Man in the Corner


The thing is, I had noticed her three times already that day, standing among a group of suburban soccer moms in a tiger-print bikini and big sunglasses and more gold jewelry than necessary for a day at the water park. But these women were there to soak up the sun and look good, and while I had checked them all out it was the tiger-print blonde I kept coming back to.

Not that I expected anything to come of it, not at my age. But I did as much fantasizing as my loose swim trunks would allow, then turned my attention to my grandkids splashing around in the wave pool. My son Trey and I cruised around the lazy river chatting about life and baseball, and at one point he said he thought that particular group of 40-somethings was giving me the eye.

“You, maybe. Pretty sure they aren’t here looking for white-haired old geezers.”

“Pop, come on. You’re distinguished-looking and semi-famous. At the very least they’re wondering what you’re worth.”

“A whopping six figures, last time I checked.”

The place closed at eight, but Trey gathered up the kids at seven, so they could get home before bedtime. I hugged them all and said my goodbyes and did one more lap on my inner tube, and when I came back around, the tiger-print blonde was waiting for me with one of my mystery novels in her hand.


I toweled off and instinctively sucked in my stomach. “This is one of my favorites.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said. “My friend recognized you and ran over to Barnes and Noble to get this for me.”

“Ah. So how would you like me to sign it?”

“Put ‘To Sasha, thanks for a great time.'”

I laughed and signed. Truthfully, it wasn’t the weirdest thing I’d ever inscribed in a book. “Have we had a great time?”

She took the book back and handed me a piece of memo paper with her address written on it. “If you can be here at eight o’clock, we will.”


I’d only lived in Westfield for about a month at the time. I moved there to be closer to my son and his family and was still settling in. I’d been divorced for five years and back in the dating scene for three, and I’d always been pretty cautious about one-night stands and sex in general. But I’d never run across anyone like the tiger-print beauty named Sasha before. Something about that taut tummy and piled-up golden hair and direct gaze made me made me throw prudence out the window. I didn’t even mind the store-bought breasts. I was new to the city, and I was going for it.

I made a quick stop at home to shower and shaved and put on a splash of cologne, then used my GPS to find Sasha’s house on the quiet and upscale north side. Nice house. Huge. Here, I thought, is someone who made out well in the divorce settlement. Sasha greeted me and took my hand to lead me into the living room. She poured us each a glass of wine and then removed her sleeveless sweater and long skirt to reveal the tiger-print bikini I’d been admiring earlier. She stood just a few feet from where I sat; her head cocked, her mouth slightly open, her eyebrows raised as if expecting a comment.

“You have my attention,” I said, always the silver-tongued devil.

She laughed and straddled me. “You were just what I went there to find. My girlfriends all agreed you were the one.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Don’t even try,” she said, pressing her warm, full lips on my neck and causing my cock to jump to attention. I placed my hands on her waist and murmured that her skin was nice and soft; she stopped my murmur with a kiss. “Sssh,” she purred. “There’s a certain way I like to do things.” At that, she lay across my lap and slid her bikini pants down. My first thought was that she liked to be spanked, but that thought was way off. “I want you to rub my butt,” she said. “Rub it, rub it up and down, rub it in circles, rub every inch of it.”

This request was not hard to comply with, especially when she began moaning and lifting her hips up and down and whispering about how good it felt, how wet I was making her, how much she needed to come. I just kept rubbing that smooth little derriere and occasionally letting a finger slip between her cheeks or even down to the very bottom of her slit. She said “Naughty” and after ten minutes of being rubbed asked if I liked to eat pussy.

“I do. I do, a lot.”

“Good. I’m ready to be eaten. Follow me upstairs, horny boy.”

I followed her and never took my eyes off that scrumptious ass. She opened the door to the master bedroom and flipped the light on. I followed her inside and kicked my shoes off as she removed the bikini and showed me her little Brazilian wax job and holy shit there was a man in the corner. He was naked and tied to a chair. He was wearing a spandex hood, and there was a ball gag in his mouth. His eyes met mine, and I would have lost my erection if Sasha hadn’t stepped up beside me and started rubbing me through my khakis.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “This is his thing. Denial. Humiliation. Watching his wife reach climax after climax without him.”

I hesitated, but the man in the corner nodded. His eyes said to do it.

Sasha lay on her back with her legs thrown wide. “Eat me now. Don’t stop when I come, just eat me until I say you’re done.”

I couldn’t look at the man in the corner, not now. I’d read (and experimented) enough to know that the spectrum of sexual pleasure was wider than you could ever imagine. She said he liked it, his eyes confirmed it, and I dove in to give them both what they wanted. Sasha was sloppy wet, and her clit protruded nicely, and in no time my face was dripping. I licked deep inside her and down to her butthole. I licked all up and down her inner thighs as my humped my cock against their bedspread. True to her word, she didn’t stop at one orgasm.

I’m not sure how many she had, but I could hear the man in the corner grunt something behind his gag, something like, “Oh God,” with every one of her ecstatic wails.

I thought I knew what was coming next. I got to my knees and slipped out of my trousers, but when the briefs came down, Sasha tightened her lips and said, “Hold up, baby.” She rolled off the bed and pulled a little saucer out of the nightstand drawer. “You’ll have to cum on this,” she explained.


“You have to be bigger than him to be inside me.”

I glanced at the man in the corner, whose much larger bone was pointing straight up. He must’ve been a good eight inches; I’m only four and a half.

“That’s disappointing,” I said.

“One of my rules,” she said with a shrug. She set the saucer on the bed and said, “He’s going to eat it, either way.”

Then pushed my shirt up and began sucking my nipple. I couldn’t remember ever being that hard, or that ready. She circled my cock with her right hand and made me squirt in maybe a couple dozen strokes. My load splashed onto the saucer; Sasha gathered up the last drop with her finger and ate it.

“Would you like to watch?” she asked, carrying the saucer over to the man in the corner.

I don’t know if it would have made a difference if I’d said no. After all, I’d just spent forty minutes going down on this man’s wife and making her cum. How much more could I humiliate him? I nodded and watched as she removed his gag, warned him not to speak, and held the saucer up to his mouth. He lapped up my semen and accepted Sasha’s kiss before she put the gag back on.

She turned to me and said, “He loves inferior men’s cum.”

I dressed and was led out with a kiss on the cheek, and that was that.

The End.


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