Then There Were two

Then there were Two is a fantasy from MrsK’s Journal. Becasue it’s a fantasy, given consent is dubious at best. But hey, I do mention the use of condoms.

Her climb from slumber to consciousness is gradual, easy, tranquil. It originates with a single trail, beginning at her tailbone and steadily gliding higher until it caresses the back of her neck. A cool breeze echoes the previous path, and she decides it must be his tongue, languidly tracing the gentle curve of her spine. She turns her head, eyelids fluttering as she releases a moan, reveling in the tender awakening.

A second path begins anew. It’s starts at her rounded buttocks, tongue dipping into the top of her crack before a painstakingly slow hike to the outer shell of her ear, where sharp teeth replace the smooth muscle. Gooseflesh raises, and her nipples grow hard as her core turns to liquid. This time, her moan is a little longer. More throaty, less dozy. She flexes her fingers, desiring the sensation of morning stubble against them, or hair speckled skin beneath her palms.

Her gentle stretch becomes an abrupt tug of her arms as both are simultaneously straightened and fastened, splayed out on either side of her. Confined, panic douses her, and she shivers as fear chills her to the bone. She struggles against the bonds, but anything more than an infinitesimal movement is impossible. She attempts to get her feet under her, but with that first rising of her knee, she feels the same restriction, the same encompassment of her lower limbs that began with her arms. Within seconds, she’s helpless, prone, her legs tied off too. She screams, but the only reply is the sound of her terror bouncing off the walls.

Trepidation leaves a bitter taste at the back of her throat, and she fights harder. Twists and turns. Each yank of her limbs tightens the fibers, until the cords dig into the sensitive flesh of ankles and wrists, painfully proving her struggle futile. Frantic, she whips her head left, then right, but even knowing she’s in her home, in her bed, not being able to see her hidden captor does little to relieve her growing anxiety.

“Shhh, I’ve got you. You’re safe,” a gruff voice whispers in the silent room. Although familiar, she cannot place its owner and a new tremor shakes her. This one is not determined by fear, and yet she knows it should be.

Thumbs, foreign but soothing and exploratory, massage the tense muscles of shoulders and back, until she sinks against the mattress, relinquishing control. The kneading fingertips journey south, melting her tension away. When she releases a sigh, the hands skip down to the fleshy globes of her ass, thumbs digging in roughly, then pulling away just when they reach where she wants them most.

“We’re going to play a little game,” comes her husband’s delicious timbre from somewhere behind her, and her heart races, the thrumming of blood whooshing through her ears. Shame that he’s witnessed her surrender to another man suddenly turns to arousal as she thinks of the idea of two. Of. Everything.

Two forces against her precarious state should terrify her, but all she can focus on is the molten lust dampening her thighs. The exact part of her that her husband’s intense gaze focuses on if the burning of her heated flesh is anything to go on. Her channel clenches and her cheeks flush red when she hears his soft chuckle.

“Me and my friend here are going to touch you. Hard, soft, rough. We’re going to use our fingers and tongues, lips and cocks, and all you need to do is say which of us you think it is.”

She wants to tell him she doesn’t know who it is, but her husband beats her to it.

“One will be the answer when you think it is me.” His voice is closer than before, and she immediately recognizes his calloused hand as he grasps her calf, scraping his short nails up to her inner thigh, before he cups a handful of her ass cheek, and slaps it sharply. “Two, the answer when you think it is him.” They both chuckle as she braces for Two’s touch, but she’s left in suspense when it never comes. “For every correct answer, you’ll get a reward. For every wrong, we’ll punish you. Wanna play?”

Time stands still as she contemplates. She knows with a word her husband will set her free, but is that what she wants? A part of her knows she should say yes, but another part knows this may be her only chance.

“Okay,” she finally says meekly.

“Oh, no. That won’t do. I, we, need to hear you say it.” The gruff voice again. Its low staccato reverberates through her, and for a moment, she thinks she recognizes it, but the name slips from the tip of her tongue as soon as it appears.

She takes a breath, then swallows. Suspense clogs the air. Her desire, her husband’s, equal and yet driving hers higher, presses on her. And the unknown Mr. Two. His is most palpable of all. Like a living force or newly discovered land. Unknown and yet delightfully intriguing. She licks her lips.

“I want to play your game.” Her voice gets louder, more confident with every word. “I want you to reward me if I guess right and p…” she stops then, licking her lips once more before pushing the last of her doubts away. “Punish me when I guess wrong.” She wonders if her husband noticed she said when instead of if.

“With pleasure,” her husband replies. She tenses when a blindfold slips over her eyes and plunges the lit room into darkness. But as the calm of nothing soothes her, she gives into the power the blindfold holds; the ability to hide in plain sight.

The first touch comes less than a second later, with a fleeting brush over her lips that initially makes her jump. The chuckle in response is not one she knows, so when the fingers pull back from her trembling bottom lip, she confidently says, “two.”

“See. Simple, right? Correct. Now for your reward.”

Hands roughly press her legs apart as the mattress dips. Fingers separate her labia, and a shiver scurries down her spine. She gasps as a tongue wraps around her clit before flitting through her folds and dipping gently into her aching channel, then up to her puckered back hole. When the tongue vanishes, she whimpers despite herself.

“Mmm. One,” she says, sure her husband would want the first taste, but the stinging slap on her ass tells her she’s guessed wrong. The strikes continue, resonating through and around her, until her bottom burns and tears dampen the fabric shielding her eyes. She sobs and suddenly the smacks stop as curtly as they began.

Through her tearful breath she whispers, “one.” The only reply is a masculine grunt.

A blunt object nudges her mouth, and immediately she opens. Silky smooth, an un-cut cock presses past her lips, not stopping until nudging the back of her throat. Knowing she’ll get the answer correct, she takes her time exploring the mystery dick. She grates her teeth over it lightly, smiling around the length when he releases a hiss. With no warning, he pulls out.

“Two,” she says, the last syllable stretched out as her mouth forms a similar shape when thick fingers push into her sodden core. They waste no time assaulting her g-spot. Each forward thrust nudges her one step higher. Every practiced pull back has her rocking her hips. Her channel clenches in warning of her impending climax, but just as soon as she can verbalize it with an appreciative moan, the hand retreats.

Once she’s caught her breath, she whispers, “one.” Even to her own ear, it sounds like a question.

“Hmm. I think that was a question, not an answer. So, either way you’re wrong.” There’s no time to think about it when a cock is again shoved inside her mouth. A hand holds her head against the mattress while he slides to the back of her throat, not stopping until he’s buried there. Instead of pulling back to face fuck her like she’d expected, he holds himself in place. Her lungs burn, a kaleidoscope of stars dancing before her covered eyes. Just when she struggles, fights for much needed air, he pulls the flesh covered steel rod from of her throat, and she gasps in a few much needed choppy breaths.

“One.” She says between wheezes, tears and drool running down her chin. The act was ruthless, but her center is fluttering with need. Immediately, she’s granted her wish when fingers sink into her anew. Two, then three. She angles her ass toward them, savoring every plunge, until her hips are gyrating, meeting his rhythm, stroke for stroke. Suddenly he stops.

“Did you forget you owe us an answer?” The gruff voice of Mr. Two asks. For a moment she forgets the question, but then the fingers thrust again. Thinking that perhaps the fingers match the voice, she moans an exaggerated, “two.”

She knows she’s wrong as soon as the fingers stop and opens her mouth, expecting that is where she’ll receive her chastisement, but feels teeth digging into the soft underside of her ass instead. She shrieks as the pressure increases, but with each passing second the sensations turn from pain into something enjoyable, something delicious, and against her better judgement, she moans.

“I don’t think that’s much of a punishment based on her whimpers.” The gruff voice spits. Her fragrant gush of arousal saturates the air, and she blushes, knowing her captors can see just how much she appreciates her punishment.

“One,” she gasps, and her husband laughs.

“My friend gave you the answer. You should thank him for his generosity.”

“Thank you,” she says.

“No, my dear wife. That’s too easy. You need to thank him properly.”

She pouts as she thinks about his words. But before she can think too deeply, a condom wrapped cock is sinking into her cunt. She moans as he presses deeper, not stopping until he’s at the hilt.

“This is thanks enough.” The gravelly voice purrs from behind her. The cock buried inside her pulls back before pushing back in with a measured thrust that has her eyes rolling.

“Two.” she says.

“Wrong again, sweetheart. I think you’re doing it on purpose,” he says as he pulls out, leaving her empty and waiting. She pouts, but it immediately turns to a cry when a finger sinks knuckle deep into her ass.

After the initial pinch of pain, she relaxes around the intrusion, and just like the bite, it begins to feel good, too good. Once more, she’s forgotten the game, and she no longer cares when a second finger joins the first. The pinch more intense but eased by the spread of cool lube. She gives into the sensation, pushing back to accept each push forward.

Instantaneously, her wrists are free, and she’s pulled back by her hips, ass jutting high in the air. Soft hair tickles her hanging breasts as two legs tuck between hers. A hand tangles in her hair at the back of her head, and she’s opening her lips before she’s lowered over the bulbous tip of a cock.

“Suck,” her husband’s voice says with a ragged edge, like he’s trying to hold back. Perhaps, like her, he is. The unfamiliar cock of Mr. Two glides over her waiting tongue and she swirls the tip around his length, appreciating his reward of a low hum, before sucking until her cheeks hollow and pulling back.

Behind her, her husband presses into her core with practiced ease, all the while continuing the assault of her ass. He shifts his hips, knowing exactly the right angle and thrusts forward, forcing her mouth onto Mr. Two’s cock, who gives an approving groan. Not until her husband hears the soft sound of her gagging does he pull her back. Then he repeats until they’ve created an easy rhythm which has all three panting with exertion.

Faster than she would like, she hears the telltale signs of an impending masculine climax. Mr. Two’s fingers tighten in her hair and his legs stiffen beneath her. He presses her down, holding her in place, and she feels him swell impossibly big inside her mouth, incredibly so, until, with a twitch and a groan, he empties into her throat. Each spurt of his seed causes his cock to jerk inside her mouth, and she swallows around him, resulting in one last long moan to fill the room.

“Damn, that was good,” Mr. Two declares, his voice still gruff, yet less so now that he’s contented.

“Now it’s my turn,” says her husband’s strained voice from behind her.

He pushes in, pulling his fingers out, then alternates, pressing his fingers into her back passage while pulling his cock slowly from her cunt. The dual sensations have her writhing, crying out, and yet it not enough. It feels great, but she needs more.

“Touch yourself,” her husband demands, and the minute her fingers circle her clit, she knows that’s what was missing. Her climax starts in her center, growing outwards until she’s not sure where it ends, and she begins. Then, like a wave of hot water, it crashes over her, leaving her breathless, weightless, and the edges of her vision somewhat fuzzy.

She awakes to her husband releasing the bonds around her ankles, massaging the red lines created from her earlier struggle. The blindfold gone, she looks around, but there’s no sign of Mr. One’s friend.

Header Image for Then there were Two courtesy of shutterstock

Then there were Two has been rolling inside my brain for a few weeks now, so I thought it was time to get it out. The chances of this particular fantasy coming to fruition are extremely low, so maybe that’s why it stuck with me. Who knows? In the version that I use for self-pleasure, there’s never an ending (well, there is, but it’s not part of this story 😘), so I had to create one. You may have noticed that when I fantasize, I don’t think of myself in first person, preferring to be a spectator. Although I think the reactions I imagine the participants to have are likely very much mine.