The Three Norns Ch. 03

Tags:

romance, tattoo, piercing, hotwife, oral, anal, Hellfire Club, cuckold

Author's Note:

This story shares a universe with The Contract on the Envelope series and includes a few crossover characters, but it stands alone.

Previously: Twelve years after their college romance ended, Freyja Andersson and Ethan Hale reunite by chance and decide to rekindle their relationship during Freyja's temporary work assignment in Chicago. After the implosion of her marriage to a man she met in law school, Freyja rebuilt herself through membership in New York's exclusive Hellfire Club, embracing her submissive desires and undergoing a profound transformation marked by extensive tattoos of the World Tree Yggdrasil and intimate piercings. Now she reveals her tattoo to Ethan bit by bit, worried he might be put off by what she's done but longing to be with him again. Ethan, still haunted by what he had with Freyja, drifted through a series of failed relationships before meeting Beth, a hotwife whose arrangement seemed ideal at first: sexual intimacy without attachment. It ended poorly, however, and now he worries that Freyja will judge him for what happened with Beth.

Copyright © 2026 SiliconDioxide.

This work is published to Literotica under license and may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review or scholarly purposes. All rights reserved.

Chapter Three

Freyja - Present Day - July 2025

As usual, I stripped completely as soon as I entered my place and locked the door. I'd just returned from my workout at the fancy gym down the street. Shoes, socks, and exercise leggings came off first. The gym was one of the few places I bothered with panties, and those came off next. After I'd stripped off my tight workout t-shirt and sports bra, I was free. The air conditioning felt wonderful on my damp skin. But even after pushing myself to a new personal best on the leg press, I wasn't finished. I needed the steadying practice of Faustina's yoga routine for Hellfire submissives. The usual mantras about opening myself for my Master's touch and presenting myself as the beautiful gift I was had a different ring to them now.

The Master had a face finally: Ethan. Of course, he didn't know it yet, but a girl can dream, I thought as I rolled up my yoga mat.

This is it. This afternoon I'll show Ethan as much as I can in public without running afoul of CPD.

In the shower, I shampooed and scrubbed, then set about shaving. I wasn't expecting to show Ethan everything tonight, but I had bought a new Brazilian-cut swimsuit from a boutique on Michigan Ave., so I went ahead and shaved everything except for a small strip of blonde pubic hair that extended down from one of Yggdrasil's large lateral roots that snaked across my belly. Today we were going on a double date, Ethan and I with his partner Sam and her husband David. We were going to Oak Street Beach, which, despite being in the shadow of Chicago skyscrapers, was indeed apparently a decent beach. After lying out on the sand for a while, we'd be going to Navy Pier for wholesome "be a tourist in your own town" fun, as Ethan had put it.

After toweling off, I blow-dried my hair then gave myself a spritz of perfume. It was the same spicy-floral scent that I'd worn in college, but that, like many things, I'd forgone because Graham preferred another, woodier scent. The pretty pink bottle sparkled in the light of my bathroom. I'd purchased it on the same shopping trip as much of the rest of my outfit today. If the smell of happier times from before I broke Ethan's heart would draw him closer to me tonight, then it was $120 very well spent.

Stepping into my bedroom, I surveyed my outfit laid out on my duvet.

The bikini was from Adriana Degreas, part of their resort collection two seasons ago. They had recently switched their customs agent and distributor, and I had negotiated both agreements for them. I'd seen the piece in the catalog and loved it, but seeing as how I had spent much of the last two years going between work and the Hellfire Club, I hadn't had a reason to splurge on a new bikini. Was it the thread of fate that caused the small boutique I'd wandered into to have one in stock in my size and on clearance? Probably not, as I knew this particular set had been a big seller and was in stores all over the country, but it was a wonderful surprise to see it waiting there for me.

The print was mustard with irregular white polka dots that had been applied by hand rather than machine-set, meaning no two of these bikinis were quite the same. The trim and ties were brown, a shade or two darker than the tan my skin got last summer from spending time at Marcus and Faustina's pool in Newport. I'd still wanted to cover my tattoo, though, so even then I'd worn a full-coverage one-piece.

Eleanor had said I looked like a 1950s Barbie in the black and white striped one-piece I'd worn to the Blackstones' Fourth of July party last summer. "Except, the plastic wouldn't have done these magnificent arms of yours justice, my dear," she'd said.

It had been a party in grand Hellfire style: masked waiters serving a clothing-optional crowd of several dozen Dominants, submissives, and a few select guests. Firmly in my era of self-imposed celibacy, I sat with Eleanor by the pool wearing my house tag with no raised lines, which told anyone who looked that I was not to be approached for sex of any kind. I sipped a mojito made for me by a topless, masked bartender with a smooth, well-muscled chest who had flirted as he muddled the lime, mint, and sugar. At the time, I'd questioned what I'd been saving myself for; the bartender would have surely loved to see what was beneath my one-piece.

Now I know, I thought as I tied the back strings in front of me, spun the top around, then tied the second pair of strings behind my neck. I pulled each of my breasts into the cups in turn and adjusted the triangle panels along the bottom string. The panels were small but covered enough of my breasts for modesty, leaving exposed curves on the sides.

The bottoms were cut high on the leg and narrow through the front. I tied one side and then the other, adjusting them so they were snug across my hips. I turned to look at the rear, which was a cheeky Brazilian cut. I'd have Ethan's attention, but the swimsuit wasn't inappropriate for a family beach.

I stepped in front of the floor-length mirror that came with my furnished apartment, turning to examine myself. More than ninety percent of the tattoo from my dream was visible. Yggdrasil's trunk rose between my breasts with its canopy extended across my chest, with only the thin straps covering any of it. The eagle and Veðrfölnir perched near the top, above my heart. The trunk and Ratatoskr ran down my torso toward the four stags just above my navel, where the root flare began and snaked into my bikini bottoms. Still more roots spread down my thighs, and a bikini string cut across the scene of the Norns bathing me and preparing me to weave.

I wanted Ethan to see all of it, and to ask more questions about it. I remembered the wonderful feeling I'd had at the baseball game. The feeling that he understood at least my tattoo.

"This tattoo is about taking control of your life." Ethan's words from the baseball game were right on the money. I was silly to have been worried that Ethan would be put off by my tattoo. He seemed to accept it as he had accepted me back into his life, like the tattoo was just a natural part of me. I still wondered about the rest of it, though.

Deciding again to forgo the chain that connected my intimate piercings, I examined my reflection. If the material got wet, it was likely that the barbells in my nipples might be visible, even with the liners. It was possible that the barbell between my legs would show as well, but I was unlikely to go in much deeper than my knees. Lake Michigan was cold, even in the height of summer.

I shivered, imagining Ethan's gaze scanning every inch of my body. I thought of him memorizing my tattoo and examining the texture of my swimsuit to determine what was hidden beneath. Without a conscious decision, my hand wandered down into my bottoms and started rubbing circles on my clit hood piercing.

Stop. Enough of that. Finish getting ready and you can play after the date. I blew out a slow breath and withdrew my hand.

The coverup was a black silk crepe de chine shirt dress cut loose through the body with a self-belt and a hem just below the knee. With long sleeves, a collar, and buttons that went all the way to the throat, it would pass as a regular dress when we went to Navy Pier after the beach.

The dress had been a gift from a client, Peggy Ainsworth, whose Martha's Vineyard label had dressed generations of preppy New Englanders at the coast. Ainsworth had bought its silk from the same mill in Northampton, Massachusetts since Peggy started her business in the sixties, but then the mill had been acquired by a California-based private equity fund looking to cut costs. The result was an inferior product that didn't meet my client's needs, and Ainsworth refused three deliveries, then finally terminated the relationship. The mill sued. We filed a motion to compel arbitration under an old supply contract from 1992 and eventually prevailed, but it was a long, painful litigation. As thanks, Peggy herself--ninety-three years old and still coming to the office three days a week--sent me the dress and told me I deserved a beach vacation. That was only a few months after Graham's and my divorce was finalized, though, and I was trying to work myself to death. I'd left it in its box, wrapped in tissue, for years, but I'd taken it with me to Chicago this summer, intending to finally use it.

I completed the look with a new pair of Birkenstocks and a large, floppy hat with a dark orange ribbon. The last piece was a necklace I'd made a point to keep safe in my jewelry box but hadn't worn in a few years. It was a University of Texas logo necklace that Ethan had bought for me from the University Co-Op before the Texas-OU game our last year in college. Twelve years and a failed marriage later, it was one of the few gifts from Ethan I still had. I used to wear it to watch Texas football games, even after things with Graham had gotten serious.

I grabbed my clutch and examined myself in the mirror by the door. With the coverup buttoned to the second button from the top and my hair and hat covering my ears, none of my tattoos or piercings were visible, just the necklace he'd bought me when we were twenty-one. I'd tested the waters at the baseball game, and Ethan had said it was beautiful. Still, I intended to reveal what I could in public all at once for maximum impact, like an Io moth flashing its bright hindwings.

Him accepting that his Freyja had a giant tattoo was the easy part, though. What he couldn't see was the rest--where I'd gotten it, who had held the needle, and what Eleanor and Mistress Violet and the Hellfire Club still meant to me. Maybe I could find a way to tell him tonight, if I was brave enough. I could not put it off much longer.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

~ ~ ~

Ethan - Five Years Ago - February 2020

"OH THAT'S IT RYAN. FUCK. MY. ASSSSS!" Bettie screamed into the pillow on the bed, her right hand holding a small vibrator against her clit hood piercing. Her body lurched as her second orgasm of the evening crashed over her. "OOOOOHHHHHH."

I had been carefully pacing myself, but now it was my turn. I spread her legs slightly, lowering her ass a few inches to my favorite height, and increased my pace. I felt the tightness build and then push over the top. "Oh, Bettie. Fuck!" I erupted inside her, filling her bowels with my cum. I held myself inside her as my breathing slowed.

Bettie switched off the vibrator and wiped her hair from her face. Her gorgeous back was covered in beads of sweat. In the year and a half we'd been hooking up, Elizabeth Jane Keller (I eventually learned her full name) had undergone a transformation. I'd like to think I had a part in it, but really it was all her. She hit the gym hard and threw herself into becoming the hottest mom at Lucas's or any other preschool. It wasn't just for me and her husband Steven either. Bettie was an unabashed "hotwife" with me as a regular and a revolving cast of other men that she and Steven selected for dates.

Their relationship still didn't make a ton of sense to me, but it seemed like it was working well for them. By Bettie's telling, they were having the best sex of their relationship when he'd "reclaim" her after a date. Instead of trying to randomly meet men at bars like she'd done with me, now they were relying on apps to set up dates and screen the guys. She said Steven liked it the most when he picked the guys and she reeled them in.

Again, I didn't understand it, but it seemed to work for them.

When my pulse had calmed, I pulled out of her and stood. I turned off the recording on my phone then went to rinse myself off. The shower at the hotel warmed much faster than the one I had at my apartment. I stepped into the warm cascade. I was joined a moment later by Bettie. We cleaned each other quickly, though I spent more time than necessary soaping her tits. Even though Bettie had lost weight and added muscle, her tits were just as spectacular as they'd been the night we met. They were even topped with small barbells through each nipple: part of her hotwife transformation. She'd also had her clit hood pierced and wore a barbell with an "S" engraved into the ball that rested on her clit: her husband's initial marking his exclusive territory.

A year earlier, I'd gotten her a cheap, black velvet choker from a sex shop with a set of silver plastic letters that slid onto the necklace. I'd made a collar that said "BETTIE," and she wore it whenever we were together. She said it helped her get into character. Beth Keller was a responsible working mom, but Bettie was the confident, pierced, anal-only hotwife of her and her husband's fantasies. Steven was theoretically free to see other women if he wanted, but he seemed to get off most on watching Bettie and reclaiming her. According to Bettie, they were enjoying this new lifestyle so much that they'd decided to postpone having a second baby for another year.

When both of us were clean, I shut the water off. "Oh, E--Ryan," Bettie said, catching herself. "You have no idea how much I needed that." I stepped out and handed her a towel.

"Hard week?" I asked. I typically saw Bettie two or three times a month, usually on Thursday evenings like this one, although we texted occasionally during the week. She had become a dear friend with significant benefits, though we had to make sure there was space in our relationship for her husband and their other activities. Our conversations were usually sexual in nature--nude photos, what she would or wouldn't be wearing, how much I wanted to fuck her--but more mundane subjects snuck in from time to time. I'd heard about how Lucas was adjusting to preschool. She'd heard about my friend Sam's and my mounting frustrations with the firm.

I also heard about her dates with other men: the work that went into finding new "bulls," planning and preparing for her dates, filming herself and watching the videos with Steven, being reclaimed by her husband. She framed it as sexual teasing. As "don't you wish you were here to watch?" or "aren't you jealous?" but being "Ryan" for "Bettie" meant my feelings stayed in a neat little box. We were close fuck buddies, but that was it. Bettie always used protection on her dates, and we both got STI tested regularly so I wasn't that worried about her seeing other men. Her having Steven as her husband was always part of it, too, so I wasn't jealous about that. Bettie was my hot friend who I got to play with a few times per month, and I was happy with that. Even though I wasn't really seeing anyone else, I didn't mind. I had Sam and my friends for companionship, and I had Bettie for sex.

"Yeah. Hard week." Bettie toweled off her hair. "Lucas was home sick from preschool, and Steven was moping around frustrated because he had to postpone his trip to China again. He's worried about work because he needs to go inspect the factory before they can start production on the new router his team designed, but the factory has been closed since the Lunar New Year. Something about a flu or something like that. So, with a sick kid and a grumpy husband, I've been cooped up allllll week." Bettie traced her finger along the curves of my chest and abdomen down to my cock, which was still down for the count. "I had to cancel a date, Ryan. I met a traveling businessman who had a Prince Albert, and now I won't get to play with it."

"Poor Bettie," I said, tipping her face up and kissing her gently on the lips. "All you and Steven have is me."

"Mm-hmm," she purred. "You're our favorite anyway. Steven loves watching your big, fat cock fuck my ass." Her fingers wrapped around my cock, which started to stir back to life. "Those other guys just get to rent my ass for a night but--" Her thumb rubbed my frenulum. "It belongs to you, Ryan. Not even Steven fucks me there. You're the only one whose hot, thick dick can shoot cum in my ass."

My dick didn't need more encouragement than that. I fucked her again, standing up this time, holding both of her wrists as I pounded another orgasm into this sexy, confusing woman with her weird relationship. When I came inside her a second time, rather than wiping, Bettie reached into her bag and found the jeweled butt plug she'd been wearing when we met for drinks in the lobby before coming upstairs. "For Steven," she said before lubing the plug and sliding it into her ass.

We rinsed off again, but it was time for her to get back to Steven, so we both got dressed afterward. I put on a pair of pajamas and Beth slipped back into her dress, the only article of clothing she had with her. Nice hotels like the Palmer House don't let you rent by the hour, so I planned to stay the night this time. We also made a point of not leaving together in case someone we knew was here.

Before she left, we got out our phones and found a Thursday in mid-March that worked for both of us. I saw a news story pop up on my phone about something happening in China, but I swiped it away for now.

I walked Bettie to the door and opened it for her. Standing in the hallway, she turned to face me, then wrapped her arms around me in a sweet hug. "Thank you for this, Ethan. I hope you know that our nights together mean a lot to me." She looked up at me.

I kissed her, our lips soft against each other. "I treasure our time together too, Beth. See you in March."

I wouldn't see Beth again for four months.

~ ~ ~

Ethan - Present Day - July 2025

David went to rent us an umbrella while Sam and I rolled out the blanket. I'd carried a large tote bag with the beach blanket from Sam and David's car. The bag also contained a 32-ounce stainless steel bottle filled with "surreptitious rosé," as Sam put it. Drinking wasn't, strictly speaking, allowed at Oak Street Beach, but it was easy enough to get away with if one was discreet. David came back with the attendant who set up the umbrella as we finished with the blanket.

Once the attendant was gone, Sam kicked off her sandals then shucked her khaki shorts and the chambray button-up shirt she'd been wearing over her swimsuit. I'd seen her one-piece swimsuit before. It had pink, black, and white color blocks. She must have gotten it last summer for the family trip they'd taken to Wisconsin Dells. I remembered seeing her photos with the kids on Facebook.

I really liked her arm tattoos. Both of her upper arms were covered in flowers. David had painted them for his wife: beds of flowers for each of their kids. A friend of his from art school who took up tattooing inked them on Sam based on the watercolor originals that hung in their house in the suburbs. Sam had started her tattoo project after the birth of her third and fourth kids, twins born almost three years ago in August 2022. It had started as a joke at lunch one day back when we were still at McPherson.

"You know my kids are why I didn't make partner, right?" she'd said, angrily poking at her salad. "David and I always wanted a big family, and I've been pregnant or breastfeeding basically since we got married."

"Since before you got married, you mean." I took a bite of my panini.

"True. I think I can see Nora in some of my wedding pictures." She put her fingertips into her water and flicked a few drops at me. "In my defense--not that I need one, you ass--we were already married so David could get on that sweet McPherson health insurance."

She stabbed a grape tomato. "Anyhow, I work pregnant, I only take two months off after giving birth, and then I pump at work until I get pregnant again, all while hitting my billable targets every year despite my unpaid maternity leave." No one has ever stuck a small tomato into their mouth as angrily as Sam did just then. She continued, talking while chewing, "Then these asshole partners have the audacity to pass me up for partnership, saying they have doubts about my commitment to the firm. The fucking nerve. Things around here have taken a turn for the shitty ever since Adam Black retired."

"You're like a fertility goddess, only instead of harvests of wheat, people should pray to you to aid in their harvests of billable hours," I joked.

"You're damn right I'm a goddess. Look at me." She pulled out her phone and showed me her cover photo. In it, she was propped up in the hospital bed from when her twins were born, Wesley in her left arm and Theodore in her right. Sam was tired but smiling. David was standing to the side holding Josie, who was only two, and their oldest, Nora, was looking not quite at the camera but off to the side, distracted by something. "I should get that tattoo I've been talking about. David makes such pretty floral watercolors." She put her phone down then pounded the table with her fist. "Yeah, I'm a fucking fertility goddess, Ethan. I should have some flowers on my arms."

"Amen." I raised my Coke Zero in a toast. "To Sam Wyndham, the hardest-working goddess in the pantheon."

She tapped my Coke with her water. A few months later, after sticking around just long enough to collect our bonus checks, we quit McPherson to go it alone. Little did we know that Sam was already pregnant with Iris, her youngest, the day we quit. If David hadn't been such an awesome stay-at-home dad, I don't know if it would have been possible for Sam to roll the dice with me the way we did. When Sam was out recovering and taking care of her latest newborn, I probably slept about as poorly as she did juggling her clients and mine to keep our new firm afloat.

Now, though, her arms were a testament to her fertility and David's artistic talent. On her right arm, lilac and forsythia for Nora, born in April, and peonies and poppies for Josie, born in June. Her left arm was a riot of cosmos, dahlias, and zinnias for Wes and Theo, born in August. Tucked beneath the flowers for her brothers were hellebores for Iris, born in February. Hellebores bloom in winter, pushing through the snow when nothing else is in flower.

The flowers barely looked like tattoos. David's friend had totally nailed the delicate watercolors David had painted for his children and his wife. The colors ran past the linework, the edges soft, nothing quite staying where it seemed it should. Combined with the paleness of Sam's skin, she really did look like a walking watercolor.

There was space on her right arm for another bed of flowers, left empty in David's initial design. Sam had claimed that she was done having babies after Iris was born, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if they tried for another. She was a fertility goddess after all. David had known it before the rest of us; he'd painted her as Aphrodite when she was pregnant with Nora, and that was four kids ago.

David took his shirt off and pulled out his sketchpad, propping it up on his leg. David Chen worked in oils, watercolor, and charcoal and had studied at the University of Illinois. He was not merely a hobbyist in between naptimes, though; he was a professional whose work was at a gallery in Evanston and another in Wicker Park. One of his most successful series of works imagined present-day landmarks like the Willis Tower and Wrigley Field set in the Chicago of the past. Millennium Park next to the first Fort Dearborn. The Willis Tower standing tall above the ruins of the fire. Daley Plaza in a shallow swamp full of the wild onions that gave the city its name.

"I'm not aiming for high art, Ethan," he once told me, "but I enjoy making these scenes and tourists love them. It's cool that something I make here about this city can end up anywhere. I know for a fact there's a guy in Shanghai with one of my large paintings of Wrigley Field surrounded by farmland hanging in his office. He sent me a photo of it on Instagram." David's hands were usually marked with some kind of evidence of his work. Today his thumb and forefinger were already black with charcoal. It looked like he was drawing Lake Michigan with the Hancock Tower on the right. As I wondered what time period the work would depict, I looked over his shoulder and saw the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier, our destination for after the beach. I wanted to show Freyja a good time in my city, and nothing said summer in Chicago like fireworks over the lake.

"Damn, Hale. She's even hotter in person," Sam said, clapping me on the back. I saw Freyja a heartbeat later. She'd just walked up from the underpass and was looking in our direction. Sam and I both waved. When she recognized me, a smile spread across her lips and she waved back before walking over.

She was carrying a small purse and wearing a big floppy hat, black collared dress, and sandals. As she approached, I noticed she was wearing a gold Longhorn pendant like the one I'd bought her well over a decade ago.

"You, uh," Freyja spluttered. "You were right, Ethan. This is really nice. I can't believe the... uh... the city has beaches like this." Freyja's hands shook slightly. She put them on her hips to still them.

"Right? Yeah, it's not something you'd drive in from McHenry to do, but if you live in the city it's a great little gem of a beach tucked in next to the skyscrapers." I pulled the stainless steel bottle out of Sam's bag along with some red plastic cups. "It's kind of like Miami, except the water is always way too cold." I poured a little wine into a cup and held it up to Freyja. "At least for me anyway. Perhaps you Swedes are different."

Freyja took the cup. "Maybe my parents could take it, but I've never been much for the 'jump into cold water to show off how tough and Scandinavian we are' thing." She took a sip. "Oh, I like that though. Sneaking alcohol at public parks? Just like the old days, Ethan." She raised her cup in cheers.

I raised mine in return. From where I sat, she looked so majestic. Blonde, tall, and strong. She was so stylish too. Like a fashion lawyer should be. I watched her throat as she swallowed, the sun framed by the triangle of her bent arm.

Suddenly aware of how close she was, I reached my hand out and touched the back of her calf. Her skin was soft and smooth. "I'm so glad you could make it," I said. "Oh, where are my manners?" I stood up and arranged myself next to Freyja. "Freyja, this is Samantha Wyndham, my partner, and her husband David Chen, artist. We have both of them for approximately four hours until they have to relieve the babysitter."

Sam and David stood. David extended his hand. Freyja shook it. "Nice to meet you, Freyja. You have the most striking bone structure."

Sam rolled her eyes and drew Freyja into a hug. "Call me Sam. So wonderful to finally meet you, Freyja. I don't want to scare you, but I've heard about you for years. And don't mind my husband. He meant that in an awkward artist way and not in a creepy way."

"You heard good things, I hope?" Freyja said, still caught in Sam's embrace.

"Of course. You were the beautiful college girlfriend of legend!" Sam said, pulling away and looking at Freyja. "The standard by which all of my friends I've tried to hook Ethan up with over the years were judged." Sam's hand was on Freyja's bicep. "Shit, girl, are these your arms? I've got to go work out with you."

Freyja laughed. "Thanks. Yeah, a big part of my goal of doing something other than just bill hours for my boss was going to the gym."

"Yeah, and now you've had a taste of that sweet in-house life. Is it really as nice as they say?" I asked, only half joking.

"It's fantastic. A lot more meetings, but no writing down billables and I'm getting to work on a lot of interesting little projects that I never would have seen as outside counsel."

I sat down, beckoning her to join me on the beach blanket.

She paused, seeming to think about what she was about to do. Then with a sharp nod, she handed me her cup. I held it for her and watched as she untied the belt of her dress and undid a few buttons at the top. Then, she quickly pulled the dress over her head and folded it a few times over her arm before dropping it on the beach blanket.

My God she was stunning. I briefly noted her polka-dot swimsuit, a very small string bikini. It was more daring than any swimsuit I'd ever seen her in. Small triangles supported and covered her nipples, but her soft flesh oozed beguilingly out of the sides. The bottom was brief too, only a few strings connecting a small triangle of fabric in the front. Her stomach was trim and her thighs were muscular. The tight body of the young woman I'd loved so long ago had ripened into a spectacular example of mature womanhood.

Then obviously, all I could focus on was her tattoo. It was bigger than I could have imagined. Yggdrasil, the World Tree, extended from Freyja's collarbone, fanned out across her chest, down between her breasts and to her abs. Then, at her belly button, the massive roots of the tree fanned out across her belly and thighs. The roots went into her bikini bottom and between her legs.

I had a flash of the countless times I'd been between Freyja's legs. I'd known her body so well then. I could have plotted out every freckle and mole. Now her skin was dramatically transformed in ink. This was how she'd taken control of her life.

"Beautiful. Absolutely stunning. Whoever did that was tremendously skilled. They also know their stuff. I see Mucha, Klimt, Grasset, and more," David said, leaning forward and trying to see as much detail as possible. "How long did it take? It must have taken many sessions."

"About six months. Yes, it was quite an ordeal."

"I love the animals in your tattoo," Sam said, leaning closer to Freyja, not bothering to hide how she was looking her up and down. "There's so much activity. That is such a cool tattoo."

"It really is," I said. "When you said it was big, I don't think I understood the scope of it."

"Wait, you haven't seen it yet?" Sam said, looking between the two of us. "Haven't you been dating for like two months now?"

"We've been... taking it slow," I said, taking a seat on the blanket. "Some things are too important to rush."

Freyja smiled, then sat down next to me quickly. She put her hand in mine, interlacing our fingers.

"That's so sweet. Honestly," Sam said. "Good for you, although I'm not sure how much I could wait after seeing what was under that dress. Damn, Freyja. You are so hot. I feel like I'm at the beach with a model."

"Oh, now. You're just saying that." Freyja's cheeks went pink.

"I'm not! Between your body and that tattoo, I bet you'd make a killing as an influencer. You've got a really distinctive look. I bet--"

"You'll have to excuse my wife," David interrupted, pulling his wife down to sit. "The other day she saw an interview about a mom who quit her job and became a millionaire doing OnlyFans."

I laughed. "If you break up the firm to do porn, Sam, I'll... well... I'll be sad."

Sam leaned her shoulder into me. "I'm not going to quit to do porn. I was just... I dunno, fantasizing about what it would be like to be seen in that way after kids and marriage and practicing law."

"That's why you had your husband make you these beautiful floral tattoos," Freyja observed. "Something that draws attention to you as an individual."

Sam nodded. "Exactly, but in a way that honors my husband and our kids."

"Mine is kind of the flipside of that. Before I got this tattoo, when I was married to my ex, I was trying so hard to put myself in the role I thought he wanted. When that obviously didn't work, I got this tattoo. But it wasn't for anyone else really; I did it just for myself. I can't exactly pretend to be the perfect country club wife with this tattoo." Freyja looked down at her chest. "This tattoo is about proving to myself that I'm never going to pretend to be something I'm not. Not again."

"I imagine part of it is wanting to have something pretty on your skin, too," David said, sipping from his red plastic cup.

Freyja nodded. "That too. I really like how it turned out."

"Who did it?" David asked. "If you don't mind my asking."

"Her name is Eleanor Vale, although one of her former students, a woman named Madelyn Korr, helped a lot too. Eleanor doesn't do many tattoos; this was more of a personal favor. Madelyn has a jewelry and tattoo shop in Austin now, though." Freyja looked at Sam. "Maybe she can fill in that empty spot on Sam's arm. You just need to have another baby."

"Fuuuuck that," laughed Sam. She stood up. "Come on, David. Let's go put our toes in the freezing cold water for a bit." He followed her down the narrow strip of sand to the shore of Lake Michigan.

Freyja and I sat alone under the umbrella. "So your tattoo is about taking control of your life AND a promise to never pretend to be something you're not." I squeezed Freyja's hand. "Eleanor and Madelyn are two of those 'like-minded people' you told me about, I assume."

"That's right," Freyja said. "Eleanor was a kind of mentor to me. She helped me figure out who I was if I wasn't Graham's wife or just a lawyer who works too much."

"She also does really good work. It's beautiful." I suppressed the urge to run my fingers over the tattoo. Freyja was holding her chest out like she was inviting me to touch her. "Where did you even get the notion to put Yggdrasil on your body like this?"

"A dream, actually. I had a dream about the Norns bathing me in the Well of Urd. Like this." She pointed to the part where she was being attended by the three Norns. My breath hitched when she slid down the string that partially covered it. "After they bathed me, they drew Yggdrasil on me. Eleanor is covered in intricate geometric tattoos, most of which she did herself, so the next day I asked her to help me bring it from my dream to the waking world."

There was something missing. I still didn't know what Freyja meant by "like-minded people." She wasn't being evasive, but there was more to it. Like-minded in what? Freyja didn't have tattoos before getting this giant one done--at least I didn't think so. She certainly didn't have any when we were dating. Presumably they all did something together, but it probably wasn't tattoos, and it wasn't something innocuous or Freyja would have just said the lady with tattoos in her book club helped her design and ink this giant piece.

That meant whatever it was, it was something she kept to herself. Maybe something illegal? But that didn't seem correct. Surely Freyja wasn't in some criminal organization, not as a fashion lawyer. Maybe it was drugs, like some kind of Ken Kesey psychonaut club? This was 2025, though; a lot of drugs were legal and people wrote books about their psychedelic experiences.

The only thing that made sense was some kind of sex club, but how do you go out and ask the girl you've been seeing--was Freyja my girlfriend again?--if she's in a sex club? Did I care if she'd had sex with this Eleanor and Madelyn who tattooed her? Not in the slightest. Did I even care if she was in a sex club? A stirring in my shorts suggested at least part of me was excited by the prospect.

Even if whatever Freyja's in is super messy, I doubt she's done anything as messy as I have.

I was curious, and it seemed like Freyja wanted to tell me something, but asking directly felt wrong, like an accusation. I took another angle.

"I just realized something." I was looking out at the lake. Freyja's hand was warm in mine. "At Sal's, I saw the hawk's eyes behind your ears by accident. Then at the baseball game you showed me your stomach and the top of your chest. Now you're showing me the whole thing."

Freyja leaned against me. She took a breath like she was about to say something, but no words came out. I decided to fill the silence myself.

"I get the feeling that there's something about that tattoo that is immensely private, but I hope that when you're ready, you'll share it with me." I looked down and saw her bright blue eyes staring back at me. "I'd love to know everything about my girlfriend."

She put her hands on both sides of my face and planted a huge kiss on my lips. "Snuck that right in there, didn't you, boyfriend?" Another kiss, this one with a flick of her tongue against my lips. "You're right, of course. There is more to it. The whole project--the tattoo, my time with Eleanor--has been something I've kept immensely private. You, Sam, and David are just the seventh, eighth, and ninth people to see it." Freyja pulled away, then gestured to her torso. "It's one thing to have this on me as a promise to myself to not pretend to be something I'm not. It's another to just show the entire world."

"The entire world sees a beautiful woman with a cool tattoo. They don't see your parents' expectations or the weight of everything you think you ought to be."

Freyja wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me in tight. We sat there for a while, then Freyja stretched out on the beach blanket and put her head in my lap. Content to be her pillow, I stroked her hair while we watched Sam and David walk knee-deep in the water. The sun was getting lower, maybe an hour and a half before sunset.

I looked down at Freyja's tattooed chest. Her eyes were closed, and I took the opportunity to admire her. Her breasts were definitely bigger than in college and somehow even more spectacular, but what drew my attention even more was the Longhorn logo necklace. It still shone in the fading sunlight, but I could tell it wasn't new. It was worn on the back where it sat against her chest.

"Like what you see?" Freyja asked, her eyes still closed.

"Very much so," I said, suddenly needing to clear my throat. "Is that the necklace I gave you back in college?"

She touched a hand to the pendant as she opened her eyes. Finally, she said, "Yes. I may not have had the most school pride in college, but going to games with you was always fun. Even when we lost. Then, in law school, being the Texas girl at NYU was a nice identity to have. I started making a point of watching football and women's basketball games 1L year. Sometimes my classmates would join me and eventually Graham latched onto the idea that I was a sports girl." She sighed. "I never told him the necklace I always wore was a gift from my college boyfriend. Maybe I should have, but then he might have made me get rid of it." She looked up at me. "I'm glad I still have it."

"Me too," I said. My thoughts went to the box in my sock drawer. This morning I'd taken it out and opened it for the first time in years, and Grandma's ring was still beautiful: a Tiffany solitaire, a simple yellow gold band under a large diamond. My grandfather had given it to her when he proposed over sixty years ago. She wore it for thirty years before "upgrading" to a three-diamond ring, the one that went to my mom when Grandma died.

Sam and David walked back up the narrow beach. "Shall we?" Sam asked.

I rolled up the beach blanket while Freyja put her dress back on, not bothering to button it up all the way. Yggdrasil's upper canopy was there for all to see with the eagle and hawk perched at the top.

We waited almost as long for our rideshare to arrive as the short drive down Lake Shore Drive to Navy Pier took. Sam stuffed the beach bag in the trunk, and David carried it to dinner.

"Remember. The theme of the evening is 'Tourist In Your Own City,' which is why we have reservations at Harry Caray's," I said, leading the group onto the pier.

"Harry Caray's takes reservations now?" Freyja said. "Fancy."

"Exactly." I held the door for Freyja, Sam, and David.

After we were seated, Freyja asked about Sam and David's kids, and they were off to the races--no one thinks about their kids as much as two parents who have been separated from them for a few hours for a date. Sam told us about giving birth to Nora, a forty-two-hour ordeal that started at a birthing center and ended in a C-section at the hospital. David talked about how hard it was having the twins, and therefore two babies at once, when they had three-year-old Nora and two-year-old Josie. We'd all had a fantastic dinner with no children interrupting to ask for something.

Sam in particular had really cut loose and was on her fourth beer when she said, "You know what was reaaaaaaaly hard? Having Josie during the pandemic. That suuuuucked." She took a long sip from her pint glass. "At least they let David into the room, but everyone was masked and gowned with those plastic face shields. It was like giving birth by myself surrounded by robots. We couldn't have visitors at the hospital, and my mom was afraid of giving one of us COVID so she didn't come to stay with us like she did with Nora. It was just David and me with two babies, alone. I was so happy when Nora's daycare finally reopened."

She looked at me. "I never said anything, but I was actually jealous of Beth. She was stuck in the house too, but she had two men to help her with just one kid. That must have been so much easier. Plus, she had the two of you for company. Well, until--" Sam suddenly realized what she was saying and covered her mouth, silencing herself. She looked back at me, and I could see big, guilty tears in her eyes. "Oh, Ethan, I'm so sorry, I--" She started crying in earnest: panicked, drunken tears.

"Shhh, it's okay, Sam." I reached across the table and put my hand on hers. "It's okay," I said, trying to stay calm but feeling a shiver go up my neck at the name. Beth. While I tried to console Sam, I turned to Freyja. "Beth is the woman I told you about. The... married one. It got complicated... during COVID. Messy.." I tried to read Freyja's face. "But it's been over for years," I quickly added.

"Stupid. Stupid." Sam muttered to herself. David took the mostly empty pint glass from his wife.

I searched Freyja's face for a look of disgust or disappointment, but her look was sympathetic. "COVID, yeah. Fuck, that was a hard time. Graham and I got divorced in 2022, but we spent most of the pandemic holed up in our apartment, ignoring each other and working." She raised her glass of wine. "Fuck COVID."

"Fuck COVID," we returned, clinking our glasses, Sam's having been replaced with a tumbler full of water.

Freyja turned to me and said sotto voce, "I know there's more to it. If you want to talk about it, I'll listen. I... I know about messy."

I whispered back, "I'm just afraid you'll think poorly of me. If I tell you."

"I love you, Ethan. I won't promise I'll be okay with whatever happened, but I want to put my cards on the table too--"

"Oh, hell," David said, looking at a notification on his phone. "Wes and Theo both have fevers, and Iris has diarrhea. Honey, we should take off and let Jessica off the hook. Ethan, just let me know our half, and I'll Venmo you." I nodded, knowing better than to argue with Dad.

"My poor babies!" Sam held her hands to her chest. "Sorry, Ethan. Duty calls," she slurred. Hopefully the twenty-minute drive would help her sober up a bit or David was going to have a sixth person to take care of. Sam wrapped her arms around me. "I'm sorry if I ruined your night, Ethan. I really like Freyja."

Sam turned to Freyja and hugged her as well. "I'm so happy I finally got to meet you. I... he loves you. I won't say anything else."

"I know. Take care of your kids. I'll take care of your partner." Freyja hugged her back.

David and Sam made a hasty retreat. Freyja and I were left alone in the noisy tavern. I flagged the waitress down for our bill, and she immediately brought over a handheld card reader. I recognized the brand.

"Hey, this is one of mine. I filed this trademark." I pointed at the logo: MONEYTREE written in block letters except the T was a tree with its canopy extended over the rest of the word. It was printed on the reader just above the screen. "Classes 9 and 42."

"Neat," said the waitress flatly after I clicked to add the tip and handed the terminal back. I suddenly wished I could have tipped her less.

"That actually is neat. To just see something you worked on in the real world like that." Freyja leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand.

She's so beautiful.

"I know, right? It is neat." I kissed her. "Makes me glad I'm dating you and not her."

"Normies just don't understand. We officers of the court have to get our enjoyment where we can." She kissed me. "I noticed you're wearing one of my shirts."

I looked down. It was a collared shirt with a button-down collar, light blue with a subtle paisley print. I'd grabbed it out of the closet without thinking. It was one of my go-to beach shirts. I'd picked it up last summer for a trip to a lake house in Michigan with my parents and my sister and her family.

"Crane Brothers, 2024 summer collection." She was touching me, making a show of examining the pattern. "I remember because that season was the first time Crane was selling at Macy's, and I negotiated the heck out of that contract." A smile lit up her face.

A notification dinged on my phone. "Oh, let's get outside. The fireworks start in ten minutes."

We found an open bench near the water. Freyja snuggled close to me. "I'm so glad I went to that CLE," she said.

"I'm so glad I let my old coworker Aaron talk me into presenting." I wrapped my arm around her. "And I'm glad I chased after you." The crowd was starting to fill in for the fireworks show. "Why..." I trailed off.

"Why did I run?" Freyja finished for me.

"Yeah. I've narrowed it down to two theories." I traced my finger down her side. "It's more than your kickass tattoo."

Freyja was quiet for a moment. "Kickass tattoo, eh? Okay, I need to tell you about it anyway, but tell me your theories." The first fireworks launched into the sky. Streamers of yellow-white that exploded into red and blue starbursts.

"Either you're in some kind of sex club or an Old Norse cult. Maybe a combination."

She turned to me with a serious look on her face, which softened when she saw that I was curious but not upset. "So it's three theories then?"

I laughed. "I suppose that makes three theories." The fireworks were going in earnest now: loud booms echoing over Lake Michigan.

"I'll tell you everything, but I don't want to do it here. Come to my apartment tomorrow night. I'll cook dinner for us, tell you everything, and answer any questions you have. 7:00 PM."

She'll answer any questions I have, but I only have one.

The fireworks show was reaching its grand finale, lighting up the sky almost as brightly as daytime. I turned to look at Freyja, who was studying my face. Our lips met, light at first, but intensifying with each heartbeat. I moved my hand to cup the back of her neck. She made a sound deep in her throat, and I felt her tongue slip into my mouth. I made out like a teenager with Freyja on a bench at Navy Pier for the rest of the fireworks display. My pants were becoming tight, but neither of us moved beyond kissing. We were both panting as the last of the fireworks burned out, the crowd around us clapping and cheering.

"Tomorrow night," I said. "Freyja... I--"

"Shhh," she said, kissing me again, more chaste this time. "Tell me tomorrow. I think we'll have a lot to talk about, but no matter what happens, I just want you to know that I love you, Ethan Hale. Even when we were apart and living our separate lives, part of me always did."

"I love you too, Freyja. I never stopped, even when--"

She silenced me again, this time with a finger to my lips. "Stop when you're ahead, Ethan. You can tell me tomorrow if you need to."

I nodded. We sat on the bench for a while longer, letting the fireworks crowd disperse. When the pier was mostly empty, we stood and walked to the street. I hailed a passing cab and held the door for Freyja. We sat side by side in the backseat. "Two stops, if you don't mind, sir," Freyja told the cabbie, answering the question I'd been turning over since the baseball game.

"I can't sleep with you yet," she'd said then. Yet.

Tonight would not be the night. I was disappointed, and a little relieved. She gave her address in Old Town and I gave mine in Logan Square. Freyja and I held hands but didn't speak as we drove back up Lake Shore, the cabbie talking to someone in Chinese occasionally on a headset. The city looked beautiful as always, lit up against the dark sky.

We pulled up to a modern high-rise on North that looked blandly luxurious. "This is me," Freyja said. "You can pull over here," she added, pointing to an awning. The cabbie pulled in and Freyja reached into her clutch.

"I've got it. I'll have to pay for my fare anyway. Plus you're feeding me tomorrow," I said. Freyja kissed me again and stepped out of the car.

"7:00 PM. I'm making my mom's meatloaf," she declared, then closed the door and walked into her building.

"Wow, she sure likes you," the cabbie said. "I'm jealous, and I've been married for fifteen years."

"Thanks," I said to the cabbie. I didn't say anything else as we drove west to my house.

Freyja was going to tell me about the sex club she was in. I knew she was worried, but I wasn't. It was exciting more than anything. I had to tell her about Beth, though. About Beth and what we did to her husband Steven.

~ ~ ~

Ethan - Five Years Ago - May 2020

Lockdown sucked. My March date with Beth never happened, obviously. Likewise April and May. I barely left my apartment for those first three months. I even wiped down my delivered groceries for a little while until I decided that seemed silly. I tried not to touch my face with my hands, but in trying to not touch my face with my hands, I realized how many times per day I had the urge to do just that.

Every day felt the same: wake up, do as much of a workout as I could manage in my apartment, log in to work, watch Netflix while doomscrolling, then go to sleep so I could do it all again the next day. And I did it all alone in my apartment. My dad had weak lungs, so he and my mom were isolating. My sister Kate and her family were in even harsher lockdown: my niece Olivia was two and her sister Harper had been born in January. We had regular family video conferences on my firm's conferencing app, and for a while those were my only non-work conversations with anyone as even casual conversations with Sam and Aaron eventually turned to work.

Seeing my parents, sister, and nieces on the screen was nice, but it was a huge step back from seeing them in person. I'd only gotten to hold Harper once, just after they got out of the hospital. She'd been born a few weeks premature and had been in the NICU for observation, and lockdown started only a few weeks after she got released. We tried online family game nights, but it just felt like another meeting. Olivia's third birthday party in May was a performance by a guy doing a puppet show over Zoom followed by us eating DoorDashed cupcakes. At least the birthday girl seemed to like it.

No one has touched me in more than two months, I thought one day in mid-May when I was drying myself off from the shower. The sky was cloudy and grey outside, typical spring in Chicago. It was Saturday, so I didn't have to work, but I might anyway just to do something.

In all of that bleak, apocalyptic loneliness, I realized how much I missed Beth. Not just her body and hooking up with her--although I definitely missed that--but little things like her laugh and the way she'd be bouncing with excitement to see me and catch me up with her life between our dates. After I finished putting on yet another set of loose-fitting pants, I decided to text Beth. Even if we couldn't hook up, it would be good to at least talk to her.

"How're you holding up, Beth?" I typed. "I miss seeing you. I hope you, Steven, and Lucas are doing well."

"Ryan!" she texted back almost immediately. "Can I call you? Are you free now?"

"Sure," I replied. My phone rang six seconds later. Beth was FaceTiming me.

Beth's face filled the screen. She wasn't wearing makeup, and she looked tired, like she'd just worked an overnight shift. I noticed the black velvet choker around her neck. I wasn't talking to Beth; as the necklace said, I was talking to "Bettie." I stepped into being Ryan like putting on a pair of broken-in boots. "It's good to see you, Bettie," I said, performing but also speaking truthfully.

"You too, Ryan. I've missed you so much. How are things with you?" she asked, twirling a lock of long brown hair.

"I won't sugarcoat it. It fucking sucks, Bettie." I laughed mirthlessly. "Every day feels the same. I do the same thing no matter what day of the week it is. I just realized I haven't touched another person in at least two months. No handshakes. No hugs. Nothing."

"No sex," Bettie said, her tone heavy. I understood the implication.

"Is Steven not with you?" I asked.

"He is, but between stress from work and taking care of Lucas, we don't have the energy for each other. After the usual reclaiming sex after our last date, Ryan, we've only managed a couple of times. Even for those, though, I should thank you actually."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Yeah, both times we've had sex, it was after Steven and I watched that video we made in December. You remember it?"

"How could I forget? You showed up with nothing under your winter coat but that Mrs. Claus lingerie Steven got you for Christmas and a gift tag around your neck." My dick stirred at the memory. "I've never met Steven, and he gave me the nicest present. The least I could give him was a good video of me using what he gave me."

"That's the one. Fuck, that video is hot." Bettie looked off to the side for a moment. "Anyway, Steven's router project got put on hiatus, so to cheer him up, I put on the Mrs. Claus bodysuit and watched the video with him. The sex we had afterward was almost as good as when I'd come home from our dates."

"I'm glad I could help, I guess." I didn't know why Bettie was telling me this.

Bettie bit her lip, contemplating what she was about to say. "Ryan, I want to fuck you so bad. I don't think I can take much more of this. I'm just Lucas's mom and teacher, and Steven's therapist. I never get to be Bettie anymore." She took a breath, then touched her collar. "I bought a suction-cup dildo that's about the size of your dick. I've been putting on my choker and fucking my ass with it after Lucas and Steven are asleep."

My dick was fully erect now. I shifted in my chair.

"Ryan, can I..." she hesitated. "Can I call you next time? It might be kind of late, but I... I'd love to hear your voice."

"You want to hear me tell you that you're a good girl while you fuck your ass with a dildo?"

"Yessss," she breathed. "That's exactly what I want."

"Take your panties off and show me your cunt, Bettie," I commanded. "Do it now."

"Yes, Sir!" She smiled and set the phone down. I saw the immobile ceiling fan in her apartment. She lived only a few miles away, but it might as well have been on the moon. Then the phone's view changed, and a familiar pussy filled the screen. She still had the clit hood barbell with an "S" initial, but it was partially obscured by a thick patch of hair, damp with her moisture.

"Good girl. Tonight, when Lucas is asleep, you will ask Steven to shave your pussy." I let my voice deepen almost to a growl. "Tell him Ryan demanded it. When he's finished, ask him to eat you out. After he's given you two orgasms, then he can fuck you."

Bettie had started to rub herself with her fingers. "No!" I barked. Her fingers disappeared. "Don't play with yourself. Until I see you again, your orgasms can only come from Steven or when you're fucking your ass while talking to me. Do you understand, Bettie?"

"Yessss, Sir," she breathed.

"Good girl," I said. "Now go make your son dinner and get him ready for bed. You've got a big night ahead of you. Text me how it goes, and let's talk again soon, Bettie. I've missed you terribly."

"I've missed you too, Ryan. Goodbye, Sir," she said, ending the call.

I set the phone down. I was as hard as a rock, but that wasn't what I was thinking about. I looked around at my apartment. It was nice, with a great view of the city. The gym in my building was luxurious, too. Nothing about where I lived was particularly homey, though. With slightly different decor, it could have been an office or a spa. When I'd first moved in a few years earlier, I hadn't spent much of my time here. Instead I'd been at the office or maybe out with friends. I'd had a few women come over and spend the night on occasion, but other than that I lived alone. With the pandemic, who knew how long I was going to be stuck inside these four walls. They said that a vaccine might be available in eighteen months. Was I really going to spend the next year and a half in this soulless box? My lease was up in a month, and I'd thought about renewing, but all at once I knew that I wouldn't.

Fuck this place, I thought. It suddenly felt like a prison cell. I'd read news stories about people fleeing to the suburbs, but I didn't quite want to do that. Before the pandemic, I'd idly thought about getting a greystone with a little yard in a cute neighborhood in the city that had more trees. I was almost thirty, and being in the heart of the city wasn't as appealing as it once was. I wanted some space for myself, and maybe a dog.

My complaints with the firm notwithstanding, they were generous to associates who worked too much, so I had plenty of money in the bank. I opened my laptop and started looking at real estate listings. Almost immediately I found the perfect place. It was a four-bedroom, two-bath on Logan Boulevard, a beautiful tree-lined street with a wide grassy patch in the middle. The house had been built in 1891 and recently remodeled. It had a nice master bedroom with a balcony on the top floor, two bedrooms, a living room, a dining room, and a kitchen on the ground floor, and a finished basement that had been turned into another bedroom with a workout space and a laundry room. Even better, it had a garage on the alley and small front and back yards. Best of all, it was within my budget and had been on the market for a few weeks; I wondered if the owners were in a rush to leave the city. I signed up to get a virtual tour the next day.

~ ~ ~

Ethan - Five Years Ago - June 2020

The first day of summer in Chicago was a glorious, warm day. I took the cover off the grill I'd bought two weeks ago and had used as much as possible since. I set it to warm up and cleaned the grates. My twelve-week-old Bernese mountain dog Bevo was doing zoomies in the freshly cut grass in the backyard. He would be about one hundred pounds when he was fully grown, but he was so adorable and small that day. Having Bevo and a place where I could sit outside and look at some green had already improved my mood three months into lockdown. The weather helped a lot too. But today was going to be the first time I'd been with other people in months.

I still hadn't fully furnished the house on Logan Boulevard; there was only so much furniture I could buy in a few weeks. My apartment had been a one-bedroom, so I'd moved out here with only my bedroom furniture and what I'd had in my living room. I'd bought a new desk and turned one of the downstairs bedrooms into an office, but that still left the other bedroom on the ground floor and the basement to furnish. I also had to figure out what I was going to do with the dining room. Did I really want a fancy dining room? It wasn't 1891 anymore. I didn't think I'd need one; there was a casual table in the kitchen.

That didn't matter today, though. It was a beautiful day, and we'd be grilling out in the backyard. After that first call with Beth, we'd been in contact nearly daily, always on video and always with her Bettie choker on. At first, I was just an escape for Beth, a way to peel off the mother and wife roles she wore all day for some raw sexual pleasure. True to my word, I did tell her she was a good girl as she fucked herself in the ass with the suction-cup dildo stuck to the wall in her shower.

"Can Steven... watch sometime?" she asked in mid-June, a sheen of sweat on her naked chest just below her black choker. Bettie was in her bathroom at their apartment. Steven was handling Lucas's bedtime so Bettie could call me.

"What do you mean? He's your husband. Of course he can watch you," I said.

"No... I mean... when you're giving me instructions and I'm fucking myself for you. It would be kind of like you being in the room with us. Steven asked me last night afterward. I came back to bed after our call--"

"After you fucked yourself on camera while I watched you, Bettie. Be precise," I said in a commanding "Ryan" voice.

"Yes, Sir. After I fucked myself while you watched. When I came back to bed, he was sitting up with the light on. I thought he might have been upset, but he just asked, 'Can I watch you next time? Like the videos from before.' I told him I'd ask, and then we had such hot sex pretending he was you fucking me." Bettie looked a little embarrassed.

Now Steven is pretending to be me? It was hard for me to understand Steven at times like this. Why all the artifice? Why couldn't he just be with his wife? Still, I had an idea: something I'd been mulling over since I'd moved into my house.

"Why don't you come over?" I asked.

"Come over? Just me? Is that allowed?" she asked, speaking faster with each word.

"I meant you and Steven. Lucas too. We could have dinner, put Lucas to bed in a guest room, and see what happens. I've been social distancing and wearing a mask. I've barely gone out of the house except to go pick up curbside groceries since lockdown started. I know you three haven't gone anywhere either." I kept my tone confident. "Now that I've got this house, I thought maybe we could... see each other again."

"I'd like that, Ryan. But what about Lucas?" Bettie asked, the panting Bettie mask slipping and being replaced by Beth, concerned mom.

"Like I said, we can put him to bed in the guest room. I have a couple of blow-up beds. You and Steven can sleep in the big room in the basement and Lucas can sleep in the bedroom downstairs. If you don't want to stay, you can just carry him to the car and go home. He can play in the yard with my puppy while we cook dinner." I took a breath. "No pressure on anything. I... just miss seeing people, and I miss seeing you." My Ryan mask had slipped too.

"I'll ask Steven, but I'd love that, Ryan. It sounds like bedtime might be over, and you know how Steven gets after our... calls."

"After you fuck yourself while I watch, Bettie. Be precise." I smiled.

"Yes, Sir. After I fuck myself while you watch, Steven gets... excited. I'll let you know what he says. Good night, Sir."

The next day, Beth texted me that they'd love to come over. I suggested that Saturday, which was the first day of summer. We'd be having a classic American cookout: burgers and hot dogs, chips, watermelon salad, and beers on the back patio. I bought a cornhole set and a few balls to toss around in the yard, hoping Lucas would like something.

Around six o'clock on Saturday, a white crossover parked in front of my house. Beth got out of the passenger side in a floral sundress. It was cut low enough to show off her breasts, but it was nothing she couldn't wear to a family dinner. She'd done her makeup and had cork wedges on her feet. No choker. She waved when she saw me on the porch.

Steven came around from the driver's side in khaki shorts and a navy polo. It was the first time I'd seen him in person. He was shorter than I'd pictured, maybe five-six, thin in the arms and soft in the middle, with a hairline of sandy brown that had started to retreat at the corners. Steven had a handsome face, but he looked like he hadn't slept well in months.

Beth opened the back door and unbuckled Lucas from his car seat. He was wearing a Pokémon shirt, and as soon as his feet hit the sidewalk he wrapped both arms around his mother's leg and looked at me from behind it. He had his father's face and his mother's dark brown hair.

I stepped forward to introduce myself. "Hi, Steven. I'm Ethan. Nice to finally meet you." I extended my hand. Steven's smaller hand slipped into mine, but his grip was strong.

"Nice to meet you too, R--Ethan." We shook.

"Beth, it's so great to see you again. You look fantastic." I turned to Beth, who still had Lucas clinging to her skirt.

"Ethan!" she cried, and pulled me in for the first hug I'd had in four months. Her breasts were soft against me. My nose was filled with the familiar orchid and dark-chocolate scent of her perfume. There was a certain desperation in how hard she embraced me. I resisted the urge to kiss her and to rub my hands down her luscious body.

When Beth released me, I dropped to a knee. Lucas peeked from behind his mother's leg.

"Hi, Lucas. My name is Ethan. Welcome to my house. I've got a puppy who would love to meet you and some toys out back. Do you want to see?"

Lucas was quiet, then from above us his mother said, "Lukie, can you say 'hi' to Mr. Ethan?"

"Hi, Mr. Ethan," he said in a small voice that reminded me of my niece.

"Well, that'll do for now," I said. "Let's head to the back before some of my neighbors complain about new people on the street. Welcome to my new place. Please make yourselves at home."

I took them around the back, then stashed the overnight bag they'd brought for Lucas inside the house. Lucas immediately found the soccer ball I'd put in the yard and started kicking it around, Bevo bounding after the ball. "Steven, Beth, can I get you something to drink? I've got beer and wine, and I went a bit overboard at Binny's so I have close to a full bar."

"I'd love a beer," Steven said, his eyes focused on Lucas with the soccer ball. "Remember, use the inside part of your foot, Lukie."

"Can I take a look inside and help you with drinks?" Beth asked.

"Sure. I was going to give you the dime tour anyway. Steven, do you want to stay out here with Lucas?"

"Yep. I'll watch him. Just don't take too long," he said, a slight quiver in his voice.

I led Beth inside and closed the door. "Here's the kitchen. Beer and rosé are in the fridge. Liquor is on the bar cart." She followed a half-step behind me. "These are the stairs to the basement, and this is the guest room," I said, pointing to a closed door. "I've got the blow-up bed set up for Lucas. This," I said, pointing to another door, "is the downstairs bathroom and that's my office. This is the living room and that's the dining room, although I don't know what I'll do with it."

"Maybe a game room, Sir," said Beth in a quiet voice behind me. Noting the change in tone from how she spoke at the curbside, I led us upstairs.

"This is the master suite. I've got a bathroom up here too, and check this out." I took Beth's hand and walked with her toward the front of the house where the master suite opened to a small second-floor balcony facing the street. I'd set up a table with a couple of chairs.

"This is lovely, R--Ethan. It's so amazing that you were able to get this place." Her voice trailed off.

"Beth, what's the matter?" I said, turning back to her. Her eyes were down. Wordlessly, she slid the straps of her dress from her shoulders and it fell in an instant to the floor.

Fuck. I took her in. A thin silver chain ran between the barbells in her nipples. She wasn't wearing panties, and she was shaved bare, her piercing between her legs catching the light.

I pulled her against me and slid my hand down her back and between her cheeks. My fingers found the jeweled base of a plug. There was no doubt what she had planned for tonight. We kissed, her tongue meeting mine. I cupped her left breast and took the pierced nipple into my mouth. She whimpered.

"You look incredible, Bettie," I said. "But you've been inconsiderate. Steven's out in the yard. He can't see any of this, and you started without him."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"Turn around. Hands on the bed. Five on your ass, and you'll count them."

She bent over and braced herself. "Bettie is Ryan's Slut" was written in small, neat letters just above the crack of her ass. It had obviously been handwritten, and it would have been extremely difficult for Beth to have written that herself. Pandemic isolation meant only Steven could have written it. Whose idea was it? I wondered. "You are my slut, aren't you, Bettie?" I said.

"Yes, Sir."

"You want me to fuck your ass right now, don't you, slut?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, you'll have to wait. One more swat for writing on your skin without permission. Now, count." I spanked her right cheek hard enough to sting my palm.

"One, Sir," she whispered.

I gave her five more in the same spot. She counted each one and kept her voice down. When I finished, my handprint stood out red on her pale skin. We were both breathing harder than usual, and Bettie's legs were shaking. I stood her up and turned her around to face me. Grabbing the chain between her nipples, I pulled her toward me and kissed her panting lips.

"Before we go, I have a present for you. I was going to wait until later to give it to you, but it's clear you're ready for it now."

There was a long velvet box on my dresser. I opened it and turned it to face her. Inside was a silver choker, a fine chain short enough to sit snug at the base of her throat, with a single open ring at the front about the size of a quarter.

"Turn around," I instructed. She lifted her hair, and I fastened the clasp at the back of her neck. The ring settled in the hollow of her throat.

"This is more subtle than that velvet one I gave you. Whenever you're wearing this, I'll know I'm talking to Bettie. Steven is smart; he'll know what it means too. Now, get dressed. Your husband's waiting on his beer."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." She stepped into the dress and pulled the straps up.

We went down to the kitchen. I took two beers from the fridge, she poured herself a glass of rosé, and we carried them out to the yard.

The two of us had only been gone ten or fifteen minutes, and the look of relief on Steven's face was obvious from the other side of the yard. Something flickered across his expression when he saw his wife's new choker. I was picturing him writing on Beth's skin as I handed him a beer. Your wife is my slut, Steven.

"How do you like your burger? Medium well with cheese?" I asked him.

"Yeah, that would be great. Thanks," he said, taking the IPA from my hand. His eyes were locked on Beth, who was kicking the soccer ball with Lucas and Bevo, one hand holding the skirt of her dress down and the other holding her glass of wine.

I cooked the burgers and also a hot dog for Lucas. As I was finishing up, Beth appeared next to me. "Can I help set the table... Sir?" she added.

"Take these to the table, Bettie," I said in my Ryan voice, handing her the plates. "The watermelon salad is in the fridge inside. Get your husband another beer while you're inside too. I'll get Lucas."

"Yes, Sir."

I walked over to Lucas, who was swinging a plastic bat at a Wiffle ball on the tee. He swung and missed, the bat an inch too high. "Hey, buddy," I said. "Try again, but this time keep your eyes on the ball the whole time. Don't look where you're gonna hit it. Just swing at the ball." I remembered what my coaches had told me decades ago playing tee-ball.

Lucas swung again, this time hitting the ball cleanly. It rolled to a stop a few feet short of where his dad was seated at the table, watching us. "Hey! Good job, Lucas." I put my hand out and received a timid high-five. "Come to the table. I made you a hot dog."

"I like hot dogs. Can I have ketchup?"

"Sure, buddy." This was Chicago, but dispensations could be made for little kids. Maybe he'd recognize the error of his ways when he was older. "I'll race you," I declared.

Without hesitation, Lucas took off at a full sprint. He arrived at the table a few moments before I trotted up. "I won!" He grinned.

Beth returned a second later with another beer for Steven and the watermelon salad. I passed out napkins and forks.

Before we started to eat, I raised my beer. "Here's to being in the physical presence of real human beings, and meeting new friends."

"Hear, hear," Beth said, clinking her glass against the lip of my beer. "Thank you for your hospitality... Ethan."

"Yeah, thank you, Ethan." Steven emphasized the last word and clinked his beer against Beth's wine.

We dug in. I'd done a pretty good job on the burgers, if I said so myself. Steven opened up when I started talking about the Cubs and whether the season would actually start in July.

"What do you think about going to universal designated hitter, though?" I asked him.

"I'm for it. I'm not that much of a purist that I love watching a pitcher whiff at meatballs every nine hitters. Better to just have an actual hitter. People want to see interesting at-bats, not free outs."

"True," I said. "But it sure was awesome seeing Kerry Wood hit that home run in the playoffs back in 2003."

"That it was," Steven said. He was from Davenport, Iowa, and was a lifelong Cubs fan like me.

Beth looked between the two of us with a smile on her face.

Bonding over baseball. Classic guy stuff, I thought. Even if everything else about this dinner is weird, at least we have the Cubs.

Dinner was wrapping up, and we still had about an hour before the sun went down. I took Lucas and Steven through the house. Steven's eyes were drawn to my old Nintendo 64 that I'd set up in the living room next to my PlayStation 4. "Nice, is that hooked up?" he asked.

"Not yet. I don't have the cables for it. I need an HDMI cable adapter, I guess." I shrugged. "New TV but old console, you know?"

"You should get a high-end one," he said. "An adapter I mean. The cheap ones put too much lag in the video signal, and it can make playing games really frustrating. I can recommend the one I like." He looked at me. "If you're interested."

"That would be awesome. Thanks, Steven," I said, appreciative. I'd just set it out next to my modern consoles since I had more room in my new, larger living room, but it really would be fun to play Perfect Dark again.

Beth didn't need my help finding the guest room, but I guided her anyway. In the living room, Steven was watching Lucas, who was playing with Bevo. The blow-up twin-sized mattress was comfortable and brand new. I'd bought a dinosaur sheet set for it. "Thanks again for having us over... Ethan," Beth said.

"When we're alone, I want you to be consistent," I told her. "Call me Ryan like you want to. It's too confusing otherwise."

"Yes, Ryan," she said. I could hear the tension leave her voice. "Thank you, Sir."

"Hands on the wall, Bettie." I looked at her with my jaw set. "Three for forgetting my name."

"Yes, Sir."

Without ceremony, I flipped up her dress. My handprint was still visible on her right ass cheek. I gave her three quick, sharp slaps on the other side, lingering on the last and gripping her naked ass. The sound was deadened by the carpet, but I still wondered if Steven could hear. "You've been plugged all night. Did Steven prepare you before coming over?"

"Yes, Sir. After I cleaned myself, Steven shaved and plugged me."

I put my fingers on the jewel of the plug and pushed in, causing Bettie to gasp. Then, grasping the jewel, I pulled the plug partially out, stopping at the widest portion, then quickly drove it back. Bettie moaned in response.

"Good girl. Now, I think it's Lucas's bedtime, isn't it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Get him settled in bed. I'll sit with Steven in the living room. Come see us when you're done."

Steven was seated on the sectional in the living room, sipping at least his fourth beer of the night and staring at the powered-down television screen. Without a word, I sat in my wingback chair and turned the TV on with the app on my phone. I started playing a movie I was sure we'd both seen many times, The Big Lebowski, and the two of us sat in silence for a while as the movie started.

Around the time the rug pissers ruined The Dude's rug, he said, "I'm okay with it, you know. You and Beth, I mean."

"Oh? Okay with what, Steven?" This fucking guy.

"With you... having sex with her," he said, nerves making his voice shaky.

Steven thinks he's doing me some kind of favor? "I don't just 'have sex' with her, Steven. I fuck her ass and we film it for you. And you're not just okay with it." I turned my head to him. He was peeling the label from his IPA. "It was your idea. You love it."

He'd removed the label completely and was looking at the bottle in his hands. "Yes, I do."

Finally, some honesty. I took a sip from my beer. "Look, Steven, you seem like a nice guy, and it seems like you take care of Beth. I appreciate that. She's special to me."

I set my beer on the table next to my chair. "But if we're doing this, I need you to keep being honest about what this is, Steven, and I need you to follow some rules. We'll only do things that all three of us are comfortable with, but we're moving at your wife's pace. If you're going to watch, I need you to remember that Beth and I are people and not just performing for you. Don't touch me or her without permission. Understood?"

The movie filled the silence between us. The Dude was in the bowling alley with his friends. Finally, Steven cleared his throat and said, "I understand. Thank you." Neither of us spoke again for a while.

Beth walked in just as Bunny Lebowski was asking The Dude to blow on her toes. "Hey, boys." She looked from Steven to me then back. Her voice was nervous, too. Steven is one thing, but at least I know how to put Beth at ease.

"Bettie, come sit with me," I said, gesturing to my lap.

Bettie took one last look at her husband, then said, "Yes, Sir," with her head down.

"Chin up, Bettie. Are you sad?"

"No, Sir," she said, cracking a smile as she plopped herself in my lap.

"There's a good girl." I slipped my left arm around Bettie. I traced my right hand up her body from her foot, over her freshly shaved legs, but avoided her pussy then proceeded up over her toned stomach to her large breasts. I cupped one, lightly kneading her nipple. I made eye contact with Steven, who took a thirsty sip of his beer.

I pushed the strap of Bettie's dress down her pale shoulder until it met the crook of her elbow. Her breast was exposed, the pierced pink nipple fully erect in the cool air conditioning. Gently, I tugged on her nipple chain. Bettie gasped then turned her open mouth to me. She had a familiar, glazed look on her face. I'd seen it dozens of times in hotel rooms in the two years we'd been seeing each other. Beth wasn't home at the moment. She was Bettie, unrestrained and uninhibited. Our tongues danced together, only a dozen feet from her husband. I saw him adjust himself in his shorts.

"What do you see, Bettie?" I gestured to the couch with my chin, cradling Bettie with one arm and kneading her erect nipple with the other.

"My husband, Steven. He's trying to pretend his dick isn't about to tear through his shorts. Oooh." I yanked the chain between her nipples.

"Don't be cruel, Bettie. And he's not your husband, is he? He's Beth's husband."

"Yesssss. He's Beth's husband, not Bettie's." Bettie's heart was pounding in her chest. She was so warm.

My right hand slid down Bettie's stomach to her pussy. I cupped it over her dress. "Who does this belong to?" I asked.

"That belongs to--nunnh--Steven."

"And who does the rest of you belong to, Bettie?" I heard a sharp, stuttering inhale from across the room.

Without a second's pause, though, Bettie admitted the truth to everyone in the room. "It belongs to you, Ryan. Everything else is yours."

"Help Beth's husband stand up and lead him upstairs. Don't fix your dress. I'll follow behind you."

Bettie turned and set her feet on the floor then stood. Her breast still uncovered, she walked over to Steven. She bent down and kissed him gently on the lips, then held her hands out. He took each in his and stood. His erection was visible in his shorts even from where I sat across the room. She turned on her heel and pulled him to the hallway that led to the stairs. She looked at me as she passed with that glazed, hungry look from before. Steven kept his eyes on the floor, seemingly avoiding looking at me as he walked by. I fell in behind them, a full step back.

Bettie's dress was still half-off, the strap that I'd slipped from her shoulder hanging loose down her arm. If I'd wanted to, I could have flicked the other strap off her shoulder and the dress would have cascaded down her body. Despite the stress of the pandemic, the years had been kind to Beth. She'd toned up in the time we'd been seeing each other. I admired her calves and glutes flexing and relaxing as she walked up the stairs. Steven's eyes were still fixed on the stairs in front of him. I made eye contact with Bettie when she glanced back at me. Her cheeks and chest were flushed.

Bettie waited with Steven by the door to my bedroom. "Lead Steven inside, Bettie," I said, opening the door for them.

My room was still somewhat sparsely furnished. The bedroom at my apartment had been smaller, so the queen-sized bed, chest of drawers, and single bedside table left a lot of space. I planned on getting a bigger bed, a small desk, another bedside table, and maybe a couch. I'd brought up a folding chair for Steven. It leaned against the wall by the door.

Bettie led Steven into the room, and I closed the door behind us. Her face still had that dreamy expression she got when we were doing an intense Ryan-Bettie scene, but Steven had a look on his face that said, "What am I doing here? I don't know how to behave." I picked up the folding chair and unfolded it for Steven a few feet from the foot of the bed.

I was a head taller than him, and I felt like a giant looking at his shorter, untrained form. "Steven, kiss Bettie, place her hand in mine, then sit," I instructed. I was playing this by ear, although I felt like I knew what Steven wanted--always a dangerous assumption. Nevertheless, Steven replied with a meek "Yes, Sir."

He exhaled a shaky breath and did as he was told. Steven kissed Bettie on the lips, a sweet, chaste kiss, then placed her left hand into mine. I was already kissing Bettie by the time Steven had taken his place on the folding chair. These were hungry, open-mouthed kisses. Bettie moaned loud enough that both Steven and I could hear.

You want me to kiss your wife, Steven? I'll fucking kiss your wife.

I eased Bettie backward toward the bed, then broke our kiss and moved behind her. She was facing Steven, one breast still hanging out of her dress. I flicked the other strap off her shoulder and down her arm. Her other breast spilled out of the dress, the chain clipped to her pierced nipples slack and rising and falling with her rapid breaths.

The dress dropped to the floor. From the chair, Steven had a full view of his wife: the flush across her chest; her full breasts, soft and a little heavy from nursing their son; her cunt, which he'd shaved smooth himself that morning. Her jewelry caught the bright overhead light. There was the silver choker I'd given her before dinner, the barbells through her nipples that she'd gotten on her own as a sign of her freedom to fuck other men, and the piercing through her clit hood that symbolized Steven's sole claim on her pussy.

"Turn around, Bettie. Let him see all of you."

"Yes, Sir." Still wearing her wedges, Bettie stepped out of the floral-print puddle at her feet. She turned around, showing Steven the marks my hand had left on her ass and "Bettie is Ryan's Slut" that he'd written on her.

On the one hand, it felt like a bit much, parading Bettie like this, but I glanced quickly between the two of them, and it was clear they were both into it. Bettie was obviously deep in "subspace," a term she'd introduced me to. As she described it, when we were in Bettie and Ryan mode, something about the tone of my voice and telling her everything I wanted her to do made her feel tingly.

Steven was getting his fantasy, and in person this time. He was going to watch his wife get fucked by another man. I still didn't really understand it. He had this beautiful woman who had given him a child, and he wanted to watch me fuck her. From the look of it, he was ecstatic at the prospect. Disgust was perhaps too strong a word, but something about it felt wrong to me. If Bettie were my wife, I wouldn't have shared her with anyone, least of all a younger man who was, objectively speaking, in a lot better shape than me. I couldn't understand how a man who had someone like Bettie would want to watch someone else take her.

Being a wife meant forsaking all others, right? Of course, it hadn't bothered me being with Bettie, but seeing the lustful look Steven was giving his wife as I was stripping her in front of him made something in my stomach tighten. I had to focus on Bettie and block Steven out.

"Sit on the bed, Bettie. I'll take your shoes off."

"Yes, Ryan," she said, walking past me and climbing backward onto the bed. Her knees were bent with her feet on the duvet. I grabbed one of her calves and pulled her leg toward me, resting her shoe on my chest as I undid the ankle strap. I dropped the wedge with a thud then repeated the process with her other shoe.

"Spread your legs for me, Bettie."

Biting her lip, she spread her legs and slid closer to the edge of the bed. I wanted to pounce on her cunt, but I wanted to play this out. I kissed up her thighs, alternating left and right until my lips reached her mons. I kissed her labia gently, then flicked my tongue at the barbell through her clit hood. I knew the ball in my mouth had an "S" engraved on it, but I didn't care. I respected that boundary for Bettie. The alleged claim of the man watching behind me had nothing to do with it.

She was already wet. I licked her slowly from bottom to top with the flat of my tongue, then circled her clit without touching it. Her thighs tightened against my ears. I slid my hands under her and lifted her hips to my mouth, my thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of her ass.

"Steven," she said, out of breath. "Are you watching? Are you watching him eat me?"

A dry voice mumbled the affirmative.

I closed my lips around her clit and sucked gently, flicking the barbell with the tip of my tongue. Her heels dug into my back. When she started to grind, I pulled away and went back to long, slow licks until she whimpered.

"Ryan, please. I'm so close. Steven, he's sucking on my clit. Oh, he's so good, baby."

I teased her twice more, bringing her close and then letting her drop, until her stomach was trembling and the duvet under her was wet. Soon, Bettie's hand was on the back of my head, and her hips were rolling against my tongue. "Oh, Ryan. That's it. I'm so close. Please, Sir. Don't stop. Baby, he's gonna make me cuuuuum!" She muffled the last part, screaming into a pillow as she came undone beneath my tongue, her hips bucking her pussy into my face. I lifted my head and kissed her thigh again. She lay panting on the bed.

I let her lie there for a moment while I took the lube from my bedside table and set it on the bed beside her. Her eyes blinked open. "Come on, Bettie. It's time to show Steven how things go when he's not around. First, take off my clothes."

"Yes, Sir," she said, sitting up and sliding off the bed. I'd left my shoes downstairs, so she started by unbuttoning my jeans. She reached into my underwear and pulled out my cock, already fully erect. She looked up at me with a smile before taking it into her mouth, running her tongue along the underside of my glans as she worked my jeans and underwear down my legs. Releasing me from her warm mouth, she pulled them off my feet along with my socks. When she stood again, she pulled the bottom of my shirt up, but she wasn't quite tall enough to get it all the way off. I did the rest, my dick pressing into her navel.

"I'm going to fuck your ass, Bettie, and your husband is going to watch." I put my hand on the back of her neck. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Yes, Sir," she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

I picked up the lube, uncapped it, and handed it to her. She squirted a generous glob in her hand and rubbed it up and down my cock. "His dick is so big, Steven. So much bigger than yours. He's about to fucking split me open with it too." I heard movement behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw Steven had been craning his neck, trying to see this apparently massive, seven-inch cock of mine. Steven quickly sat back in his chair when he caught me looking.

"Remember, Steven," I said, turning around so he could see. My dick waved in an arc as I turned my feet. His eyes flicked to my cock. "No touching without permission."

"Yes... can I call you 'Ryan' too... Sir?" he asked, dropping his gaze.

"Stevie, when you ask Sir for something, you need to look him in the eye." Bettie stood behind me, her hand snaking around my waist and stroking my cock from behind. Her tone mirrored how I spoke when I was being Ryan. It occurred to me that this woman who so completely played the submissive (or "bottom" role as Beth explained to me it was called back in the fall) for Ryan/me was "topping" her husband. I supposed I was topping him now too.

"Sir," Steven said, looking up at me and struggling to keep his eyes there, "may I call you Ryan, too?"

"Good boy," Bettie said, the fingers of her small hand running along the shaft of my cock, which was absolutely rock hard only a couple of feet from Steven's face.

"Yes, Stevie. You may call me Ryan," I said. "On the bed, Bettie. Make eye contact with Stevie. I want him to see your face as I fuck that tight ass of yours." I thought I was laying it on a little too thick, but again my audience seemed to love it. Bettie seemed frozen for a beat, so I pulled on her nipple chain. She gasped. "Now. Bettie." Then I snatched the bottle of lube from her hand.

"Yes, Sir." She climbed onto the bed, getting on her hands and knees with her ass in the air. She stared straight ahead at her husband. I walked around the other side of the bed, climbed onto it, and moved over to Bettie on my knees. I saw the gem of her butt plug glinting in the overhead light. With no warning, I started pulling it out, drawing a gasp from Bettie. She'd been wearing her large butt plug, over three inches long and wide at the base. I wrapped it in a tissue from my bedside table and set it aside.

Bettie's ass gaped in front of me, open and ready. I lined my lubed dick up with her asshole and pushed myself inside her slowly, feeling the velvet grip of her tight muscle around me.

"Unnnnggh," moaned Bettie. "Fuck, I've missed this dick, Ryan. Stevie, it's so fucking good. He's stretching my asshole so much." I had inched forward and was about halfway inside her.

"Is his dick bigger than mine?" Stevie swallowed. "Does it feel good, honey?"

"His dick is so much fucking bigger than yours, Stevie. It feels fucking amazing. I'm so full. You could never fill me up like this." Bettie was rocking backward against me, pushing me further inside her. "Take your shorts off, Stevie. Let me see that little dick of yours."

Stevie nodded and stood, then dropped his shorts in a flash. He was wearing loose cotton briefs, but his erection was obvious.

"Take off your little panties too. Let Ryan see your little dick."

Stevie pulled down his briefs and stepped out of them, leaving him wearing only his shirt and socks. His dick wasn't really all that little. It seemed normal to me. I was bigger, sure, but I was also about eight inches taller than Stevie. I'd seen smaller dicks in gym locker rooms.

There was something about the scene, though, that kicked me into a higher gear. I'd fully seated myself in Bettie's ass and was working in and out of her. My dick was hard, apparently excited by my... girlfriend?, her tight ass, and the power we were wielding over her husband.

I am fucking a woman's ass, and her husband is standing right here watching us as she insults his dick, I thought. I put my hands on Bettie's hips and held her tight as I pounded into her ass. It wasn't going to be much longer.

"Sir... unnnngh... may I touch him?" Bettie was struggling to speak between heavy breathing and moans.

"You can touch his hand only," I growled. "You're mine right now. Stevie can have you back when I'm done with this tight fucking ass, Bettie."

Bettie reached out her left hand and grabbed Stevie's. "Oooooh, Stevie. I'm so close. He's going to make me fucking cum again!" He stood there with his dick erect, holding his wife's left hand in his two. Bettie's head dropped, and she leaned more of her weight on Stevie. I was fucking her ass hard now with long strokes, pulling my dick nearly all of the way out on each cycle, the way I knew she liked it. In quieter moments in bed months ago, she'd told me the back and forth between stretching her asshole and feeling full was what did it for her. In the right circumstances, she'd even been able to cum this way without either one of us working her clit.

Out. I felt the tight ring of muscle at her entrance massage the length of my dick like a tight mouth running from the base to my glans. In. The same massage in reverse until my hips met the softness of her butt, my dick enveloped in the lubricated warm tightness of her ass. Out. In. Out. In.

Bettie was struggling not to scream, Beth still deep inside her and not wanting to wake her sleeping son downstairs. Her legs started to shake. It was close. Stevie must have felt it too. He stepped forward another half-step. Bettie buried her face in his soft stomach and screamed as her second orgasm tore through her.

Her body gripped me harder as she came, like a hundred strong fingers were rubbing my cock. It was all I needed, and I erupted inside her, filling her bowels with cum. "Uuuuuuungh," I groaned, pushing Bettie's head into Stevie as my orgasm crested. She was still holding Stevie's hand. As the initial wave of intense release passed and was replaced by tingly contentment, I noticed a bead of liquid glistening on the end of Stevie's dick. I had just fucked his wife in front of him, and here he was, about ready to pop.

I felt another wave of near disgust at Stevie. Where is his self-respect? I thought. My erection was flagging, and I pulled myself out of Bettie's ass, her tightness still squeezing hard on my softening dick. When I was fully out, I looked down at her ass, reddened and covered in a mixture of lube and cum. "Stevie, climb up here and clean your wife," I demanded. He was on the bed in a flash, and had his face in Bettie's ass a second later. "That's it, Stevie. Eat my cum. Slurp it up, you dirty fuck." I stifled the urge to hold his face in his wife's ass, and anyway, he didn't need any encouragement from me. He was licking and slurping like his life depended on it.

When he was done, Bettie's asshole was probably cleaner than it ever had been. Bettie unbent her waist and turned around on the bed. She kissed Stevie and embraced him, then pulled him down with her onto the bed, the two of them lying on their sides facing each other. Bettie reached between them and took hold of his dick. Her touch alone was enough. Stevie cried out, and shot his load all over Bettie's stomach and chest. "Ooooooooooohhhh, fuck, Beth!"

"That's right, baby. I'm here. I'm still here." Bettie, or rather, Beth now, cooed in a calm voice to her husband. "I love you, Steven."

I thought I saw the glimmer of tears in Steven's eyes. I could only guess at what was going on inside that head of his. Guilt? Relief? Or was it just sheer overwhelm? He pulled her tight against him.

Suddenly feeling like I didn't belong in this scene, I went to my bathroom and grabbed a hand towel, then handed it to Beth. She smiled and mouthed "Thank you, Sir" then wiped down her chest and stomach. Next, she wiped off Steven's stomach and dick. He took a shuddering breath.

We didn't say much after that as we moved to dress ourselves. Whatever this had been, it was over. I washed my dick off in the sink in my bathroom, then slipped on a pair of stretchy cotton shorts and an old UT shirt I liked to sleep in. Beth and Steven dressed in silence, then Beth washed off her butt plug in the sink and secreted it into a pocket in her dress. We walked down the stairs and stood in front of the guest room where Lucas was asleep. I heard a sound machine playing the sound of a pounding thunderstorm inside when Steven opened the door. A moment later, he walked out carrying their son, who was completely dead to the world.

Beth retrieved the sound machine and a few other things from the guest room and shoved them in the bag. Bevo looked up from his dog bed, then set his head back down. As we walked toward the front door, Steven said, "I don't think I should drive," his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I'll drive, babe," Beth said. I walked down the dark pathway to their car. Steven loaded Lucas into the car. Beth turned around to face me, then said quietly, "Ryan, please let's do this again soon. I don't know if I can last another four months without you. I've... really missed you." She wrapped her arms around me.

I kissed the top of her head. "We'll see each other soon. I've missed you too. We'll figure this out."

I heard the car door close. Steven turned toward us like he wanted to say something, but then just nodded at me, opened the front passenger-side door, and slipped inside. Beth lingered in the hug a moment longer, then said, "Good night, Ethan. Thank you for... well, you know."

"For fucking your ass, Bettie?" I said, with a small grin on my face.

"Yes, we must be precise in our language, Ryan. Thank you for fucking my ass. Please do it again soon." She pressed her soft lips against mine. "Good night, Sir."

She crossed in front of the car and climbed inside. A few seconds later, the engine started and they rolled away. I watched their taillights for a few blocks before they vanished into the dark, nearly moonless night.