Here's an absolutely delightful story by a newcomer to Frequently Felt, J. Troy Seate. I know you'll all agree with me that Troy is a wonderful writer and, absolutely, has to send us more!—The Appetizer—
I turned the ignition key. The cold engine growled like a savage beast prematurely disturbed from its slumber, frighteningly similar to the way Madeline sounds when she is in the throws of passion. I’m not complaining, mind you. Madeline has proven to be everything I have ever wanted in a lover, or so I thought, and I take pleasure in recounting her unique talents as I wind my way up and down the hills of San Francisco.
Madeline glows with a year-round, California tan. She possesses luxurious black, curly tresses. In her scarlet eyes lie the mysteries of deep waters a man can drown in. Her lips are full and pouty. Her blemish-less torso features perfectly formed breasts with puffy pink nipples. The hourglass figure splits at her velvety triangular swatch of neatly trimmed pubic hair. Her legs are long and her feet are delicate. In a word, she has a body that could launch a thousand ships toward the bay. In another word, she looks like a breathing version of a Vargas.
Madeline’s straightforwardness is a quality most rare. She told me straight out that she had picked me from a gaggle of other men at a local single’s picnic for two reasons: because I have an easygoing personality and because of my cock size.
“When I saw that bulge, I knew you could satisfy me,” she explained. “I sense that your cock is a custom fit for me, somewhere between comfort and at the threshold of pain, the way I like it. There are any number of ways you will be able to satisfy me.”
Madeline let me have sex with her that very night and I soon discovered that she also sensed how best to satisfy my needs. Because of where she has led me, I manage my way through each work day with a smile on my face and a melody in my heart. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been and always look forward to three nights a week of warm embraces.
Madeline has but one requirement: complete honesty—a pledge that we will keep our relationship light and breezy, like the city we both love. If one tires of the other, it is okay to say so. Even though sex is a given, I try to keep our evenings together original as well as breezy.
Last week, I ask a buddy to prepare one of his succulent, gourmet dinners for Madeline and me, to be served by candlelight in the perfect setting—on the roof of my apartment building that looks toward the Golden Gate across to Mill Valley. “Anything to enhance a buddy’s sex life,” he said, and promised to prepare a feast.
Madeline arrived at eight. Being a woman who would look fetching in a simple tow sack, her choice of duds always surprised me. On this evening, she was decked out in black stilettos, tight black toreador pants, a ruffled white blouse, and a gold tunic similar to that of a matador.
“Ole” I said, and offered her a drink. I brought her a martini and kissed her passionately on those ruby-red, bee-stung lips. “Are we fighting bulls after dinner?”
“When I was getting dressed, I thought about the other night when you came to bed with your face painted white and black circles around your eyes.” She giggled at the recollection. “You did the zombie walk with your arms and your dick sticking out, coming for me.”
“It was The Night of the Fucking Dead. So?”
“You were good and horny that night and I had a feeling this was going to be an even hornier night, so I dressed appropriately.”
“Uh oh. One of your feelings again. Isn’t every night hornier than the time before?” I asked.
“But tonight will be different. I think that tonight, our relationship will reach another level.”
Her forecasts usually proved true, so I could only look forward to the evening with baited breath. I sat aside her martini glass and took hold of her. A rye, openmouthed smile lit up Madeline’s face. I wanted my horn to pierce her sooner rather that later. I pressed her against the wall and pulled down her black pants and panties.
“Not even one pass with my cape?” she giggled.
I dropped my shorts and skivvies to my ankles. “You said you’d make me horny and you were right.”
“How bullish you are,” my bullfighting senorita said.
“You’ll have to settle for one horn rather than two” I huffed. “Hope that’ll do?”
“Quite an appetizer. Your bull-cock is always a custom fit.”
“Better than being gourd on the streets of Pamplona, I promise you that.” Her legs spread to take me in and I plunged into her enveloping depths.
“Run bull, run,” she panted as I pounded her into the wall.
“Just don’t cut off my ears when we’re done,” I groaned.
“Maybe just one, but I’ll let you keep your balls,” she growled like a savage beast disturbed from its slumber, caught up in the throws of passion. “Gourd me deeper before I have to plunge my sword between your eyes,” my stud bull,” she cried while our imaginary audience again shouted, “Ole!”
The metaphor lasted longer than I did
.
—The Dinner—
“We are dining on the roof, so we can consider it a bullring if you like.”
“Wonderful.” Madeline shimmied back into her tight pants. “I like doing things out of the box.”
We took our glasses and I led her up the stairs. Light shimmered across the bay and the moon had risen above the rooftops, creating an atmospheric, languid backdrop on a warm night. My good buddy, Marshall, stood behind a sizzling hibachi. He had decorated a card table with a red tablecloth, two lit candles, and bone china. The aroma of barbequing steaks and fresh scampi from the market found its way to our noses.
“How opulent,” the contessa exclaimed.
“Only the finest for the Goddess of North Beach.” I ushered her to our table for two.
Marshall made sure we were seated comfortably. He took Madeline’s hand and introduced himself. She smiled warmly and thanked him for his contribution to our evening.
“I’m going to disappear,” he told us, “but I’ll be back later to deliver dessert.”
Madeline and I were alone on the rooftop with the sounds of the city a few floors below. I watched as her face flicker in the candlelight. Glossy lips red as maraschino cherries flashed around perfect white teeth. Glinting nails played with her wine glass. Her white throat, begging to be kissed, arched from her blouse collar.
She captured each mouthful of food and sip of wine with the gusto of a person savoring every taste as if it were her last. Her gastronomic pleasure carried with it such sensuality that my cock began to stiffen and my libido would have gone through the roof had I not already been there.
I recalled an article devoted to sex and food. Madeline’s pulchritude somehow captured the essence of the concept: Good food to be preceded and followed by good fucking, my two favorite F’s.
We enjoyed Marshall’s sumptuous dinner while the hanging moon shined and the vehicles below played a haunting rhapsody with their wheels and horns. Watching Madeline devour her meal gave rise to that other craving. That appetite had already served as an appetizer and would soon become a succulent nightcap.
—The Dessert—
Good to his word, Marshall returned with two servings of chocolate moose and truffles from Ghirardelli Square. I invited him to pull up a chair and join us. I was willing to share my beautiful vixen for the time it takes to spoon down the creamy treat and drink a final glass of wine.
Madeline complimented both of us on the evening meal. After some chit-chat, Marshall removed the dishes and prepared to bid us adieu.
“I owe you one, buddy,” I told him.
“Why don’t you hang around,” Madeline told him, “provided it is all right with you, Dillon.”
“Sure. I guess,” I said, not knowing what Madeline had in mind.
“The meal was wonderful,” Madeline continued, “and I have a confession to make, Marshall. When we touched hands, I knew that you, as well as Dillon, possess a special type of gift.”
Marshall and I looked at each other and waited for my dreamboat to continue. She took our hands in hers and looked at my buddy. “Your package is just right for something. Don’t let it embarrass you when I say that I would like to have you as well as Dillon. The two of you, doing me together and each using you’re your own talents.”
Who can fathom the caprice of a sensual woman? Madeline stood and undressed.
“This may not be your cup of tea, either one of you, but I think it will take all of us to another level, if you’ll go along with me.”
I was downright stupefied at this development, but Madeline usually knew best. Without another word, both Marshall and I disrobed. All three of us placed our clothes over the chairs. We stared at one another, naked, bathed by moonlight, candlelight, and the faint, reflected haze from the surrounding metropolis.
She appraised Marshall’s body. “Hello, gorgeous,” she said like Barbara Streisand.
Marshall was well built, but his cock was smaller than mine, a steroid dick, perhaps. She beckoned for us to fondle her. We kissed her face, her breasts, and squeezed her ass while she caressed our respective shafts.
When our organs grew hard, Madeline squatted and sucked our cocks, switching from one to the other every few strokes. “You two are perfect for a sandwich,” she told us. “Dillon’s a perfect fit for my pussy, and Marshall, you’re a perfect fit for my ass. Lick my cunt a little, then you both can fuck me.”
I was too hot to worry whether or not I was bothered by sharing my centerfold with a friend. How could I argue with a woman who seemed to know more about pleasure than anyone I had ever met? Marshall and I got on our knees and lapped at Madeline’s clit like a couple of thirsty dogs at a water tap. Our tongues shared her sweet spot. Madeline’s pubic hair dripped with our saliva, but neither of us cared.
Finally, she ordered us to our feet. “Dillon, pick me up and impale me with your prick.”
I obeyed. She slid onto my shaft with a satisfying moan. Her canal of love surrounded my manhood like a snug, velvet glove. She wrapped her ankles around my hips to anchor the weight of her body.
“Marshall, slip that beautiful cock of yours up my ass.”
I could feel Marshall’s knees bump against mine as he positioned himself under Madeline’s rump. When Marshall rammed his dick into her rectum, she slid up my shaft an inch or two from the impact.
“Ohhhh,” she offered in response. “My two beautiful bulls. You have both hooked me. Now double-fuck me.”
We got into a rhythm that allowed Marshall and me to alternate thrusts. I could feel the movement of his penis sliding back and forth on the other side of Madeline’s muscular, internal wall that separated our two cocks. I had the additional thrill of sucking on a bouncing tit, but could tell that Marshall was not feeling deprived.
We panted and heaved, overwhelming the other sounds in the night. Sex was in four-wheel drive—illicit bumping and grinding with an element of risk. We were out in the open, after all.
Here was the real Madeline. The roll-playing with orderly conversation and clothes had ended. She was now free of pretend and busy telling Marshall and me how to please her. She didn’t give a damn about convention and neither did we.
Marshall came first. His quiver of delight was transmitted through Madeline’s legs. She threw back her head and yelled, “One down and two to go. Let’s all get our rocks off.” When he pulled free of her, she reached around and wiped the fluid from Marshall’s cock onto her palm and fingers. She licked away some of his issue and put her fingers to my lips. I would do anything for Madeline’s pleasure and I tasted. “You and me and Marshall, coming together as one. What a turn-on. Viva the stars and little cable cars,” she growled.
When Madeline emitted that patented animal sound, I knew her orgasm was imminent. We came within seconds of each other. Juices ran down my thighs and Madeline encouraged Marshall not to let such a superb substance go to waist. I felt his tongue on my thighs and balls. And while Madeline’s vagina held tightly to my cock, I found the lapping sensation most pleasurable.
Once Marshall’s head was clear of our bodies, Madeline’s ankles unhooked and she dropped to the roof. “Now that’s what I call a spectacular after dinner special,” she said. She threw one arm around each of our necks to form something resembling a small football huddle. We sauntered around in slow dance steps while Madeline hummed a popular dance tune.
I might have expected Marshall and me to be eying each other rather sheepishly at this point, but we didn’t. We were okay with what Madeline had orchestrated and frankly, my balls still tingled from the feel of Marshall’s tongue and day-old beard against my thighs.
During our impromptu dance that had turned into a conga line, an alley cat joined Madeline in song, expressing his desires for the evening. We took that as our cue to leave. We dressed and walked down the stairs to my apartment. I poured drinks for Madeline and Marshall and we chewed nothing more than the fat for an hour or so. Finally, Marshall kissed my alley-cat/matador goodnight and we were again alone for whatever adventure our nightcap might bring.
—The Nightcap—
In bed, we sucked each other’s genitals for half an hour before Madeline crawled up to my face to talk. “Thanks for fulfilling my desires,” she said while juggling my moist ball-sack. She always seemed to know the right gesture to make or place to touch. “I sensed something different would happen tonight. When I touched your friend, I knew how I wanted it to go down. I sensed you got off on it, too.”
“Actually, yes, and I wouldn’t mind double-fucking you again or even a double-blow,” I told her while she was making my flesh-covered acorns dance.
“No time like the present,” Madeline laughed. “Call your chef back.”
“We’ve been friends for a long time.”
“I can tell you that he’ll be all for it.”
Marshall answered his cell phone and said he would come back over.
“Let’s do some more yum-yum until he arrives,” Madeline suggested. “In the meantime, you might like the view that Marshall had.” Madeline got on her knees and laid her chest across the bed. She reached back and grabbed hold of her butt cheeks and spread them apart so I could study her sphincter. “Fuck my pussy and titillate my asshole until your friend arrives,” she ordered.
Can a bull ignore the flash of red from his matador? I teased her bunghole because I didn’t need psychic power to know that she wanted my finger or Marshall’s dick back inside it. On the road to her sweet spot, my lips made pit stops on the bottoms of her feet, her calves, her thighs, and her puckering anus. I tasted the seed of Marshall, and my cock tightened. I grabbed a handful of her luscious, raven curls, put my thumb in her butt, and pierced her warm, pretty pussy. It was some damn good yum-yum. Once I was properly lubricated, I pulled my cock free and penetrated her ass.
“Oh yeah. Shove it all the way up to tonsil-town,” she screamed in the key of C.
With her mane in my fist, I felt like a Roman charioteer guiding my beautiful mare around the Circus Maximus. My second explosive wad of the evening made her scream, to my delight. “That thing’s so damned big, you might need a building permit, Dillon,” she said. “We may have to cut back to two nights a week, lover. I still walk to work in the mornings.”
After I pulled out, she turned, grinned, and kissed my sweaty forehead. She pressed her body next to mine in a full frontal. “It’s been an unusual and amusing night for the both of us and the best may be yet to come.”
When Marshall knocked on the door, I got up and let him in. “We decided dessert was the best part of the night and you might as well be part of the nightcap,” I told him.
Madeline waited in bed for the two of us. “Honesty is the big part of my relationships and Dillon told me he got off on sharing me with you, so present your weapons, boys,” she decreed.
“I’m up for whatever you guys have in mind,” Marshall told Madeline and me, “but what’s after the nightcap?”
“The morning after, of course,” Madeline said with a grin.
—The Morning After—
When I woke up, I realized our female participant was long gone. Marshall was still in my arms, however. A whole new word had opened up overnight. I had enjoyed fucking Marshall as much as Madeline.
He stirred and playfully ran a finger around my rectum. “We’ll start nice and slow,” he said. “It can be as good to receive as to give. I hope the nightcap was as satisfactory as last night’s dinner?”
I had to admit that is was.
“Here’s something good to start a morning after a pleasurable night—protein.” He put his mouth around my cock and sucked gently. Marshall’s lapping tongue, though different, was as pleasurable as that of my horny vixen. I again tingled from the feel of his day-old beard against my nuts and my thighs.
By noon, I had returned all of Marshall’s favors by sucking my first dick and receiving my first cock. And without a vagina in sight, I enjoyed taking sex and giving it, tit for tat, pound for pound.
Madeline called me that evening. “Hey, Bi-guy,” she said with a giggle.
She was right. Our impromptu ménage-a-trois had blazed new trails. I realized I enjoyed playing both parts—matador and bull. It resulted in a revamped, partnering schedule. I have Madeline to myself one night a week. On a second night, I share her with Marshall. A third night is obligated as well. That’s the night Marshall and I spend with each other, sans Madeline.
I am happier than ever that my home is in the city by the bay where the good people, for the most part, live and let live. And I now see the world through slightly different eyes. Every time I bite into a pizza wedge, a piece of pie, anything triangular-shaped, I think of Madeline-the-Magnificent’s fiery twat. And every time I partake of breakfast sausages, hotdogs, or any tubular treat, I think of my good buddy, Marshall.
Bon appetite.
Troy has written everything from humor to the erotic, to the macabre. His short stories and memoirs appear in several magazines, anthologies and webzines. His two one-author anthologies, Descent into Darkness and From the Depths of Darkness, and his two suspense thrillers, Chosen, and its sequel, Shanghai is Crying are available through amazon.com and most bookstores. You may contact him at troyseate@hotmail.com or www.whispershome.com while his website undergoes an overhaul.
