Double Teamed
Sunday, 01Nov2015 Filed in: celebrations & passages⭐︎ sex
They double teamed me.
I keep my hair shoulder length. Twice a year I trim it. Or rather I get it trimmed. I picked Samhain and Beltaine originally. I kept those dates because Wintergate and Summergate aren’t as easy for other people to remember. It’s just easier to tell folks the end of October and the end of April. I make it a social occasion, it keeps me from doing the hermit thing.
I usually do dinner parties for the beginnings of winter and summer. In past years it’s been a dozen or so close friends. One highlight is getting willing ladies to cut my hair. It means getting my hair wet. It means having female fingers run through it. It means indulging my exhibitionist enough to take off my shirt. It means laughter and fun and embarrassment. It means my friends seeing a side of me that I usually don’t let out and play. It means one last celebration before Winter begins.
I’ve been pensive this year for reasons I won’t share here. So it was a quiet dinner last night. Braised chicken with soy sauce and lemon, squash, asparagus tips, freshly baked sourdough bread. And two lovely ladies. I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.
My companions are more than friends with benefits and less than spouses. We’re not exclusive. They indulge their strange gentleman friend as I seek theGoddess Lady God in each of them. Neither are pagan, heck, neither of them are even libertarian. Mostly we meet one on one, but sometimes it’s the three of us and no sex.
And yes, one of them can argue me under the table on almost any topic. It’s a humbling experience. The other has a passion, a vision that is marvelous to behold and far beyond mine.
I’ve been with each of them for years. They know my fetishes. They know that before I grew my hair long, I used to go to a hairdresser.
Now that lady was married with kids. She was a fine looking woman, a very fine looking woman. But what did it for me was when she shampooed my hair before cutting it. It would never fail to “stir my loins.” Over the years I’m sure she noticed but neither or us ever said anything about it. Even then, I tried to respect some rules. If I didn’t work with you and you promised to be someone else’s one and only, you were off limits.
If I worked with you, that was a different story. I collected pelts and I used that. I was Not A Nice Person in my Corporate Clone days. I’m the man I am now because I didn’t really like who I was then. And neither did aGoddess Lady God.
So here are these two amazing women that I care for dearly and who have chosen to share themselves with me. They know that one of my fetishes is for black leather. They know that that the glimpse of a ripe nipple pushing through fabric can start me up.
Of course both showed up with white blouses. Almost but not quire sheer. With nothing underneath. A black velvet band around each neck. And each of them wore a single black leather cuff around a wrist. I didn’t know why, but I did like what I saw. My eyes kept drifting to their cuffs and the nipples I could see under their blouses.
After dinner, we move to the kitchen. Easier to sweep up the hair, you see.
That’s when they pull out the gloves.
Black. Leather. Fingerless. Gloves.
One pair.
Shared.
Each wore their glove and their leather cuff on the same arm.
Oh Lord and Lady! Fire and pulsing down below the waistline.
One companion removed my hair clip, the special occasion one with the Celtic desigh in copper and brass.. My other companion removed my glasses but didn’t fold them before putting them on the counter. Each took a hair brush and ran it through my hair. A shiver of excitement ran down my back.
One gently poured warm water over my hair.The other dabbed my torso to get the extra water. They combed my hair. They ran their leather-clad fingers through it. Snip by gentle snip, trading the scissors back and forth, slowly, deliberately, they cut off about three inches.
I’m hard. They know it. My lovely companions discuss it softy over the top of my head. Even as they take their time. For more than an hour, they tease with something that would take me two minutes in front of the bathroom mirror. And yes, they use those leather clad palms to stroke my skin, lightly touch my shoulders and back, and rub my nipples. It’s a familiarity I would not allow anyone else. They know it.
I’ve enjoyed sex with each lady, but not at the same time. I pride myself on the arousal and reaction I can raise in each of their bodies without actually fucking.
My companions know that since I asked them to do something so intimate, honor requires me to let them do it as they choose. They’re playing me against myself. There are no ropes, no restraints except my will and my choice.
For once, they are pushing me to the edge. Yes, I love how it feels. Even as I struggle to control my body and reactions. Fingers through my hair again as they brush it and triple check the length. I’m trembling with desire. It’s all I can do to keep from seizing the both of them and dragging them onto the living room carpet. I stay still in the chair as they clean up the shorn hair and put down the scissors.
Then they carefully removed the gloves and set them on the kitchen counter. From either side they bent and kissed my cheeks at the same time.
And then they wished me a good night.
I’m sure some readers expected me to describe a wild threesome. Neither lady has expressed anything more than friendship to the other. Even with me, our relationship is friendship more than sex. This time there are no revealed nether regions, no limbs in every direction, no tangle of sweaty bedsheets.
They double teamed me. They brought me to the edge. And they left me there.
That last bit is what I often do to them.
They also knew that I believe one of the best ways to break out of a grand funk is sharing sexual arousal with another.
So why write something that starts like soft porn?
Well, first because it happened. My “Hair of the Bear” dinners are part of how I celebrate the year. I can’t do it without friends. I certainly can’t do it without companions.
Because it’s about respect. These ladies are not my sex toys to serve my pleasure. They are good friends. They think. They feel. Oh Gods do they feel! My connection to each is part of what I cherish about them. If I didn’t connect, they would be masturbation mechanisms made flesh. I don’t need the meaningless sex, I need the friendship and respect.
Each of them challenges me in amazing ways. Between the two of them, they make sure I don’t lock myself in hermit mode. I can only keep seeing them if I bring part of me. I have to trust them if I want them to trust me. I have to show each of them wonders even as I share their wonders.
It’s not one way. I have to find ways to challenge them too. Each has their own likes and dislikes, their passions and thoughts. I’m a better person when I am part of their world and they are a part of mine.
I don’t control them. They don’t control me.
True Ladies both.
And it is my honor to be with them.
I keep my hair shoulder length. Twice a year I trim it. Or rather I get it trimmed. I picked Samhain and Beltaine originally. I kept those dates because Wintergate and Summergate aren’t as easy for other people to remember. It’s just easier to tell folks the end of October and the end of April. I make it a social occasion, it keeps me from doing the hermit thing.
I usually do dinner parties for the beginnings of winter and summer. In past years it’s been a dozen or so close friends. One highlight is getting willing ladies to cut my hair. It means getting my hair wet. It means having female fingers run through it. It means indulging my exhibitionist enough to take off my shirt. It means laughter and fun and embarrassment. It means my friends seeing a side of me that I usually don’t let out and play. It means one last celebration before Winter begins.
I’ve been pensive this year for reasons I won’t share here. So it was a quiet dinner last night. Braised chicken with soy sauce and lemon, squash, asparagus tips, freshly baked sourdough bread. And two lovely ladies. I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.
My companions are more than friends with benefits and less than spouses. We’re not exclusive. They indulge their strange gentleman friend as I seek the
And yes, one of them can argue me under the table on almost any topic. It’s a humbling experience. The other has a passion, a vision that is marvelous to behold and far beyond mine.
I’ve been with each of them for years. They know my fetishes. They know that before I grew my hair long, I used to go to a hairdresser.
Now that lady was married with kids. She was a fine looking woman, a very fine looking woman. But what did it for me was when she shampooed my hair before cutting it. It would never fail to “stir my loins.” Over the years I’m sure she noticed but neither or us ever said anything about it. Even then, I tried to respect some rules. If I didn’t work with you and you promised to be someone else’s one and only, you were off limits.
If I worked with you, that was a different story. I collected pelts and I used that. I was Not A Nice Person in my Corporate Clone days. I’m the man I am now because I didn’t really like who I was then. And neither did a
So here are these two amazing women that I care for dearly and who have chosen to share themselves with me. They know that one of my fetishes is for black leather. They know that that the glimpse of a ripe nipple pushing through fabric can start me up.
Of course both showed up with white blouses. Almost but not quire sheer. With nothing underneath. A black velvet band around each neck. And each of them wore a single black leather cuff around a wrist. I didn’t know why, but I did like what I saw. My eyes kept drifting to their cuffs and the nipples I could see under their blouses.
After dinner, we move to the kitchen. Easier to sweep up the hair, you see.
That’s when they pull out the gloves.
Black. Leather. Fingerless. Gloves.
One pair.
Shared.
Each wore their glove and their leather cuff on the same arm.
Oh Lord and Lady! Fire and pulsing down below the waistline.
One companion removed my hair clip, the special occasion one with the Celtic desigh in copper and brass.. My other companion removed my glasses but didn’t fold them before putting them on the counter. Each took a hair brush and ran it through my hair. A shiver of excitement ran down my back.
One gently poured warm water over my hair.The other dabbed my torso to get the extra water. They combed my hair. They ran their leather-clad fingers through it. Snip by gentle snip, trading the scissors back and forth, slowly, deliberately, they cut off about three inches.
I’m hard. They know it. My lovely companions discuss it softy over the top of my head. Even as they take their time. For more than an hour, they tease with something that would take me two minutes in front of the bathroom mirror. And yes, they use those leather clad palms to stroke my skin, lightly touch my shoulders and back, and rub my nipples. It’s a familiarity I would not allow anyone else. They know it.
I’ve enjoyed sex with each lady, but not at the same time. I pride myself on the arousal and reaction I can raise in each of their bodies without actually fucking.
My companions know that since I asked them to do something so intimate, honor requires me to let them do it as they choose. They’re playing me against myself. There are no ropes, no restraints except my will and my choice.
For once, they are pushing me to the edge. Yes, I love how it feels. Even as I struggle to control my body and reactions. Fingers through my hair again as they brush it and triple check the length. I’m trembling with desire. It’s all I can do to keep from seizing the both of them and dragging them onto the living room carpet. I stay still in the chair as they clean up the shorn hair and put down the scissors.
Then they carefully removed the gloves and set them on the kitchen counter. From either side they bent and kissed my cheeks at the same time.
And then they wished me a good night.
I’m sure some readers expected me to describe a wild threesome. Neither lady has expressed anything more than friendship to the other. Even with me, our relationship is friendship more than sex. This time there are no revealed nether regions, no limbs in every direction, no tangle of sweaty bedsheets.
They double teamed me. They brought me to the edge. And they left me there.
That last bit is what I often do to them.
They also knew that I believe one of the best ways to break out of a grand funk is sharing sexual arousal with another.
So why write something that starts like soft porn?
Well, first because it happened. My “Hair of the Bear” dinners are part of how I celebrate the year. I can’t do it without friends. I certainly can’t do it without companions.
Because it’s about respect. These ladies are not my sex toys to serve my pleasure. They are good friends. They think. They feel. Oh Gods do they feel! My connection to each is part of what I cherish about them. If I didn’t connect, they would be masturbation mechanisms made flesh. I don’t need the meaningless sex, I need the friendship and respect.
Each of them challenges me in amazing ways. Between the two of them, they make sure I don’t lock myself in hermit mode. I can only keep seeing them if I bring part of me. I have to trust them if I want them to trust me. I have to show each of them wonders even as I share their wonders.
It’s not one way. I have to find ways to challenge them too. Each has their own likes and dislikes, their passions and thoughts. I’m a better person when I am part of their world and they are a part of mine.
I don’t control them. They don’t control me.
True Ladies both.
And it is my honor to be with them.
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