Evening Tuesday, October 31st, 2023
The house buzzed with chatter, and the clinking of cocktails, spiced pumpkins, and warm cinnamon hit you as you walked in the door. It was Tatiana’s annual adult Halloween bash, and having gotten a pretty signed invitation through the mail slot, Garin and Lyrou had decided to go.
Having just arrived and had her coat taken, Lyrou stood alone at the edge of the crowded living room, drifting back into the foyer, side-stepping around people coming through; an extra tall brown furry grizzly, a hot ditzy clown girl, a blood-splattered killer clown, a silent stone-faced man-in-black in bodyguard-black sunglasses and an earpiece on a wire running into his collar, a blood-splattered dead president in a fake beard and a stovepipe hat getting called “Jack” by an octogenarian sitting president licking at a vanilla ice-cream cone, a voluptuous red succubus twirling her tail at a sexy bicycle-shorts and bicycle-helmet wearing policeman in his own handcuffs, and loudest of all a cussing British chef, “Sod off with your rubber wings, I’ve eaten more appetizing tires!”
She stood sipping what she was offered and checking out costumes, though not half as much as she was being checked out. She wore a form-fitting sheer long see-through black dress with a polka-dot pattern over a structured black bodysuit; beneath its thinly visible façade of a high turtleneck and long sleeves, it revealed over-the-cusp spilling cleavage and, save for the wispy fabric hugging it, her bare butt. Matched with sleek black hair and sleek black heels, the outfit clung to her tawny curves in all the right places. Her nails were done; ombré gradient, almond-shaped, black on her thumb, dark grey index, medium grey middle, light grey ring, and white pinky.
Tatiana came around a corner; a plastic 1980’s retro blonde in a glittery neon pink spandex crop-top, with neon-yellow elbow and knee pads, like a toy, “Lyrou, I’m out of my box!”
Lyrou smiled. It was the popular costume for anybody who looked remotely like the character this year: “This costume is what you were made for.”
Tatiana pointed at Lyrou, threw her head back and did a silent open-mouthed laugh, her neck scrunching up to her chin, “Yeaaaaah! Oh!? I know your costume! I do! I recognize it. Who was it?” She stood, hands on her hips, looking down her nose and examining.
Lyrou shook her head with a smiling frown, “I’m not cutting you any Black slack. If you don’t know, you don’t know.”
Tatiana snortled, “But I need Black slack. I’m the most uncool, no-dancing plain dry toast. Hey, where’s Garin?”
Lyrou filled her in. “He left to pick up our Pinny and take her home for the sitter. But he’ll pop back up like toast.”
Tatiana smiled, not knowing Penny but honestly a fan of her own son’s friendship with Alan. “Our sons are out together, hitting up houses for candy now. I just texted mine. I told them not to go south of the commons.”
Lyrou could not help but gush about her Alan. “Oui. They made a logical pair of aliens.”
Tatiana made a serious-amused face, gesturing with her hands like she was hitting piano keys, “Oh. Those boys were all eight of them here earlier; they all went as aliens with the crazy eyebrows. ‘Long life and prosperity, mom!’ But what did Penny go as?”
Lyrou recalled that morning doing the work of putting on Penny’s stark makeup, dying and braiding her hair, “The ghostly pale gothic girl in all black, black pigtails, black eyeshadow, black lipstick.”
Tatiana’s eyes widened, “From the TV series! Hey, don’t let her watch that one,” she said, politely concerned.
Thereupon appeared a man through the front entry, crunchy leaves blowing in with him and into the foyer, dressed in all beige: beige ski hat, a short, tight beige t-shirt, long beige scarf, beige-button beige jacket with minimalist collar and pockets, beige-white checkered yachting trousers with beige suspenders, a gold chain, and bright white leather sneaker boots.
It was Garin stomping in, mouth falling open and hands out at his sides, indignant, “Man of the family, huh!?” Guests stopped speaking and looked, thinking a real argument had started. He continued, “I don’t want the wife and mother of my kids out here showcasing her booty cheeks to please others! You’ve consumed too much alcohol. I rest my case!”
Several got the reference and chuckled, most didn’t, until a high-pitched Black Bed-Stuy male voice from up in the mezzanine shouted out in mirth, dribbling his cocktail from above and taking off a cowboy hat, “No! Is that my football trainer, Dariusss!”
Garin tucked in his lips and said it from his lungs, “Ya’ll’m Garius! And you, Lyly.” He cracked his knuckles and spat venom at Lyrou, “It’s the outfit though—you a mom!”
Lyrou gave Garin the hand with all 5 did-nails extended, “You’re giving Aquarius, Garius. I’m in my big boss era!” then a smooth, slow drop-it-low on loop.
The foyer erupted in bougie laughter, “I remember that!” and “What’s next—a Gusher serenade?” and “R&B singers do get the baddest groupies acting foolish.”
Folks returned to their separate convos; in-the-know people filling in the lost half, reaching for the joke that had flown over their heads. Garin grinned as Lyrou gave him a quick peck on the mouth. Catching her elbow and bowing his head down to whisper, “You know you really are the primary aggressor wearing that. I hate it cause I love it.”
Lyrou gently pulled from him, smiling, Tatiana having overheard him too, and blushed on their behalf.
⚜
Noon Sunday, November 5th, 2023
A week passed. Lyrou and Garin were at a bookstore quietly reading their choice of books while sipping hot tea. Garin commented audibly to Lyrou on the passage he’d read in fascination, “The riot in Alexandria. 66 AD. They thought if they seized the Nile, the Roman legions in Persia would be starved for food. The Nile was the major source of food in the Eastern half of the empire, but their gamble failed, and they paid horribly.”
Looking up from her novel, she smiled at Garin’s historical tidbit. “History is so fascinating, isn’t it?” she said, setting her book down. “It’s like a never-ending story.” She took a sip of her tea. “Speaking of which, have you thought more about…you know?”
“Do you mean Andrea Moreno?” Garin set his book down, but open.
Nodding, “Exactement, chéri,” she said low. “I can’t stop thinking about her, about the two of you together. Can we talk rules?”
“OK. You’ll be there, remember. But what rules do you have, babe?” Garin gently closed his book to give Lyrou his attention.
“The rules…” Her shaking hand paused on her book for a moment. “First, I want you to promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll come back to me.” She watched his eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation. “We’re in this together.”
“You’ve become worried about me falling for another? You think I can’t have many lovers and yet return to my spouse—as you have done for so long? You need to stop worrying about that. Besides, a college girl isn’t going to want to run away with me; it’s puerile. Any other rules?”
She took a sip of her tea, the warm liquid soothing her nerves. “Just one more, mon chouchou,” she said steadily. “When we do this… when I watch you with her, I want to be involved.” She paused, “I want to be part of it,” she whispered, her hand starting to shake again. “I want to see her pleasure you, but I also want to share in it.” She leaned in closer and whispered, “I want to kiss you while she’s riding you.” She watched his reaction, the way his eyes were smiling. “We’re in this together,” her hand steadying. “And I want to be part of every moment.”
Garin looked about, concerned strangers might hear, his voice low, “That’s a ménage à trois. I’m sure I don’t want you to be involved in such a tactile manner. Look, listen, don’t touch.”
She’d assumed he’d like a 2-on-1 threesome; wasn’t it in the top male fantasies? The thought of being relegated to only watching him with another woman drenched her with disappointment, but there was something sexy to it too, “If that’s what you want, mon chevalier, this is our journey. And if you want me to watch, I want to feel like I’m a part of it. We’ve come so far. Let’s not hold anything back.”
Garin whispered, careful not to be overheard, “You’ll reciprocate, remember. I’ll watch you in turn. But, you must let me know when.” Garin spoke adamantly.
The thought of him watching her with another man sent electricity up her spine. “Mon soleil, I will, but let’s focus right now. We need to make sure this works for us. It could go wrong.” She leaned in, her lips barely parting as she whispered. “But I promise when the time has come, you’ll be the first to know.”
With a gaggle of patrons, each with a pair of ears, entering the shop, Garin signaled he was ready for a topic change, “What is your novel about?” Garin took a look at the book she was reading. “Eve Wright.” He noted the author.
Setting aside the nub of a red pencil she’d been using to annotate her novels, “It’s a romance,” she said, too bright. “I’m reading two at once from the same series. This one’s about a woman who finds love in the most unexpected place.” She paused, her fingers fidgeting with a straw wrapper. “It’s a reminder that love can be complicated, but ultimately worth it.”
“Tell me more,” Garin spoke with some cheer.
“Uh…” A hail of emotions in her features.
“I won’t make fun of your novel. Tell me about it.” Garin smiled.
His smile was reassuring. Lyrou opened up about the novel, “It’s about a woman named Isabelle, who’s been married for a long time to a nobleman who’s a good husband and a good father, but they’ve lost their connection in the rolling rapids of life and La Reconquista de Andalusia.” Her hand moved to her chest. “She meets an excommunicated priest named Rafael in the charred smoking ruins of a burnt-out cathedral, and he shows her a different kind of love, one that makes her feel like a new woman, like she’s been reborn.” Her cheeks flushed as she talked about the book, her thoughts inexplicably veering towards their own situation and a certainty that Garin was silently judging her for being so introspective in the face of his worldly extrospection. “They have an affair, but it’s not just about being bad and having sex. It’s about finding themselves again, about rediscovering what it means to truly desire someone.” She took a sip of her tea, “But it’s complicated,” she added, her voice sad. “They know they can’t be together, but the pull is too strong.”
“Why doesn’t she divorce her husband and run away with Rafael?” Garin said, as a man would.
The question hit much too close to home. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is, is it?” Garin nodded.
“No, it isn’t. As it turns out… Rafael is the last werewolf, an unholy fugitive, and Isabelle’s husband is the renowned werewolf slayer who, nine years previously, swore to hunt him to the ends of the Earth for eating his older brother.” Lyrou said with gloom.
“A dame can’t help herself if he’s the sole remnant of the feared and fabled werewolves.” Garin lamented, his frown morphing into a smile.
“That sounds like a great novel for some readerships.” Garin gave the fiction due respect.
Lyrou’s eyes became thoughtful, “I think a great novel is not a flat piece of paper on another flat piece of paper, but a multi-dimensional object that when looked at on one angle at one facet looks one way, and when looked at on another angle at another facet looks a different way. It invites infinite interpretations through endless lenses, and leaves readers thinking and talking about it for many years after they’ve finished it.”
Garin was unable to contain himself, “Yet I also think a great novel is not just whatever the reader interprets it to be, rather it presents a nonnegotiable, unmistakable statement, supported by evidence within the narrative as demonstrated by the characters. The reader is then invited to agree or disagree, to embrace or to reject, to wrestle with themselves and other readers, whether they suspect or doubt what the novel asserts.”
Lyrou shook her head, “But Garin, the novelist herself might not know what it is the novel asserts, or might think it something other than what it, in actuality, does assert.”
“What a stupid novelist she would be,” he scoffed.
“Or brilliant,” she countered.
Garin tapped the page she had open, “What do you think this novel says?”
She looked into the wide open book as if that page, midway through, explained the whole story, “Many things, but this one might be saying; Forgive those who deserve to be forgiven.”
The warmth of his smile did little to ease the knot in her stomach, but it did offer a semblance of comfort. “Garin, you surprise me,” her hand reached to take his book and look it over. “You’re more open to this than I ever imagined.” Her hand flipped the pages of his classical history saga. “But let’s not forget that this is our story, too. We write our own pages, with ourselves the characters.”
“Did you feel you loved any of them?” Garin’s inquiry punched fast.
“Mon roi, you…” she continued, her voice growing stronger, “you’re the only one I truly love.” She looked at the impressively illustrated maps of Roman-Egypt within.
Garin peered over at the maps, also. “I accept that as true. But let’s imagine a fun scenario. Imagine we live in a polyandrous society in which it’s normal and envied for women to marry multiple men at once. Of your lovers, who’d you marry in addition to me?”
The question was a curious one. She took a moment to consider her answer, her mind flickering through the faces of her past lovers. “Garin, this isn’t a game of ‘who’s the best.’ What we have is special, and I wouldn’t trade it for any polyandrous bigamy.” She leaned in, her breasts pressing against the table, her hand moving down to squeeze his thigh. “But if I had to choose, I think you might correctly guess that it would be Tom.” Garin’s shoulders articulated into fight mode beneath her touch, and she’d struck a nerve. “But,” she added quickly, “only because he’s the best one I’ve been with. It’s not love, it’s… compatibility, I suppose.”
“The same Tom you mentioned before.” Garin puffed his cheeks, expressing air through his lips.
The mention of Tom’s name made her moist. “Bien sûr, ma vie,” she said shakier than she’d have liked. “Tom is… special in his own way.” She paused, her hand moving up to play with a lock of her hair. “But he’s not you. He never could be. Tom is just for the novelty. You’re my heart, my soul.” She watched his eyes, searching for understanding. “But if we’re going to do this,” she leaned in closer, her breasts brushing against his book on the table, “what do you want from me? Do you want to watch me with him?”
Garin locked eyes with Lyrou, “Yes. After we meet Andrea. It has to be after.”
His anger and sense of inadequacy, but also his arousal. She leaned in closest yet, a whisper, “Mon doux, are you sure?” she asked, her hand moving to his hand, “You want to watch me with Tom?”
“Only watch, yes. I’m not bi, and I’m not going to touch or be touched by a man. If you can endure to watch me with Andrea, then I’ll be able to watch you in turn.” Garin said with follow-through in his words.
The trial in his voice set her pulse racing. “Alright, chéri,” her hand moving to squeeze his thigh. “We’ll start with that.”
⚜
Evening Friday, November 17th, 2023
Garin had passed out on the living room couch in the early evening when the house was active with Lyrou, Reine, and her baby, and then woke after midnight to crickets and the occasional passing car. All the lights were off, but he could see like a cat and made his way to the stairs before stopping with his hand on the banister. He had an idea. He came up the stairs slowly and quietly, adjusting the placement of his feet and shifting his weight not to make one little creak or crack. Like a ninja and knowing his own stairs, he made it to the second floor in silence. Just the same, he floated down the hallway to his and his wife’s bedroom door. He was disappointed to see it closed; there would be no opening it quietly. But he could enter his bedroom through the open bathroom door, and finding the adjoining-door into his bedroom closed, he knew to open it soundlessly by gently lifting the handle, reducing the weight on its turning hinges. He had the luck of walking on bathroom towels left after Lyrou had taken a shower, so that his feet didn’t make skin-to-tile stick-stack noises as he stepped through. He first saw her loose hair on the pillow, curled up with her back to the bathroom, the blanket bunched up between her knees for comfort and support. He could hear by her breathing that she was in REM.
He knew what he’d do if he found her so, and now he came around the bed to do it. Stealthily, he crouched onto the floor at her bedside and looked at her face. If her eyes came open now, she might scream before seeing it’s just him. She might then curse and think he’s acting unusually. So what? He sat back, propped against a dresser, and looked at her. Her foot was poking out from under the blanket and off the edge of the bed. Should he tickle her? Lick her toe? She’d really wonder about him then. Maybe that’d be a good thing. He’d an idea; he’d roll her nightshirt up as far as he could without waking her. And so he began, his fingers pulling here and there at the bottom of her shirt, sliding it deftly and slowly revealing her navel, and then more of her belly, and then up past her lower ribs, the deep contour of her waistline exposed and impressive to him. He admired her form for a moment before thinking to do the same to her pajama pants; he took them by the tips of his fingers, mindful not to touch her, and rolled the top of her pants down below her hip. He took in the sight, and wanted to run his hand along her, starting at the great height of her hip and then diving down along her pelvic crest, down to her navel, and then back up and then under her shirt, but that would be sure to stir her awake, and he didn’t want that.
His erection was ready for much more, and her lips parted as if to ask for much more. His thoughts, as refined and reasoned as they were, became crushed under the incoming rush of testosterone and adrenaline, powerful instinct taking the reins. He rose up, lowering his pants as he did, then pulling his shirt off and dropping it quietly to the floor. Her open hand beside her, he lowered his dick into her sleeping palm, and her fingers closed around it in an autonomic grasp reflex, then loosened a touch. He swelled and leaned over into her, burying his face in her belly and mouthing her skin. She woke like this, and took his hair in both hands before she knew much what was happening, “Garin?”
“Were you pretending to sleep?” he pulled her shirt up over her bra and pressed his face into her cleavage as he climbed up into the bed and on top of her.
“I was dreaming…” she answered, seeing and feeling in the dark that he was naked, her hands running over his back and butt.
Garin rose up and pulled her panties and pajama pants together down and off her ankles. Her legs pressed together as he undressed her. He parted them by her thighs and dove right to licking her clit, her pubic hair in his face, inhaling the smell of her crotch fully, “Dreaming about what?”
Opening her legs wider and allowing him to lick her at will, she recalled her dream with difficulty, though having ended it only a short minute or two ago, “I think I was in a locked in a skeleton tower, and my mother was evil. She didn’t let me out, but there was a prince who’d come galloping in and speak to me from his horse far down below and beg me to run away with him, to escape somehow.”
Garin could taste her getting wetter, “Who was the prince?”
Lyrou shook her head, “He was that soccer player, the captain, with the wife from Buenos Aires. He was in my dream before. But I don’t like him.”
Garin climbed up face-to-face with Lyrou, kissed her neck, and pressed his dick into her entrance. “What was the dream he appeared in before?”
Lyrou closed her eyes, feeling Garin enter her and kiss her neck, “I was a cheap groupie with a bunch of other cheap groupies and we were in a hot tub with him, there was champagne and he was celebrating winning the World Cup. He focused on one of the girls the whole time and not me, so I felt…”
Garin thrust faster, grunting out his question, “How did you feel he didn’t notice you?”
Lyrou closed her legs around Garin and locked her fingers around his back, “I felt stupid, and I think that’s when I decided not to like him.”
Garin kissed her mouth, then, looking in her eyes, “But now in the tower he must have you…”
Lyrou rubbed her clit with her hand to bring herself to orgasm. Garin’s angle wasn’t consistent, and she didn’t change the subject to help him help her. “It’s too late. Once I decide not to like someone…”
Garin’s body tightened; he was cumming sooner than he thought. The idea of her being locked in a tower away from all interested men, and then also the idea of her being resentful at being ignored and scorned, was doing something horny to him. Lyrou rubbed herself, and the idea of giving in to the prince-soccer star after he persisted and might admit he was blind not to have wanted her first brought her to her orgasm.
Garin slid beside her, and she lay still, letting the aftermath of her orgasm work itself. He looked again at her in the darkness, watching her chest rise and fall under her bra.
⚜
Evening Thursday, November 23rd, 2023
At Thanksgiving, Lyrou played the role of master chef in a culinary tradition once alien to her but now well-practiced. Garin helped in preparation, Penny helped more by getting her hands into it, and Alan sort of helped by setting the table.
She made a unique quince sauce made with Calvados, a Normandy apple brandy, and quince nectar, offering a fruity and aromatic twist. The turkey legs, braised in non-alcoholic red wine, were reminiscent of Boeuf Bourguignon. The roasted turkey breast, served with a Madeira sauce and a decadent mushroom-truffle stuffing, reflected the use of luxurious ingredients often found in haute cuisine. A standout was the Purée de Pommes de Terre, with its ultra-smooth, buttery texture. She included in the meal sautéed fennel with orange glaze, a nod to the Mediterranean, and Brussels sprouts with poitrine, where the poitrine pork belly added a savory depth to the dish. “Such food finesse.” Alan praised it, praised his mother.
In the late evening, Garin was alone in the basement home gym. He had in there a series of dumbbells, a bench press with a barbell, plates, and pull-up bar, and a cable machine with all manner of adjustable parts and swappable handles. He didn’t have space for more down there, and given that he preferred to jog outside, he didn’t need another square foot. Alan had begun coming down to visit him with increasing frequency. It was getting close to bedtime when Alan came down and found his father doing lateral raises with 25-pound dumbbells, the bench shoved out of the way.
“Dad.” Alan saluted him.
Garin lifted his arms straight out at his sides in slow repetitions, tightly gripping the dumbbells, “Hi Alan. The answer is no.”
Alan burst into laughter, “Ha! What do you mean, no?”
Garin grinned between reps. He’d continue until his arms simply wouldn’t lift. “You make a compelling argument. Then the answer is yes.”
Alan grabbed his belly laughing, “Hey! Come on, are you busting my jingle bells over here? I didn’t ask for anything.” He sat on the bench.
Garin struggled to lift the dumbbells; his deltoids were spent, but he pressed for more reps anyway. “This is a no-sitting zone, my boy. Pick up something and move it around.”
Alan complied, amused, he grabbed up the smallest pair of dumbbells on the rack and started following his father’s example in doing lateral raises, “I’ll get ripped for Fiona.”
Garin rested his arms at his sides and then squeezed out one last painful rep. Placing his pair on the bench, “Is Fiona what you’re going by in the future?”
Alan giggled, pausing mid-movement, “No! What in the trans? She’s my crush. A girl in my class.”
“Son, you are disappoint.” Garin sat on the bench.
Alan tried to continue his reps, but it had already become difficult for him; his form was terrible. “You said this is a no-sitting zone. And why am I disappoint?”
“I’m doing an assisted squat hold. You don’t exercise for chicks.” Garin placed his index fingers under Alan’s dumbbells to just barely help him lift. “Take it slower, time under tension induces hypertrophy.”
“Other than to win a hypertrophy, then why care about muscles?” Alan said through his clenched teeth.
“There is only one person you exercise for. You exercise for your future self. I’m keeping myself ready for the last battle.”
Alan bowed, setting his dumbbells at his feet, “Interdasting. The last battle?”
Garin looked Alan in the eyes, somber, “For Earth. The aliens. You’ve seen Pleiadeans. I’m not getting whooped by a Pleiadian.”
“Major kek. Not all Pleiadeans, but it’s always Pleiadeans. Seriously though,” Alan put his arms around his dad’s neck and gently began prying to pull him off the bench.
Speaking into the crook of Alan’s sweaty elbow, “I exercise because there are moments of theurgy after a great workout when it makes me feel like a god. I believe it in those seconds, when I ascend Olympus and touch the feet of the pantheon.”
Garin wrapped his arm around Alan’s waist and pulled him up off his feet, the boy laughing his lungs out, “Hey! Don’t drop me, please! Dude?!”
“You die for that boy!” Garin walked Alan through the basement to the rec room and suplexed him safely, but with a big, noisy bounce onto the basement couch. Before Alan could recover himself, Garin ran for the stairs, skipping 2 at a time,
“Yo!” Alan yelled, flying off and over the couch in pursuit.
Garin had gotten to the top and flipped off the lights, “Spiders come out when lights go out!” he yelled down over his shoulder.
Alan came stomping rapidly up the stairs, breathless as he came up into the kitchen, “I… I… you.”
Garin was at the fridge getting a cup of cold water. He handed it to Alan, “Are you winning, son? You did weight training and cardio in one night. Keep it up.”
Smiling and downing the water, Alan gave the cup back, then playfully slapped his dad’s arm, turned and ran upstairs, “More cardio!”
⚜
Afternoon Friday, November 24th, 2023
The next day, Lyrou and Garin took one Andrea Moreno out. “I’m Andrea. A pleasure to meet you two together. You look like a gorgeous couple from a video blog channel about marriage.”
Lyrou was so awkward in the first minute she forgot how to speak English, to see that this girl was real, and then that she was hot. Garin was amused by how off her rails Andrea had set Lyrou, and he was tickled by how Lyrou struggled to regain herself as the three walked on together. They took her in their car to an art museum where she was writing a report for one of her university courses. They paid for everything, lunch before, the admission fees, and then dinner after. They got to know Andrea, she was such a youth, using the slang and referring to the music and concerns of her generation, at one point noting with a giggle that their car was “lowkey a flex” and describing herself as “too extra for ramen and mac”.
Andrea could barely hide her attraction to Garin. Sitting behind Lyrou’s passenger seat, she shared, “I have a sort of Zaddy issue. He bought me this fit…”
Lyrou snorted and looked over to Garin, and Andrea blurted, “Turn left, Zaddy!” to which he turned deep red and turned left.
Upon parking, she took Garin and Lyrou back to her dorm, walking them first through part of her campus, wordlessly past other students, then through the halls of her building, into her front door, welcomed them, and plopped onto her futon. “Her professors agreed to let her switch and finish the semester online, so my roommate is back with her parents in her cornfield hometown, so I’m alones dorming for a thousand years. Well, you know, until next semester.”
Garin politely wondered, “Is she going to be OK?”
Andrea, throwing a plastic shopping bag full of who knows what into a plastic bin too full for the lid to close down sealed, “Oh no! She’s good. She’s majoring in agricultural-something, and she’s doing a big project with… ethanol? Sustainability and… green new deal.” She made a lap around her dorm, collecting cups between her fingers, and took them to her kitchen sink.
Lyrou took a look around at the mess of notebooks, volleyball shorts, plastic bags, nail polish, a charger, empty plastic bottles, extension cords, and snack bags. And either Andrea or her dorm-mate were webcam performers; multiple tripods for cameras, ring lights with diffusers, several rows of light strips, fairy lights, softboxes, candles, mics, pop filters, giant stuffed animals, art prints, Hentai pillows, a portentous stripper pole, and most ominously a low metal stool with large suction cup imprints in it. Lyrou looked about, feeling out of place, and took a seat on the only thing that wasn’t a beanbag or a short metal stool, a solitary white wooden kitchen chair with no table.
Garin eagerly took off his shirt, tossing it aside, and then he pulled his belt out and dropped his pants, revealing his erection in his underwear before anybody had expected it. “Andrea, honey… You should have your coursework done, but you don’t. Do you?”
The reality of the situation is sinking in. “Garin?” Lyrou’s voice was shocked and aroused. She watched as he dropped his pants, his cock tenting the fabric of his underwear proudly. She turned to look at Andrea, who was jiggling her leg, the college girl’s eyes wide with surprise. Andrea stood up from the futon, her own desire evident in her eyes. Lyrou asked meekly, “I want to watch,” she whispered, her hand moving to her own neck. “But only if you’re sure. Are you sure?”
Garin gave Lyrou her pivotal role: “Lyrou, tell our Andrea what she has to do for me.”
The power of the moment made her pulse race. Lyrou’s hand moved to her mouth, her fingers playing with the necklace he’d once given her on an anniversary. “Andrea,” she began, her voice shaky, “you need to be a good girl for Garin. Do as he says.” She watched as Ms. Moreno’s brown eyes flicked from Garin’s prominent underwear bulge to her face, the excitement in them unmistakable. “No buts.” She leaned back in her chair, her legs crossed, watching as Garin stepped closer to the college student. “And I’ll be right here.”
Garin invited Lyrou to seize her role, “What does our Andrea need to do, Lyrou? Command her.”
The lurid power of the moment, she watched as the college student’s cheeks flushed, Lyrou with reprimand in her voice, “How can you wear what he bought for you when he’s so upset with you? Take off your clothes.”
With nervousness, Andrea undid her blouse, her trembling hands revealing a lacy bra. She unhooked it, letting her small but perky breasts fall free. She unbuttoned her skirt, letting it drop to the floor. She stepped out of it, standing before them in just her panties and stockings. She took a moment, then slipped off her panties, revealing her patch of stubble. The sound of fabric rustling as Andrea obeyed, and her feet shifted. “Now,” Lyrou continued, her hand moving to her own chest, her breath quickening, “you’ll suck him, until he tells you to stop.” Lyrou felt the heat between her own legs, the wetness growing as she watched the scene unfold.
Watching his reaction as the young woman revealed herself, Lyrou could see the appetite in his observation of the young woman, and it made her own body respond. “Good girl,” a soft command. “Now, get on your knees.”
Andrea’s eyes remained on Garin’s as she stepped nearer, her legs wobbling slightly. She dropped slowly to her knees, one at a time. She leaned in, and taking his waistband with her fingertips, pulled his underwear down until his cock bounced out. Taken aback, but then returning, she gently took the head of it in her mouth, looking sideways to Lyrou for approval. For Lyrou, the sight of her husband’s erection disappearing into the college student’s mouth spellbound her. She watched as Garin’s eyes closed, his head tilting back in pleasure, and it occurred to her that this was the very first time she had seen him enter another. Her hand moved between her legs, her fingers finding her clit, as she listened to the soft, wet sounds of Andrea’s suction.
Garin groaned, “I’ve been watching you talk with this cute mouth all day.”
The sight of him with another woman, both exciting and painful, Lyrou watched as Andrea’s eyes clenched closed, her mouth moving hungrily on his cock. Her hand moved faster between her legs. “Chéri,” her voice tight, “you’re so patriarchal.” She bit her lip, trying to control the emotions warring within her. “I can see why she’s so drawn to you.”
Andrea found the older woman’s gaze both intimidating and arousing. Holding Garin’s member at her lips she turned to speak, “Mrs. Lyrou, you’re so beautiful.” Then she took Garin’s cock deeper into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked
The sound of the college student’s voice was like a horny sorority girl. “Thank you, Andrea. But keep your attention on him.” Lyrou replied. She watched as the young woman worked her husband’s cock, her mind racing. This was what he wanted, what they’d agreed upon. Trying to focus on the thrill of the moment rather than the fear of losing him, “Keep going,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on them. “Show us how much you respect him.”
Garin stroked the top of Andrea’s head, “Play your fetish out, Andrea. What do you want to say to Zaddy?”
Andrea took a moment, the words catching in her throat. “Zaddy,” her eyes looking up to Garin’s, “I’ve been a bad girl. I need you to teach me a lesson.”
It sounded like satisfactory foreplay to Lyrou, but Garin shook his head, “No. Do better than that. What do you want to say? He left you and your mom, and as much as you hate him, you miss him. What do you want? Don’t be shy. Say it. Let me be him.”
The intensity of his words. She watched as Andrea’s eyes widened, her hand moving faster between her legs. Garin had given Andrea permission to be very, very wrong. He’d commanded her to play out the scenario she needed but could never confess to, never mind experience. Andrea paused, then tried again, more earnestly, “I miss you,” she whispered, her voice thick with desire.
Garin nodded, “What do you need me to do?”
Andrea paused again, afraid to say what she really wanted to. “I…”
Garin encouraged her, his hand on her head, “Say the thing you want to say, no matter how filthy it is. I like it, we like it. Say whatever unforgivable, nasty thing you need to. This is it.”
Andrea looked up at him, her eyebrows low, with a pleading mouth, “I need you to fuck me, to show me how much you care about me.”
Garin nodded, “You want a caring fuck?”
Andrea stopped, feeling the wrongness and shame of her fantasy, but now having tasted a drop of it, could not help but begin to chug and gulp for the whole. The power of the roleplay was overwhelming her. She nodded, her mouth full of his cock, her cheeks flushing. “Yes, I do. I’ve been so lonely without you. I need you to show me how much you still love me.” She took him deeper, her hand moving to cup his balls, her tongue swirling around the tip of his cock.
Garin answered, his voice a caricatured fatherly tone, “I love you too, baby, but are you sure you want your… you know?”
The intensity of the roleplay made Lyrou’s heart race; this was pushing her boundaries, but the desire in his eyes was undeniable. Her hand moved to her neck, her thumb tracing the line of her collarbone. She watched as he looked down at the college student, her mouth wrapped around his cock, her eyes pleading. “But if it’s too much, do you wish to stop?”
“No,” she whispered, her voice heavy with need and submission. “I want you to show me that I’m still your girl.”
Lyrou interrupted, “Mon amour fou, are you ready for this?”
“Tell Andrea what to do.” Garin directed.
Taking control, Lyrou leaned back, watching as the college student continued to suck him off. “Andrea, move to the bed.” She watched as the young woman obeyed, turning and going to the futon with her tight, round butt flexing each step of the way. “Now, straddle him, and ride him.” She watched as Andrea positioned herself over Garin, hovering just above his erection.
Andrea looked once at Lyrou before she lowered herself onto him, engulfing his cock with a soft moan. She began to ride him, her movements odd at first, but growing more confident with each rocking stroke. She leaned back, her breasts bouncing with the rhythm, her eyes meeting Lyrou’s. “Does this make you happy, Mrs. Lyrou?”
The sight of him inside her, Andrea’s skin pink and her eyes glazed with lust, was both electrifying and unsettling for Lyrou. She thought this was a test, a dance of power and trust. Her hand moved to her own thigh, her thoughts racing. “It makes me happy to see you happy, chéri.” The sight of her husband with another woman made her wetter, to study how their bodies locked together. Her hand moved between her legs, her fingers slipping inside her own womanhood as she watched the dance of lust unfold.
As the intensity of the moment built, Andrea used and was used. She rode Garin harder, her moans filling the room. She reached out, her hand finding Lyrou’s knee, her fingers digging in. “Mrs. Lyrou,” she gasped, her voice pleasure and need, “touch me.”
“No touching… you’re mine.” Garin slapped hold of Andrea’s hand and pulled it from Lyrou’s knee.
The possessiveness in his voice surprised Lyrou, a flash of anger and arousal, her hand moving faster between her legs. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Mon doux, don’t forget our rules. We share everything.” She watched as the college student’s eyes widened, her hand moving from Garin’s balls to cup her breasts.
Garin teased in an overly done sappy voice, “Andrea, Zaddy loves you.”
These play words, words like “Zaddy” and “love” together resonated in a way that was taboo and triggered Andrea’s warped psyche. She’d never told a lover that before with any truth, but in this moment, it felt surprisingly right. Bad, but right. She nodded vigorously, a needy whisper. “Yes, Zaddy, I love you.” She leaned forward, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, and kissed him deeply, her tongue exploring his mouth as if searching for the missing years of love she craved. Her hand reached out, seeking Lyrou’s. But Lyrou kept Garin’s rule not to touch and pulled her hand away just as Andrea’s short fingers met hers.
Borrowing from the 1950’s middle-class dad archetype in his tone, “Andrea dear, I’m so proud of you. You’re the first in our family to go to college! And you’re so gorgeous, you look like your mom when she was young. You’re my sweet angel.” Garin fed Andrea the words she’d always craved to hear but hadn’t. The affection in his voice burrowed deep within Andrea, warmth, the reality of the situation blurring with the fantasy. She moaned, her movements becoming more erratic as she approached climax. “Oh, my gosh… oh,” she whimpered, her hand reaching out for Lyrou’s. “I love you too.”
Garin whispered, “Eyes closed and imagine, visualize, and ride me until you cum.”
Andrea’s brown eyes fluttered shut, her long eyelashes pressed together as she leaned into the fantasy. The illusion, combined with the reality of his cock inside her, was so sinful and so perfect. She focused on Garin’s words, her body moving in time with his hips, the friction building within her. That warmth through her, a sense of belonging and acceptance she hadn’t felt in years. Though young, she’d been through it. She thought to herself then that she deserved to have this, no matter what anybody thought, and so she would. Her hand found its way to her clit, “God-god-gah” rubbing in tight circles as she chased her orgasm, her broken-girl euphoria. “Yes, I will. I will. I’m going to cum for you!”
“That’s my baby, that’s my girl. I’m so proud of you, working a job and going to university. You were always so smart—like me.” Garin caressed Andrea’s face as she kept her eyes closed, mouth agape, bouncing on his dick, and on the brink of drooling.
Lyrou found the tender possessiveness in his voice directed at another woman so bizarre and curious. She watched as he touched the college student’s face, his sensitivity both enraging and fascinating. Her hand moving faster between her legs, she bit her lip, her eyes not missing a second.
Garin looked to Lyrou, finally, to say, “Mommy, give our Andrea permission to cum.”
The possessive term “our” stung a bit, but also gave relief to Lyrou. With that word, he was sharing ownership of Andrea with her, he was sharing this moment and making it about them, not their undergrad host with her backpack in the corner and LED strip lights. In an actress’ motherly voice, “Andrea, you may cum for Zaddy.” She watched as the college student’s eyes squeezed shut even tighter and her lips parted, her body tensing as she approached the brink.
Her eyes opened, and she looked upward briefly, hair falling into her face, the young woman’s breath coming in gasps. “Thank you, Mrs. Lyrou,” her voice filled with gratitude and lust. She began to move even faster, her hand working in tandem with her hips, “Eeeeee-my-ooohh” her orgasm building like a crescendo. “Oh,” she moaned, her voice breaking, “I’m going to cum for you.”
“That’s a good girl. I love you, my baby girl.” Garin said softly, his voice deep.
Andrea’s entire being was consumed by the intensity of the moment. A wave of pleasure washed over her as she climaxed, internal core muscles twitching in rapid 0.8-second intervals, her body clenching around his cock. Her eyes remained closed, lost in the illusion of her fantasy. “Garin,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as the orgasm ripped through her. The warmth in her abdomen released in a series of spasms. She collapsed onto him, her breath seeming almost too much for Lyrou as a witness to believe, was it a pinch of camgirl performance or real panting? Coming to, the reality of the situation hit Andrea hard, and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness as she opened her eyes and met Lyrou’s gaze. This was just a game, but for a brief moment, it had felt so real. She slid off Garin, her legs shaky, and crawled over to Lyrou, seeking comfort. “Mrs. Lyrou,” her voice regretful and needy, “I’m sorry.”
The young woman’s vulnerability touched her. Despite the complex emotions coursing through Lyrou, a strange sense of maternal protection. She opened her arms, pulling the college student into a tight embrace. “It’s OK, sweetie. It’s all part of the make-believe.” She kissed the top of her head, her hand moving to stroke her smooth, bare back soothingly. She glanced at Garin, the anger in his eyes from before replaced with something softer, something that made her heart ache. Was this their way of healing, of exploring the limits of their love and trust? “Thank you for sharing this with us.”
Garin instructed, “Andrea, from behind.” And she moved into place, on her knees and elbows, her butt high.
The possessive way he spoke made her stomach clench. Lyrou watched as Andrea nodded, her eyes wide. Lyrou agreed, “Yes, chéri. Andrea, look at me.”
The older woman’s warm embrace comforted her; Andrea’s gaze fixed on Lyrou. She leaned back into Garin, watching Lyrou’s breasts, a couple of cup sizes larger than her own. Lyrou was a matron, and her eyes closed as she lost herself in the sensation.
Garin went down on his knees and positioned himself behind Andrea, his gaze meeting Lyrou’s. He pressed his glans up into Andrea, and then observed the room, the dorm with its college sports posters, makeup and clothes strewn about, cheap furniture, a laptop with musical group stickers on it. As he fucked Andrea, he considered who she was. “Honey, what do you want to say? Now that I’m here after all these years, you can be angry. I’ll understand.”
Her eyes clenched, opening only to see Lyrou’s breasts, the depth of the roleplay making her tremble. “I’m sorry I’ve been so bad.” She paused, her eyes on Lyrou’s for approval. When she saw the nod, she continued, her voice stronger now. “I’ve missed you so much, and I just wanted someone to love me the way you did.” She closed her eyes, her body tensing as Garin pushed into her. The sensation was overwhelming, pleasure and pain that made her feel alive. “I’ve been so lonely,” her voice was filled with regret and longing. The angst building within her, the intensity of the moment making it difficult to speak, “Please, don’t leave me again.”
“I’m here, and I’m so impressed by you. But what’s this about being bad? Are you kissing boys in college?” Garin looked to Lyrou, to see how she was receiving these lines as if he were an actor looking to the director in a film set chair.
The fantasy thickening around her, Andrea nodded, then went face down, her voice muffled in the fabric. “Yes, I kissed a lot of boys.” Her voice was shy and defiant. “But only because I miss your love.” She gripped a pillow, her long pink nails scratching into the pillowcase.
“Zaddy will always love his Andrea. Don’t forget it!” Garin pulled her tightly against himself.
The idea of being part of something, of belonging, was almost too much. Andrea let a tear slip down her cheek, mixing with the saliva that had gathered around her mouth. “I won’t. I’ll be good for you.”
The possessiveness in his voice ignited a new fire within her. Lyrou watched as he claimed the college student, the sight of him taking her from behind both thrilling and terrifying. Her hand moved to her own needs, her fingers slipping inside, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. She leaned back, her need building as she watched her husband play with another in this messy, nerdy girls’ dorm. She closed her eyes to this present reality for another, picturing Tom, square-jaw and cleft-chin, her thoughts swirling with desire and anger. She had to find a way to deal with her feelings, to balance the scales. But for now, she allowed herself to be swept away by the moment, her hand moving faster as her own climax approached. “Yes, mon amour,” a soft invitation. “Take her, make her yours.”
“Andrea baby, do you want Zaddy to cum inside you?” Garin asked so sweetly.
The intensity of his question making her heart race. The idea of being filled by him, of carrying his essence, was too perverted; she had to have it. It was just a fantasy, but the connection was undeniable. “Yes,” her hips pushing back to meet his every thrust, herself on the edge.
“You’re my girl, we should be able to do that if we like.” Garin seized Andrea by her hips and began slamming into her, rocking her whole body
Lyrou watched as he claimed the college student, his cock disappearing into her with each powerful thrust. Her own hand moved faster, “Shhhh-uuuhh-uh-uh” her orgasm building, dopamine inundating her brain. She leaned back, her eyes fluttering shut, her thoughts anger, lust, and love. “Oh, chéri. Show her who she belongs to.”
The intensity of the situation made her heart race, Andrea affirmed, “Yes, I’m yours.”
Garin’s cock throbbed, and he dumped his load deep into the dorm damsel, her pelvic muscles clenching around his shaft and squeezing it out. The feeling of him filling her, inseminating her, was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. “Fuuuuccck-uh-uh-uh-uh!” Her orgasm crashed over her as he pulled out; she squirted, her droplets landing on his thighs, her body shaking with the intensity of the climax. She couldn’t look at Lyrou, her face buried into the fabric as Garin’s warmth filled her. “Mrs. Lyrou, thank you.”
Watching the pleasure etched on his face as he came, Lyrou with a strange sense of satisfaction, knowing she’d allowed him this experience. Her own hand slowed, her orgasm receding as she took in the sight of her husband with another woman. She approached and then stroked Andrea’s hair, her mind racing with thoughts of Tom and her own desires. Before this act, she hadn’t been so sure about Garin watching her, if she’d be able to do it. Now, for Lyrou, it was a must. In herself, she found a determination to get even with Garin for this precise moment by making him watch her, and to reward herself for enduring this precise moment by treating herself to Tom. The words didn’t come easily, but Lyrou said them with such loveliness, “You’re welcome, sweetie.”
⚜
