Queen of Sluts
A balmy Wednesday night, the day before the 4th of July, I was waiting for a sexy, grizzly, bearded man driving into the city from over 100 miles away to see me. Vince was a barber with dark, slicked-back hair covered in an entire bodysuit of tattoos. He looked a lot like Jon Bernthal from The Gigolo, who I had a big crush on since his role in The Walking Dead as the wife-stealing nemesis of Sheriff Rick Grimes.
"Need me to bring anything?" He messaged me before he left his house.
"Just your big, fat cock,” I replied, which quickly garnered a double-tap heart.
I had seen Vince once before, and he left handprint bruises on me for a week from my upper ass down to my calves. He administered this biting double-handed impact by reaching over my body with his giant arms while I was on my knees, blowing him. Standing well over 6’3”, which I estimated by the angle of my neck needed for standing kisses, he had a dense, strong build. All man. His baseball mitt palms were covered with rope-like scars from smacking out a fire at his house with his bare hands. Idiot. But damn, that's manly. I pictured my ass as that house fire he was aggressively trying to extinguish with each spank.
Tonight, my husband, Leo, was joining us. I wondered how the dynamic would be with the two of them after I had seen Vince alone first and willfully given in to his every sadistic kink and demand. Leo loved to watch me become completely overwhelmed when he shared me with another man. But sometimes with MFMs, an alpha pecking order is established beforehand. As a service slut, submitting to someone's kinks and desires is the ride I like to go on. But who was I submitting to tonight—Vince's or Leo's? I decided to just let the chips (or dicks) fall where they may.
We got a room at El Rancho Inn, a recently remodeled local motel that had become a hipster haven for off-duty DJs, musicians, and local scenesters. The tiny, overheated pool became adult soup in the evenings after 7 PM. Leo and I got there first and waded into the pool with some drinks. The scorching 100-degree sun disappeared behind the clouds, cooling the evening, the red flush on my cheeks, and the constant perspiration one gets accustomed to in the south.
We had hoped for a discreet evening, disappearing into sexy people under the cover of night, but we quickly spotted our neighbors, a somewhat square couple who had kids at the same school as ours. I became worried about being "found out"—that I was sharing a room with two men, and they would be sharing me.
Vince appeared at sunset and looked even hotter than I remembered. He'd cut his hair into a mullet and trimmed his beard into a scruffy 70s cop 'stache. We hugged hello, and although I was desperate to press my body against him for longer, I pulled away within a reasonable amount of time for a public hug with a “friend.”
I hopped on a raft and we all continued drinking in the pool, talking with the square neighbor couple, Jay and Eileen. I floated towards Vince and he snuck his hands over the ridge of the raft, pulling my swim bottoms to the side and slipping his fingers inside me. I let out a pent-up sigh amidst a half-scorned look, cautioning him to cool it in public. I was still trying to maintain control, despite dying for his hands on me.
"Are you going to be a good girl for your hubby and me tonight and do everything we tell you to?" he asked me, locking eye contact and now gripping my jaw firmly with a finger in my mouth. I leaned into his neck and face, prickled by his scruff, and inhaled his pheromones. Melting into him, I forgot about my rules for public discretion and replied, "YES."
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