Unless someone brings me a saw to get these fucking legs out of my way.” I began to pump roughly. “No ‘don’t saw’ on your God damned list, is there?”

A moan gave assent.

I slapped a thigh. “Shut the fuck up, hole.”

I grabbed the object’s hips and moved the hole to a better position. With this adjustment, I could fuck with gravity on my side.

I looked over my shoulder. I looked back to face the scrim and closed my eyes, ignoring the eyes on me.

I was the only man fucking one of the objects, so of course, everyone in this crowded room was watching. Lolita was with Viviane and Selina, just a few feet away.

I have no objection to being watched as I have sex. I have come to find it very hot. These days it’s so common I can either allow myself to be aroused by it, or I can retreat into my own head to ignore voyeurs if I’d prefer privacy.

I have places to go when I want to be alone in a crowded room.

But one thing I can’t abide, whether I’m fucking or blogging or talking, is the sense that at some point, I’ll be summarily judged by my actions. I dreaded having to explain and discuss my desire to use this object.

No bones about it, I was very turned on by this public display of anonymous sex. I just wished for the privacy of my own anonymity.

Marcus was fine. Neither of us needs to explain himself to the other. We do anyway, but more to understand each other, and life, than to judge one another.

I barely knew Lolita. I knew she was an expert in all matters kinky, so I couldn’t very well shock her. That didn’t concern me.

But I really liked Lolita, and I didn’t know her well enough to know what, if anything, was simply too grotesque for her. I would much rather get to know her better than fuck this object; I hoped this did not ruin her interest in me.

Still, I fucked.

Selina has had a tough time figuring me out. As she got to know me, she enjoyed that I was smart and funny; it didn’t hurt that my knowledge of seventies rock rivals her own. That’s the real me, and it made me someone she wanted to know.

But she seemed to have trouble reconciling this nice guy she liked with the dominant side of my blog persona. Here I was, this nice guy, not only fucking someone I didn’t know, but also talking trash and throwing in some spankings. This might rankle her considered opinion about trust in a sexual relationship, much less a dom/sub interaction.

I was fucking this hole and seemed unconcerned about the woman behind the scrim. Maybe Selina thought this was hot. Maybe she thought I was a misogynist prick. I didn’t know.

Still, I fucked.

Viviane and I have a deep relationship. Through knowing me, she came into blogging, group sex and kink—heck, even her first forays into sex after marriage were with me.

As Viviane created her own sex blog and dove into her first threesomes, her first orgies, her first domination scenes, her first efforts as a doyenne, I was right there by her side, giving her my advice, and, more critically, my imprimatur. If I did something, in her eyes, it was the cool thing to do.

I was one of the cool kids, and I was her devoted lover.

That’s a lot of responsibility. And here I was fucking some object, reducing a flesh-and-blood person to a mere hole, some gloryhole for my dick.

This was heavy shit and I was playing it out in front of people whose opinions mattered to me.

Still, I fucked.

I tried to focus.

I was also questioning my own motives. All my life, I have done my best to live by the golden rule. I was raised a good Christian boy, a Southerner who opened doors for others and blessed their souls when they prayed for me.

I was raised a mama’s boy within a matrilineal clan, taught to revere women in ways that translated easily into feminism as I matured as an intellectual. After a devoted marriage to someone who required my total attention, even to the most erratic demands, I had shifted into a single life dedicated to making happy the various women I met.

How did that jibe with fucking this woman—this object—while subjugating my concern for her pleasure, much less her identity?

Still, I fucked.

My mind was distracted, but my cock was not. This had me very hard.

I could explain myself later, I reasoned, even to myself. For now, I needed to concentrate and close down my peripheral vision, to reduce my immediate concerns to very simple elements.

My cock.

Her hole.

That cock.

This hole.

In.

Out.

Nothing else.

I willed myself not to care about her orgasm as the object came in shudders against that cock.

I willed myself not to be distracted by her flinch when I touched her stomach. Was she concerned about her slight belly, or just ticklish? Was she pregnant, or protecting a tender injury?

Not my problem, I told myself, facing the scrim as I fucked. If that’s an issue, I thought, that fuckhole should put it on its God damned miserable “don’t” list. That will be a problem for the next cock that takes mercy on this hole and fucks it.

“How is it?” asked a sweet voice. I turned to see a young woman smiling pleasantly.

I shrugged. “Pussy’s like pizza, you know—even the least of it is generally pretty good.”

I kept fucking as we talked, my hands holding the object’s hips still.

“Good. Is this one any trouble? I notice she has a lot of rules.”

“Yeah, it’s a pain when holes come with troublesome restrictions.”

“Like that ‘don’t play with my clit’ thing?” she said, pointing to the list of "don'ts." "What's up with that?"

“Ridiculous, right?”

The object moaned. I slapped a thigh.

“See?” I smirked. “That kind of shit just ruins it.”

“Well, not to rush you,” the woman smiled. “But I’ll fist her once you're done.”

“Oh, please,” I said, pulling out. “I’ve wasted enough of my time. Do your worst.”

I pulled off my condom and tucked it into the object’s hole, using her body as my waste receptacle. I pulled my shorts up over my erection and buttoned the waist.

“Excuse me one second,” I said as the woman pulled on a glove. I picked up the Sharpie and left a signature on the object’s inner left thigh. When I finished, I slapped my note hard.

The leg winced.

“That was me,” I said to the scrim. “Remember my name, cunt.”

“You’re Jefferson?” the young woman asked, slipping her fingers into the pussy I had just vacated.

“Yeah, and that’s my blog,” I said, pointing to the URL I left inked on anonymous flesh. “Come read me sometime.”

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Toilet

“Jefferson?”

“Yeah, Viviane, what’s up?” I shifted where I stood, leaning against a cabin exterior with a foot propped behind me.

“I think I’m going to walk over to the pool. I hear the lesbians have organized an event exclusively for women.”

“Oh that sounds nice. Want me to come? You know my theory about lesbians: they only have sex when I tell them to.”

Viviane smiled. “No, I think I’ll be fine.” She looked over my shoulder. “Is that a friend of yours?”

“This thing? No. That’s just something to cushion my back from the wood shingles.” I pressed back into soft flesh. “I wouldn’t want to get a splinter.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Splinters can really hurt.” Viviane leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “I’ll try to find you later. Be good.”

“I’ll try! Kiss the lesbians for me.”

Viviane made her way through the crowd around us on the porch. She looked very cute in her black dress, I thought.

“Sir?” A muffled voice spoke into my shoulder. “Sir, do I make you comfortable?”

I ignored the voice. I wasn’t really in a mood to talk. I was enjoying myself, just watching people.

Out on the lawn, I could see Femcar with her face buried between a woman’s spread legs. Two guys were taking turns fucking Femcar from behind. I recognized Barry, stroking as he waited his turn.

“Hey, Barry,” I called.

“Hey, Jefferson. Want to come fuck Femcar?”

“Maybe later, pal. I’m just taking it easy now.”

“That’s cool.” Barry turned back to Femcar. He slapped her ass hard. “Fuck her like you mean it, man. Make that shit jiggle.”

It was nice to see everyone getting along so well.

“Sir? Do I make you comfortable, sir?”

“Yes,” I sighed. “You make me very comfortable.” I shifted my weight, pressing hard to squeeze her between my body and the rough wall behind her.

“Thank you, sir,” she breathed, struggling to inhale. “I am here for you to use.”

“Of course you are. Please remain silent unless addressed.”

“Yes, sir.”

I pulled out my flask and enjoyed a few long draughts of bourbon. I chatted for a few moments with the Aussie who had wrestled Barry during the match. He introduced me to the two women he was taking to the orgy room. One of them was wearing thigh-high laced boots with spike heels. I wanted to hear all about them.

I didn’t introduce my cushion. They didn’t acknowledge her presence.

They made their way into the orgy room. I looked and saw Lolita and Selina heading there as well. I caught Lolita’s eye. She waved. I waved back.

It looked like the orgy room was the new happening spot. That might be fun, I thought. But first, I should make good use of my cushion.

I stood forward. She drew a deep breath—her first in quite some time—and lowered herself from her toes. I had pinned her so that she had to lift herself in order to breathe at all.

She was nude but for a black-lace blindfold and a folded piece of poster board that hung from her neck. The outside of the handmade card read:

I am permitted to be used by any MAN (or MEN).

This was how I found her, standing in this spot. That was why I decided to make her my cushion.

She couldn’t see me, or anything else. She only knew me by the sound of my voice and the pressure of my body.

“So you are permitted to be used, are you?” I asked, holding the poster board.

“Yes, sir.”

I opened the card. The interior was blank.

“What is this? Some kind of dance card?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So men can sign it when they have used you? Or if they plan to use you? That kind of thing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Interesting. Do you have a pen?”

“No, sir.”

“’No, sir?’ You have a card to sign but nothing with which to sign it?" I took a piece of her long, curly hair and twisted in my hand. “You’re not very bright, are you?”

“No, sir, I’m sorry. I am only good for a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Please, sir, let me use my mouth to please you.”

“I won’t allow you to waste my time. Are you too stupid to suck cock?”

“No, sir . . . I mean, yes sir, I can please you with my mouth, if you will permit me, sir.”

I put my face close to hers and took her jaw in my hand. I wrenched her mouth open and spoke into it. She jumped, startled to have me so close and so forceful.

“I have to warn you,” I said, my voice low and deep. “I am very accustomed to getting my cock sucked just the way I like it. If you fail, I’ll walk away, leaving you here to ponder your shitty cocksucking.”

“Yes, sir,” she began. “I will do my best to please . . . oh!”

I yanked the hair wrapped around my hand, forcing her down. She struggled to maintain balance as she was forcibly bent forward.

She regained her composure as she situated herself on her knees. Blind, she raised her head in the direction of the fist that held her hair. She parted her lips expectantly.

I parted her teeth with a finger. I gently stroked her teeth, moving from the canines to the molars. Another finger joined to press down on her tongue. She opened wider, taking four fingers. I pressed, edging my hand into her. As my knuckles passed her lips, she began to gag.

I pulled back. “Tsk,” I said. “I’m not optimistic about this.”

She heard the sound of my zipper and the thud of my wallet as my shorts hit the wooden porch.

A cluster of campers were standing an arm’s length away, leaning against a railing and sipping white wine from plastic cups. I didn’t know them. Perhaps one of them was the person who had given this woman permission to be used. Perhaps they were strangers to her as well.

They didn’t say anything to me, though, so I let them be. I was glad to have this little bit of anonymity—and commiserate privacy—as I used this object.

She took my cock in her mouth, gently lolling the head with her tongue. She pulsed and wavered her tongue under my shaft, moaning quietly in the back of her throat. She rested a hand gingerly on my hip.

It was a perfectly sweet and adoring blowjob, just what one might hope to have after a splendidly romantic prom date.

But I was not her prom date.

She had some nerve trying to make this sweet.

I slapped her hand from my hip and grabbed another fistful of hair.

I forced my cock to the back of her throat and held it there. Her head pulled away, instinctively, but my hands held her firm.

Surrender, I thought. I know when to release you. I won’t choke you—much.

She relaxed, holding me in her throat. Her tongue came back to life, licking the base of my shaft.

I released my grip slightly and pulled away, leaving the head of my cock on her tongue.

I listened as she caught her breath deeply though her nose. When it slowed to a more measured rate, I took her hair tightly once more and pushed my cock back to her esophagus.

Don’t fight me, I thought. I’ll let you have what you want, but you are going to do what I want so you appreciate the difference.

Her body went limp as I parked my cock in her.

“Good girl,” I said. I held her hair firmly and began to use her throat. I moved her head back and forth on me, pushing deep and holding my cock full in her. I widened my stance to push even deeper.

I pulled her back and forth rapidly, roughly using her skull to “please” my cock, as she had so wanted to do.

When she was nearing exhaustion from lack of oxygen, I let up.

“Keep my cock in your mouth,” I ordered. “But now you can suck it the way you want.”

Once again, my cock lolled between her cheeks. Once she seemed rested and content, I took up her hair and fucked her face again.

We traded this rhythm. She sucked my cock gently, I fucked her face roughly, back and forth. Never once did I remove myself from her mouth.

People walking along the porch would stop to watch, or press passed us. Sometimes they spoke to us. I ignored them.

Drool pooled in my pubic hair and soaked my balls, running in trails down my legs.

I was deep in her throat when she retched.

I pulled back, removing my cock from her mouth for the first time since she had landed on her knees.

She bent forward, coughing.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yes, sir,” she managed.

“Then why aren’t you sucking cock?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she gasped. “I gagged on you. I thought I might vomit, sir.”

“Why is that of any concern to me?”

“I’m afraid, sir,” she panted, swallowing hard. “I fear I will displease you if I vomit on you, sir.”

“You have pleased me very well,” I said, placing a palm gently on her cheek.

“Thank you, sir. Would you care to use my pussy, sir? Or my ass, sir?”

“Suck my cock while I think it over,” I said. I took up her hair and held my cock to her lips. I shoved it into her throat and held her head firmly in place. I thought over my options.

She had done a very nice job. She deserved to get fucked as she wanted.

I could fuck her right there on the porch, but there was so little space and so much traffic.

I could drag her down into the grass, but the nearest staircase from the porch to the lawn was not convenient. Besides, I’d done the whole grass thing the night before.

I could take her into the orgy room. But my friends were there. They would be curious about her, and I was in no mood to talk. Besides, the orgy room was so pleasant—that was no place to use some object I had found loitering outside.

Then I saw the right place to go.

I pulled my cock from her throat and yanked up my pants. “Get up,” I said, grabbing her hair. “Come with me.” She was still standing when I yanked her hair. “God damn it, move your ass.”

“Yes, sir.” She stumbled to follow, walking backwards and bent over as I led her by the hair in my grip.

I pulled her slowly past clusters of people in conversation. Her arms flailed at the air as she struggled to keep from falling.

“In here,” I said, pushing open a screen door. “Be careful of the door,” I said, making no effort to stop it as it closed on her shoulder. “The door—please be careful.”

“I’m s-s-sorry, sir,” she stammered.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. I opened another door. “Okay, inside,” I said, pushing her ahead. She tripped and fell slightly, landing on a low object. She reached below her nude hip to feel it.

“A toilet, sir? Are we in a bathroom?”

“That’s right. Now stop asking questions. Bend over and hold the tank while I use your pussy.” I took something from my pocket and unzipped my shorts. I let them fall, stepping free once they hit the tile floor.

“The tank, sir?” she asked, turning. “Like this?” She bent over the bowl and hugged the tank behind it.

“That’s right. Now, don’t fuck this up and I won’t flush your pretty long hair.”

“Thank you, sir.” She spread her legs and raised her ass as she found her position. “You will use a condom, won’t you sir?”

“Jesus Hosanna,” I sighed, exasperated. “Sometimes I marvel at what I endure.” I pulled back my right hand.

“Yes.” I lowered my palm hard.

“Of.” Spank.

“Course.” Spank.

“I.” Spank.

“Will.” Spank.

“Use.” Spank.

“A.” Spank.

“Condom.” Spank.

Her ass reddened as I tore the package in my left hand. She had not cried out at all. Her stoicism was impressive.

“Satisfied?”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” She wriggled her hips, expectantly.

I had pushed her into the first stall of a rather large restroom. It was shared by a long row of cabins and, as the camp was originally built for girls, used by everyone, there being no separate facilities for men and women.

Anyone squeamish about shared accommodations may have been more so to discover me fucking a woman bent over the toilet nearest the door.

If so, no one said anything. People came in, took care of their business, and left.

I fucked her roughly, keeping pace with the way I had treated her face.

Eliza, my fetish model sweetheart, appeared at my side.

“Oh, Jefferson, even in the toilet?”

I smiled at her. “Yes, my darling Eliza, even in the toilet.”

Eliza noticed the woman’s pink ass and gave a few whacks of her own. I moved aside as I fucked to give her room. The sound of flesh on flesh echoed against the tile.

Once again, the woman did not cry out.

Eliza looked up at me and smiled before excusing herself to another stall.

I busied myself with fucking until I realized someone else was watching.

Lolita leaned against the open stall door.

“Hey, Lolita,” I smiled. I leaned over to kiss her. She took my mouth into hers, meeting my tongue with her own.

The woman I was fucking sighed with the renewed vigor of my thrusts.

Lolita pulled back and grinned. She waved a hand toward the toilet. “Having fun?”

“Just fucking something I found,” I smiled. “Hey, are you busy?”

“Nah, just hanging around. Why?”

“Mind if I hang around with you?”

“Of course not,” she smiled. “I told you I would hang out with you tonight. Duh.”

“Awesome. Just give me a minute, okay?” I turned to the silent woman over the toilet. I grabbed her hips and fucked her until I collected a groan.

“All right,” I said, pulling out. I tugged the condom from my cock and threw it on her back. “Count backwards from one hundred, out loud,” I said, reaching for my shorts. “And then you can resume your position by the wall.”

“Thank you, sir. One hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight . . .”

I washed my hands as I chatted with Lolita.

“ . . . eighty seven, eighty six, eight five . . .”

I spanked the woman once more as we passed. “Tell your friends Jefferson did this to you.”

“ . . . unh, thank you, Jefferson, sir . . . eighty four, eighty three, eighty two . . .”

I took Lolita’s arm. “What do you want to do?” I asked.

“I want to make things happen,” she said.

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

So Close to Heaven

This story is also told by Selina.

The brothel was clearing out. There was no one in the make-out room. Only a few bodies remained on display in the objectification room.

The orgy room was the place to be.

“I guess things wind up kind of early, huh?” I asked Lolita as I held open the door.

“Jefferson, it’s after three,” Lolita replied. “I mean, seriously, what do you want?”

In a far corner, a man massaged a woman’s feet. I exchanged waves with the Tantra instructors who fucked among the couples on the mattresses.

Selina had set up camp in the orgy room hours earlier. I checked on her throughout the night as I made my rounds and she worked through a retinue of her admirers. She kept busy despite having decided to forgo sex for the duration of the weekend—or rather, to forgo vaginal or anal penetration with “bio cock,” as male genitals were dubbed at sex camp.

Of course, genital intercourse is the first thing most people think of when referring to orgies, but, as Selina knew, fucking is merely scratching the surface of sex. While removing one item from the agenda, Selina retained many creative alternatives.

“Having fun?” I had asked her as man licked mud from her spiked heels.

“How’s it going?” I had asked her as she blew two men at once.

“Holler if you need anything,” I had offered as she spanked a bad boy.

Now, Lolita and I found Selina nude in the orgy room and talking with a well-dressed blonde. Her new friend was tarted up in black, from her high heels and hose to the dropped neckline of her short black dress.

“Jefferson!” Selina called. “Come here, I’d like for you to meet someone.” She smiled as she turned the girl to face me. “Lolita, Jefferson, may I introduce Windsorina?”

“Pleased to meet you,” Windsorina smiled, shaking strands of hair from her rouged cheeks.

Well, shut my mouth, I thought.

It was Windsor, the fellow who had followed Selina like an adoring puppy since she arrived at camp, now recreated as the fetching Windsorina. The previous evening, he had confessed to us his fantasy of being transformed into a girl. Now, it seemed that his fantasy had been realized.

“Pleased to meet you, Windsorina,” I said, taking her hand and kissing a cheek freshly shorn of its goatee. “It’s hard to believe I’ve missed such a pretty creature all evening.”

Windsorina looked down and blushed. “I’ve been here . . .” she began.

“When you took Marcus to the hospital, Viviane and I discovered Windsorina,” Selina explained. “She was hiding, but we uncovered her. All it took was some makeup, some clothes, a wig . . . and there she was.”

“Really? So Windsorina was dressed by two women? Why, if I recall correctly, that was precisely her fantasy.”

“Yes, well, that was half of her fantasy,” Selina grinned. “I need your assistance to fulfill the remainder.”

“What’s the fantasy?” Lolita asked. Selina raised a finger to her lips.

“I’m happy to do my part,” I said, chucking Windsorina’s chin. “I’ll do what I can to please this beautiful creature.”

Again, Windsorina turned her face. Her modesty was enchanting.

“Windsorina, turn around please,” Selina instructed. Windsorina complied, turning awkwardly on her heels. Selina reached around her charge’s waist, slightly raising her black skirt to reveal a buttock. “Isn’t that a lovely sight, Jefferson?”

“Indeed it is,” I agreed, raising my hand. “May I . . .?”

“Yes, please,” Selina offered.

I reached forward to caress Windsorina’s ass, feeling its curve in the palm of my hand. “So soft,” I admired. “And so smooth. May I spank her?”

“Yes, of course,” Selina said.

I gave Windsorina a few light slaps. Her flesh pinkened to a light rosy hue.

“She’s lovely,” I admired. “I think I would really enjoy some time with Windsorina, if that’s all right?”

“I think Windsorina would like that, wouldn’t you, Windsorina?” Selina asked. Despite the sweetness in her voice, Selina’s tone suggested that this was more a direction than an inquiry.

Windsorina looked to her mistress, then down to her heels. “Yes, please,” she nodded, her voice barely higher than a whisper.

“I’m delighted,” I smiled. “Let me help you to your knees, Windsorina. Let me see how well you suck cock.”

Windsorina looked in my eyes, and then averted her gaze as she took my hand. Gingerly, she lowered herself to her knees, her skirt rising slightly on her thighs.

I unzipped my shorts and dropped them to the floor. I stepped from them as I removed my shirt.

Selina took Lolita aside to explain Windsorina’s fantasy. “She wanted to be dressed by two dommes, then made to service two men,” she said.

“Oh, a forced feminization scene. Goody!” Lolita grinned. “Then we’ll need Marcus for this. I’ll go find him.” She smiled at me before leaving.

I smiled back, then turned my attentions to the quiet blonde kneeling before me. I traced my cock along her lips, gently smearing her bright red lipstick.

“Part your lips for me, pretty Windsorina,” I directed. Windsorina looked at my belly, her face slightly panicked.

“Eyes on mine, pretty girl,” I said, taking her chin in hand. “Eye contact greatly enhances a blowjob.’

With her eyes on mine, my cock slid slowly into her mouth. I moved my hips slightly, gently fucking the top of her tongue.

“Now, move your tongue on me,” I directed. “Let me feel your mouth come alive.”

Windsorina’s tongue moved tentatively around the head of my cock.

I looked to Selina. “The girl’s obviously a neophyte, but she’s got some abilities. I think she’s worth the training.”

“By all means, please enjoy her,” Selina said. “Anything you can do to further her training would be great.”

I looked to Windsorina. Her eyes blinked as she twirled my cock in her mouth. “Your mistress is very gracious,” I smiled, petting her hair. “You are a very lucky girl indeed.”

A hum of assent murmured under her Adam’s apple.

I took her cheeks in my palm. “I think you should honor her by being a better cocksucker,” I said, easing myself deeper into her face. “You suck cock like a girl, and that really won’t do.”

She gagged as I reached the back of her throat. I held her face in place. Her eyes widened as she struggled for breath.

I pulled my cock from her mouth. I took one hand from a cheek and slapped her. “Like a girl,” I repeated. “That’s not good enough. Again.”

I parted her lips with my cock and slowly edged it into her mouth. “Relax,” I told her. Windsorina drew a breath through her nostrils and swallowed as my cock edged to her throat.

Again, I held her face in place. This time, she held her own.

“Good girl,” I commended. “Now, you can better service me.” I swayed my hips, moving myself back and forth into her throat.

Windsorina sputtered as she struggled against gagging.

“Just relax . . . .” I repeated, fucking her. “Let me do the work.”

Windsorina blinked and drew a deep breath. I held her face in place and fucked her mouth as softly as a lullaby.

“Hey Jefferson,” Marcus said. Lolita held the door as he hobbled into the room. “Selina, how’s it going?” He moved to lean against a post, taking the crutches from under his arms. He waved to the Tantra couple. “You two are too gorgeous,” he smiled.

Marcus began to undress. “Lolita says you might need a little help, Jefferson. Who’s the girl?”

I held her chin, turning her face slightly without removing my cock from her mouth. “This is Windsorina,” I said. “Windsorina, this is my friend Marcus.”

Windsorina gurgled.

“’Windsorina?’” Marcus asked, stepping from his pants. He turned to Selina. “Why not just ‘Wendy?’”

Selina moved her hair from one shoulder to another. “I think ‘Windsorina’ is a more feminine name,” she asserted.

“Well, she’s your project,” Marcus said. “I’d have gone with ‘Wendy,’ but whatever.” He looked to the Tantra instructors, bringing his hand to his hardening cock.

The man looked back at Marcus and smiled as he watched him stroke. He intensified his thrusts into the woman under him.

“So, is she much of a cocksucker, Jefferson?” Marcus asked, never looking away from the couple.

“Serviceable, at best,” I replied. “She needs a little guidance.”

“Ugh,” he complained, looking to us, then back to the man watching him. “I’d really rather get good head. This could be more trouble that it’s worth.”

“She’s not much, but she is on her knees,” I pointed out. “You want to give her a try?”

Marcus turned and watched my cock glide between red lips. “All right, whatever,” he said. “But move her over here—I need to lay back on this mattress.” He positioned himself so that he could see the Tantra instructors. “Be careful of my knee brace,” he told Windsorina, barely looking her way.

I took my cock from Windsorina and offered her my hand. “Stand up, pretty,” I said. “I want you to blow my boyfriend. Treat him as you have treated me.”

Windsorina stood cautiously on her heels. She moved to kneel before Marcus. He spread his legs and positioned himself at the edge of the mattress to accommodate her.

“Please, don’t fuck this up,” Marcus said, stroking his cock to its full length. “If this isn’t good, I’m kicking you off my dick.”

“I’ll do my best . . .” Windsorina began.

“Shut up, shit,” Marcus said, cutting her off. “Shut up and suck my dick.”

Windsorina lowered her mouth to take Marcus. Her blonde wig bobbed up and down as she gasped for air.

“Jesus, you’re a mess,” Marcus said. He put his hand on her head and held her down. “Just focus, okay? Just take it all and focus.”

I looked to Selina. “I think he’s having the same trouble I was,” I said. “The girl needs to work on her concentration and stamina.”

“I can see that,” Selina nodded. “Duly noted.”

I caressed Windsorina’s soft black dress. My hands took her hips firmly. “And she’s an ass virgin?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Selina said.

Windsorina gasped in the affirmative.

“Shut up,” Marcus said, taking her cheeks roughly. “No one’s talking to you.”

“Hmmm, well, I’d like to fuck her virgin ass,” I said, reaching for her panties. I pulled them gently over her ass and down to her knees. I lifted each leg to move them as far as her ankles.

I let the panties rest there, as they looked nice with her hose and heels.

I moved to the shelves near Lolita to find a condom and lube. She took my cock in her hand.

“This stuff really gets you hard,” she grinned.

“Shh, don’t tell anyone,” I smiled. I kissed her. “So this will be, what? The third person you’ve watched me fuck tonight?”

“Yeah, and it’s giving me ideas . . .” she said.

I nuzzled her leather motorcycle jacket. “Any ideas you get, I’m your man.”

We kissed again. She ran her grip along the shaft of my cock.

“Go,” she said. “You’ve got ass to fuck.”

“Oh, right.” I kissed her cheek and toyed with her hair. “You’re cute. Here, open this condom, would you?”

I rolled it on my cock as I walked back to Windsorina.

“Fuck, look out for my knee,” Marcus said, slapping the girl on his cock. She gurgled an apology. He slapped her again. “And shut up. Damn, you’re really starting to piss me off.”

“Hold her steady,” I said, lubing Windsorina’s hole. “We’re going to spit roast her—you sticking her top, me sticking her bottom.”

“Geez, Jefferson, you’ll fuck anything.”

“This is a favor for Selina,” I said. “And anyway, I’m a sucker for virgin ass.” I added more lube to my hand. I slathered my cock, slapping Windsorina’s ass to wipe away the excess. I spread her knees as far as her restrained ankles would allow.

I crouched behind her, my cock poised at the ready. “All right, pretty baby: I’m taking your ass.”

“This will hurt at first . . . “ Marcus said.

“ . . . but I will push ahead,” I added.

“That’s the best way,” Marcus finished.

I began to ease the head of my cock into her. My cock bent back.

I looked down and placed my thumb against her hole. I gently eased it in. Windsorina fell forward slightly.

“No, no,” I said, pulling back her hips. “You need to be brave and stay steady, darling girl. That will make this go much more smoothly.”

I repositioned myself to try again. I pushed forward only to feel my cock slide between her cheeks.

“Shit,” I muttered. I crouched a little higher and spread her ass. Again, her hole turned me away.

I looked at Selina. “I can’t get in there. She’s too tight.”

“Hmm, well, let me help. Maybe she’s tense.”

Windsorina gulped. Marcus sternly told her to focus. He caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. I shrugged.

Selina knelt beside her charge and lubed her hand. She massaged Windsorina’s hole with one hand and rubbed her back with the other, offering words of encouragement.

“I do love boy ass,” she whispered to me.

After a time, she took my cock and tried to guide it into Windsorina.

Once again, my cock was rebuffed.

Selina looked at me. “Wow, she really is tight.”

“This calls for serious action,” I said, standing.

I retrieved a glove and more lube. I knelt behind Windsorina, gloving my hand and covering it with lube.

“Here, try more lube,” Selina offered, holding out a bottle.

“Good idea,” I said, as she poured it onto my glove.

My hand dripped as my finger entered Windsorina’s ass. She flinched, but relaxed at the sound of Selina’s voice.

“Tight?” Marcus asked.

“If she sneezes, she might break my finger,” I said.

Soon, between the three of us, we opened Windsorina. I got two fingers into her, allowing the leverage and penetration needed to get deep into her while coaxing her prostate.

I wanted to try once more to get my cock into her, but I had my doubts. If I could get her to shift position, it might work. But that could require moving Marcus, which would be disruptive, given his carefully positioned leg. I could ask her to stand, but Windsor was taller than me, making it hard to get my dick to the height of his ass. Never mind Windsorina’s heels, which would raise my destination into the stratosphere.

At any rate, there was no need to shuffle this configuration of bodies at the risk of losing this moment. Windsorina was finally in a proper frame of mind. Her cocksucking grew more intent; Marcus was now able to “kick back,” as he says, and enjoy his blowjob without issuing reprimands.

“You are doing so well, Windsorina, so well,” Selina softly intoned. “Such a good, good girl.” Selina reached under the girl’s spread legs to massage her cock.

We soon felt Windsorina’s body melt in orgasm.

“Yeah, give it,” I barked.

“Cum, damn it,” Marcus ordered, wedging his cock in her throat.

“Such a good girl, a good, good girl,” Selina cooed.

We helped Windsorina to her feet. Her makeup was smeared and her eyes glazed with pleasure. Selina embraced her, telling her what a good, brave job she had done.

Marcus kissed her cheek. “It wasn’t the worst blowjob I’ve ever had. It got much better as you progressed. You just need to keep practicing.”

“Thanks,” Windsorina beamed.

“I have to confess, I was skeptical,” I said. “When you first told us you had a fantasy that would take all four of us to fulfill, I thought you were dreaming. But now, thanks to Selina, your dream came true. You were feminized by two women and forced to serve two men. You did it!” I kissed Selina. “You must be very proud.”

“I am,” Selina nodded earnestly, rubbing Windsorina’s back. “She did very well. I am honestly very impressed.”

“I was a little afraid,” Windsorina said. “I really felt scared when you started to, you know, fuck me. But then it felt so good, I had to let go.”

“Oh, I didn’t fuck you,” I corrected. “That was my hand.”

Windsorina’s smile fell.

“But you did a great job,” I hastened to add. “You took practically the whole thing. And I’ve got huge hands—see?” I held out a hand. “Huge.”

She looked crestfallen. I regretted having said anything; it just slipped out, as the truth so often will.

“You did a fine job,” Selina repeated.

“You sure did,” I nodded. “Just think: you were so close to heaven.”

Windsorina looked at Selina and smiled at that thought.

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Things Happen

This story is also told by Lolita.

Marcus was splayed across a mattress, stroking his cock and chatting with Selina, when he was suddenly seized by a thought.

“Jefferson, didn’t Barry say something about a list of people who wanted to suck my dick?”

“Did he?” I asked, draping an arm on Selina’s nude waist. “I don’t recall that.”

“Yes, you do,” Marcus said. “Remember right after we got back here from the hospital? At the car? Barry said there was a list of people who wanted to suck my dick.”

“He did? That’s awesome. I wouldn’t doubt it—you’re famous now, thanks to your busted knee.”

“Yeah, this is working to my advantage, much better than I thought.” He gave his balls a stern twist. “Well look, I can’t move. Would you go find Barry and tell him to bring me his list?”

“Maybe he doesn’t have a list per se,” Selina said. “Maybe he just meant it, like, you know, everyone is glad you’re okay.”

“That sounds about right,” I agreed. “Kind of like saying ‘let me be the first to shake your hand,’ but in sex camp slang.”

Marcus’s brow furrowed. “Look, the two of you, I know what Barry said. He has a list of people who want to suck my dick, and right now, I’d like some people to suck my dick. So can you go find him, please?”

“I don’t mind looking,” I said, reaching for my shorts. “Though it’s been a while since the last time I saw him. He was fucking Femcar in the grass a while ago.”

Marcus’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, bring Femcar, too. I can use her. She’d like that.”

“Let me see what I can do,” I said, zipping up. “Back in a flash.”

“The list,” Marcus repeated, stroking himself. “The list and Femcar.”

“Got it.” I closed the screen door and stepped onto the porch.

The Garden was deserted. It must’ve been around four in the morning.

Barry had stayed up all night on Friday, as I had, so perhaps I could find him even at so late an hour. Like Selina, I doubted he possessed any such list. But I knew how Marcus could be when he is fixated on a notion. In his mind, Barry had petitioned the campers—very likely, with a clipboard in hand—and compiled an inventory of potential cocksuckers.

Marcus would not rest until Barry produced the list. And so he couldn’t let me rest until I produced Barry.

At any rate, if I did find Barry, he would take care of Marcus. He had fallen for my boyfriend’s charm and, in an endearing way, he was drawn to Marcus’s gift for taking charge of a situation.

That afternoon, as we walked back toward the cabin following Femcar’s presentation, Marcus mentioned that he needed to take a leak.

“Yeah, me too,” Barry said.

“Let’s not waste this opportunity,” Marcus told him. “Come with me.”

He took Barry into the cabin’s communal restroom and opened a stall door. “Okay,” he ordered. “Bend over and put your head in the toilet.”

“Okay,” Barry agreed, with all insouciance. He crouched beside the toilet and lowered his head into the bowl. “Like this?” he asked, looking up.

“Perfect. Now, don’t move.” Marcus unzipped his shorts and soon released a steady stream of urine over Barry’s head and shoulders, soaking his hair and wetting his shirt.

“Ahhhhhh.” Marcus finished and gave it a good shake.

“Awesome,” Barry said, piss streaming from his face.

“Yeah, that was great,” Marcus said. “Okay, now it’s my turn."

The two men switched positions and a moment later, Marcus was similarly drenched.

As they showered afterwards, Barry soaped Marcus and told him that he was glad they met. “It’s so awesome that you are in DC,” he gushed. “Now I’ll finally have a cool guy to hang out with.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, Barry,” Marcus smiled. “Now bend over. I want to look at your ass.”

“Sure!” Barry grinned, turning to bend forward.

After that, Marcus had injured his knee, leaving Barry at a loss for his cool new friend.

If I could find Barry, the boys could be reunited to new adventures and I might finally get to sleep.

The brothel was empty, the make-out room was empty, and all the objects in the objectification room had been put away.

I found Lolita talking with a couple of guys I recognized as well-known doms. She was crouched and leaning her arms against a porch railing. The men were standing on the grass below.

“Jefferson, Jefferson, Jefferson,” she grinned. “Have you met my friends? This is Daddy D, and that is Sir B.”

“Nice to meet such prominent dominants,” I nodded. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“No, in fact, you should join us,” Lolita said, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“I’d like to, but I’m on something of a mission,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “A fool’s errand, maybe. Have you seen Barry?”

“Not for a while,” Lolita said. “Why?”

“Well, supposedly he has this list of people who want to blow Marcus, and the gimp needs his joint moistened.”

“He what?” Lolita asked.

“Marcus wants a blowjob,” Sir B translated.

“Oh!” Lolita stood. “Well, I’ll go suck him off then.”

“Would you, please?” I smiled. “That would be really great.”

“Of course! I’m glad to make it happen. I’ll be back. You talk to the guys.”

With that, Lolita headed to the orgy room, stepping quickly toward her goal.

“You ever see Lolita suck dick?” Sir B asked Daddy D.

“Oh, sure. She’s pretty good.”

“She does enjoy it,” Sir B nodded. He turned to me. “So aren’t you and Marcus bi? Why don’t you suck him off?”

I shrugged. “He didn’t ask. Anyway, who wants to get the same old blowjob at sex camp? That’s like fucking your own wife. Where’s the sport in that?”

“I can see your point,” Daddy D laughed.

“I think that’s great that you guys take care of each other,” Sir B said. “More guys should blow their friends.”

“I’ll have to agree with you there,” I said. “What’s a little cocksucking between friends?”

A screen door slammed. We looked over to see Lolita heading our way.

“Back so soon?” Daddy D called.

“Wow, you are good,” Sir B echoed.

Lolita shook her head and jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Someone beat me to it. He’s already getting his . . . what did you say? His ‘joint moistened.’”

“Whew,” I said, facetiously wiping my brow. “That gets me off the hook. Let me go check on him real quick. Back in a few.”

Lolita resumed her crouching conversation at the porch railing.

Sure enough, Marcus was getting blown. A silver-mustached man in a leather vest was giving it his all. His wife watched as she talked to Selina.

“This is a real treat for him,” the wife effused. “He never gets to suck dick at home.”

“That’s too bad,” Selina said. “Do you have a strap-on? Because today, we were at Nina’s class on strap ons, which was very instructive, and she said . . .”

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “Do we think the princess is going to be okay for now?”

Selina nodded. “He looks content.”

“Jefferson!” Marcus bellowed. “Did you find Barry?”

I shook my head. Selina wagged her finger. “You just let that go,” she suggested. “You’re getting very good head. Let Jefferson alone.”

The man slurped hungrily up and down Marcus’s shaft.

“Whatever,” Marcus rolled his eyes. “Just, let me know if you find Barry, okay?”

“Will do,” I said. “Again, sorry for the interruption. I’m going back outside.”

“Right,” Selina replied. “Now wait, where were we?”

“The strap-on class,” the wife said. “Strap-ons and blowjobs, I think?”

“Oh, right,” Selina nodded. I left as she resumed her explanation.

I returned to Lolita and her friends to find that our conversation had continued without me.

“My thing is, I’ve never sucked dick at all,” Sir B said. “But if I did, it would have to be with a friend.”

“Right,” Lolita said. “And that makes sense for you.”

“I’m not into men at all,” Daddy D said. “So if a guy were to do me, I’d want it to be someone I knew.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Lolita nodded.

I could all but smell the oil from the gears whirring in her mind.

“The truth is,” Lolita went on. “You two are such good friends.”

“I think D is probably my best friend,” Sir B allowed.

“Thanks, B,” Daddy D smiled. His teeth gleamed between his moustache and soul patch. “That’s a very nice thing to say.”

“Well, people should say those things, I think,” Sir B said.

“D, you have the smoothest skin of any man I know,” Lolita said. “Do you mind if I unbutton your shirt?”

“Hmmm? Oh sure, that’s fine,” he said. Lolita reached forward and moved her fingers down his torso. Sir B watched as his friend’s body came into view. “I just love running my fingers on that body,” Lolita said, lightly grazing his flesh.

“That feels great,” Daddy D grinned. I hadn’t really noticed before, but when he smiled, he was a very handsome man.

Sir B’s eyes followed Lolita’s fingers. She talked, filling the night air with her easy laughter. She casually began to toy with Daddy D’s jeans.

With studied ease, Lolita unzipped Daddy D and took his cock in hand. Her words flowed in my ears as I watched her knead him to hardness.

I bit my lip. By touching one cock, Lolita was making two hard.

Apparently, Sir B was feeling it as well.

“I don’t know why I get all the fun,” Lolita smiled. “Sir B, do you want to touch your friend?”

Sir B looked in Daddy D’s eyes. “Is that okay?”

His friend nodded. “Sure man, it’s cool.”

Sir B stepped forward slightly and, tentatively, took his friend’s cock from Lolita’s hand.

“Feels awesome, man,” Sir B said, stroking the erection in his palm.

“Sure does,” Daddy D nodded.

Sir B moved his hand up and down the shaft. Lolita was quiet now, watching.

Sir B’s hand moved to his friend’s ass. Lolita produced a glove and lube. Sir B’s fingers found Daddy’s D’s hole.

I stroked Lolita’s hair. I didn’t want to say anything that might disrupt the moment, so I had to rely on touch to tell her that I liked the way she treated people. Your smile turns me on, I thought, and your affection gets me hard.

She looked back to me and grinned.

I had known her for all of two days. It felt much longer.

“I think I could suck you, if that’s okay.” Sir B’s voice was low and hoarse, almost a whisper.

“It’s okay,” Daddy D said, putting a hand on Sir B’s shoulder. “I’d like that.”

I put a hand on Lolita’s shoulder.

Sir B reached into his pocket and pulled out a condom. He tore open the package, chatting nervously as he rolled it onto his friend’s cock.

Sir B bent forward and took his friend’s cock into his mouth.

Sir B dropped to his knees. His head moved in uncertain jerks before settling into a rhythmic pattern. He relaxed as he got the hang of it.

“That’s so good, Sir B,” Daddy D sighed.

“Very good, Sir B,” Lolita echoed.

I was just meeting Lolita’s friends for the first time, so I missed part of the significance of this blowjob. Sir B was a female-to-male transgender. Back in the day, he had been a lesbian. Nowadays, he’s very much one for the ladies.

He wasn’t sucking dick for kicks. He was feeling the love for his friends.

I would spend more time with Sir B the next day. This blowjob was a nice icebreaker. I thought he was a cool fellow.

I also thought he looked damned hot sucking cock.

Lolita watched me watching.

“C’mere,” she said. “I want to play with you.”

“I thought you would never ask.” I stood, assuming that she wanted to take me someplace. Instead, she reached forward and unfastened my shorts.

They fell fast.

I leaned against a post as Lolita swallowed my cock.

I had fucked her face during our roll in the grass the night before. Now, I let her take the lead.

She took full advantage.

Lolita grunted and snorted as she devoured me. Drool accumulated at the corners of her mouth.

“Fuck me, girl,” I gasped. “That’s something!”

It really was something. Lolita treated my cock like her last meal, gulping it deep and fast.

I decided to give it to her the way she wanted. I grabbed her hair and fucked her face, giving her my nastiest, harshest thrusts.

“Damn,” Daddy D said.

Sir B looked up. “Fuck yeah, Lolita, you suck that cock.”

“God damn,” I barked. “Mother fuck!”

“Fuck her, man,” Daddy D called.

Lolita gagged and gurgled as I pounded in her throat.

It was after four in the morning. I was deep in that mouth, that mouth with the sexy smile, that mouth that kissed me so deeply.

I looked down into those eyes, those brown eyes that laughed easily, those eyes now tearing as she gave herself to me.

Some people walked by. They said something.

Sir B and Daddy D hollered at us. They encouraged me to use their friend, encouraged her to take that fucking cock, to take that fucking, to take me whole, to take me.

“Shit,” I gasped. “Shitshitshit . . .”

“Yeah, man, do it,” Sir B said.

“Fuck yeah, man,” Daddy D said.

Lolita kept her eyes on me.

I pushed her off me. She fell back slightly.

I came. I came with a force and velocity pent up from two days of consistent arousal. I gave up the orgasm that had eluded me as I sucked fresh cock and fingered and fucked women I would never see again.

My legs buckled and my spine twitched. I was dizzy. I swallowed air, my groans pushing back.

Finally I was able to draw a full breath. I panted.

I opened my eyes.

Lolita’s hair was gummed to her face. Sugary icing dripped from her eyes and nose. Her black shirt and leather jacket were soaked.

She was laughing.

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Sunday Kind

“Selina, do you think breakfast will be ending at ten today?” Marcus called from the sink as he shaved.

“I don’t know,” Selina called back from across the room. She jumped slightly as she zipped her jeans. “It may be later because there are no morning sessions, but I don’t know.”

“Shhhh!” Viviane shushed, taking the cock from her mouth. “Guys, there are still some people sleeping.”

“It’s okay,” I groaned, opening my eyes. “I’m up now.”

“Yeah, looks like you’re up, all right,” Marcus said, wiping his neck with a hand towel. “Rising and shining, big boy.”

“Aw, Jefferson, did they wake you with all that shouting?” Viviane asked, her hand gently massaging my cock.

“Well, that, and the blowjob,” I yawned. “It’s a wonder I sleep at all.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to miss breakfast, sleeping beauty,” Selina said. “It’s over in about twenty minutes.”

“Hmmm, twenty minutes . . . ,” I stretched, closing my eyes.

“You guys can go ahead,” Viviane said. “I’ll get him up.”

“You’ve got him up,” Marcus said. “Just get him off. We’re not saving any bacon.” He kicked my feet with a crutch as he passed.

The screen door slammed behind them.

“Sweetie, are you going to get up for breakfast?” Viviane asked.

“Hmmmm, we’ll see.” I yawned again. “Go ahead with what you’re doing. I’ll be . . . ,” my voice trailed away into another yawn.

“Poor baby,” she said, wrapping her mouth around my cock. “Up so late . . . ” she licked down my shaft. “Not sleeping at all . . .”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” I nodded, my eyes closed. “No rest for the wicked.”

Lolita’s explosive blowjob just before dawn had tapped my last reservoir. Afterwards, we lounged across mattresses in the orgy room until I collected Marcus to help him limp back to the cabin.

He refused to leave the Garden until he was certain that no one was left.

He found a girl wandering in search of a cute boy she had met earlier. He decided that she must be referring to Felix, the boy he had refused to share the night before. He offered to escort her to Felix’s cot.

“Marcus, come on,” I complained. “I’m beat.”

“Just one minute, Jefferson—God. It’s too hard to explain how to find Felix. I’ll just take her there.” He trundled off on his crutches, chatting amicably with the woman he had just met.

I turned to Lolita. “So, I guess I’m supposed to wait here while he delivers a horny girl to a boy he’s already fucked?”

“Think he’ll be back?” she asked.

“Not if there’s a remote chance of sex, no.” I dug the toe of my sandal into the ground.

“Well, you know . . .” Lolita began. She twirled her hands in one another and turned on her most coquettish smile. “If you don’t have any other plans, and you would like it, you are welcome to come back to my cabin . . . and, you know . . .”

I looked her in the eyes. “Sleep over?”

She nodded. I’d have sworn she was blushing.

“You don’t have a cuddle date tonight?”

She shook her head, raising a finger to her teeth.

I smiled. I took her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I’d like that, Lolita, but I need to wake up elsewhere in the morning.”

“I understand,” she nodded. “I’m very understanding.”

“So I understand.” I squeezed her arm. “And thanks.”

A screen door closed. I looked up to see Marcus making his way back to us. He was alone.

“I dunno,” he said. “I don’t think Felix was all that happy to see her.”

“Well, Marcus, you did wake him in the middle of the night to drop some stranger on him,” I pointed out.

“Wouldn’t you like that?” he asked. “I mean, seriously, if I woke you up and said, ‘here’s this girl who wants to fuck you,’ wouldn’t you be happy about that?”

“In the twenty years I’ve known you, the flow of girls has gone in one direction only,” I sighed. “If you ever brought a girl to me, awake or asleep, I would be too stunned for words.”

Marcus looked at me. “No . . . fuck, are you serious? Is that true?”

We were walking away from the Garden. Lolita stopped and looked back. “Wait, is she coming too? She’s from my cabin.”

“No, I made her undress and get into bed with Felix,” Marcus said, tossing off any further concern for the woman he had just squired. “Now, seriously, are you for real about the sharing girls thing?”

We left Lolita at her cabin, each of us kissing her goodnight in turn.

Our discussion continued as we walked slowly back to the cabin. Marcus recalled every woman we have ever fucked in common, and one by one, I reminded him that I had introduced each to him.

Marcus was restless, so we decided on a nightcap. I poured bourbons as he situated himself in a harness hanging from a tree. I settled for a nearby hammock.

We drank and talked as old friends do.

I brushed my teeth before helping Marcus into bed. I kissed him goodnight and told him I loved him. I crawled gingerly into bed with Viviane, kissing her shoulder lightly.

The sky outside was gray with morning light.

I woke from a dreamless sleep to the sounds of my friends’ voices in my ears, and to the sensations of my friend’s mouth on my cock.

The cabin was quiet as people went to breakfast, or returned to prepare for their days. Our cabin mates milled about, tending to their own concerns as Viviane blew me.

She seemed not to notice. Viviane and I were in a private space in full public view.

I pulled her up to kiss me. Our bodies turned as I lowered myself to her, pressing my hips into hers. She moaned as we kissed.

Wordlessly, I fished for a condom.

She fairly splashed as I entered her.

I spread her legs, holding them back as I fucked her slow and deep, waiting for her to ask for more.

There are advantages to knowing your lover.

Viviane knows how to take what she wants from my body. I know how to give it to her. I know when she wants more, and when she’s had enough. And when, again, she wants more.

Yet I so rarely write about Viviane. This is by her request, as she prefers to remain “off blog” in our relationship. She’s not too keen to read about her sex life in blogs.

Mind you, many are the times she’s turned to me during an intense moment to say, “You’re going to blog this, right?”

As we prepared for sex camp, I told her it would be pretty difficult to write about our shared experience without reference to her. “I mean, it’s going to look ridiculous to tell this story without you. It will be too great a void.”

“Okay, sweetie,” she acquiesced. “This time you can write about me.”

“Thanks, baby,” I had replied, lowering my tongue once more to lap at her clit.

On the way to camp, she added one condition: “You can’t blog my driving!” she had laughed, veering from one lane to the next.

A truck horned blared in protest.

“Of course not, that’s fine,” I had agreed, my knuckles white on my knees. “Anyway, I write nonfiction. No one would believe it.”

That Sunday morning began our last day of sex camp. That night we would head home. Viviane, God help us, would be at the wheel.

That Sunday morning, she came for me, oblivious to the people around us.

I had her come again as I held her close. Her yelps filled the cabin.

“Thanks for that, Viv,” I kissed her as she caught her breath.

“Thank you for coming home last night,” she whispered.

“Shhh,” I pet her hair. “Of course.”

She looked into my eyes. “Bacon?”

“I think so, yes.” I bit her nose.

We dressed quickly, hoping to make it to breakfast before the buffet closed.

She brushed her hair vigorously, keeping a mental tally of the strokes. I wet my hair, combing it with my fingers.

“Did you enjoy the Garden last night?” she asked as we departed.

“Oh, it was fine. I’ll tell you all about it,” I said, holding the door. “How was the lesbian party? Much fun?”

“No, not really,” she sighed. “And no sex.”

“Ha! Didn’t I predict as much?” I laughed.

My arm went around her shoulder.

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Elephant

This story is also told by Lolita.

“Here, smell this.” Lolita held a coil of rope under my nose.

“Mmmm,” I whiffed. “Elephant dung.”

Lolita took back the rope and smelled it. “I haven’t heard that before,” she sniffed. “You really smell an elephant? It’s hemp. I have someone make it for me.”

She dropped the cord to the dungeon’s wooden floor and reached back into her bag. Several more lengths were added to a pile, each meticulously wrapped and tied.

“This is the O ring I’ll use to support you,” she said, holding forward a small piece of hardware. “It comes from a marine specialty store. It's used to hold bigger fish than you.”

I laughed. Lolita was trying to set me at ease as she introduced me to each item she would use to fulfill our handshake agreement of the previous day.

She was going to bind and suspend me in midair.

I stood in my best posture, feeling a little formal about this initiation.

It was mid-morning on a bright late summer Sunday—just about the time church services get underway.

The weather was splendid. Lolita had considered lashing me to a tree branch outdoors, she told me, but decided better of it. Given that this was my first experience on the receiving end of bondage, she thought I might prefer the relative intimacy of the dungeon.

I appreciated that, I replied, as I stood nude under metal scaffolding. My clothes were abandoned on a nearby folding chair. Selina and Viviane sat on others, watching us.

Lolita and I spoke in quiet voices.

“I’m not an expert in this,” she explained, unloading more rope. “I mean, I know what I’m doing, and I’ve done it many times. But the real experts are the people I’ve studied with, people like Midori. Suspension is really her specialty.”

In this show of modesty, Lolita was affirming what I already knew: she was more than competent to this task.

Lolita ran her hands over my torso, looking at my naked flesh as she touched, soothing me with her low tone. “I really love your body, Jefferson. You are in such great shape, and your skin is very smooth, very soft . . . does it hurt when I press here? Or here?”

I shook my head.

“What’s this small lump on your back? Anything I should worry about?”

I shook my head.

As she toured my body with her sight and touch, Lolita was letting me know what I already knew: I was safe, and in good hands.

Lolita came around my body to face me. She put her mouth to mine. My cock stirred.

“Hmmmm,” she moaned. She stood back and laughed, her laugh giving way to a light growl. “I like that,” she smiled.

“Me too, Lolita,” I said, resting a hand on her naked breast. “Me too.”

As she stole a kiss, she was reassuring me of something that was not in question. We were here, now, because we were more than a little enamored of one another. We talked about liking one another’s kisses as a way of sidestepping the elephant in the room: we had just met but we already liked each other—considerably.

It was palpable. I could feel it in her kiss and in my body’s response to it. I could feel it in the way Viviane and Selina watched, each quietly enraptured of our burgeoning crush.

It made Lolita slightly giddy. She stepped lightly, making little jokes. When I had undressed, she followed suit by removing her top, an odd snug-fitting garment she had made herself from a stretchy white cotton fabric meant to be used, she explained, to wrap a limb before setting it with a cast.

She kept the short skirt made from the same material. It clung tightly to the form of her hips and ass.

As she unwrapped a coil of rope, my eyes fell to the bite marks I had left on her breast when she removed her top.

I was aroused but trying to relax and give myself over to the moment—which is to say, to give myself over to Lolita. I breathed deeply, speaking only when spoken to, nodding or shaking my head when that would suffice.

I let her quiet monologue sooth me like a lullaby.

“Put your arms on your head,” She told me. I did, and she began to bind my chest, wrapping it in loops of hemp. “I’m using more rope because this is your first time,” she said. “That will put less stress on each part of your body.” I nodded, trusting her to know best.

“What knot are you using?” Viviane asked, stepping over for a closer look.

“Um, it’s a Lark’s Head, just a basic thing,” Lolita answered. She began to demonstrate how to tie the knot, but then stopped. “I’m sorry, I can show you how to do this sometime, and I will, but I can’t now. This is a scene, not a lesson. It’s got to be between me and him.”

“A trance,” Selina said.

“Yeah, well, it’s just private,” Lolita went on. “It’s fine if you watch, but I can’t really talk to you while we’re doing it.”

“Oh, that’s fine, I’m sorry,” Viviane said, moving back to a chair. “I was just curious. You can show me later.”

I closed my eyes, mentally checking out of the discussion.

I had invited my friends to watch, taking care to point out that this was an experience more than an exhibition.

I remembered the first times I had observed “scenes” (a word that still felt odd in my mouth) where the most extreme things might appear to be happening, but the timing and pacing eventually left me bored. I understood that a scene was not about fulfilling the requirements of spectators by putting on a show, but about fulfilling the back-and-forth bond between participants.

That’s why I was here. Lolita had agreed to give me her best, and I wanted to give her mine. This was, as she said, about her and me.

I knew this scene would last for as long as it lasted.

Selina and Viviane had followed me to meet Lolita after breakfast. Marcus was to join us as well, but as we walked to the dungeon, he was distracted by a handsome nude man sunbathing in the grass.

“I’ll be with you guys in a minute,” he said, parting company.

As I was being bound, Marcus was swapping blowjobs with the sunbather.

Lolita began to wrap my left thigh, quietly explaining which parts of my body would become stress points for the suspension.

I heard footsteps and looked up, expecting to see Marcus. Instead, I saw Barbara Nitke, smiling as she approached.

Two large SLR digital cameras hung around her neck.

Barbara was the official camp photographer. No cameras were permitted at sex camp, but Barbara had earned an exemption: for over two decades, she has been photographing people involved in BDSM, including Lolita and many of her friends. Barbara’s work is respected by those in the community for its sensitivity, and it is admired in the art world for its beauty and technical mastery.

She’s also a lovely person.

A lovely person with cameras.

“Why do I feel like I’m being set up?” I wondered aloud.

“Now, Jefferson, I wouldn’t do that,” Lolita smiled, rubbing my back. “I’ve known Barbara for years and years. She just wanted to be here to witness your first time.”

“Really, Jefferson,” Barbara said, throwing up her hands. “I’m just here to watch.”

“I’m teasing, Barbara,” I said. “I trust you. And we all know, you like to watch.”

I did trust Barbara, and her discretion is unquestioned. Practically everyone at sex camp could attest for her honor. But personally, I had my own reason to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I’ve also known her for years.

I’ve known her in a different context, and long admired her photography. She had been surprised to find me at camp, as she had known nothing about my recent immersion into sex and BDSM. Without giving away my secret identity, Barbara told Lolita that she had always considered me to be rather conservative and restrained, certainly not the sort of person one encounters by surprise at a retreat for perverts.

And yet, here I was. Barbara, the one person with a camera, was in on my secret, and therefore knew the damage that could be done by a photograph of me in a compromising position.

Yet, I knew I was as safe in her hands as I was in Lolita’s.

Mind you, this didn’t stop her from teasing me. “Too bad about that red band,” Barbara said, referring the wristband identifying me as someone who was not to be photographed. “I know you’re going to look great hanging from those ropes.”

“I’m using my best knots!” Lolita chirped as she tied off my hips.

“Well, Barbara, I’m going to make your day and break your heart,” I said. “I don’t mind if you take pictures of Lolita or even my body, but . . .”

“No photographs of your face,” Barbara finished. “I hear that all the time. Well, if you are really okay with that, I would love to shoot Lolita as she plays with you.”

Lolita looked up at me and grinned. “Are you okay with that?”

“As long as I’m an anonymous prop, I don’t mind. Heck, you can shoot my face if you want—you just can’t use the images.”

“No thanks,” she said, looking up at the dungeon lights. She made an adjustment to her camera. “If I do that, they will become my favorite pictures and I’ll be miserable. I’ll only take photos I can use.”

I smiled and then looked back to the ropes being fashioned on my body. I fell quiet again, focusing on the feel of hemp and Lolita’s hands, contemplating my imminent suspension.

It takes time to restrain someone. As the morning wore on, Viviane and Selina left, hoping to catch part of a class on cocksucking. It was already apparent that Lolita was not going to rush through a scene. Tying me up was part of her pleasure.

Barbara stayed, sitting on the edge of the gymnasium stage, watching.

“Okay.” Lolita’s voice brought me back to reality. I was unaware of having zoned out. “Okay, Jefferson, you’re bound. Are you comfortable?”

I wriggled inside the ropes. “Yeah,” I said quietly.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just, you know, relaxed, I guess.”

“Good! That’s great. Now, I’m going to help you lay on the mat. I want you to be face down, okay?”

Lolita guided my body to my knees, and then helped me forward. My flesh pressed against the textures of hemp and plastic. I was unable to move more than my head.

A mechanical noise whirred overhead. I closed my eyes as a motor lowered a wench.

Metal clinked on metal as Lolita secured her binding to the wench.

“Jefferson?” she asked. “Are you ready?”

“Umm mmmm,” I murmured.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I heard my voice say, “I’m ready, Lolita.”

“Okay.” The motor whirred. I felt a slight tug on my ribcage and then, suddenly, I was lifted from the mat.

The motor stopped. I was suspended just inches from the ground.

“Okay, now relax a minute,” Lolita said. “How do you feel? Any tension? Pain?”

I closed my eyes and did a mental inventory of the sensations buzzing across my body. “No, Lolita, I’m fine.”

“All right, I’m taking you higher.”

The motor whirred. I looked down. The mat receded beneath me. I turned my head to look at Lolita. She was smiling. I was waist high and rising.

She stopped the motor when I reached the height of her shoulders.

I was suspended. My body was entirely horizontal, swaying gently from the ceased movement. I looked back to Lolita.

“Wow,” I grinned.

“You sure you are okay? No tension or anything? No trouble breathing?”

“No, no, I’m fine, really. Wow.”

Lolita left the motor’s controls and took my head in her hands. She brought my lips to hers and kissed me.

My head felt light in her hands, as light as my body in air. When she released me, my skull fell forward, once again responsible for its own weight.

Barbara stood from the stage.

Lolita strolled my body, touching me, talking to me.

I nodded, not listening. My body was calling me elsewhere.

I felt a shove on my feet. My body rocked in air. I gave into the sensation of swaying, head to toe, to and fro.

Lolita crouched and then shimmied her body under mine, like a mechanic investigating the undersides of an automobile.

“You look great,” she grinned.

“You’re too cute,” I smiled.

A flash exploded.

“There’s so much energy between you two,” Barbara said. "It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah, I like him,” Lolita replied. She laughed suddenly, her voice echoing in the dungeon.

From somewhere to her side, Lolita produced a length of pink shoestring. She held it between her fingers and stretched it across her eyes.

“Know what this is?” she asked.

“String?” I answered.

“See, I like that you are so smart. Yes, it is string. It’s going to help me do what I want.”

Lolita scooted down. I could feel her toying with my cock and balls, but I was unable to see what she was doing.

“There,” she said. “All pretty in pink.”

I felt a tug on my scrotum. My body began to sway again. She had bound my cock and was using it to move me overhead.

Blood rushed to my head.

Lolita tugged me, bring my cock to her mouth. She gobbled it quickly before I swayed back in the other direction like the pendulum I had become.

Electricity shot up my spine.

A flash exploded.

“I’m a lazy cocksucker,” Lolita laughed as my cock sailed back into her mouth.

I decided I would no longer try to hold up my head. I closed my eyes, pretending that this had been my decision more than a necessary acknowledgment of gravity’s force.

My body was weightless, my head made of lead.

My cock sparked in her mouth, then grew confused without her.

I swayed, head to toe, to and fro.

My eyelids reddened with flashes.

“Yes, that’s it . . . that’s so hot, it looks so fantastic . . .”

I opened my eyes to see Barbara lying beneath me. She saw me through her camera lens, pointed down the length of my body.

I closed my eyes again, retreating, helpless, exposed, content. My mind emptied. I was reduced to a heavy head, alone in space.

I floated.

Before I zoned out, I set an internal alarm clock. I wanted to let this last as long as it lasted, but I was concerned about putting too much strain on my body. This was, after all, the first time I had asked my body to do this.

My body and I have an understanding. It does anything I ask, so long as I remember that I am growing older and would like to continue to do so.

I remembered a long-ago adventure in rappelling.

My girlfriend Pablo and I were hiking when we came across a young Marine on a cliff. He was alone and rappelling from a deep sheer drop.

We watched for a while. He asked if we wanted to learn how to fall backwards from great heights.

Pablo refused. I was intrigued.

The Marine put me in a harness and showed me how to hold the ropes. He asked me to trust him. He had rich brown eyes, so I trusted him.

I put aside my vertigo, faced the sky, and plunged to the forest floor.

For the next few hours, he and I fell, over and again, as Pablo smoked and watched.

For the next two weeks, I could scarcely walk without assistance.

“You’re not the brightest bulb, are you?” Pablo asked as she helped me to pee.

“Lolita?”

“Yes, Jefferson?”

“I think I should come down now.”

Lolita took my face. “Are you in pain?”

“No, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Smart boy.” Lolita kissed me before moving to the wench controls. A motor whirred above as the ground moved toward my face.

The motor stopped. Lolita came back to me and touched my calf. “You can stand now,” she said, pushing down on my legs.

Suddenly, I was vertical.

My head lost all its weight.

My toes clutched for the ground.

“Wow,” I said, blinking. “I’m pretty high, Lolita.”

“Should I lower you some more?”

“No, no, I mean . . . I’m high. Drunk. Wild.”

“Oh yeah,” she laughed. “That’ll happen.”

I lowered my head to her shoulder to kiss her flesh. My footing slipped and I was airborne. “Look,” I called. “I can fly!”

“Like Peter Pan!” Lolita said, twirling me.

“I’m Mary Martin!” I giggled at how incredibly gay I can be.

Lolita gathered me up, and stood me next to her. We kissed again and I was lost to the surrounding world.

Barbara said goodbye. I nodded and smiled.

Lolita attached clips to my scrotum. I nodded as she talked about cock and ball torture, untroubled by the pinching sensation somewhere below my belly.

I looked down and laughed to see my cock framed in so many brightly colored clips, all wrapped in a tidy pink bow.

“The thing about clips,” Lolita said, stroking my hair. “Is that its not safe word play. Once they are on, they have to come off . . . and the pain comes when they are removed.”

I nodded, smiling. “Your mouth is so cute, do you know that?”

“Thanks Jefferson. I like your mouth, too.” She kissed me and, without warning, a sudden pain tore across my flesh.

“Aaargh!” I screamed into her mouth. “Oooh, ow, ow, ow! What the fuck was that?”

Lolita held up a clip. “One.”

I looked down again. “There are, like, ten more on me . . . aaargh!” I twisted in the ropes. “Oh shit, ow, ow, ow . . .”

“Nine, actually,” Lolita said, holding two clips. “And the pain will be slightly more intense each time. You should breathe.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” I gasped. I closed my eyes and tried to relax, breathing as deeply as I could manage.

By the fifth clip, I was managing the pain.

“Do you like my hair today?” Lolita asked, pushing it from her eyes.

“Y-yes, I like your hair . . .”

She rubbed her hair in my face. “It’s still caked in your cum.”

“Ow! Ow, ow, ow . . . ow . . .”

By the eighth clip, I was sweating.

When there was one clip left, Lolita pulled me close.

“You know that picture on your blog?” she asked. “The one where you are chewing your thumb?”

“Y-yeah?”

Lolita touched the last clip. “That picture makes you look fat.”

I laughed. When I laughed, Lolita removed the last clip. My laughter mingled with howls, filling the gymnasium with the sound of my body in convulsions.

I let myself feel it. All of it. The laughter, the pain, the exuberance . . . and her kiss.

I went limp, exhausted.

Lolita took the pink string from my genitals and fashioned a choker around my neck. She pulled the string, bringing me to her.

“Now I can take you when I want to kiss.”

“Yes, Lolita,” I panted, licking her teeth. “Yes sir, you sure can.”

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Wax

My high lasted all afternoon.

As I wandered camp—smiling at the naked lesbians, nodding at the school girls, waving to the copulating couples—I would absentmindedly finger the string around my neck and remember how it felt when Lolita had me dangling in midair, my cock sailing in and out of her laughing mouth.

“Where did you get the gay necklace?” Marcus asked.

“Girl give it to me,” I gushed.

“You’ve got a crush,” my boyfriend teased.

“So what if I do, li'l bit?” I said.

By this time, Marcus had gone native. He no longer wore clothes, just a Speedo and his crutches.

I would never wear a Speedo. I think they look ridiculous on most men. But Speedos were designed for men like Marcus. His long, lean body carried off the swimsuit with considerable panache—not to mention the swimsuit’s accentuation of the considerable panache within.

“I’m going to finally see Lolita teach this afternoon,” I said. “You want to join me?”

“No, thanks,” he said. “Actually, I’m kinda bumming about my leg. Are you guys still leaving tonight? Maybe I’ll go home too.”

“We’re leaving after the awards presentation,” I said. “Are you hurting?”

“Nah, I’m just bummed. Don’t worry. Go have fun at class.”

“Okay, sugar.” I kissed him. “Send for me if you need me. Okay?”

“Thanks.” Marcus turned and began to head to the pool, slumping slightly in his crutches.

I watched him go, then turned to head back to the dungeon.

Lolita was going to teach us how to set people on fire.

I fingered my string, humming the Kinks. El oh el ay, Lo-oh-laa.

Viviane and I sat in the front row. Selina sat behind us with Neil, a handsome fellow she had met the night before at the Garden. He had be impressed by her treatment of Windsorina. She had been impressed by his huge cock as he fucked another woman or two.

That, and a conversation about Marc Bolan, was about all the aphrodisiac Selina required.

Lolita had set up her class in a dark corner of the dungeon. A long table was covered with plastic sheeting and absorbent pads. Lolita was busy at another table covered with her materials, all neatly arrayed for easy access.

“God, I’m schvitzing,” she said turning the class. She began to lift her shirt. “It’s really hot, so I think I’ll make this class ‘clothing optional,’ if no one minds.”

“Lolita, the whole camp is clothing optional,” said the naked woman to my right.

“Right, well, today the instructor is naked too,” Lolita said, unfastening her bra. As it fell forward on her arms, I could see that my bite on her breast was bruising nicely.

Viviane nudged me. “Take off your shirt, sweetie.”

“Yes, let’s,” I replied.

A moment later, Viviane and I were topless. She circulated the air around us with her omnipresent fan.

The pink string remained on my neck.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Lolita muttered, collecting her thoughts. “Okay! We’re ready. Hello, everyone, I’m Lolita Wolf . . .”

“Hello, Lolita,” someone called.

“Hello,” she curtsied. “I’m teaching this class on fire and wax play. Of course, I need someone to play with, and so I’ve got permission to play with Tatsumi.” She indicated a pretty woman wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Tatsumi smiled and said hello in a bubbly voice.

“She’s cute,” Viviane whispered.

“Yeah, adorable,” I nodded.

“Tatsumi’s daddy is a real sadist, just the meanest ever,” Lolita went on. “So I know she can take whatever I dish out.”

Tatsumi smiled and nodded enthusiastically. We laughed.

“So, why don’t we begin with fire?” Lolita said. “Tatsumi, you should undress and get up here on the table, face up.”

“Okay, sure,” Tatsumi said. She pulled off her shirt and lowered her shorts. When she was nude, she pulled back her long hair and then put out her arms as if to say “ta da!”

The adorable girl was gone.

In her place was a work of art.

Tatsumi has been in BDSM for most of her young life. By trade, she’s a fetish model and professional dominatrix. By nature, she is endowed with the type of perfectly proportioned body that would have kept her very much in demand in art academies once upon a time.

Gerome would have drooled.

Jean-Léon Gérôme, The Slave Market, 1866.

“Did you just get hard, Jefferson?” Viviane whispered.

“Quiet,” I answered. “I’m trying to stare.”

“She’s so . . .”

“I know.”

My brain scanned sensory memories to imagine the feel of her skin, even as my mind was casting her in bronze.

Oh, to fuck her in her simple beauty.

Or to have merely replicated that beauty in a fountain a century ago . . . I would have repeated her body three times as dancing fauns in diaphanous clinging drapes, frolicking in a pond as sprinkles rained from enthusiastic spouts . . . the results would have made her an instant celebrity . . . she might have toured vaudeville as the famed “fountain dancer” as I made the Grand Tour to collect my Prix de Rome . . . we would have been universally celebrated, meeting now and then in Paris or St Louis or the Ritz-Carlton to make love and toast champagne glasses to our eternal connection realized as the century’s most touted public art . . . until we were each knocked from our pedestals, she by the advent of sound in moving pictures, me by the intrusion of modernism in art . . .

“Hey, pay attention,” Viviane nudged.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, sitting up.

Tatsumi turned her back to the table, rested her hands on its edges, and pulled herself up. She sat, then turned to recline.

“Like this?” she asked Lolita.

Precisely like that, I thought.

“Yeah, that’s great,” Lolita smiled. “Hmmm, you are scrumptious.” Lolita rubbed her hands on Tatsumi’s torso, acquainting her assistant with her touch.

Those hands that had so prepared me just a few hours earlier.

Lolita talked us through fire play as she torched Tatsumi. It was a great effect, but as she broke down the steps, it looked simple enough. I had been torched for the first time the night before. It was an exhilarating experience. I thought this would be a grand skill to add to my bag of tricks.

I came to the class to see Lolita work. I knew nothing about fire play, so I assumed that the fire lesson would be the main attraction.

I hadn’t figured on Tatsumi’s beauty, so I couldn’t have imagined the effect she would have on my connoisseurship.

“Now we’re going to play with wax,” Lolita said. “I make my own wax, and my own candles, so that gives me some flexibility about sensation—for you, Tatsumi—and also about how it looks.”

Lolita talked as she rubbed Tatsumi’s body in baby oil, explaining that this would help to remove the wax later. She also pointed out that it was a sensuous experience in its own right.

A century before, I had used olive oil on Tatsumi. Just like this day, she had shimmered in candlelight, undulating to my touch just as she now moved to Lolita’s hands.

Lolita told us to avoid tapers. Wide candles produce more wax, allowing more to use as it allowed more control in dropping it on flesh.

The first splashes hit Tatsumi’s body. She writhed and laughed.

Lolita raised and lowered the candle over Tatsumi, alternating the heat of wax as it impacted on flesh. At least, that was the emphasis of Lolita’s lesson.

I could see that she was also alternating splatter patterns.

Lolita traded one candle for another. She talked as wax splashed.

Tatsumi writhed, trying so hard to be still and yet so clearly enjoying the sensation as wax fired her skin, then quickly cooled as it dripped to dead ends on her body.

Lolita explained about having used a double broiler to heat wax before she decided a fondue simply worked better. She pulled a glass of wax from a pot and reached for a small ladle.

Green wax streaked across Tatsumi. She yowled.

Lolita spoke to Tatsumi as she returned the green wax to the fondue and reached for a vial of blue.

Lolita never lost her train of thought, never veered from her lesson, as once more, she splashed Tatsumi.

Blue went to red. Red to yellow.

I watched as the ideal artist’s model gave herself over to an ideal artist. I watched as the woman who had hoisted me into elation took another person into her genius.

I was aroused by the image of Lolita as an artist.

Was I the only person in the room conjuring Jackson Pollock as Lolita buried a canvas of flesh under loops and skeins of color?

Given the shimmering sight of Tatsumi’s beauty, I was given to minor inspirations. I could fuck her, or I could turn her into an obsolete fountain in a minor park.

I would have wasted a stellar muse.

Lolita’s imagination was not so restricted. Her skills put her into another realm entirely.

Ladles of wax piled one on to another.

Tatsumi grew still.

Her body was sweating. We were all glistening in the summer heat, but she was the person on stage, enduring the impact of dripping wax.

The wax caked and pulled from her oiled and glistening body.

Lolita took up a smaller candle. She put flame to the bottom, loosening wax. She planted it on Tatsumi’s chest.

She lit the candle. An open flame burned over Tatsumi’s wax-covered body.

She repeated this again and again with other small candles, lighting each in turn.

Tatsumi soon resembled a birthday cake that might have graced Stanford White’s table. Lolita’s bare skin glowed above as she dripped more icing on her creation.

“Okay, well, I think that’s that,” Lolita said, dropping her ladle into a glass. “I mean, I’m just dripping wax on wax at this point. She can’t feel it. Come on up if you want to look closer.”

We stood as a class and stood to examine Lolita’s work.

There was a close press, as might be expected. We had been invited to look at a pretty girl lying naked on a table.

The aesthete in me was politely perturbed. I felt the familiar impatience of attending a museum blockbuster. Yes, yes, it was genius at work. Yes, yes, adoring philistines, push in and then get to the gift shop.

The experienced aesthete in me was smart. I took a position to appreciate the colors that had caked on the canvas’s belly, and those that had overlapped on her sides, braiding in her crevices.

Tatsumi was buried under layers of wax and numb nerve endings. She was quiet, her writhing now quiet.

Her mind and cunt were entirely enclosed.

I looked to Lolita. She smiled. I didn’t want to distract her from her lesson, so I melted into the crowd as best I could. I was just another admirer. She had done great work.

Our “scene” that morning had been ours, an experience between two participants. Despite the witnesses and flashes, it was private.

But even this public lesson had sent Tatsumi into bliss.

Lolita saw me fingering the collar on my neck. She grinned. I smiled back.

Lolita pulled out a long blade. It was a dull edge, she explained, before she began to whittle away at the colors layered on Tatsumi.

“It’s all about the mind fuck,” she teased, brandishing her weapon against Tatsumi’s torso. Layers of wax piled at Tatsumi’s feet as Lolita sculpted her model back into reality.

When it was over, I commended Tatsumi on a job well done. She told me she liked my blog, saying she had been moved by my post on Allan, Sketchpad.

We talked about art.

I was polite, if a bit reserved.

There are times when the appreciation of art can leave you feeling acquisitive. You can’t bear the thought of walking away to leave a splendid canvas on a bare white wall. You want to bring it home and just stare at it forever.

I had just been witness to Tatsumi’s transformation into an object of transcendent beauty, shimmering in ecstasy under layers of color and light.

As we spoke, each so nice and smart, some part of me wanted to whisper an invitation to walk with me nude into the woods, to shut out the busy noise of the world for a while, to make love and kiss and talk as we had a century before, before modernity took away the elementary magic we possessed.

But of course, one doesn’t say such things.

I shook her hand and thanked her for her kind words about my writing.

I wondered if I would ever see her again. I knew that, in my mind’s eye, I would always see her, floating as a glowing canvas. No matter how transient the art, I would keep the memory.

I delighted that the artist had taken a shine to me.

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

Breaking Camp

“Okay, everyone . . . everyone, please settle down,” Tristan announced from the platform. “All right, thank you for your attention . . . and thank you for a great weekend at Dark Odyssey!”

Tristan’s newly won silence gave way to hoots and cheers.

Selina leaned to me. “Where’s Marcus?”

I shrugged. We had nearly finished dinner with no sign of my boyfriend.

He had seemed so blue that afternoon as he pondered going home early. His knee injury really had him down.

“Okay,” Tristan continued, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “Keep eating if you want. If you don’t, that’s fine too, but remember, don’t blame me—I’m not the chef. I’m here to announce the winners of this year’s Dark Odyssey awards!” We applauded again. “Now, the judges had some tough choices to make . . .”

“I won’t get an award,” Lolita whispered. “I was named ‘Play Slut of the Year’ last time, and I think that bars me from winning this year.”

“Your Play Slut crown will always shine for me,” I said, patting her hand.

“Okay, so the award for ‘Person Most Likely to be Nude’ was, again, tough to decide, as, well, so many of you are so likely to be nude,” Tristan said. “But after considering the possible candidates, we knew the award just had to go to someone who must have packed light, because no one here can recall ever seeing him dressed. Of course, I’m referring to Always Naked Andy. Can he please come forward?”

I spun my head as I clapped hands to catch sight of the winner in the crowd. I had noticed him around. His only accessory was the occasional erection.

He strode to the platform, wearing only a smile.

Tristan handed him a ribbon. “I don’t know where you’re going to pin it, but . . .”

We cheered.

Selina leaned to me again. “You know, if they had an award for bravery, I’d nominate you,” she said. “I’m so impressed that you surrendered to Lolita that way this morning. It was really, really brave.”

“Ah, thanks,” I said, kissing her cheek. “You’re very sweet to say so.” I fingered my pink string choker and smiled.

Lolita caught my eye and grinned.

Selina was really feeling the love for me. Following Lolita’s lesson on wax and fire play, Selina had taken me into a long hug, holding me close and saying nothing. I didn’t move to end the hug at any time. Nor did she. The hug lingered and lingered.

“Thanks,” I said as she finally released me. “What was that for?”

“That was for taking a risk,” she said, looking deep into my eyes. “That was for letting Lolita be the one in charge.”

“Well, thanks. But I never felt at risk. Lolita knows what she’s doing.”

“Yes, but for you to allow it . . . to allow yourself to submit to her . . . well, I’m very proud of you. You were very brave.”

I rubbed her arms. “Thanks, Selina. That means a lot to me.”

It seemed that Selina had decided that she liked me.

Not that it was much in question. She had liked me since we first met. Still, her feelings about me were always mixed. On the one hand, I was a nice person who could keep up my end of a brainy conversation. On the other hand, I slept with girls barely out of their teens, even beating up on some of them.

The latter would understandably rankle feminists of a certain age (which is to say “my age,” as Selina and I are just a few birthdays apart). To some, it’s obvious that men who sleep with so many women—much less those half their age—are burying their insecurities in an imbalanced power dynamic designed to reduce women to sex objects. Obviously.

This was an idea in Selina’s mind that often seemed reinforced by her reading of my blog. That discolored the favorable impression of me as a person, causing her to wonder at times who the real “Jefferson” could be—the polite funny Southerner, or the dominant omnivore who fucked a swathe through the city.

Over the course of our weekend together, Selina began to reassemble the contradictory pieces of my personality to construct a version of “Jefferson” that, ultimately, she liked. She could now understand that I really had no interest in using anyone in a callous way, and that my concern for the people in my life was genuine.

The epiphany in that paradigm shift had been my infatuation with Lolita, a strong woman of our generation who could more than hold her own against the likes of me.

It didn’t hurt that my infatuation was so clearly reciprocated.

The weekend together had been good for my relationship with Selina. We trusted each other.

As Tristan announced the winner of the “Best Dressed” award—an honor taken by Anon, the host of our evening among the vampires—Viviane nudged my arm. I looked over to see Marcus limping into the dining hall, still wearing only his Speedo and crutches. Some people stood to help him to the buffet.

“ . . . and this year, the award for ‘Happy Camper’ goes to . . . Lolita!”

“Hey!” I shouted. “You did win something!”

Lolita grinned at me as she stood to collect her prize.

I felt a swell of pride, like my child had won a trophy. It felt silly that to feel that way, but it felt good to feel it.

“Let me see, let me see,” I begged as Lolita returned with her ribbon. She handed it to me as I kissed her.

“You done so good,” I said. “Being so happy and camping and all.”

“I’m a Happy Camper Play Slut,” she smiled.

“So cute,” I said, chucking her chin.

“There was one person this year who really stood out, in so many ways,” Tristan began, introducing the next award. “He was always an eager participant and, very often, a ringleader. Whenever something interesting was going on, you could never fail but to find him in the midst of it. When he was faced with adversity, he pressed on, letting nothing hold him back. And so this year, we’ve created a new award. The first annual award for ‘Perseverance’ goes to . . . Marcus!”

A cheer went up. I stood and clapped.

Marcus looked up from the salad bar and grinned.

“Come on up here, Marcus, and get your ribbon!” Tristan called.

Spectators cleared a path to make way. As Marcus passed, his back was slapped by many hands. He was a conquering hero among the perverts.

Tristan kissed Marcus’s cheek as she presented his ribbon.

Marcus returned to sit with us.

“Congratulations, sweetie,” Viviane smiled.

“Justly deserved,” Selina nodded.

“That’s cute, right?” Marcus said, pining the ribbon to his Speedo.

Others pressed forward to congratulate my boyfriend.

Femcar kissed him and then offered to bring his dinner. She served him, staying close to act as his personal waitress.

A stream of well-wishers left Marcus with little opportunity to chew.

A blonde woman rushed over to hug his neck. “This is that hot girl I told you about,” Marcus said to me by way of introduction. “Little Julie? The call girl? The one I met at the blowjob class?”

I couldn’t recall his mention of her, but Little Julie was indeed attractive. I shook her hand. She had a very nice smile.

Carin slinked close to kiss Marcus.

The cute artist I had admired from a distance all weekend staked out a seat beside Marcus, leaning close as he exchanged words with his admirers.

Marcus said something to the artist. She sat up and pulled off her shirt. Marcus began to rub her shoulders as she sat bare-chested at the table.

I smiled at her, willing my eyes away from her rosebud nipples.

Without missing a beat in his various conversations, Marcus asked for olive oil from the kitchen staff. He took a small bowlful and rubbed palms of oil onto the artist’s back and breasts. Her olive complexion glowed with his touch.

“Marcus is like a prince,” Viviane said.

“A prince among his subjects,” I nodded.

After dinner and the awards, we returned to the cabin to pack. Camp would continue for one last night, but Viviane, Selina and I had to return to the city. The next morning, we would awake in our respective beds to once more face the real world.

“You know,” Marcus said. “Maybe I will stay one more night.”

“Surprise, surprise,” I laughed. “Man, you’d be a fool to leave all this admiration. And your mama didn’t raise no fools.”

Neil and Windsor lingered outside our cabin, each hoping for final moments with Selina. Lolita and Selina talked as I pressed the men into service to help load our car.

“Hey, I think I fucked your sister last night,” I teased Windsor.

He blinked, not getting my joke.

Viviane made a final pass through the cabin, cleaning and collecting loose items. Lolita and I stood outside, saying goodbye under a tree.

“Well, uh, I really liked meeting you, Jefferson,” Lolita said shyly.

“Likewise,” I smiled, leaning to kiss her cheek. “I mean, yeah, let’s trade some understatements, why don’t we?”

She laughed. “I know, I know. Well, the thing is, I’d like to see you in New York, but I would understand if you don’t want to.”

I furrowed my brow. “Why wouldn’t I want to? You’re awesome.”

“Yeah, I’m awesome, you’re awesome, but I’ve got a life and you’ve got a life. I understand how these camp things are. We can just let it be what it is. That’s okay with me.”

I leaned close and scowled. “Are you breaking up with me, Lolita Wolf?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I’m just saying . . . you know, this was nice.”

“This was very nice,” I took her hand. “Thanks for everything, Lolita. Really.”

We kissed.

A golf cart whizzed by. “Lolita made a love connection,” someone shouted. Another voice oinked.

Lolita pulled back and smiled. “Goodbye,” she said. With that, she turned and walked away.

“Later, Lolita,” I called after her.

Marcus was balanced on his crutches near the Jacuzzi, talking with two women.

“Jefferson, did you meet Amanda? She has the sweetest pussy.”

“Hi, Amanda. I believe we met briefly.”

Amanda touched my arm. “Yes, nice to finally talk.”

The other woman held out her hand. “I’m Ginger.”

“Right, Ginger,” Marcus said. “I was trying to remember your name. I didn’t want to just say ‘the girl who gives good head.’”

“Whatever works,” Ginger grinned.

“Marcus, baby, we’re off,” I said. “I see you are in good hands.”

“Come here, sweetheart.” I stepped forward to kiss my boyfriend. He opened his mouth to my lips. I held him close as our mouths embraced, our scruffy chins scraping one another.

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Amanda said.

I pulled back, my eyes on Marcus’s. “Take good care of my baby,” I told the women.

“Don’t you worry,” Ginger said.

“I love you, Jefferson,” Marcus smiled.

“As I love you, Marcus,” I answered.

Selina and Viviane were at the car when I returned.

I looked back at Marcus as we drove off. He waved and then turned away, ambling on his crutches as the women rested their hands on his back.

“Care to make a wager?” I asked.

Viviane turned to me. “What’s that?”

“No matter what else has happened this weekend, Marcus will claim that tonight we missed the best sex ever.”

“Ha!” Viviane replied. “No thanks, that’s guaranteed.”

Sure enough, Marcus would tell a couple of stories about sex camp. They primarily concerned events after we departed—and his time with Lolita.

Somewhere along the New Jersey Turnpike, I untied the pink string choker from my neck.

Back home, I put it in my nightstand for safekeeping.

I might need it again.

This story originally appeared at One Life, Take Two.

sex, sex blog, sex toy, bisexual, lesbian, gay, transgender, crossdressing, erotica, swinging, polyamory, orgy, nudism, BDSM, oral sex, blowjob, Tristan Taormino, Lolita Wolf, Dark Odyssey