If you missed Parts 1 - 2 of the ongoing story "New Openings," they're alive and well and living in our archives -- just click on the archive link. But to get you started on Part 3, here's where we left off:

"He felt around for my g-spot and pressed. He forced my body to come deeper, making me grunt like an animal. Unghhhh.

I woke up thinking that I would never leave this man. That he could have a harem of nineteen year-olds kneeling nude at his dick... But who knows how reality might trash your fantasies? I was about to find out..."

[And now for Part 3 of "New Openings"]:


The next day we were hiking with friends and one of our friends had brought his cousin -- his young, eighteen year-old cousin. Shiny blond hair, little beat-up sneakers, loose pants that hung mid-calf so you could see her ever-so-smooth ivory legs. Her lower body curves disappeared inside those pants, but she wore a tight knit top that showed her nipples on the lemon drops of her little-girl breasts. You would have to pinch those tits to get any bulk out of them. Or, you could easily press them into silver dollar pancakes.

From the start he knew my radar had gone off. I saw how he avoided looking at her or falling in next to her as the crowd of us hiked the trail. I liked that he was trying to reassure me, but some nasty part of me didn't want it. Chatting with the others as we walked, I discovered that he and she had a topic of conversation in common -- dance. She was a dancer about to move on to the next level; he had interviewed some famous dancers for his dissertation. And I hooked them up. They got to talking and I moved off. But not soon enough to miss his voice go soft the way it does when he's with someone who turns him on. I began chatting again, acting oblivious. But my mind wasn't with my mouth; it was zeroed in on Max and the young dancer. I wondered what he would do if I suddenly yanked her little knit shirt down to her waist throwing those tiny breasts in his face. Would he get angry? Would he turn away? Would he defend her? I wasn't sure. If I grabbed her small tits and pinched them hard, would he defend her then? I wasn't sure. But the one thing I was sure of: he would be rock hard and spilling pre-cum.

They talked for a while, a real long while. They had chemistry. I could feel the knots gnawing my stomach. Oh, yes, the pheromone ooze was sucking her in through his eyes, his creamy voice. She would have no will of her own pretty soon. He would have her the way he had me, jelly and will-less and falling into him, primed to be fucked.

As we got to the lookout point, we stood overlooking ravines of conifers, a breeze washed in from the valley, flicking up her hair, then his, then knobbing her tits under her knit shirt. They are beautiful together I taunted myself. I heard him say he could hook her up with a certain dance exercise coach. They would have to exchange phone numbers for that. I waited for it to happen, but it didn't. So as everybody pulled out lunch packs and set up to eat, I said to him (nonchalantly): "You should get her number so you can hook her up with Ron."

You'd think I was planning my own secret, cheating rendezvous, the way I used such cunning to throw them together, just to feel the ache.

He got her number. I was home when he called her. That is to his credit. He's not sneaky, which is why I love him. But oh, the agony. Of hearing the ooze in his voice, of hearing his breathing change, of waiting, waiting, waiting as the conversation went on and on, him laughing -- laughing! -- and the way he was almost high when he got off the phone. He confided some of the details to me. I tried to keep jealousy out of my voice.

You can bet we fucked then. Though he stripped me and searched me hungrily with his hands -- shoulders, breasts, mound, up between my legs and around my ass -- and then mounted me, I rather quickly flipped the situation and became the aggressor. I prodded him onto his stomach and I sat on the back of his legs. I reached under him with one hand to squeeze his cock. I told him to hump my hand while the other hand and some lube entered his ass and softly stroked the soft palate of his prostate. He moaned. I began to eat his neck, his ear lobes, to lick inside his ears until he shuddered, still slowly humping against my hand. I moved my index finger up to the hole of his dick, and my pinky stretched down to pat his balls. I wanted as much of him in my grasp as I could manage. I lay my naked body on top of his; that velvet interface made me wet. I spread my legs so the air could relieve some of the moisture at the opening of my cunt. We did this odd kind of humping for awhile, a strong, gritty, hugging hump, and then he said, "I want to kiss you."

I sighed. I realized there was something cold, almost angry about the way I was fucking him. Working off the phone call.

"Sure," I whispered in his ear.

I eased my finger out of his anus; I slipped my hand from under his cock. He waited. I pressed my lips in a kiss against each of his ass cheeks. Did he know how I seethed? He remained so passive I couldn't resist spreading his ass cheeks and kissing his crack, kissing his rim -- not licking, no intrusive tongue, just kissing.

Then we locked in, face-to-face, with his dick sliding easily inside. He kissed the blend of our juices -- my saliva and his herbal musk -- from my lips. I was so fucking hot with tension that when he went from kissing my breasts to tugging and sucking at my nipples I nearly came. He was worked up himself. His prick took stabs inside me and we crashed pelvises. Between those wanton stabs and the fierce yanking at my breasts, a flash orgasm burst through my cunt and shot out through my voice in angry groans.

His body shuddered as he buried his penis in me again and again, not hard this time, but deep. I watched his pubic mound move -- it seemed to be surfing or skating across my pussy, gliding, burying, gliding, until suddenly he cried out, fell into me hard and heavy like a weight dropping, and bit into my neck. I didn't care. We slept spooning that night.

The next day we talked about the girl. Her name was Darci. I convinced him he could bring her to his dancing contacts in person. I convinced him that I would not go into jealous hysterics -- I would trust him. And then I ventured into the bold one more time.

"If it comes to where you might have sex with her --"

"Oh, no, not that again!"

"Max, I don't mind."

"I'm not going to have sex with her. I just want to help her out."

"Look," I said, "this is getting nowhere. I know she turns you on --"

"Ryann will you stop bringing this up?"

"But you being turned on isn't even the point. You never let me finish. Suppose she comes on to you? Tell me the truth. If she came on to you, you'd be interested -- I mean say you were single."

He just looked at me. It was a trapped look.

"Max, I'm just saying that if it ever comes to sex, I want you to go for it."

He went angry-silent. When he's angry his eyes go smoky under his black, black hair. I like that.

"Except for one other thing -- I want to watch," I added.

[To be continued...]