“I’d lick her like an envelope,” Caitlyn said salaciously.

“Do people even use envelopes anymore?” I asked. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually mailed a real letter to someone.

“That’s not the point is it?” She shot me a warning look, her blue eyes shining brightly behind her tortoise-shell glasses.

“I guess not,” I said, staring at the woman Caitlyn had been admiring. The object of her desire was attractive, definitely, with all the little rebellious touches that tend to tug at Caitlyn’s libido.

“I’d lick her like an ice-cream sundae,” Caitlyn tried next, and the way she said “lick” made me sit up a little straighter. Caitlyn has a talented tongue. I know this from personal experience.

“Just face-planting, you mean?” I asked, finally playing along.

“I’d eat her up with a silver spoon.”

We were sitting side by side at the deli counter, and my best friend — and lover — was waxing rhapsodic about the pretty girl working the cash register. The woman of her dreams was a slight redhead, whose bouncy curls spiraled to her shoulders and whose smile delighted everyone in her line. That was clear because people seemed to be willing to actually wait their turn, not jostling, not checking their phones. They were all staring at her, men and women alike. She had on a short-sleeved turquoise blouse, and her vibrant 40s-style tattoos could be seen curling and dancing around her slim arms.

Caitlyn said, “I’m buying something else.”

“You already paid for each item separately,” I said, gesturing to the remnants of our meal.

“Yeah, but now I am going to take a chance. I’m going to ask her to play.”

“Why tell me?”

“Because you’re going to be with us.”

That’s what I love about Caitlyn: her incredible levels of over-confidence. Or maybe it’s simply the way she barges through life. She has every reason to be confident, actually. She’s a long-distance runner whose stamina seems to spread to all that she touches. There is no going halfway in her world. When Caitlyn sets her eyes on a prize — be it the finish line at the end of the race, or a new project at work, or the hot cashier at the deli — she does everything in her power to win the gold.

“I was coming in seconds flat, grinding my pussy against Roxanne’s sweet face.”

I watched as she brought a bottle of cream soda to the cashier. The lunch crowd had thinned. There was nobody behind Caitlyn in line now. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I could guess. Caitlyn is a magician with her words. Subtle innuendoes and double entendres are her favorite form of foreplay. I saw the cashier blush and look down, then glance back up at Caitlyn and nod an energetic “yes.”

My lovely friend swung her hips as she made her way back to me. “It’s on,” she crowed.

“What’s on exactly?” I had to ask.

“You. Me. Her. Tonight at my place. We’re going to put the hot in hot tub.”

She ran one hand along the back of my neck, then brought me close to her and kissed me. I knew that at least part of the reason for the public display of affection was the cashier. But that didn’t mean the kiss was wasted. I felt those lovely sparkles of pure desire ripple through me, a veritable inferno of nerve endings set aflame. Caitlyn’s lips are like no other woman’s I’ve ever been with. A simple kiss from her revs my inner motor. I was primed and pumped, and now I had to wait until nightfall?

“When are we meeting?” I asked breathlessly.

“Seven.” Soda in hand, Caitlyn snagged a red-and-white striped straw, then gave me a wink and a wave and left me longing. My eyes met the cashier’s, and I read the silent message in her expression — oh, we both wanted it, and we wanted it bad. That’s the look we shared across the deli. I bit my lip. She smiled and looked away. Leave it to Caitlyn to wrangle two sub girls for an evening of erotic entertainment.

I couldn’t fucking wait.

All afternoon, thoughts of what we were going to do paraded through my mind. I recalled past times with Caitlyn, such as a weekend we spent together in a quaint bed-and-breakfast on the coast, where we made the most of the four-poster bed. Caitlyn bound me in place with ribbons and gagged me with my own panties when I couldn’t stifle my moans. Even muffled, I hadn’t managed to be silent. We’d received our share of disapproving glances over coffee in the morning.

What would happen with a new partner? Caitlyn must have had a few ideas in mind, a few tricks in her bag that she’d not shared with me yet. My imagination worked overtime. I showed up early.

When Caitlyn opened the door to her apartment, I almost fell over. Usually, my girlfriend chooses simple clothes: crisp slacks, turtlenecks, V-neck sweaters. Tonight, she was in black vinyl, her inky hair up in a twist, her sleek form encased all the way to the tips of her vinyl boots. She’d talked about licking the cashier, but I wanted to press my mouth to Caitlyn — everywhere.

She beckoned me forward, and that’s when I saw what she was holding in one hand: a crop. I sighed. She said, “The early girl gets the whip.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“You want it, don’t you? That’s why you showed up now, trying to beat Roxanne.”

“Roxanne?”

I’d erased the fact that I’d have competition that night. The sight of my femme domme friend had replaced all other images in my mind.

“This way,” Caitlyn said, and she turned on a heel and headed to her bedroom. I tiptoed immediately behind her, trying to keep my head clear, trying to think of something, anything, to say. But all thoughts evaporated when we’d reached our destination. Because there, cuffed in the center of Caitlyn’s large bed, was the pretty cashier. Her eyes were wide and moist. There were clamps on her nipples and her pussy was shaved bare. I could see the wetness, the glistening dew, on her nether lips. When Caitlyn looked at my shocked face, she let out a laugh; it was a harsh, jangling sound.

“She beat you,” Caitlyn said softly, “but that’s okay. Because I beat her, and trust me — there’s plenty to go around.”

In seconds, I was stripped and bound next to Roxanne. We were close enough that I could feel the heat coming off her body. Caitlyn was majestic, making sure that we were in each other’s space, feeding off each other’s energy as she cropped us. Then she stopped. I watched as she lifted a vibrator from her basket of toys.

“Which one of you deserves to get off before the other?” she queried. I didn’t know if she expected a response, or if she were merely being rhetorical. I didn’t have a response, except for: me, me, me. “Let’s play a game,” she continued, as if the concept had just occurred to her. “Whichever one of you can guess what I’m thinking about will have the toy kiss her clit first.”

I thought I might have an advantage since I’ve been with Caitlyn in the past. But she looked to Roxanne first, who sucked in her breath and said, “You’re thinking of… of… ” Her voice trailed off, and I seized the opportunity to shout, “Anal beads!”

And then I felt ridiculous. It was clear that I was the one thinking of anal beads, recalling the time Caitlyn had bent me over her lap, lubed up each of those marble-sized violet beads, and then slid them up my rear hole one by one. She’d made me keep them inside my rear passage while punishing my ass with her favorite paddle, and then she’d pulled them out slowly while sucking my clit.

“Anal beads, is it?” Caitlyn asked, stretching out her query and then letting the words hang in the air. “Anal beads,” she repeated, as if slightly stymied by such a sexual suggestion. She was only playacting being surprised. Because in seconds, she positioned herself on the edge of the mattress, flipped me facedown, and began to stuff my butt full of beads.

This episode was different from the previous experience, however, because I had to stare at Roxanne the whole time. I could guess that my cheeks were as flaming red as her hair; I could feel the heat rising in my face. I was embarrassed at how wet my pussy grew with each insertion, a fact that Caitlyn found necessary to share with the room.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “You’re dripping on my mattress. Just a little butt play, and you get all wet and gooey. What am I going to do about that?”

What she ended up doing was moving Roxanne into position, so that the new girl could eat my snatch while Caitlyn maneuvered the beads in my butt, pulling one out and then pushing it back in. I was coming in seconds flat, grinding my pussy against Roxanne’s sweet face. That’s one way to get to know someone, I suppose. Forget asking polite how-do-you-do type questions. Sit astride their lips and press your cunt down hard. That’s all the getting to know you I needed to do.

Once I’d come, Caitlyn seemed to think I owed her. And maybe I did. She’d let me climax without putting me through any particular paces, without making me endure any erotic hardships. So now, for the benefit (I felt) of our new playmate, she demonstrated her control over me.

“Take the clamps off her tits,” she said.

My wrists were cuffed, but I managed to obey the command.

“Would you like to eat Roxanne’s pussy?” Caitlyn asked next.

I nodded and looked at our new lover; she seemed to like the idea, too. At least, her eyes had a glow to them, as if lit from within, and her lips — still glossy with my juices — were parted and hungry-looking.

“Will you let me fuck you while you eat her?” my girlfriend asked.

That was like offering the cherry on top of a whole carton of ice cream. I got into position, and without Caitlyn telling me what to do next, I started to lick Roxanne’s snatch. My wrists were still cuffed, but I was able to balance myself, having had plenty of practice at being Caitlyn’s bound love slave in the past. At the same time, my girlfriend buckled herself into a strap-on harness, and in seconds, her dildo was in me while my tongue was in Roxy.

Who would have thought that we’d end up here? What had begun earlier in the day as a simple exchange of flirty glances had blossomed into this.

Caitlyn held my hips and speared me, rocking her body forward and back in a way I’ve grown to know and adore. Roxanne was the newbie in this equation, the unpredictable variable. Yet her willingness to go with the flow — and to flow herself, a copious amount of her juices kept wetting my tongue — showed me that she was up to any erotic challenge.

“I can’t wait to switch,” Caitlyn crooned. “Next, we’ll let Roxy fuck you, and then you’ll fuck her. And maybe we can dig out another strap-on and a blindfold. We’ll play a guessing game. Who’s doing who?”

We worked well together. Three points in a triangle — or rather three points in a straight line, because it was Caitlyn behind me, and me face-first in Roxy. Then there were no words, no instructions, no more teasing or game-playing. I ate the beautiful redhead until she creamed. Roxy called out her bliss, and those dulcet sounds seemed to trip something in Caitlyn. Not such hard-hearted a domme, after all, I thought. My lady grabbed me tight and ground into my sopping split until we were skin to skin. Then she shook, and I knew her orgasm was deep and powerful.

I’d already come once, but being bookended by the two beauties set off my own picture-perfect string of orgasms, one after the other after the other. Then I waited while Caitlyn unfastened our bonds before we cuddled together in her big bed. Caitlyn had mentioned the hot tub earlier in the day, but things had gotten pretty steamy without it and now I had other things in mind. Like ice-cream sundaes — since I’d just had Roxy’s girl-cherry.

I headed into Caitlyn’s kitchen to make a tray, and when I got back, the two women were head to tail in a 69. The ice cream would melt. I knew that. But I dove in head first — with a big, broad smile on my face and no silver spoon required.

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