Little Bird IV: Coda
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Usually, I am the cool, calm, and collected person in our marriage. My husband is gone three days, and I have turned our ménage à trois with Aveline upside down. He is due home today, and Little Bird is no more. Instead, our roles are reversed. To compound matters, Aveline’s words still linger: by the time I am finished, you will be all mine. And exhale… one, two, three, four.I realise our marriage is unconventional, it might be a dream for some, perhaps a nightmare for others, and this is a cliché but true nonetheless. To live this way, there must be total honesty with each other and we do not hurt others. This is our creed, no compromise, and today’s innocuous secret can be a devastating revelation tomorrow.Inhale… one, two, three, four.I miss Martin terribly, and I know his absence amplifies this concern. Even so, the question is, how do I tell him all this? The clock is ticking; I have only hours to decide what to do.Exhale….Aveline is at work. Myself? A bead of sweat runs between my breasts. I am on my yoga mat, posed for the Surya Namaskar – the Sun Salutation. It is a beautiful summer day; it just seems appropriate.Pranam-asana.So… I could front this out. Be true to myself, make no big deal of it, and bend Martin to my way of thinking. No… too risky, not really honest, and unconvincing. This sounds preposterous, but what if Aveline says the same thing to my husband at the height of passion? He tells me, and I have this secret.Messy.The origin of my torment is that collar and leash. We bought it last winter to spice up our sex life because we could not meet anyone. Not only was it intensely liberating, how ironic, but we discovered a void filled with curiosity. Wearing it, as an experience, went beyond anything I have done with a man or a woman. Now, I am haunted by it, I want to experience this with them both. Yet, with Aveline, or Mademoiselle, those words are the roadblock. Sex is one thing, but love or if Aveline is falling in love or my ridiculous irrationality. It is there as a roadblock.Before leaving, Martin said whatever happened between Aveline and me was fine. It was inevitable as the days passed; her sexual magnetism and my desires were two forces that had to collide. When she wore that collar, it must have crossed Martin’s mind that I would wear it too. Hell, the notion ricocheted through me and lit me up like a pinball machine.We know her as well as we can, and Aveline is not easily understood. Her emotions are cryptic, and she is an endless list of contradictions. Her need to dominate me would not surprise my husband. She is young and finding her way, and experimentation is… normal? Women are fickle, they change their minds, and he knows this. I am one of the worst at it.Aveline’s behaviour since has been impeccable. That evening, I poured us a chilled white wine each, presented a plate of cold cuts and crudites, and sat her down. I know she gave up so much to pursue her choices… on her terms.I have my sexuality, desires, and an opinion. I am his wife; we are soulmates and best friends. What I did with Mademoiselle lit a fire I cannot extinguish, and I want to be dominated by them both, but those words… I cannot ignore them.Well, she heard my terms that night. Sitting prim and upright, in her deadpan tone, she only sought to enliven the game. Yet, her body language lacked conviction, and she looked annoyed.She always looks annoyed.Naivete can explain her words: I can accept this and empathise. I admitted I was a novice dominant. Quid pro quo. I am, and this is not the ‘Story of O’. That night, we ran out of words. That look she gave me, a little knowledge is a very dangerous thing, and I crumbled. She opened xnxx my legs and got between my thighs. Aveline’s tacit apology was etched in her gaze, described by the silky texture of her tongue. I was soon drenched again, and she brought me to orgasm with ease. It was patient and tender, with a lot of kissing and delicate touches. We ascended to a plateau that felt so familiar as a sapphic experience, very different from the afternoon. I coaxed her, persuading Aveline to scale these heights with me. My experience versus her thirst for knowledge.Filled with lust and sublime control, she towered over me, joined at the confluence of our thighs. From slow undulations, we began to writhe, finding the perfect rhythm. We ground and pulverised our misunderstanding away in a mutual climatic experience. Tiring, we knew the descent into another orgasmic seizure would be more intense than the last, and I persuaded her to join me. Together we cried out, lunging at each other, clasping, and twisting as wounded doves in convulsive raptures as our final act.Aching and exhausted, we showered under a warm rain, deluged by tender kisses. We fell asleep in each other’s arms, reassured as much as possible without Martin alongside me.Really it was delightful, no dominance or submission, no games, just sex.Fuck! I am aroused, and I need answers.The following day, we ate and watched a film in the evening. There were no heartfelt words, no Mademoiselle, just Aveline and me, and we retired to our separate bedrooms. Just as well; all that fucking and rubbing made me a little sore.Panam-asana… and rest, I am panting.In the twelve asanas of the Surya Namaskar – I am at peace.My eyes widen, and I feel pretty fucking stupid. I know what I must do.-=-Under the shower, lumps of foam fall from my body. I understand now, and it is a fillip to my confidence. Aveline’s apology was heartfelt, it was there all the whole time, and I missed it. There has been no Mademoiselle since. I misread her because she did understand my feelings.It is my decision to make, my terms. I need to show them and persuade them I want this.This lingerie is simple and stylish; it is my best black brassiere, panties, and suspenders in silk and lace. The silk stocking rolls easily, caressing my leg. They are fully fashioned and take an age to get straight; I check them in my dress mirror and adjust the suspenders. I am wearing that jewelled plug, and it cannot be seen through my underwear.Applying lipstick with a brush, this is my Parisian red. I use my eyelash curler and brush on a little mascara; I know the rules… flex, do not break them. It is enough, a cryptic message and not a neon sign. Dipping into my jewellery box, Chantilly lace is not my clandestine collar. I am adorned by three tight lines of cultured pearls, very symbolic, one for each of us. Other than my wedding and engagement rings, that is all, except the pearl stud earrings.Pulling up the teardrop zipper, I adjust my dress and smooth the fabric down. My attire is vintage couture, bought secondhand; it is not fashionable but stylish. A summer dress with tiny white polka dots like diamond stars in a midnight blue sky. Above the knee with a fitted bodice and broad straps, it is a tailored fit and flares slightly with its sharp pleats.I sigh, almost there, and placed my hat down carefully. I can hide under its wide brim if needed. It matches my dress in dark navy with a white taffeta ribbon. Primping my hair, I adjust how its natural curls fall. Inside, I am a mix of unfathomable desire and a fluttering of nervousness. I check and re-check everything.Standing in three-inch patent black stilettos, this is my statement of bakire porno what I want. My hand is trembling a little as I hold up my phone. I capture the image and send it to Aveline captioned: “Does Mademoiselle approve?” It sends a shiver creeping through my soul.Now, I will walk to Gare du Nord, let everyone see who I am, and show what I want to my man.-=-Walking along the Boulevard des Capucines, the presence of that chromed plug makes my gait sway with a little more wiggle. It elevates my neutral expression with a muted pout. It is not a mind-bending pleasure, but an exciting frisson nonetheless.It is busy as one of the grand boulevards filled with shops, cafes and restaurants. There are a lot of people going about their business, browsing shop windows, or enjoying a drink at a table outside. For me, an admiring look is rare these days, and I attract a few. I must let them look, keeping to this persona.Walking towards me, I see her. Tall, beautiful, slender, with a vivacious smile. She is about my age, and her grin widens. She knows and a fiery heat rises within. I am revealed with my secret laid bare. As she nears, my excitement mixes with embarrassment; it is unbearable. I will not break eye contact, and in my deepest desires, I hear that faint voice. I want her to see me like this. There it is, a leer of desire and a coquettish greeting. She knows what I am, and an earthquake rumbles through my body. As we pass, I want to duck under my hat because I am ablaze. I am sure she wants me to stop and chat, yet I keep walking; I must, and that plug, damn it to hell.Aveline has no qualms about looking like this and is so young and attractive. How does she endure this attention? My respect for her swells and this storm within will not abate.I have lost control. My mind wanders through past recollections and what is to come, and more fuel is thrown vicariously into the furnace. Everything is additive, that woman, the plug, in public, my attire, my thoughts, Mademoiselle, and Martin. I am flushed red hot and concerned my arousal is too obvious.With every glance at me, I am revealed. I am raging inside. My panties are hot and wet with arousal, and I am aching.I have to hail a taxi. I will be a wreck before I make it to the station. These feelings are too powerful.I have failed.-=-The taxi ride soothes but I remain on edge. At Gare du Nord, I cannot remove this purse-lipped look of need. I try and look even more conspicuous. Standing on the upper floor, I feel like I am on display, my heart is racing, and I have that unrelenting ache within. I cannot help but wonder if passers-by know how aroused I am. My mind is fixated on what I need, and my body feels so potent and sexual.I understand Aveline’s contradictions. I am afraid, no, I am alive, and I love feeling like this.When I see Martin, my heart soars, and I cling to this distraction as my salvation. I can observe because he is not expecting me. He walks with a spring in his step, excited to be home. There is the truth I owe him in each galloping step.This glow blooms at his look of surprise, I beam back with a wide smile or there will be tears of joy and relief. I know I have done the right thing. No matter the cost, I will always choose this lyrical path to travel. His exclamation, the squeeze of my waist and the soft graze of his lips are worth any price.“Ines… wow,” he gasps, still surprised, “so she finally got to you?”“Yes,” holding that pursed-lipped smile. From Martin’s expression, I can see he approves.This is a good start. He is on my wavelength.“You look… incredible.”“Thank you.”He has me right there. I want to throw my arms around him, bedava porno but I must wait. He pulls me in and places his lips on mine. My hands rest on his chest, and when he squeezes my behind, I am ablaze once again.It is an effort to concentrate, “Ma Cherie, I must share something with you first… if you will allow me.”He is taken aback, and then he grins, “Sure.”Yes! I am a natural. I can do this.It is the sweetest smile because I do not want any stormy clouds of concern. This is a tightrope I must walk, and life is an endless compromise but only for him. I have shown, now I will tell… in a quiet bar-restaurant behind Eglise Saint-Vincent de Paul.Sitting in a corner, his hand is on mine, and his eyes take every opportunity to undress me. I am simmering with lust. Just a look into his eyes is enough to feed the frenzy within. I did not describe the intensity of being taken by Mademoiselle. Thinking is a challenge, and I have goaded myself enough. Besides, it is futile to compare us and how I am with a woman – totally pointless. Words inadequately describe music, and sexual chemistry is the weirdest science.I take strength in his presence and it provides all the perspective I need. Explaining what happened, Mademoiselle’s words were as hollow as old seeds, and they found no fallow ground. With an urbane smile, Martin listens and lets me talk it through. He gives me every option without a solution. I am attired as his possession, but he allows me to choose. Most importantly, he knows I am his; it dwells within as fire in my eyes. With the context I have, he comes to the same conclusion I do; thank God there is not a jealous bone in his body. Standing at the train station, I clung on with typical Parisian spirit. Yet, in his embrace, I am a kitten that seeks tenderness and shows him all my feelings.”So, this is what you want?””Yes, absolutely. I want to try it.”He smiles… that smile.“Martin, she is not called Little Bird anymore.”“What do we call her now?”.“Mademoiselle.”“Well…” his caress on my bare arm threatens to undo me, “Mademoiselle is going to watch Monsieur fuck Madame right in front of her. You are my wife. Aveline can be Kubla-fucking-Khan, if she wants.”I gasp, “Yes, Sir, and I shall take you to Xanadu… personally.”“Ines…” and that pause brings me to look into his eyes, “I will take you.”Oh, fuck, yes, please…I gasp as his gravelly words plunder the depths. He can see in my reaction what that means to me. Safe in his arms, it is an almost spiritual feeling as a white-hot incendiary surges through me. I wait for his kiss, and it stifles my whimper.Opening the taxi door, his gallantry is a sexual act. We sit in the back with my head on his shoulder, and he strokes my forearm. My panties cloy to my sex, and that plug is ever present, feeding my body with constant pleasure. I want to fidget, and my restlessness wears on my patience. The driver duels with the rush-hour traffic, and I want to run through the streets because the real battle will be at home.I crave to be caught in the act. I am strong and independent, but Martin is the man that possesses me, owns me… fucks me. His three days of abstinence promise fireworks, and I have gifted him our most potent fantasy.We will see what happens when we really provoke Aveline, Mademoiselle, or Kubla-fucking-Khan.-=-I am collared, and the slack in the chain tightens.There is no foreboding in his eyes but a calculated certainty. Today has been a sensual ordeal, and there is more to come.Removing my dress carefully, he appraises and flatters me, and his words add to my nascent delirium. His hand upon me triggers more waves of hot arousal and my breathing hitches. The zephyr breeze of his hot breath and sandalwood scent complete the rout. My mind, defined by a lifetime of habit, is unequivocal, and it battles with my determination to submit. With the rising heat coursing through my agitated body, I am flooded and restless.
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