Funny Valentine

I first met James at the Battersea munch back in January. If appearance were any guide to age, I would have guessed him the youngest of the nine people who had turned up that chill rainy evening at the Rose & Briar some fifty yards south of Battersea Bridge. In his mid-20s perhaps? But I'm not very good with ages.

This had been my first time at the munch, and so I knew no one. I had been cursing myself for not having first made contact by phone or email to say that I was coming and to ask where in the pub they would be meeting. I felt suddenly uncomfortable at the thought of approaching a group around a table with a ... but what would I ask? ... "Hello, are you the Battersea BDSM group?" And it would have been just my luck to have thereby hit upon the local church bazaar fund-raising group out for a quiet tipple. I remembered that on the Battersea BDSM home page the writer had referred to "experienced pervs" ... no, I had to think of some more tactful way of enquiring.

But it was 7:15pm when I entered and, perhaps also due to the weather, there were few people in the pub, and only one group, the rest being couples, one small cluster of three, and one lone drinker in a dark suit and tie that suggested he had dropped in for a drink on his journey home from some obscure merchant bank somewhere in the City. I bought a pint at the bar and, glass in hand, walked towards the group and, although I could not be certain, thought I recognised one of the faces, an oriental girl, from the group's Fetlife profiles. There were other parts of her body displayed in her profile pictures, but these would hardly have helped me recognise her in the decorous surroundings of a public house.

"Hi, there! I'm wondering if you might be ...? I mean, I saw on the website you were meeting Monday night ...", addressed to no one in particular in the group.

But before I could finish the sentence a middle-aged woman in the group chortled "I recognise you from your profile! You're with that Lady-whatever, aren't you? I always look at new Battersea group members, wonder about them. Nosey, me. Come and grab a chair. What's your name, dear?"

"I'm Christopher. And hi, everyone. Pleased to meet you all."

Greetings and names exchanged as I joined them at table, sitting now between Sandra and James, their earlier conversation quickly forgotten, the talk now focussed on me, the newbie. "So how did you find us? The group, I mean", asked Sandra.

"I just searched for 'Battersea UK' in Fetlife and there you were. I followed the link from the Fetlife group to your web page, and saw you were meeting at the Rose & Briar. So why not, I thought: I'll go meet these people".

"Well, we're glad you did, Christopher. Welcome to the group!"

I'd been chatting with Sandra for a couple of minutes when James tapped me on the leg. "Another drink? What are you having?"

"Oh, thanks, James. Pint of Bombardier, please. Need help carrying?"

Melanie had declined a drink, but everyone else had ordered, so I walked with him to the bar to carry a tray.

"You're a bit flush, aren't you? Buying a round for everyone? I thought everyone got their own drinks in these hard times".

"Oh, I run my own media company, which is doing pretty well at the moment, so I can afford it. They all know that. Just relocated to Battersea from Trowbridge. Bombardier, you said?"

James was perhaps older than he looked? Boyish face, a thick head of auburn hair, one might have thought him perhaps 25 years old or thereabouts. Unless he was one of those teenage prodigies who had made his fortune at 19 from some dot.com business.

"No, I'm 35, mate. Just lucky with the looks. I started the company ten years ago, after drifting around a bit for a couple of years in dead-end jobs when I left university. Last place was a media company specialising in corporate videos, corporate communications, so I picked up the skills, quit, and set up my own firm. Corporate's big money, and I've got the steady clients."

His accent, though, was London. Typical South-Londoner, one would have said.

"Yeah, born in Streatham, but went to uni in Bath, and just hung around that neck of the woods after graduating. But it's good to be back in London, and better for business."

Not tall, nor even particularly well dressed, James nevertheless had an imposing presence, a man sure of himself. A Dom, I guessed.

"No, a subbie, mate. More fun. Let's face it, when you're farting around with all these big corporate clients all day, it's good to let yourself go, let someone else call the shots."

But he then confessed that he didn't really have the whatever-it-is that subs are supposed to have, and had not had a Mistress for more than three years. "I think they can see right through me. I'm too bloody cocky." A hint of that cockiness nevertheless smirked through the resigned disappointment of his wry smile.

I'd wanted to tell him about my attempts at D/s with Lydia; that I too hadn't quite clicked seamlessly into role. Maybe tell him another time. I picked up one of the trays and walked back with him to the tables.

~ $ ~

"Hi, James, it's Christopher. Monday night? The newbie?"

We'd exchanged mobile phone numbers at the pub. Purely from a professional interest, I'd wanted to see what he was doing with mobile media. I'd been playing around with rich media on Android phones for several months, but as a dilettante with little idea of what I was doing. He'd offered to show me around his studio.

"I'm free around five-ish, mate. Wanted to pop over then? You know where Austin Road is?" He gave me the address of his offices.

"OK, thanks, James. See you around 5."

It was 7:00pm by the time he'd finished the studio tour, showed me the kit, the software, demo-ed the Bluetooth. Would he want to go home now?

"Can I buy you a drink, James?"

"Sure, mate, love to."

We walked back along Blythe Road, into Wiccombe Way and past the Barley Mow and Silliman Gallery, to the King's Head on the corner of Arnold Road.

"What'll you have, James?"

We both went for a Rioja, bought the bottle, then slipped around to the cosy leather-bound sofas with the low oak tables. Talking tech for a couple of hours in his studio, this was now time out: we were talking personal. He'd met his last Mistress through an online BDSM personals site, he told me.

"You know 'InformedConsent'? met her there. Read her profile, thought she looked fun, not too intimidating, big into all kinds of seriously kinky stuff, and I liked her photos." He was serving her for three months, but finally it hadn't worked.

I liked James. He was humorous, open, charming, benevolently mischievous, adventurous, good natured, intelligent yet unpretentiously so. I had an idea. But it would take several more evenings of Rioja and confidence-building conversation before I would broach the subject with him and transform the idea into a reality.

~ $ ~

"I have a surprise for you, darling. You'll like it." Lydia was back in London for a week. Today was St Valentine's Day.

And I knew without doubt that she would like it, she having told me of her threesome with her ex-husband and a friend, of how having sex with two men at the same time had "made me feel like the queen of the world".

"Treat me as a sub", she had said; "just tie me and get with your friend to do things to me."

I told her I had arranged something very special for her this evening. But she needed to prepare beforehand. As the time approached 6:00pm I led her to the bedroom and told her to undress.

"What are you going to do?" She took off her clothes, stood naked before me; and I could read as much anticipatory excitement in her eyes as there was a slightly nervous uncertainty. But she trusted me.

"It's a secret, but you'll like it, my love. Just do as I tell you. Now stand with your arms just loosely hanging at your side."

She did so. I'd brought a roll of clingfilm to the bedroom; and now began swathing her lower torso and arms in the transparent film, several wraps around her below the ribs and above the hips, enough to prevent movement of her arms, to give her the very palpable feeling of being bound and helpless, and yet not so thick a layer as to deny her sensation and not so tight as to be uncomfortable. I placed a black sleeping mask over her eyes, and guided her to the bed, laid her down. I placed a pack of condoms, a pair of scissors, and a plastic bottle of Johnson's Baby Oil on the side table.

Barely had I done so when, exactly on the hour, the door bell rang. "Please lie still, darling. I'll be back in one moment."

I went downstairs to open the door to James. "Hey, James! good to see you! Are you up for it, then?"

"Hey, you bet, mate! It's going to be a good evening."

"But remember the rules, James. You don't talk once we start; and you don't do anything without the nod from me. The most important thing is that we're giving Lydia pleasure—it's her night as much as it is ours."

But James had already understood that.

I led the way up to the bedroom, and stripped naked. James followed and did likewise; I noticed he already had an erection. I sat on the bottom left corner of the bed, tethered each of Lydia's legs to a bedpost; then moving to the side of the bed I brushed my fingers lightly the length of her torso from her groin to her breast and began caressing, licking, and sucking her left nipple. I gave a glance and a nod to James, who then laid his right hand gently on Lydia's thigh, taking her right nipple in his mouth. Lydia shuddered and caught her breath at this first touch of another man; she moaned on breathing out.

Five, perhaps ten, minutes passed with James and I gently and sensually caressing Lydia's body with our hands and mouths and lips. Her breasts, her thighs, her shoulders and neck, her legs, her hips and the soft flanks of her buttocks. Little able to move, she yet writhed and squirmed, tensed her body at moments, twisted slightly, in response to wave after sensual wave of our caresses.

Would she know, from the touch alone, which was James, which myself? Maybe; I didn't know. But I wouldn't spoil the moment by asking her. I moved back from the bed, walked around to the other side, nodded to James to move to the foot of the bed while I took up his previous position of stroking and sucking Lydia's breast. James knew what to do: he quietly untethered Lydia's feet and, grabbing her ankles, carefully eased her body down the the foot of the bed such that her buttocks rested on the edge while, with bended knees, her feet rested on the floor. He knelt between her legs, gently parted her thighs with his fingers, nuzzled his face into her pussy, and applied his tongue to her labia and clitoris. Would she know this was James? could she feel it was not me? But again I was not going to ask her.

Lydia squirmed and groaned softly, closing her thighs to the sides of James's face. Taking her ankles, he lifted her legs, knees bent, above his shoulders, pushing his face deep into Lydia's pussy, tonguing her until she gasped and grunted, and visibly shuddered. He then placed her feet back to the floor and withdrew far enough to massage the soles of each of her feet in turn. I glanced at her pussy, wet with more than just James's saliva.

I pointed silently to the condoms, motioned James to put one on, then placed my mouth on Lydia's to give her a long sensuous kiss, gently squeezing her breast, toying with her nipples, caressing her stomach.

James was ready. I stood back from the bed. James reassumed his position at the foot of the bed, again lifted Lydia's ankles and guided her legs up to rest against his shoulders. With his right middle finger he then lightly toyed with her clit for a minute or two before approaching her vagina with his stiff cock. Holding the shaft, he brushed her wet lips before easing his cock slowly into her vagina. My heart pounded suddenly, for the first time watching another man fuck my darling Lydia.

Sliding his cock in and out of her, he continued to gently play with her clit with his finger. I stood beside him, wanting a closer view, all the while caressing Lydia's thighs. Did she know who was inside her?

Again, as her breathing suggested that she was approaching climax, James pulled away as I'd instructed him to, and we each then caressed her thighs and belly.

And then it was my own turn. While James resumed caressing her body with his lips and fingers, I dropped to my knees between her legs, pushed my face against her pussy, ran my tongue up the length of her labia to her clit, danced the tip of my tongue against and around her clit until again I sensed her readying to climax. I pulled my head away, teasingly kissed her inner thigh, pulled back.

Crouching, I too then lifted her legs, edged to the foot of the bed, and lightly flicked the head of my cock up and down the length of her vagina, now streaming wet. She was still breathing heavily, moaning at the touch, yet I pushed my cock deep into her cunt, risking her cumming earlier than I had planned. I was myself so aroused that I could have cum within seconds; but, at the moment I felt I would do so, I withdrew. I motioned to James to step away from the bed; and we both stood back for at least a full minute, leaving Lydia moaning for more, unable to understand why we might have left her for that minute and yet feeling the mounting urgent desire from the fact of us leaving her alone.

A full minute must have passed before I glanced across at James and, now speaking for the first time, told him: "Fuck her". But it was my holding her shoulders firmly in place, before James had positioned himself, that most startled her.

James resumed his place between her thighs, again lifting her legs up against his shoulders, and with no play this time he plunged his cock deep into her, pounded hard for several minutes. Yet I knew that without clitoral stimulation she was unlikely to cum, so I allowed him to do so.

Lydia squirmed on the bed, fighting against my hold on her shoulders. I motioned with a nod to James that he should withdraw. Again, for the best part of a full minute, we both stood aside, watching the puzzlement and frustrated expectancy transparent in Lydia's facial expression.

"Oh, for god's sake, fuck me!" she screamed. "Fuck me!" Her nipples fully erect, her breasts looking redder and larger, she writhed on the bed, begging for be touched again. I shook my head in James's direction, indicating we should leave her in this way for a few moment longer.

Lydia sighed, settled back into the mattress. A flick of my eyes instructed James to again caress her breasts and belly—she startled at his touch—while I returned to the foot of the bed. I rolled her over, pulled her hips such that she understood she should lift herself to her feet; I then eased her down with my hands into a kneeling position, legs astraddle, body lain forward on the mattress for support. And I penetrated her from behind, pushing my condom-clad cock deep into her dripping wet cunt, while surprising her with an oiled finger inserted in her anus. She gasped.

She was now about to understand, if she'd not yet guessed it, why I'd brought the bottle of Johnson's Baby Oil into the bedroom. Withdrawing my cock, I squeezed a little oil onto her butt hole and then, for good measure, onto my condom; then very gently and very slowly eased my cock, little by little, into her arse. After a minute or so it was slipping in easily, her anal muscles relaxing enough to take my erection without discomfort. But I continued pounding her arse for a few minutes longer in order to ensure that it would be relaxed enough, and open enough, for the evening's finale.

I motioned to James—I'd already, earlier in the day, explained to him what I'd planned, and now the moment had come. Neither I nor James had any certainty it would work, as neither of us had done this before; and I'd recalled Lydia telling me that, when she'd tried this with her ex-husband and a friend, it "was difficult and was abandoned". But with the positioning of our bodies well planned, and her arse already loosened and well oiled, it was worth a try. James and I helped Lydia to stand, and then I sat on the edge of the bed, pulled off my condom, and lay back; James helped the bound and blind-masked Lydia onto the bed, knees either side of my hips, lowering her onto my cock. I pulled her towards me, supporting her helpless body, while James applied more oil from the Johnson's bottle to Lydia's anus. I could hear a quiet "No!" pass her lips; but a grunt from her told me she knew what would happen and was ready to be used.

She held still for a moment, my cock deep inside her, my hands supporting her shoulders, as James very gently eased his own cock into her anus. She gasped, tensed, and grunted as he entered her, but then relaxed, and began rocking back and forth on our two cocks.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" she howled, her own spontaneous rocking of her body ensuring she was taking both cocks deep inside her at the same time. "Oh my god! Fuck!" And we fucked her hard; or rather, since coordination depended on her own movements, she—pushing with her shoulders again my firm hands—fucked us.

But after a few minutes my arms tired from supporting her, and I nodded to James to back off, and to help her from the bed. As she stood before him, facing him, he pulled her mouth down onto his cock, supporting her by her shoulders as she sucked. I stood behind her, pushed her legs slightly apart, and then again thrust my cock into her vagina. Mouth full, she nonetheless squealed as she felt me plunge inside her, my right hand wrapped around her hip to lightly play with her clit at the same time.

Miracles serendipitously happen, against all the odds. In harmony, James came in her mouth, I came in her vagina, and Lydia—how can I put this?—buckled at the knees, crumpled to the floor, screaming as she had never screamed before in her life. Writhing insanely on the floor like a mediaeval nun possessed by demons, her legs flailing about her, her torso struggling wildly yet in vain beneath the clingfilm wrap, she grunted, howled, moaned, screamed, whined, groaned.

I glanced up at James, winked, nodded to him to pick up his clothes and leave. He looked back at me blankly, then smiled, turned, and made out of the door with his clothes bundled in his arms—he would dress downstairs and let himself out the door.

I pulled the mask from Lydia's face. Her glazed, crazed eyes seemed to stare through me and beyond me, her eyes wet with tears. I took the scissors from the bedside table and carefully cut through the clingfilm wrapping; and, as I did so, she threw her arms around me, her body still shaking. I pulled her head to my chest; she clung to me tighter, her pounding heart beating against my body; we sat slumped in silence on the floor for some minutes before either of us spoke.

"Darling?" she finally said, maybe ten minutes gone by already since James's departure.

"Yes, my love?"

"Thank you." And she hugged me again, kissed my chest, and drifted quietly into sleep.