Rules of Engagement

The trail of discarded clothes and candlelight met him at the door.

The wooden paneled floor reflected in the dim lights, he rested his brief case down by the coat stand and slid himself out of his Gucci loafers. He opened his mouth to call her name, but there was no need. He knew where she was.

He followed the trail of discarded clothes and candlelight. Stepping over La Perla thongs and a rich brown teddy, its Savage logo glistening in the dimness, he walked towards the back of the loft. The bright lights of the city beamed through the floor to ceiling windows, adding to the ambiance. He followed the trail and his nose. Scents of amber, vetiver, and oud walked with him as he loosened his tie and added it to the trail of discarded clothes and candlelight.

“Shayne”, he called.

Through the candlelit hallway where the trail of clothes stopped, he could hear his wife’s soft moan as he heard another voice call, “in here”. He began to unbutton his shirt, taking care to avoid ripping off the delicate buttons in the process. Strains of Syd’s “Body” played softly with his wife’s staccato song of arousal as he reached the bathroom. His wife’s head was thrown back against another amber skinned plush body, the waves of orgasm flushing her butterscotch face, bringing her freckles to life. The amber plush body stroked her skin with a damp feather, tracing her areola, leaving a wet trail along her body. To him she said, “you’re just in time…I held her here as long as I could”.

Rolling up the cuffs of his tailored pants, he sat on the edge of the claw footed tub, facing his wife. “Hey baby”, she moaned, her back arching against the plush body as she gripped the sides of the tub, aching for the orgasm that was eluding her. He smiled softly at her as he took the other gold tipped feather that was resting on the windowsill facing the city. Starting at her ankle, he ran the feather up the incline of her leg, gently following the freckles dotting her inner thigh, locking eyes with the amber plush body as he watched her feather tease his wife’s nipple.

He let his feather hover right above her mons; let its gold tip tease her folds, as he used his other hand to rest on her slightly concave belly. Watching her back arch more, he heard her whisper, “please”, her eyes shut tight, all her senses on fire. She was hovering, soaring, stretched at the very peak of orgasm, the tip right before you crash over, her amber skinned, plush lover holding her at the brink for almost an hour, the sweetest torture. “You were waiting for me, baby?” he asked softly, letting his hand brush over her belly, gently sliding the tip of the feather over her clit.

The touch was too much.

Orgasm came crashing over her, large ocean waves, and she shuddered and cried out as her body bucked, the water flying out of the tub with her, her amber skinned plush lover cooing in her ear as she protected her from herself; her husband softly rubbing her damp skin. As the waves finally subsided, her husband whispered, “Happy birthday, baby”,

“A sensual birthday experience” was how Shayne explained it to him over soft scrambled eggs specked with lobster, the coffee in the French press cooling, the glass bowl of cantaloupe and honeydew melon long since cast to the side as they finished their leisurely brunch. This was the gift she wanted from him, she said. Their home was an opulent one, with its plush winter white furniture, the pristine burgundy Steinway & Sons piano facing a wall to wall paneled window overlooking the city at large. Mike, a commodities broker, was paid handsomely, and liked to show off the money he received. Shayne was never lacking for baubles or luxurious things: aside from the 3.5 carat white gold ring and the matching tennis bracelet she regularly sported, her walk in closet was filled with the finest in luxury designer clothing and shoes. It was a long way from her upbringing in some of the toughest projects in NYC.

It all felt cold to her, though. She’d had every material thing she’d ever craved for in this space – but the warmth, the comfort that she thought it would bring her was fleeting.

And so began her ‘sensualcapades’, as she called them. She was always a sensual being, her butterscotch figure curvy, peppered with delicate chocolate freckles that only accentuated her wild, curly, voluminous afro. Her presence commanded every room and captured both the hearts of men and women, as it did her now husband, one day during an open mic night in the heart of the East Village. Shayne radiated warmth and light and sensuality, from her breathy words of poetic erotica that danced across mics across the East Coast, to her powerhouse figure. And Mike wanted that warmth for his own – but wasn’t prepared for her hunger.

Her appetite for sensuality, for sex beyond the mic.

The sensualcapades started simple enough when they were married, in the big home overlooking the city. During their honeymoon in Cabo, it was sex in the pool that flowed into the oven while the sun set. Stolen orgasms on quiet roads that led to national landmarks, they played with each other while everyone watched; no one the wiser. It was footsies under the table at brunch at The Plaza, the stolen orgasm the second course as the waiter served them cappuccinos. As year one became year five, though, the sensualcapades had grown limbs and roots of their own.

Which brought them to her sensual birthday experience, her only wish for her 30th birthday. She didn’t want the trip to the Maldives he’d offered, or the desert exploration and sky high living in Abu Dhabi. She slid her birthday wish over to him in a black glossy folder as they finished their French pressed coffee and lobster eggs and melon. In the folder was information on “an erotic lived experience” by a registered sex coach and therapist. Specializing in the art of tantra, as well as other sensuality based modalities, keen eyes framed by a cherubic heart shaped face stared back at Mike, her rouge tinged sister locs dotted with gold at the very ends.

Mike was uncomfortably aroused. And intrigued.

After contacting Aria, the waiting game began. Apparently, her services were in very high demand, and there was an extensive interview process involved, so Mike decided to plan a trip for her birthday instead, especially when it began to seem as if they were not going to hear back from her. The week before Shayne’s birthday rolled around when the honey and whiskey dipped voice came across their answering machine, while Shayne was in the shower and Mike was at work. Frantic, Shayne ran for the phone, her handful of breasts bouncing, slippery skin leaving soapy water across the floor. She ran straight past their cleaning person, oblivious to his gasp, the whispered Central American Spanish under his breath, as she went for the phone and sealed her birthday wish in that moment.

And now they were here, in Shayne and Mike’s bedroom, black satin sheets on their poster king sized bed, skin dried off and eyes wide, waiting for the next moment, the next instruction. They were all in their birthday suits, Mike’s sex curved and leaning slightly to the left, his rich chocolate skin glistening in the moonlight. Their home had windows, lots of them – both he and Shayne enjoyed watching the sun rise and set throughout the house. The full moon shone bright as Aria directed Shayne to lay back on the sheets, the velvet ropes resting gently in her hands. “Come,” she said softly to Mike without looking back as she adjusted the satin blindfold on Shayne’s face.

As he walked up, he took note of the gentle folds surrounding Aria’s midsection, the colorful waist beads that rested there, the not quite rectangular, not quite triangular birthmark on her hip. Aria’s body type was not quite plus size, not quite chubby, not quite his type – and yet he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. It was how she embraced her femininity, the power in it. She handed him one of the velvet ropes and instructed him to use the pre made loop to direct his wife’s hand through, then showed him how to secure the rope to one of the bed posts. When secure, she reiterated the rules that they’d discussed during their consultation.

What she was open to participating in.

What kind of play she was not open to.

Shayne’s rules of engagement, which she had discussed separately from their consultation.

Aria reminded Shayne that though she was currently bound, the trappings were quite loose, and she could slip her hands out at any time if she so chose. She also reminded everyone of the safe words and asked both Shayne and Mike to agree verbally once more. Their soft voices, ripe with anticipation, said yes. Aria clasped her hands together in affirmation.

“Good. Then let us begin”.

She reached down onto the floor into what appeared to be a black tool box, which was filled with sensual toys versus tools. Taking Mike by the hand, she guided him to his wife, a feathered whip in her hand. Gently she walked him through using it with a light hand to tease her, then stepped back and watched his progress from afar, until Shayne cried out the safe word. Stunned, Mike dropped the whip, afraid he’d hurt her, but Shayne stilled his hand and patted it, saying, “No. No, you’ve done nothing wrong…I just want to try something different.”

Panting, she directed Aria to come to her. To taste her.

And as Aria obliged, as she kneeled in between her, using the tip of her tongue to tease her inner thigh, as she moved past her butterscotch folds to find her, as she used the tip of her tongue to play with her clit, to lap her up, he heard Shayne gasp, “do it to her. Taste her.”

Mike paused. These were not the rules they’d set. Tilting his head, he watched her, wanting to reach for the blindfold, wanting to look in her eyes to see his wife, to ask her if she was sure.

And he heard her say again, “Taste her. Do what she does”.

So it went throughout the night, as he slid underneath Aria’s body, as he found her center, her waist beads tickling the top of his nose, as he discovered her clit, longer than his wife’s, the flavor more like cherries to his wife’s pineapple, he followed Aria’s lead as best as he could, watched both her body and his wife’s as Aria tried to remain in control, as she brought his wife to orgasm, he brought her to the brink, too.

He watched Aria’s tongue sing on her clit. Spell out words to the most erotic of love songs. So he followed suit. He used his fingers to enter her gently, his pointer finger stroking her on the inside, his pinky gently touching her chocolate star, as Aria struggled to continue to do the same to Shayne.

And every time Shayne was on the brink of orgasm, Aria stopped.

Paused.

Patted her. Blew on her. Teased her.

And so Mike did the same.

Paused.

Patted her. Blew on her.

It was the third round of this that brought about the earth shattering orgasm from Aria, which made Shayne cry out, her orgasm so powerful, she squirted everywhere. And when her shudders subsided, when she came back from the brink of her own orgasm, she lay there, waiting for what was next. Aria gently rubbed her skin, provided after care to her moment, refused her offer to remove the blindfold for what was next. She didn’t want her husband to see her tears.

But she knew that from here out, the rules of engagement had changed.