Triad
By Gato Medio

Third Chapter: The 'Short Talk'

Helen insisted on serving us breakfast in bed. "That's
what mates are for," she said. But the way she pronounced
the word, it sounded more like "maids". She was wearing
once again the French maid's apron and nothing else.

This was the day when Cathy and I were scheduled to make
our guest appearance at the ALT-conference. We felt
tempted to ring the organizers and tell them we wouldn't
be able to make it because of 'domestic problems', but
Helen persuaded us to go. She said she was going to sit
in the front row and lend moral support.

Luckily, our talk wasn't very early in the morning. We
had enough time for some very hot kisses and other
demonstrations of the affection we felt for each other.
But we refrained from engaging in any full-scale
lovemaking.

We got to the hotel with plenty of time to clarify any
last-minute questions with the organizers. The room where
our talk was going to take place was already half full
when we arrived there, and was filling up quickly. We
hadn't expected that our topic would generate so much
interest.

Helen was wearing a see-through blouse and a micro skirt,
and nothing else. That there was no bra covering her
beautiful breasts was obvious to anyone who looked at her
- and there were many who did. That she wasn't wearing
any panties under her tiny skirt she told us as we were
getting onto the podium to conduct our talk.

"Watch out when I cross and uncross my legs," she said.
"You might get a look at my pussy." And that's what we
did: watch her cross and uncross her long, slender legs,
while one of the organizers introduced today's guest
speakers.

The first time, I only had a slight suspicion that there
might be something different about her pussy. But when
she shifted in her seat the second time, I was sure:
there was something inserted into her pussy. What could
it be?

"A vibrator," Cathy whispered to me, while the organizer
said many complimentary things about the dictionary Cathy
and I had compiled. I had the impression that Cathy was
catching on to this mind-reading business. She could
probably see from my face that a question was tormenting
me, and it wasn't too difficult to guess what that
question was.

A vibrator! Helen had slipped a vibrator into her pussy.
And she took something out of her handbag which looked
distinctly like a remote control! She was going to
stimulate herself while we were giving our talk! I
wondered how obvious my hard-on was to the people in the
audience.

I could tell from Helen's face that she considered the
whole scenario hilarious. So, that was what she called
'lend moral support'! I felt like tanning her bottom
there and then, right in front of this highly-respectable
assembly of cunning linguists.

I had prepared some notes for the talk without really
expecting that I would need them. Figurative language is
a subject close to my heart. I can talk about it for
hours and - according to Cathy - bore everybody to death.

But now my mind was a complete blank. I didn't know who
or where I was. All I knew was that there was a woman
sitting in front of me who was stimulating herself with a
vibrator in her pussy.

I knew exactly what I wanted to do to her. I wanted to
take her home, shove that vibrator as deep as possible
into her pussy and switch it to the maximum speed. Then I
would bend her over my knee and spank her naughty bottom
until she'd beg me to forgive her. That was crystal clear
to me. But I didn't have a clue what all those people in
the audience expected from me.

I had to refer to my notes. I read them almost word for
word. They talked about the difficulties in translating
figurative language. Some metaphors were of a universal
nature and didn't present any problems to the translator.
But the vast majority only made sense within a certain
cultural or geographic context and required a lot of
attention and sensitivity.

"The phrase 'You are my sunshine' only makes sense in
regions where the sun is a welcome visitor, where there
isn't enough sunshine," it said in my notes. "In areas
where the red hot sun castigates man and beast, destroys
crops, turns the ground into a furnace, the phrase loses
its romantic charm. 'You are my rain cloud,' or maybe
'You are my shadow,' might be more appropriate."

I had planned to elaborate on these ideas, cite further
examples, talk about expressions containing references to
sports which were practiced in some but not in other
countries - but I had lost interest.

I didn't care about the red hot sun in faraway places.
There was a red hot woman sitting less than twenty yards
away, flashing her pussy at me. I wasn't interested in
fucking metaphors. I was interested in fucking that
devastating woman in the first row.

Cathy was just as distracted by Helen's antics as I was.
She didn't seem to be able to string more than three
words together. Those members of the audience who
formulated carefully worded, elaborate questions only
received monosyllabic answers.

Our 'short talk' turned out to be even shorter than had
been expected. In other words: it was a disaster. There
was polite applause as I removed myself and my erection
from the podium. I was sure that they would never invite
us back.

In a best-case scenario the organizers might conclude
that Cathy and I were quite capable of compiling a useful
dictionary in the seclusion of our ivory tower, but
weren't articulate enough to talk about it in public. In
the worst case they might think we were complete frauds
and had published somebody else's work under our names.

                         -----

As soon as we arrived home, I grabbed Helen and flung her
over my knee. I pushed her miniscule skirt up and - this
time being grateful that she wasn't wearing any panties -
started to spank her brat-bottom. I was going to make her
feel what I thought of her behavior. I was going to give
her all the disciplining which she had apparently never
received as a child.

Helen didn't offer any resistance. She didn't strain
against my iron grip or try to wriggle her bottom out of
my hand's line of fire. She had probably known for some
time what my intention was, that she had a spanking
coming her way, but she didn't do anything to avoid it.

I wanted Helen to tell us how sorry she was about her
behavior. I wanted her to ask us to forgive her and to
promise that she would never again do such a thing, maybe
even beg for mercy. But she didn't say a word. She
endured her punishment without as much as a whimper.

As her cheeks turned from pink to red, I decided to give
Helen another chance for repentance. "Say you're sorry.
Say you didn't mean any harm," I encouraged her, but she
just shook her head and wiggled her bottom, inciting me
to carry on.

Without me wanting it to, this had turned into a standoff
between Helen and me. If I stopped without her
apologizing, then I would lose all authority. On the
other hand, I wasn't mad nor cruel enough to cause her
serious pain, just to preserve my ego. I continued
spanking her without much conviction.

When Helen's cheeks turned crimson, I stopped. "Okay, you
win," I panted, realizing that my arm hurt from the
exertion.

Helen raised herself off my knee and hugged me. "Thank
you, Stan. That was fantastic," she said with tears in
her eyes. "We've got to do this more often."

Then she took a step away from me. "Now you've got to
fuck me just as hard as you've slapped my bottom," she
said, as she took off her skirt and blouse. When I saw
her remove the vibrator from her pussy, I remembered that
it had been my intention to switch that device to
maximums speed and push it as deep as possible inside
her, but I had forgotten my plan in the heat of the
moment.

"Don't worry, it was on maximum all the time," Helen
said, once more responding to something I had only
thought but never said.

'Maybe that's why my punishment had been so ineffective.
The vibrator pleasured her pussy while I was thrashing
her bottom,' I thought to myself.

Helen was already lying on the carpet with her legs
spread invitingly, when I came out of my contemplation.
"Come on, caveman," she smiled at me. I flung my clothes
in all directions and was on top of her in no time. It
was a fast and furious fuck. As I entered her, her pussy
offered as little resistance as her bottom had.

It didn't take me long to fill her welcoming hole with my
spunk. This wasn't the first time that I wished I had a
little more staying power, the ability to control myself
a little longer. Helen didn't seem to mind. She kissed me
and said, "Thank you, Sir. I promise that I'll be a good
girl from now on."

But somehow it didn't sound very convincing. And maybe I
didn't really want her to be a good girl.

                         -----

"Have you ever spanked Cathy?" Helen asked as we were
devouring the snack Cathy had prepared for the three of
us.

I shook my head, my mouth full of turkey sandwich.

"Did you never feel like spanking her? Don't tell me
she's never given you any reason." Helen stayed on the
subject.

Of course, I had felt like spanking Cathy. Of course, I
thought that she had given me reason to do it. But that
reason had been the trigger for many of our past
quarrels. And now we were at peace with each other. Our
feelings for each other had probably never been as
intense as they had become over the last two days. I
didn't want to spoil that happiness by opening old
wounds. On the other hand, I realized that the thought of
giving Cathy a good spanking - with or without reason -
attracted me. But not now, not today. My hand still felt
sore after the walloping I had given Helen.

"Your hesitation tells me that there is a reason, but you
don't want to talk about it. If you want, I can say it
for you." Helen offered to read my mind out aloud.

That would have been even worse. I could tell the story
as something which happened in the past, use a
conciliatory tone of voice, imply that it didn't matter
anymore. I was convinced that Helen's version would be
much more confrontational. And I didn't want any
confrontation with Cathy.

I could tell from Cathy's face that she knew exactly what
I was thinking of. Should I come out with it?

My deliberations were interrupted by the doorbell. The
three workmen from the home gym place had come to deliver
and install the equipment for our torture-chamber. I felt
relief that Helen would now have to dedicate herself to
instructing the workmen where to put everything.

Cathy and I watched the laborers carry the equipment into
our former storage room, unpack it and install it under
Helen's supervision. The only thing I could clearly
identify was a large, low table, made of polished wood,
which was placed into the center of the room and fixed to
the floor. Apart from this there were iron bars, weights,
chains, ropes and a variety of other gadgets I couldn't
even begin to describe.

Helen knew exactly what everything was and where she
wanted it. Once more I admired the silent cooperation
between the three Chinese. They went about their job
quietly and efficiently. Although we were curious, Cathy
and I watched from a distance in order not to get in the
way. The room would have been too small for Helen, the
three Chinese, and the two of us as well.

While I watched the transformation of our former storage
room into a torture-chamber, I had some chance to reflect
on the subject we had been talking about - or rather
avoided talking about - before we were interrupted.

                         -----

I felt relieved that the arrival of the Chinese trio had
interrupted our conversation. But maybe now was the time
to settle this score. It wasn't an old and forgotten
story. It was still going on, every time it was my turn
to host our weekly poker game. Maybe we could use Helen
as the arbiter and let her decide who was right and who
was behaving unreasonably. I was sure I knew in whose
favor she would decide.
     
     I don't know exactly when it started, but for as
     long as I can remember I have been getting together
     once a week with a few friends to play poker. I'm
     not an obsessive gambler; the stakes we play for are
     so low, they don't make any difference to our
     budget, no matter whether I win or lose. It's just a
     habit - Cathy calls it a ritual. We meet, play a few
     rounds of poker, have a few drinks, shoot the
     breeze, tell a few jokes, and then stagger home.
     
     In the beginning we used to meet in a bar. We even
     had a fixed table that was reserved for us every
     Wednesday evening. As everybody settled down, got
     married and had their own home, we found it more
     comfortable to meet in each other's houses, taking
     turns in being the host.
     
     At the moment, the group consists of Eddy, Hank,
     Bill and Timothy - and me, of course. Eddy is the
     only one who lives on his own; all the others are
     married. My friends' wives accept, more or less
     gracefully, that this is something we don't want to
     give up. And with five people taking turns, it
     happens less than once a month in each house.
     
     Apart from Cathy, who I'll get to in a moment,
     Bill's wife, Sue, has shown the strongest
     opposition. She simply clears out of the house as
     soon as the first player arrives and spends the
     evening with Meg, Hank's wife. She only returns
     after everybody has gone. But even she leaves a
     whole bunch of sandwiches in the fridge so that we
     have something to munch when we get hungry.
     
     Lucy, Tim's wife is the most welcoming of the four
     women. She sits in an armchair near the poker table.
     She seems to have a sixth sense which tells her when
     it's okay for her to join our conversation and when
     it's better to remain quiet. And she knows
     instinctively when someone needs another beer.
     
     Cathy is dead set against me having my friends over
     when it's my turn to play the host. She refuses to
     answer the door when they arrive - even when I'm
     busy in the kitchen, making sandwiches, because she
     refuses to prepare anything for us. Needless to say,
     she also refuses to help me clean up after my
     friends have left. While they are in the house, she
     locks herself into one of the rooms upstairs and
     plays music - classical music - just to let us know
     what kind of morons she thinks we are.
     
     Now, I'll admit freely that my friends and I don't
     exactly behave like one would at a vicar's tea
     party. We use language one wouldn't use in the
     presence of a ten year old girl, and we can get a
     little noisy when we get excited, particularly after
     we've had a few drinks. But Cathy's reaction is way
     over the top.
     
     The morning after, Cathy talks about my infantile
     need for male bonding. She calls my friends cavemen
     and says she doesn't want them to set foot in her
     house ever again. When I'm in a good mood, I let her
     insults pass without response. I might even mouth
     some half-hearted apology. But usually I'm not in a
     good mood. Usually I have a hangover after having
     drunk more than I should, because I was furious
     about Cathy's behavior. Usually I don't accept any
     criticism of me or my friends. I remind Cathy that
     this is not her house, but ours, that I have as many
     rights as she has. I don't cede an inch and we have
     an almighty row.
     
     These fights have become a permanent feature of our
     relationship. I could almost mark them in advance on
     the calendar. The day after I host the poker game is
     the day for an argument. It got to the point that I
     asked my friends a few times to skip me when it was
     my turn. I said something about problems with the
     plumbing and that the house wasn't in a condition to
     receive visitors. They smiled knowingly; I'm sure
     they have a very clear idea what the real problem
     is. Tim once took me aside, put his arm around my
     shoulders, and said, "I understand, Stan. There's a
     price to pay for keeping such a classy lady happy."
     
     At this stage I owe them three, maybe four meetings
     at my house.
     
I was sure that any reasonable person would agree that I
had been treated badly. I was sure that Helen would take
my side. But Helen was a woman. Maybe she too had a hang-
up about men getting together to play cards and tell
dirty jokes?

                         -----

Cathy watched with great interest as our torture-chamber
started to take shape. Occasionally she would remark, to
no one in particular, "I wonder what this is for," or
exclaim, "Gee, that looks frightening." I wondered
whether this was purely curiosity, whether she had
ambitions to become a torture-master, or whether she was
contemplating a first-hand experience of these gadgets.

I, too, was amazed to see the large variety of gismos we
would have available to us. In spite of my sarcastic
comment about gyms being like torture-chambers I had my
doubts that any normal gym offered so many different ways
of causing discomfort.

                         -----

"Time to start playing," Helen announced as soon as the
men from the gym shop had left. She shed the clothes she
had put on when the installers arrived and led us into
the sparkling new discipline den.

It was an impressive sight. The wall facing the door was
covered with all kinds of whips, canes, ropes, chains and
other contrivances, each one held in place by its own
fixture and readily available for use by whoever was in
charge. There were also a few shelves. That wall almost
looked like the space over a well-organized mechanic's
workbench.

The table in the center of the room looked like a
billiards table for midgets, without the green felt
cover. It was too low for any normal-sized person to play
on it, but I never believed that this was its intended
purpose. There were no legs; the top consisted of two
large wooden rectangles with a narrow gap in the middle
and was supported by a solid wooden base, almost as large
as the table top itself.

All around the table, I noticed a large number of heavy-
duty straps, obviously intended to hold the person lying
on top of the table in the desired position. There were
many other gadgets fitted to the remaining walls, some of
which were clearly intended to restrain a victim, others
without any obvious purpose.

"We've still got to do something about the lighting,"
Helen declared. "It's much too bright in here. We'll get
rid of most of the electric light and use candles
instead. That makes it much more romantic."

This was the first time I heard somebody use the
adjective 'romantic' in connection with a torture-
chamber.

"A torture-master," Helen explained while we took off our
clothes, following her example, "isn't someone who wants
to hurt people, or enjoys watching them suffer. Good
torture-masters love their victims. They cause pain
because that pain intensifies the pleasure the victim
will feel in the end. To cause the maximum pain and
achieve the maximum pleasure requires skill and
sensitivity."

"But this isn't only about physical pain," Helen
continued as she pushed me back against the wall.

I had removed all my clothes and the presence of two
stunning naked females had encouraged my cock to raise
its head. Helen closed a kind of cuff around my neck
which made it impossible for me to move away from the
wall. Cuffs around my biceps, wrists and ankles clicked
as she closed them. I realized that these cuffs had been
fixed to the wall to restrain a man of my exact shape and
stature.

"A large part of the excitement comes from being so
completely vulnerable. Knowing that the master can do
whatever he or she wants, and not knowing what will
happen next creates a lot of tension."

Helen had been stroking my cock. Now her hand moved a
little lower and she squeezed my balls until they hurt.
All I could do was gasp and roll my eyes in agony.

"This tension is released when the victim is finally
allowed to climax and this is what makes the orgasm much
more powerful than would be possible under normal
circumstances."

Moving away from me, Helen turned towards Cathy who had
watched my imprisonment with a mixture of horror and
envy.

Helen took Cathy's hand and led her to the opposite
corner of the room where she released a catch. A large
padded beam swung from its fittings and moved down and
away from the wall. It was held by levers on either end.
As the beam moved lower, legs appeared so that the whole
contraption ended up looking like a trestle, standing
firmly on the floor.

'A caning horse!' my brain signaled to me.

Helen led Cathy closer to the padded bar, until her
abdomen almost touched the leather. Then she made her
bend over the beam and attached her wrists and ankles to
loops which were fitted to the legs of the trestle. Cathy
did not utter a word, nor did she offer any resistance.

I shuddered. How could any sensible person in their right
mind enter this gym of horrors out of their own free will
and submit themselves to the whim of a 'torture-master'?
But, didn't I consider myself a sensible person? Hadn't I
come in here out of curiosity, without anybody forcing me
to? Hadn't I allowed Helen to pin me to the wall, make it
impossible for me to move? And wasn't I sporting one of
the hardest hard-ons I could remember?

"Another part of the thrill comes from being humiliated,
being forced to do things one doesn't want to do, but has
no choice. Or being displayed to others who watch the
punishment.

"Do you still remember, Cathy, what it felt like when you
were called to the front of the class for a caning?"

"I do," Cathy confirmed, barely loud enough for me to
hear.

I was amazed. Cathy had never told me that she had been
subjected to physical punishment at school. But then, I
had never asked specifically about this subject. I had
assumed that the practice had been abolished a long time
ago. Was it still going on in little hillbilly towns like
the one Cathy came from?

"Do you remember how you used to pee yourself out of fear
when you were waiting for the cane to come down on your
bottom?"

"I do," Cathy repeated, even quieter than the last time.

How did Helen know all this? Within a few days Helen had
found out things which Cathy had never told me about in
years of living together!

"I'd better take some precautions before you defile our
brand new pleasure palace," Helen said as she placed a
rubber mat on the floor between Cathy's legs and put a
large bowl on top of it.

The cane made a swishing noise as it moved through the
air. But Helen brought it to a dead stop before it
touched the tender globes of Cathy's bottom. When the
cane made contact, it was a gentle pat. Cathy screamed
nonetheless. She had had plenty of time to prepare for
the intense pain the cane would cause, and she released
all that tension even though the pain didn't materialize.
And as she screamed, I could see a stream of liquid flow
from between her legs into the bowl beneath.

I realized that this wasn't only about physical pain. It
was about torturing the mind as well. It seemed that the
mere mention of the fact that she used to wet herself as
a child had made Cathy lose control of her bladder.

Helen performed her psycho-terror twice more. The cane
whizzed through the air, stopped, and then touched
Cathy's bottom ever so lightly. Cathy screamed and
released more liquid every time the cane made contact.

As soon as Helen untied her, Cathy's hands went
instinctively to her bottom, searching for signs of her
caning. Cathy was apparently convinced that her bottom
had been punished with great ferocity.

"Get rid of this for me," Helen said as she handed Cathy
the half-filled bowl, "and clean yourself before you come
back, you despicable girl."

While Cathy was out of the room, Helen busied herself
with the preparations for the next act. She got a wide
strap which looked like a piece of strong Velcro from one
of the shelves on the tool-wall and unhooked a rope which
brought two loops down from the ceiling. The loops were
hanging down between the end of the table and the tool-
wall, each one close to its corresponding lateral wall
and at a considerable distance from each other.

When Cathy returned, obviously feeling ashamed about her
display of incontinence, Helen told her to release me
from my restraints. "I need a strong man for my next
trick," she said.

"We didn't only build this place so that I could play
with you," Helen started. She interrupted herself when
she noticed that Cathy was struggling to open my cuffs.

"There's a little button at the side of each cuff. Press
it and the cuff opens," she informed Cathy. My erection
poked against Cathy's abdomen as she freed my neck from
its restraint.

"The main reason for creating this pleasure palace was
that you wanted to hear me scream, you wanted me to lose
my composure," Helen resumed her discourse. "This is how
we do it: You tie my arms behind my back with this strap.
Then you fit my ankles into those two loops and you pull
me up until I'm hanging upside down from the ceiling.
When you've done that, I'll give you further
instructions."

She was serious about this. She was going to satisfy our
curiosity by letting us watch her suffer, having us make
her suffer.

Helen placed herself face down on the table and put her
hands behind her back. She insisted that I bring her arms
together at the elbows and then wrap the strap around
them several times before fastening it. I imagined that
the position this left her in must have been very
uncomfortable, her shoulders pulled back and her chest
pushed forward.

We had to pull the loops to the center of the room in
order to fit them around Helen's ankles. It was clear
that, once she was suspended, they would exert a
considerable sideways pull, forcing her legs apart. When
she was securely fastened to the loops, I pulled on the
rope to lift her upwards and Cathy made sure that she
didn't bump against the edge of the table as her body
swung in the air. As I had expected, her legs were spread
wide.

"Now let me down until my head almost touches the floor,"
Helen instructed me and I followed her order. Her
beautiful black hair swept the floor as her body swung
gently to and fro.

"Cathy, get the cat-o'-nine-tails from the wall, the one
in the middle, and whip my sex twenty times. Don't stop
before you reach twenty, no matter how much I scream.
It's best if you stand behind me and aim right into the
center between my legs."

I was horrified. How could anybody do something like this
to a woman? How could anyone treat the center of female
sensitivity with so much cruelty? How could anyone ask to
be whipped like this?

Cathy didn't flinch. She was determined to do her best to
make Helen scream and she didn't have to wait long. Right
from the first stroke, Helen's screams reverberated
through the house. I pressed my thighs together every
time the lashes hit Helen's sex - but my hard-on
continued undiminished.

Cathy's face showed one hundred percent concentration.
She had been given an assignment and she wanted to
complete it to the best of her ability. Was she looking
for a pat on the back from Helen? Something like, "Thanks
for whipping me like crazy, I've never suffered so much
in my life."

Helen screamed in agony whenever the whip punished her
exposed pussy. But there was never any suggestion that
she didn't want this to happen, that she wanted Cathy to
stop. Her screams were simply a reaction to the pain she
experienced, and that pain was part of some higher
purpose I didn't quite understand.

As soon as Cathy had completed the specified twenty
assaults, I untied Helen's arms, lifted her onto the
table and slipped the loops off her ankles. As Helen lay
on her back, catching her breath, it seemed that the pain
had not affected her usual positive mood and her
determination to carry on with this madness.

"There's a drawer in the right side of the table," Helen
said to Cathy. "Open it and get the set of clamps with
the rings attached."

'Set of clamps? What on earth was she up to now?' my mind
wondered.

Cathy found the drawer and opened it. It resembled a
jeweler's display cabinet. Inside there was a large
number of gadgets, laid out neatly on black velvet like
precious jewelry.

Cathy got the specified items and closed the drawer.
"These are nipple clamps," she explained to me. As if she
were an expert on these things!

"It's a set of three, we'll need all three of them,"
Helen stated. Cathy opened the drawer again and found the
third member of the set.

I didn't have much time to think about what this all
meant, because Helen now instructed me to release another
rope which was fixed to the opposite wall. When I let the
rope go, I saw three thin chains, each one with a little
hook at its end, come down from the ceiling. They were
running over a wheel, an arrangement which resembled a
pulley.

The nipple clamps had padded semi-circular grips which
closed firmly around Helen's nipples as Cathy fitted
them. There was a small clasp which snapped into place to
prevent the clamp from slipping off accidentally. Next,
Helen instructed Cathy to slip the rings attached to the
nipple clamps over the hooks which were dangling from the
ceiling. I shuddered to think what the purpose of these
preparations might be. The final step was to attach the
third clamp to Helen's clit and hook it to the third
chain.

The chains were attached to a small drum which was fitted
with a crank. When the crank was turned, the drum would
rotate and tighten the chain. The effect of this would be
that the chain would pull Helen's nipples upward.

And that was exactly what Helen instructed Cathy to do.
As Cathy cranked the drum slowly but steadily, the chain
first stretched Helen's nipples, then her entire breasts.
Soon Helen had to lift her upper body off the table to
reduce the strain on her nipples.

But that didn't seem to be enough discomfort for Helen.
She told Cathy to also tighten the chain which was
attached to her clit. I could see Helen strain to push
her pussy up, to accompany the upward move of the clamp
without losing contact with the table completely. There
came a point when this mysterious woman was suspended in
the air, just held by the three chains attached to her
nipples and clit. There was an almighty scream which left
no doubt that she had experienced a powerful orgasm.
Cathy quickly released the chains and let Helen's body
float down onto the table.

I was utterly devastated by what I had witnessed. My mind
didn't even want to contemplate what kind of agony a
woman must feel being suspended by her nipples and clit.
And this agony had resulted in a powerful orgasm for
Helen! Was there some truth in this talk of pleasure
through pain? Did this kind of suffering condition the
body to experience more intense pleasure?

I couldn't help thinking what a sensational and strange
woman Helen was. She had basically put herself into our
hands, and let us do with her what we wanted. She had
offered Cathy and me her magnificent body so that we
could realize fantasies we hadn't even allowed ourselves
to admit to.

For lack of a better word, she had turned into our slave.
Our fantasies had apparently not been outrageous enough
to stretch her to the limit. She had taken it upon
herself to teach us new ways of abusing her. Yet at the
same time the impression that she was really the one who
called the shots never left me.

The scene we had witnessed had a stimulating effect on
Cathy. But rather than contemplation, she wanted action.
"I'm so hot, Stan. You've got to fuck me."

Helen had recovered from her orgasm and joined in. "You
deserve something special, Cathy, you were wonderful. You
seem to have a hidden talent for this kind of thing. Why
don't you let Stan fuck your ass while I lick your juicy
cunt?"

This wouldn't be the first time I'd fuck Cathy's ass. I
had done it before, but it wouldn't be much of an
exaggeration to say that anal sex in our relationship
happened with roughly the same frequency as February
29th. Cathy had made it clear that she didn't 'feel
comfortable' with me sticking my cock into her rear and I
didn't consider it important enough to make a federal
case out of it.

Now, because Helen had suggested it (or maybe because
Helen had indicated that she wanted to eat Cathy's
pussy?), Cathy didn't think twice. She positioned herself
on all fours so that her pussy was in a convenient
position for Helen's mouth and her ass was easily
accessible to my cock.

My stiff cock had been waving in front of me almost since
the moment I stepped into this gym of horrors. Now it was
finally going to get something to do. I drove my hard rod
deep into Cathy's ass, trying to make my own contribution
to the pain/pleasure theme. I took the sounds which came
from Cathy's mouth as encouragement rather than
disapproval of my violent attack. I saw Helen's face
between Cathy's legs, pleasuring Cathy's other hole.

My cock had been ready for action for a long time and was
even more impatient than usual - perhaps understandably
so. With a few powerful thrusts I deposited my seed deep
in Cathy's ass and rolled onto to floor. If Cathy was
disappointed about my speedy departure from her rear, she
didn't let on. She was probably too busy enjoying Helen's
impressive skills. And Helen made up for any shortfall in
excitement that I might have been responsible for. She
brought Cathy to a series of increasingly noisy orgasms
which were a joy to watch.

                    To be continued