A Valentine's Day He Will Never Forget - Sex Stories

A Valentine's Day He Will Never Forget

... details out, obviously. I still don’t know where this is going if going anywhere at all. Maybe he is only interested in him, and that’s not going to work either. We had one or two of those surprises. No, thanks. We need you to be into both of us, ideally. I’m kind of getting tired of being the centrepiece. It’s time to throw some wolf on the menu.

He soon writes back, “I will reiterate, I don’t want to do anything he isn’t comfortable doing, though.”

“Yes, of course, and I really appreciate that," I answer in blissful awe. I feel like I’m standing thigh-deep in a proverbial river, panning for gold, and suddenly find a fist-sized gemstone. Doesn’t happen often. "He is open to most things; we just have to take it slow and nudge him a little," I clarify my intentions. I'm not completely rotten, not that way.

He sends me a few more pictures from the ‘field’. Without going into too much detail to protect his identity, he is in full camo gear, holding a giant piece of equipment—no firearms or anything, something much better. Anyone who can handle big fancy gear like that is already in my hot books. He’s even more scruffy-looking in those pictures, with a long beard. I'm usually really not keen on that much facial hair, but in this case, it is justified. And as I said, sometimes the inside is much more important. I’m a big sucker for super kinky twisted minds. And I think he might just fit that bill.

In his next message, he asks how the Wolf feels about ropes.

“I ...

... tied him up a few times, but he wasn’t into it. He doesn’t like my dominant side, but he seems to be more submissive when it comes to playing with men. But like most males, like you probably know, he can be a bit closeted when it comes to these kinds of things. And, of course, the vibe has to be right."

“I might bring some leather straps for him and definitely some rope for you.”

Oh my god, say no more. I’m in love. This one wants both of us and speaks my language. My mind is like a slot machine with cherries flashing everywhere, jackpot ringing out loud, zeros spinning, winning tokens flying out.

***

Completely unrelated, Valentine’s Day is coming up, and I ask Quinn what gift he wants.

“A threesome,” he replies.

“One track mind much? That is already happening, hence not a real present. Think of something else.”

By tradition, I usually make a nice meal, and he buys me a new bedroom toy, but I always ask anyway, expecting a reply of ‘just something delicious’.

“Handcuffs,” he bizarrely replies. What? I already looked up where to get the best lobster tails.

“Handcuffs?” I have no idea where that came from. “We do have handcuffs, at least three different pairs.” There is no way he’s reading my single account, is he?

“Not the proper metal, lockable ones.”

Hmm, ok, let’s discuss this another time. (When I don't have a Friday deadline breathing down my neck on five different work projects.) But am I wrong to think he might be opening up to the idea of ...