Jon
“No!” Patrick yelped. “Fuck!”
I smirked to myself and kept my hand clamped on the back of his neck while I slowly hovered the blue candle over his back. Patrick’s hands were secured above him to the headboard and his legs to each of the posts on the footboard. He wanted to wax play with Lydia, and I wasn’t about to let him go doing something that he hadn’t had done to himself – it was a rule.
“You need to get your hair cut,” I remarked casually. “I shouldn’t need to pull it back into a ponytail for this. Fucking hippie.”
“Fuck off,” he snapped. “It’s not even that long.”
It was. Hell, it was almost past his shoulders now. And since I didn’t want the wax to splash into his hair and either catch fire or get permanently stuck there, I had to find one of the millions of lost hair ties that Lydia left around so he could put his hair up.
I shook my head and spilled more wax down his lower back, listening to him groan and bury his face in the sheets. He was being pretty good today, barely talking back to me at all. He deserved a treat for that. I reached in my pocket for the remote control to the small vibrator I had strapped to the underside of his cock and turned it onto the pulse setting. Patrick jerked against his bindings and I decided to give him an extra push by dripping fresh wax directly across his ass, carefully trailing from one cheek to the other in a smooth arch over his lower back.
His back heaved and I listened gleefully to the string of obscenities that he cried into the sheets. Watching his lean, corded muscle shift and flex made my groin tighten and my breathing slow. Patrick’s back looked like a work of art; the layers of blue wax varied from semi-opaque baby blue up to a darker cobalt in the places where I went over it again and again.
I was mesmerized by the colours and the way he moved but quickly came back to reality when he groaned and started to grind his hips against the mattress. I immediately turned off the vibrator and tossed the controller up to the head of the bed, just out of his reach but where he could still see it.
“Stop humping the bed like a horny teenager, we’ve barely even started.” Honestly, had he learned anything from my teachings? I wasn’t one to end a session too quickly and I’d hoped to instill the same thing in him.
“I don’t want to go for an hour,” he whined. “I want to fucking come now. My balls can’t hold off that long.”
Jesus Christ, he sounded like Lydia when he got like this. It wasn’t a submission thing, it was an immaturity quirk, but the difference was that Lydia was a twenty-three-year-old that had faced a lot of trauma and purposely played the role of a brat, while Patrick was a thirty-seven-year-old man who had never been told “no” a day in his life.
“Stop whining or I’ll leave you here to jerk off alone,” I warned him. “Honestly. I didn’t even want one brat and I somehow ended up with two.”
“I’m not your submissive!”
“Am I misreading this situation, or do I not have you tied face down with a cock ring to keep you from coming too soon and a vibrator to keep you on edge? Because you sure as shit look pretty submissive right now.” He was a switch, he didn’t have to try and play the macho man right now. God knew I would always be better at that role anyway.
“I’m never doing this again,” he seethed. “You start acting like a cocky tw—”
“Hello?” Lydia called, cutting him off.
Speak of the princess. We both turned at the sound of her voice and a slow smile spread across my face. She had my birthday present with her no doubt, and I was more than happy to indulge her fantasy today for that fact alone. After all, she had done so for me countless times.
“Up here, dove!” I called back to her. “In the spare bedroom!”
“Let me up,” Patrick whispered. “Fuck, let me up! I don’t want her playing with my ass.”
I rolled my eyes and shot him an exasperated look. When moving Lydia’s things into my place, and eventually Patrick’s stuff too, she had jokingly held up a strap-on that she found in the spare bedroom closet – the place where I stored toys that weren’t used that often – and said she couldn’t wait to test it out. Patrick had jumped at the words and excitedly thought she meant Eloise until she clarified that no, she wouldn’t mind using it on one of us. He said no, obviously, and I didn’t think for even a second that Lydia would try and push Pat to go further unless he wanted to. She pushed our buttons and boundaries all the time, but for her to try and force something sexually on him wasn’t like her.
I told her instead that she and I could talk about it some more if she was really that interested, because at the end of the day, while I had been scared to out myself to her about what happened with Pat, I had far more experience with female dommes than he did. I also didn’t have the hang-ups about female domination that Patrick did but I didn’t think Lydia really knew how deep that issue went for him.
Her heels clicked down the hallway and I casually leaned against the bedpost as I worked my pants down a little lower, showing off more of the treasure trail for her. Pat was cursing me angrily from the bed and I just rubbed his calf reassuringly. The door swung open and Lydia’s gaze swept the room with an arched brow, looking from me, to the candles dripping wax all over the nightstand to Patrick writhing on the bed.
“I feel like I’m being left out on all the fun,” she told me with a smirk. “The wax, really? You promised to use that on me.”
“He can use it on you, he just needed to experience it himself first.”
“I did not!” Patrick cried indignantly.
Lydia giggled and discarded her green trench coat on the ottoman before rounding the bed, her fingers trailing lightly along Patrick’s side until she stopped and crouched down at the head to ruffle his hair. “Master,” she purred, pulling him in for a kiss.
My eyes followed her closely, taking in the way her red dress hugged her curves and slid up her thighs, to reveal the tops of her stockings and coming dangerously close to exposing her ass. Sweatpants and crop tops had been tossed in the back of the closet to make room for an endless selection of designer pieces and some couture maternity wear, I had to get the apartment renovated to add in a new set of racks for her too many pairs of shoes. Heels. I warned her that most of the shoes would be too small when her feet started to swell but that didn’t bother her any and I couldn’t say that it bothered Pat or I either, I liked knowing that she was making herself at home.
And she’d done quite a bit to make herself at home and adjust to our lifestyles. Patrick’s mother Lucille had taken her to a salon on the first day they met to prepare her for upper-class clubs and associations she was now expected to join, not to mention for their society page wedding announcement. No doubt Lucy had taken her out to get fitted for a custom gown for the engagement party in a week. A party that I had no idea if I was even supposed to come to. My mood started to turn at the thought and I shook my head slightly, angry at myself for thinking that again.
“You have to let him up,” Lydia said, amusement obvious in her tone. “I have something special for you guys and I don’t want one of you tied to the bed when you read it.”
I was almost dizzy with giddiness and quickly set to work on undoing the knots. She had the paternity results no doubt, and I was excited just to know which one of us was lucky enough to be the biological father. Biological. It meant nothing else but a confirmation of what last name the baby would have and what we needed to look out for medically. Patrick was a little under a decade younger than me, he posed less of a risk while I increased the risk of miscarriage and chromosome abnormalities. I just wanted the baby to be healthy – that was the one thing I hoped to give her if nothing else.
Patrick eagerly pushed himself up and untied the cock ring before quickly pulling on his pyjama bottoms, his need completely forgotten. Lydia held out the envelope between us and stood there expectantly.
“I’m not opening it,” she explained to our bewildered looks. “Nope, not happening. This is your own dick wagging competition.”
Alright, fine, it was also necessary for us to figure out who got to beat their chest and wear the badge of honour. The idea of her carrying my baby while she walked down the aisle was an aphrodisiac that had gotten me off many, many, times. How could it not? He was her Master, he had ultimate say in scenes, but I could have this tiny sliver of her body and for the time being it would be mine alone.
I looked to Patrick and our eyes met. Static crackled between us and I lunged for the envelope, tearing it out of Lydia’s hand and shoving Patrick hard as I scrambled to get off the bed and across the room. My heart was racing and my thumb tore open the corner before I suddenly had the air knocked out of me and hit the floor hard when he tackled me. A knee was pressed firmly between my shoulder blades and I fought to get out from under him, thrashing angrily when he grabbed my arm and twisted it. Pain ricocheted up through my chest and I had to grit my teeth.
“You should have let me up when I asked nicely,” he whispered against my ear. His breath raised goosebumps across my skin but I didn’t give him the satisfaction to seeing it as I twisted in his grip. “Give me that.” He pried my fingers off the envelope ferociously and it just made me fight back against his weight harder.
I had fifty pounds of muscle on him, there was no fucking way I was going to let myself lose like this. But it was already too late, I heard the paper tear and then he started to read it out loud.
“By order of Lydia Marjorie Morrison, we were requested to perform a paternity test. The following individuals were examined – yada, yada, yada…” He dropped the paper in front of me and skimmed the next. “Based on our analysis, it is practically proven that Jonathan Edward Harris is the biological father of the child.” He paused and leaned down over me. “Your middle name is Edward?”
I couldn’t say anything, I was lost to the world at the realization that I was going to be a father again. After so many years, after too many tearful trips to the fertility specialists with Christine and heartbreaking conversations about her inability to conceive again, after the devastation that came when Lydia was forced to terminate her pregnancy in the summer…
My eyes watered and I pressed my forehead to the floor, feeling the tears start to slip down my cheeks and not wanting them to see me thanking the Lord for this gift. Thank you for everything you’ve given me. Thank you. I drew in a shaky breath and opened my eyes but couldn’t bring myself to get off the floor. Lydia approached us slowly, I listened to the soft sound of her heels against the hard wood as Patrick got off my back.
“Daddy?” she asked gently. The floor creaked when she crouched in front of me before reaching out to run her hand lovingly through my hair. “Are you alright? Do you need something?”
I need you. I reached out and pulled her the rest of the way down to the floor, completely ignoring her cry of surprise when my arms constricted around her waist and I laid my head on her stomach. She smelled like the Chanel perfume Patrick had bought her; a soft blend of orange and rose, and the soft knit fabric of her dress made an exquisite pillow.
“You’re hogging my fiancé,” Patrick said with a smirk. “And she looks somewhat frightened.”
“I’m just hoping Katherine cleaned these floors recently,” Lydia replied. “Jon, I know you love me and all at sweet stuff, but this dress is brand new…”
I laughed and kissed her stomach, savouring in the feel of the small bump that I religiously photographed every Friday. “I’m going to get up now and no one is allowed to laugh at my crying.”
Patrick scoffed and helped pull Lydia off the floor before extending his hand down to me as well. Lydia smiled and reached out to hold me and give me a reassuring kiss. Her hair tickled my nose as I nuzzled into her neck.
“I’m feeling suspiciously left out.”
“You can have her when I’m done,” I snapped.
Lydia was giggling hysterically while I worked the zipper on her dress down and glanced back at Patrick, a wide grin spread slowly across my face when he narrowed his eyes. I’m her Daddy, asshole. You aren’t getting rid of me now. I pulled away just enough that he could see me mouth the word loser over her shoulder. Patrick’s scowl deepened and he took a step towards us, the lines of wax that had dripped down his waist cracked and crumbled.
“Why don’t you go get your collar from the cabinet?” I murmured, brushing her hair back. “Give him and I a minute to chat.” Chat. And maybe sucker punch one another. We’d see how it went.
“I can do that,” she assured, giving my cheek a light tap. “I’m gonna call Allie and her mom, don’t do anything fun without me.”
She sauntered on out of the room and I watched her ass sway with every bouncing step, wondering if she would let me fuck that gorgeous ass to celebrate. Or I could just tie her down and take what I wanted, she never objected to that, my adorable little masochist.
I was distracted for too long and just as she disappeared down the hall, Patrick was attempting to put me into a headlock. My heart raced and I grappled for his legs, throwing him off balance and bringing the both of us to the ground.
“I hate you,” he seethed, his arm tightening around my neck. “You already have a kid, how is it fair for you to have this one?”
“It just means I’m more of a man than you,” I taunted, jamming my elbow into his stomach. “Life isn’t fair, you poor thing—”
Patrick slammed me against the floor and I laughed at the surprising show of force as he pinned me there again. He had to have been in wrestling at some point in his teens, that was the only way I was willing to accept that he could pin me so easily.
“You can’t tell me that you forgot about out deal.”
I remembered; I just didn’t want to fulfil my end of that deal. “What deal? I didn’t agree to anything.”
“Like fuck you didn’t. Now get up on the bed, birthday boy, because you’re not leaving this room without birthday spankings and a very sore ass.”
“Lydia is going to be back here any second.”
“She’s calling Allie. She could be a few hours, and besides, you know she likes to join in.”
This was true, and yet, the idea of her seeing me get fucked made my stomach flutter and my cheeks flush. “If I do this, then I’m expecting you to treat me like royalty.”
“Yeah, I’ll treat you like a goddamn queen, now get up on the bed your highness.”
He got up off my back and helped me off the floor again. Without looking at him, I blew out the candles on the nightstand and climbed onto the bed, slowly working my belt off as I went.
I was suddenly very aware of Patrick’s presence in the room, the way he moved around to the closet to pull out a few toys and the glance he shot me, as if he was checking to make sure I hadn’t gone anywhere. He was younger than me, he’d easily held me down despite my years of weightlifting and strict work out regime, his wealth was a horrid reminder of my inferiority in his world of prep school friends and elite clubs that I tried so hard to pretend I fit into. The idea of him fucking me was terrifying. It was a letting my walls down for someone that until last spring I had thought of as still a boy.
Patrick dropped his pants and my eyes locked on his soft but still very much distracting cock. Definitely not a boy.
I licked my suddenly dry lips and leaned back against the headboard, watching him strut over to my side of the bed.
“I want some ground rules,” I insisted sternly. “No coming in my ass and no restraints. If I say no or stop then I mean it – those are my safe words.” Red meant nothing to me in a submissive position.
Patrick grinned and leaned over me and held up a black leather blindfold. “It’s not a restraint.”
No, but I still didn’t like it. I made to take it out of his hands but he slapped me away and ordered me to turn around to fasten it. The cool, soft material pressed against my face and blocked out every little bit of light in the room. I sat, frozen in my spot and wishing I knew how to handle the situation, but I just didn’t. For once, I was completely at a loss.
Patrick shoved me onto my back and grabbed the sheets frantically, needing something to hold onto. The silence was broken by the sound of my zipper being pulled down and Patrick tugging at my jeans, dropping them to the floor and the shuddering deep breath I had to take when I was exposed to him.
“When it’s my turn I won’t even let you touch her until I know she’s pregnant,” he told me. “It could take months – who knows? Obviously she’s Fertile Myrtle but maybe I’ll want to pull out and finish on her face or fuck her ass. It really depends on my mood. But that just means that I get to watch you go crazy about not being able to fuck her. Like Christine.”
His words made me groan but when he grabbed my cock my back arched off the bed. I could feel his weight shift and felt him sitting on my thighs while he slowly pumped his hand up and down my cock, lightly drizzling lubricant over my shaft as I hardened against his palm.
I tipped my head back and bit my tongue on the moan that fought to escape my lips. The heat from Patrick’s cock radiated along my groin from where it rested, forcing me to feel his arousal too.
“You just want to call her Fertile Myrtle instead of admitting that I’m still a virile stud,” I grumbled.
“You’re forty-seven, virile is long gone,” he teased.
With that, he pressed his cock to mine and I gasped as he began to jerk us both off, his hand flexing and twisting with each pull, his thumb pressing on the underside of my shaft. A soft moaning whimper escaped me when he rubbed the sensitive spot just under the head, bringing me painfully close to the edge.
“For someone who claimed they weren’t into men for so long, you’re surprisingly good with another man’s cock.”
“I never said I wasn’t into men. I wasn’t gay. And I wasn’t into being on the bottom. Topping is infinitely more fun.” He punctuated the last word by bringing his other hand around us and thrusting against my cock.
My mouth fell open at the sensation of his hands encircling us and acting like a makeshift pocket pussy. I humped frantically against him and covered my mouth as I got closer to the edge, the pleasure tightening inside me like a taut rubber band.
“Are you going to come?” Patrick asked, laughing when I nodded frantically. “You’re easier to work up than Dia, no wonder Christine had to fuck you with her strap-on.”
The band snapped and I cried out as my cock jerked and throbbed from his touch, spraying my cum across my chest and dangerously close to my face. The pleasure washed over me in waves and I shivered as I came down from my high. Patrick was laughing about the whole thing and let my spent cock fall back against my thigh.
“You like getting humiliated, but the question is if you like it more from men or women…” He trailed off and leaned forward. Before I could catch my breath, Patrick was running his tongue through the patches of cum on my chest, moving from one to the other and making me grin. I knew I could make him get over his aversion to it.
Then Patrick grabbed my jaw and I knew what was about to happen but I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to. He kissed me hard, forcing my mouth open and letting my cum drip onto my tongue. I had no aversion to swallowing, especially not if it was my own, having it come from him, having him get over his own issue with it just to try and send me further into subspace made my skin prickle with electricity and heal coil low in my abdomen.
Patrick’s fingers dug into my jaw as he kissed harder, his teeth gnashing against mine when he nipped at my bottom lip.
“I can’t say I’ve ever fucked someone’s ass in missionary,” he mumbled against my lips. “But I’m willing to make a go of it.”
“Bit hard to give me birthday spankings in missionary,” I said dryly.
“Shut up or I’ll give your balls forty-seven slaps instead.”
I cringed at the idea and shifted anxiously. No fucking thank you. Cock and ball torture was so far from my idea of a good time that it wasn’t even funny.
Patrick moved off my hips and pushed my legs back for his hand to slip between us and glided over my ass smoothly. Excitement was making me giddy and I was vaguely aware of the smile I was trying to keep off my face, not wanting to look like a freak as Patrick slowly stretched me for him.
I hadn’t done this in so long and yet now all I wanted was to remember what it felt like. I didn’t know if it was because it was Patrick or if it was just the thrill of feeling doted on, but I loved it. We should make this a habit, I thought distantly, switch positions once in a while to get a feel for what we put Lydia through. My thought was cut off when I felt Patrick’s cock probing me insistently, the dildo he had brough to the bed completely forgotten.
“You’re not going to warm me up more?” I asked, reaching for my mask.
Patrick lunged forward and grabbed my wrists, stopping me and forcing the head of his cock into me. “I didn’t say you could take that off yet,” he snapped. “And no, I want you tight enough to get me off.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to point out that Patrick was as thick around as fucking water bottle and no matter what he did, I was going to be “tight enough” but I knew that wouldn’t get me anywhere. Before I could say anything at all, the door creaked open and I knew Lydia had come back.
“Seriously, I’m always left out,” she complained half-heartedly.
Patrick snickered and let my legs fall on either side of him. “Come here, kitten. He can wait.”
A clattering sound told me that Lydia had probably shucked off her shoes and I listened to her rush across the room to her Master. Metal clanked together and I listed as he murmured soft praises to her while securing her collar.
“Put Daddy’s mouth to use, baby,” he urged huskily. “Make him make you feel good.”
I could already feel my cock getting semi-hard again and as the bed shifted under her weight, I grinned to myself, eager to taste her sweet cunt.
“Wait, how do I…?” She trailed off and I could feel her hesitation as she knelt beside my head.
You’re so cute. Honestly, her inexperience and nervousness made my heart hurt at times because it was just too sweet. The blushes when she didn’t understand something, the eager giggle when she was ready to do whatever we challenged her with… Even in a submissive position I couldn’t help but think of her as my little girl.
I grabbed her hips blindly and pulled her over my face while she protested being manhandled. Her pussy rested against my mouth and I licked eagerly at her slit, desperate to find the button that would make her squirm. Lydia moaned and rocked against my mouth, distracting me while Patrick slowly worked his way deeper and pushed my legs back to get more leverage.
Dainty fingers wrapped gingerly around my cock, making me shudder and dig my hands into her thighs. Lydia’s wetness coated my mouth and I could hear her panting while I sucked on her clit. With no warning, Patrick pulled back, spread more of the warming liquid across my ass and his shaft and thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt.
My fingers dug into Lydia’s skin and I pulled her harder against my mouth, distracting myself by tongue-fucking her instead of crying out at the sudden intrusion. I arched my back and moaned against her sex as he fucked me slowly.
Stretched was not the word for what he did to me, it wasn’t violently being torn open but felt far more than just being stretched. Patrick had joked that he had a sort of newfound respect for Lydia when I fucked him, but I was suddenly a hell of a lot more understanding about the tears when he fucked her ass. No wonder she hadn’t let him do it after the Plaisirincident, I couldn’t imagine what this would feel like if he wasn’t being so gentle.
Patrick’s motions sped up and for a second I couldn’t focus on Lydia, my mouth hung open and my hips rose to meet his. His cock hit right spot again and again and it forced my cock to rise to the occasion completely, becoming painfully hard in Lydia’s hand.
She giggled and leaned forward, planting a wet kiss on the tip. “You look good like this, Daddy,” she purred. “You need to invite me more often.”
Patrick laughed and Lydia leaned forward, the wet sound of their kissing forced me to swirl my tongue around her clit, wanting to make her come before I did again.
I didn’t know if it was going to work, because all too soon I was feeling that familiar ache and trying to both thrust against Lydia’s palm and back against Patrick’s groin. Lydia gasped and humped my mouth frantically, her breathing becoming erratic the closer she got. Every touch, every motion and kiss blended into each other and I felt myself getting lost between them, barely registering when Lydia came, screaming out my name because I came at the same time, coating myself once more in the sticky fluid.
Patrick wasn’t far behind me, he pulled out at the last second, decorating my chest and managing to get some on my cheek as well. I didn’t complain, I just yanked the mask off and held Lydia to my side as they collapsed around me. Her head laid on my shoulder and Patrick laid his on her hip, throwing his legs over mine so that we were laying in some weird triangular pile.
“I never got fucked,” she complained after a few silent minutes.
I broke out laughing and rubbed my face tiredly with a groan. “You’ll have to talk to him about that one, I can’t believe I came twice as it is.”
“Because you’re old?” she asked, cocking her head back to see me.
“I’m forty-seven. You’d think I was the crypt keeper with all the shit talking about me being ancient.”
“You are,” they assured me.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m the crypt keeper that knocked your ass up,” I retorted, giving her a hard spanking. “I need some praise for still having it in me.”
Patrick scoffed and rolled his head to the side, giving me an exasperated look. “Congratulations on cream pieing my wife. Truly, it was the feat of a life time.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Lydia said, turning me to face her. “I’ll let you have another shot at it when your sixty-two to prove that you’re still a spring chicken.”
“Sixty-two and you would be what, thirty-nine?” I asked, mulling over the mental math.
“How many children are we having?” Patrick asked, panic creeping into his voice.
“Well, I was thinking one every two years, I mean that’s why you got a young girlfriend – right?”
“Wife,” Patrick and I corrected in sync.
“Sorry, a young wife.”
“No, I wanted a young wife to show off at parties and he—” Patrick slapped my thigh. “—had something to prove.”
“And I did.”
Lydia laughed and cuddled up closer while Patrick ran his hand lovingly over her baby-bump. May 5th. I couldn’t wait to meet my baby in person or to share that with Lydia and Patrick. I couldn’t wait to see her walk down the aisle and for the three of us to sign our commitment ceremony certificate. We were ready for the next chapter, for our happily ever after.