Cunnilingus Challenge – Payback

Amateur

The events described herein took place one week after our Cunnilingus Challenge, in which I was blindfolded and tied at all four points to our king-size bed while my wife and her two best friends rode my face and tongue to three rounds of orgasms. It was my challenge, as well as my pleasure, to not only provide a sexually stimulating experience for each of the women, but to also identify each by the taste of her vagina. At stake was an evening of fantasy fulfillment for the winner or winners, to be endowed by the loser or losers. I passed the test and won the challenge, which, by the way, is chronicled in a three-part story on Literotica, but in a moment of weakness, I agreed to submit to the three women’s fantasies anyway.

At the time, I thought it seemed like a win-win situation.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into!

# # # # # #

The text message I received that afternoon at work asked me to meet my wife at our favorite restaurant, a dimly-lit bistro with checkered tablecloths and old wine bottles as candle-holders. Not surprisingly, she was there when I arrived, accompanied by her two best friends, Liz and Katie. What I did not expect, however, was that they were not seated at our usual corner booth in the main dining area, but at a round table with six chairs in the center of an otherwise empty banquet room, already eating what appeared to be cheesecake.

“Am I late?” I asked as I leaned down to kiss my wife, tasting a hint of the strawberry she had just finished consuming.

“No, of course not,” she said, “right on time.” Then she waved one hand toward the empty seats on either side of hers and added, “Sit anywhere.”

I pulled out the chair to my wife’s right and sat between her and Liz, directly across from Katie, who smiled at me quickly and then glanced between my wife and Liz to see if either had noticed.

“Do you know why you are here?” my wife asked.

All three women had set their forks down on their plates of unfinished cheesecake and were looking at me attentively. I could not help but recall the last time all four of us were at this restaurant; it started out feeling like an intervention, but ended with a very enticing challenge.

“To eat?” I asked, smirking at my obvious answer.

“You’re half right,” my wife said with a smirk of her own.

All three women giggled, the way women do when two or more are together.

“It looks like I missed dinner anyway,” I said, waving a hand around the table at the plates of cheesecake. “You are already eating your dessert.”

“Oh, no,” my wife began, “tonight is a special occasion, so we wanted to do something different. We’re eating our dessert first.”

All three women giggled again.

“Oh good,” I replied, “because I am famished!”

More giggles.

Had I said something funny?

“Sometimes it’s better to start with dessert,” my wife said in a low voice, “and work your way up to the main course.”

There was something in her tone, and the way all six eyes were following me, that should have tipped me off, but sometimes I am very thick. I am a man, after all.

“So are you saying I get to eat my dessert first, too?” I asked.

“Any time you’re ready,” my wife said, smiling. She reached around inside of her purse for something.

“OK, good,” I said, the only one at our table who did not know what was about to happen. “Where is my dessert?” I looked around the sparsely populated banquet room and did not even see a waitress.

“Your dessert is under the table,” she said coquettishly, then added, “Three succulent courses.”

More giggles.

She pulled a small bag from her purse.

I recognized the bag immediately. It was the doggy bag we had gotten at our previous visit to this restaurant, into which my wife and her two friends had placed their panties. I used the excuse that I wanted to study their panties for my test, to help me identify each woman as she squatted on my face. When the challenge was over, none of the women asked me to return their panties, so I kept the bag of sexy delights hidden at the bottom of my socks drawer. Apparently, trying to hide anything from my wife is futile, but for some reason I have not learned that yet.

For the truth to be known, I have a fetish for panties. They are so sexy, and soft, and smooth, hide so many secrets, fulfill unlimited fantasies, and radiate female musk and my own unquenchable lust. Of course I kept them!

I tried not to act surprised or guilty when my wife held up the bag, even though I knew I had been busted. My face must have given me away.

“I’m sure you were planning to return these to their proper owners,” my wife said in a condescending way.

“Of course,” I lied.

“Good boy,” she said, not even pretending to buy into my ruse.

She opened the bag and held it in front of me.

“So who’s first?” she asked, shaking the bag up and down slightly and nodding at me.

I reached into the bag and removed a pair of black thong panties. batman escort Hers.

I looked around the room to ensure my actions would not be observed, then ducked under the checkered tablecloth and crawled over to my wife. She had slid herself forward on her chair, and her legs were spread wide.

She was naked under her skirt.

I leaned forward and buried my face between her legs, resting the back of one hand on the seat of her chair and spreading her labia with the other. She was quite wet already! I sucked and licked every part of her delicious female anatomy, squeezing her clitoris between my thumb and first finger and rubbing it up and down. I explored her vagina with the tip of my tongue, then entered her with two fingers and sucked and nibbled on her clitoris. I wagged my head back and forth, thankful for the table cloth concealing my lewd act as she pulled my face closer and rode my fingers and tongue to a quiet but jerking orgasm.

I continued enjoying the first course of my dessert until the open-palm taps on the top of my head informed me I had performed my duty.

I kissed my way down her smooth legs and removed her shoes, then slid her panties up to her knees. She reached under the table and ruffled my hair with one hand, pulled her panties up to her thighs, and lifted herself up slightly from her seat as I guided the waistband up over her hips.

A moment later she pulled out the chair in which I had been sitting, indicating to me it was safe to come back out from under the table.

She smiled at me beautifully, then opened the doggy bag and shook it gently in front of me again.

I reached into the bag and removed a pair of white silk panties with lace around the leg bands, which I recognized by sight and scent as Liz’s.

Another quick look around the room, and I was back under the table for my second serving of dessert.

Liz was also naked under her skirt, and it made me wonder, had she worked all day without panties, or did she remove them just for me?

I already know, I think too much, I should just enjoy the sexy treat so magnificently spread before me!

I wasted no time finding Liz’s appreciable clitoris, which I sucked and licked like a Popsicle as she held and guided my head with both hands. Her inviting womanly musk was just as I remembered it from the previous week’s challenge, lubricating my fingers as I plunged them deep inside of her, once again searching for her flood-gate and a way to open it. I filled my mouth with her labia and my lungs with her sultry bouquet, continually using every resource available to stimulate her and provide the highest degree of pleasure.

She bucked against my face and rocked her chair back onto two legs as her orgasm approached, still holding my head roughly and emitting the softest squeaking sounds from deep within her throat.

If any other diners had been in the banquet room at that time, I don’t even know what they may have thought of the spectacle we were creating!

Liz clamped her strong thighs tightly against my head and pulled my hair until the final spasms of orgasmic bliss subsided, then patted my head with her open palms just as my wife had done to tell me to come up for air.

That must be a universal response, the open-palm patting. I seem to get it a lot!

As I had done earlier with my wife, I kissed my way down Liz’s legs and helped her slip out of her shoes, then assisted in sliding her panties into their proper place.

I buried my face in the crotch of her panties after she adjusted them for comfort and filled my lungs with her incredible womanly incense one final time before reclaiming my seat at the table next to my wife.

With only one pair of panties remaining in the bag, there was no need for my wife to shake it in front of me, but she did anyway, which was actually kind of cute, if I do say so.

I reached in and removed Katie’s flowery cotton pretties, held them to my face for a second before realizing that might not be the right thing to do, and then folded them neatly and tucked them into my shirt pocket, as I had done with my wife’s and Liz’s panties previously.

“I just have one question,” I said in a serious tone, looking directly at my wife, who was still holding the doggy bag.

She looked at me but did not speak, so I continued.

“Can I keep the bag?” I asked.

This elicited giggles from Liz and Katie, and a classic eye-roll from my wife, who folded the bag in fourths and handed it to me. Then she lifted the table cloth for me and I followed my nose to Katie’s alluring blossom.

Like my wife and Liz before her, Katie had slid herself forward onto the edge of her chair and sat with her legs open wide for me. Her sexy female scent informed me she was ready for everything I had to offer as I wrapped my arms around her legs and planted gentle kisses on her inner thighs, alternately blowing softly on her moist prize. I traced her dainty flower petals with my fingertips before lifting bayburt escort them from that which they so beautifully concealed, then slowly licked her pink flesh up and down, neither entering her yearning vagina nor stimulating her sexy clitoral bud.

With one hand on each of my ears, she rocked slowly as I teased her mercilessly, eventually sliding herself further into my eager face and practically forcing my entire head inside of her sweltering furnace of female majesty.

I could not wait another second, and I think we were of the same mind, as I entered her deeply with two fingers and simultaneously engulfed her tasty clitoris with my mouth, drinking her sweet essence and finally providing her the relief my teasing had presaged.

I continued to luxuriate in the third and final course of my dessert for several wonderful moments, despite Katie’s wiggling and open-palm tapping, eventually kissing her sweetly and redirecting my attention to her sexy legs and sandal-clad feet. I kissed, licked, and sucked every one of her little piggies before sliding her panties up her legs and snapping the waistband genially, then rested my face on her thigh until my cue to return to my seat.

Coincidentally, or perhaps not, there were no napkins on the table to wipe the vaginal secretions from my face, which I know glistened even in the dim candle-light of the banquet room.

“So whose sexual fantasy did I just fulfill?” I asked, looking around at all three ladies and noticing all had cleaned every last morsel of cheesecake from their plates while I was similarly enjoying my own dessert. Who can eat cheesecake while in the throes of orgasm, I wondered?

“Mine, of course,” my wife said sweetly, touching the tip of my nose with one finger. “You’re so cute when you’re submissive, and soooo good with your tongue…”

Liz and Katie nodded their heads in agreement.

“…sometimes I feel selfish having you all to myself!”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I smirked, wiping some of the female nectar from my face with two fingers and sucking them clean.

“Mmmmmmm,” she cooed, “Promise?”

That night, my wife and I left a trail of clothing all the way from our front door to our king-size bed, where we made and shared two of the largest and messiest creampies ever. Then she told me I had better get some sleep.

“You’ll need to rest up for tomorrow night,” she said, then kissed my forehead and rolled away from me.

I fell asleep nestled against her back with my chin on her shoulder, blissfully unaware of the fate which awaited me less than twenty-four hours hence.

# # # # # #

Sometime the next afternoon I received the following text message from a number which was not in my address book: “Wms St Hotel, Rm 513, 7:00 :P”

Curious, I showed it to my wife.

“You better go,” she said in a very serious tone, then added with a wink, “I hope you got enough sleep last night!”

She obviously knew more than she was letting on.

My first suspicion, really my only one, was that is was either Liz, or Katie, or both of her best friends, planning fulfillment of a sexual fantasy.

The Williams Street Hotel had been one of our city’s fanciest and most prestigious hotels in its day, with a revolving restaurant on the top floor offering a spectacular view of our downtown area, and a ballroom and bar where everyone who was anyone, or anyone who wanted to be seen, could go to dance, drink, and party until all hours of the night.

That day, unfortunately, ended many years ago.

For the past couple of decades, the Williams Street Hotel, like much of the surrounding downtown area, suffered through a period of neglect, to the point where its current clientèle are mainly winos, purveyors of all things illicit, and practitioners of the world’s oldest profession; monthly, weekly, nightly, and hourly room rates are available; and clean linen is provided at an additional charge. Yet despite its recent reputation as a house of low standards, the ten-story facade remains an imposing figure on our downtown landscape, and the parking lot is rarely empty.

If this was where Liz, or Katie, or both wanted to meet me to fulfill a sexual fantasy, I was sure to be in for a night to remember!

The stairwell reeked of stale cigarettes, urine, and vomit, its graffiti-scrawled walls soliciting names and telephone numbers to call for any manner of gratification one might be seeking. Yet despite its foreboding ambiance, I took the wooden staircase up to the fifth floor, because I do not trust elevators with mechanical parts older than my oldest living relative, and knocked on the door to Room 513 at seven o’clock sharp.

As I stood in the dank hallway, whose only light was supplied by a single bare bulb hanging from a wire on a ceiling of cracked plaster, a man who looked like he could have drawn the building’s blueprints got off of the elevator and ambled past me arm in arm with a woman young enough to be his grand-daughter. They bebek escort stopped several times to look back at me before finally entering a room near the end of the hall and hanging a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the doorknob. Needless to say, it made me realize the hallway was not where I wanted to be at that particular moment, so after knocking again, I tried the door and it was unlocked.

The room did not appear to have been recently inhabited; there was a wooden chair facing a small desk with a lamp at one corner, an antique chest of drawers across from a double bed with undisturbed covers, and a bedside table with a clock radio blinking 12:00. Next to the closet was another door, which lead to an adjoining room arranged like a mirror-image of Room 513, illuminated by candles set on the dresser, desk, and bedside table. At the edge of the bed, facing the chest of drawers but turning her head to look at me as I entered the room, sat Liz.

“Wow,” I said quietly.

I was almost frightened by the macabre setting. OK, I’ll admit it, I was more than a little spooked, all things considered: the cryptic text from an unknown number, the unlocked door and vacant room, and then Liz, sitting almost motionless in the adjoining room with shadows from the flickering candles dancing across her white terrycloth robe, which appeared to be the only article of attire covering her voluptuous body.

“You’re late,” she said in a voice that did not sound like her own.

“Sorry, Liz,” I began. “There was no answer at the door…”

“Call me ‘Madam,'” she interrupted.

“Yes, Madam,” I replied, feeling less fearful as the fabric began to tighten in the crotch of my pants.

“That’s better,” she said curtly. “I think you know why you are here,” she continued.

“Yes, Madam,” I began. “To fulfill your wildest and most depraved sexual fantasy.”

“Very good,” she said, standing up and facing me. “Now take off your clothes. You need to be punished for being late.”

She reached into a small suitcase that was sitting on the corner of the bed and pulled out a long, narrow paddle that reminded me of the one my Latin teacher used to have back in high school. She was a recent college graduate, single, who captured the imagination of many a libidinous high schooler, including yours truly. She used to dish out the whacks ad-libitum, and everyone who received one signed his or her name on the paddle. I got the wood from her so many times, instead of signing my name, I just added a little check mark next to my signature! Of course, that was before it was determined by society that corporal punishment could cause permanent harm. But I digress.

My Latin teacher’s paddle never got me quite so aroused, either!

For reasons I don’t think I need to explain, the idea of being stripped naked and spanked by this beautiful and temporarily domineering woman had me stiff and at full attention before I could even get my pants unfastened!

I removed my clothes as quickly as I could, leaving them in a pile at the foot of the bed.

“Were you raised in a barn?” Liz asked, motioning toward the tangled mess.

I figured it was a rhetorical question, but I answered anyway.

“No, Madam,” I said quietly.

“Then take care of it,” she said sternly.

I was seeing a side of Liz I had never even imagined, and in my state of undress, it was impossible to conceal how much it turned me on! My barometer of lust was in full readiness mode!

As I bent over to pick up my clothes from the floor, I felt the sting of Liz’s paddle for the first time, and it hurt!

I was immediately cognizant of the disparity between being paddled by a young, pretty Latin teacher, through a protective layer of school pants, and receiving the full force of Liz’s fury on my bare skin!

The second whack had me questioning why in the world I ever thought being spanked would be sexy, and the third caused a significant drop in my barometric pressure.

I folded my clothes as quickly as possible, placed them on the bed in a neat stack next to Liz’s suitcase, and turned around to face her, the color of my face undoubtedly matching my newly earned welts.

“That was for being a slob,” she said, slapping the paddle against her open palm a couple of times. “Now, about your lack of punctuality,” she continued.

“The text said Room 513 at 7:00,” I practically whimpered. “I was there on time…”

Then I quickly added, “Madam!”

“I will take your testimony into consideration,” she said with a wicked grin, sitting back down at the foot of the bed and motioning for me to lay down across her lap.

Two swift whacks later, I was crying, and not just a few quiet tears, but actually sobbing loudly and practically hyperventilating, my tears and saliva dripping onto the carpet next to her bare feet.

I was totally humiliated. If that was the goal Liz had set for the evening, she achieved it within the first few minutes. There I was, naked and crying like a newborn baby, still laying across Liz’s lap because she had not yet told me I could get up and I dared not incur her further wrath.

“I think you’ve had enough,” she said after a long pause during which I tried to hold my breath in anticipation of the next onslaught.

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