“Every woman loves a poet, once she finds the ***one***.”
The way Kate said *one* was as if she slipped a note under my skin and *one* was the cipher to reveal its deeper meaning.
“Oh. I know a few women that *despise* poetry,” I fenced back, not sure why she seemed suddenly interested in starting a new game. Perhaps because each of us were past physically spent and our naked bodies were past the buzz of the aftermath of that spending, past the evaporation of our primal heat, slowly finding the new equilibrium a deep fucking brings. Her mind needed to fuck now. I could see it in her eyes. I could taste it from her renewed skin. I could hear it in the word *one*, as it burrowed under my skin to see if there was any lust left inside me to still tap into, the deeper kind of lust that needed the full attention of a deliciously deviant mind.
I could feel the key of it slowly start to turn, to unlock whatever she was trying to unlock. Whatever seductive game she was playing at now. It was her favorite game to play. She seduced my mind playing that game way before she consumed my body with hers.
“I said every woman loves a *poet*. There is a slight difference. Take Sandy for example. There is *one poet* that I know she longs for.”
*Poet* left her slightly-lessened crimson lips like a barbed-arrow. It tore under my skin. When it merged to form *one poet*, it made the fucking we just shared seemed like a chaste joining. It was pornographic beyond decency.
“Oh who? She doesn’t seem like a Byron type.”
Kate face took a predatory turn at my flippant response. She wanted me to play along differently. The smile she gave was what you would have if wry and sinister had a one night stand.
“Why, the same *poet* that I lust for, my dear,” she retorted, pawing at my cock like a cat toys with a mouse before the end of its small life.
I laughed. While at the same time, something in my soul shuddered in an arousal only Kate could ever strum.
“I would hardly say Sandy has any interest in me, let alone my poetic side. I have never felt more disinterest from a wo…”
“You might be surprised,” she said, clipping my last word off, “I have been feeding her your poetry for quite a while now. I can safely say, she is an addict, one always needing another hit…”
“You…What?!”
A strange sort of panic filled me. While we played all sorts of seductive games with others as our pawns, I would have never thought my poetry to Kate would have ever been used as a tool for such seductions, at least without initially discussing it with me. That poetry was always for a different facet of our relationship. The facet that was intimately just her and I, a facet of us only. The safe and inviting facet. The place we retreat to to heal and escape the cruelties of life, leaving everyone and everything else behind.
“You never *explicitly* said I could not share them, if I found a desire to?”
*Explicitly* rested on the razor’s edge. Once upon a time, she would have never dreamed of sharing them. It would be a violation of my trust. Yet, we have evolved into such a connected couple, I admitted to myself that it didn’t quite hurt as it may have years before.
My silence left her looking a bit chagrin, the game she was setting was starting to unravel, I could see the fire of it die from her eyes, embers slowly dying. It broke my heart. Before I had a chance to say something to recover her mood, she continued to speak.
“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to watch her *specifically* melt under you. She has such….appetites and I always wondered just how the two of you might mix together. Over time the fantasy of watching you two together became something of an obsession. How would you seduce her slowly turned into how *could* you seduce her. I even wondered if I could possibly get her to seduce you.
“A few months ago when you were away on that business trip to Paris, I was fingering myself to the new poems you left behind for me. Sandy happened to stop by and I had to stop mid-session. She was a complete mess. Very drunk and even more broken-hearted than usual. I didn’t think about putting the poems away. At some point in the evening, she came across them, and I watched her take them in.
“I tried to cheer her up all night. But, it was your words that got to her, not mine. They slipped through her vulnerability in a way that made my cunt *flood*…”
Kate’s eyes were locked on mine, but even if she were blind, she would be aware of how my cock stirred. Just as I was aware her cunt was flooding in a similar way.
“…without meaning to, I was seeing you seduce her. It became her secret addiction. Anytime you were out and I knew she was coming over…I would have a different piece of your poetry out for her to find. Or, a piece that I felt was one of her favorites. I would watch your words, and thus, you, take her a little farther. I would watch her in near panic on days where there were no poems to find. You haunt her now, constantly. Disinterest? You are so wrong. I know your words have guided her fingers across her body as easily as your words have guided mine across my own. That fact haunts me and all I can think about is to watch her experience the poet, not just the poetry…”
In the heated moment, as the last vestige of panic I had of those private intimate poems seen by another melt away, I entered Kate with a feral groan and grunted into her ear as my cock filled her drenched cunt, “Just how badly do you want to watch this poet work?”
Kate’s response was the musing this poet always craved and we then fucked in a way even the best poets would fail to describe.
~~~
The knock on the door we were waiting for, finally came. Kate and I were equal predators, equally in heat, yet playing at different roles. The board was set. As soon as the door opened, the die would be cast.
Sandy came in, dressed to kill, as if she just fucked with the mind of a poor joe on their first date. She tossed out her hellos as if out of breath, and saw me at my desk writing.
“What are you working on, Matthew?” Sandy’s voice a bit broken, still grasping for air.
“Oh, I am just struggling on a poem that has been haunting me…”
I saw the reality of what Kate told me about Sandy take form. Sandy shifted and changed at the words. It didn’t matter what sort of poetry I was writing. In her mind, it was *the poetry*. If my cock could have become more erect, it would have. Up until that point, I did not fully believe Kate’s tale. Now I gave my Kate a look and I saw what her face betrayed. She was on a dangerously wonderful edge. I couldn’t escape the gravity of the moment even if I wanted to. Seduction was Kate’s addiction and since being with her, I have become hooked on it as well. I was shocked at how much of a high it was when most of the work had already been done without my prior knowledge.
Kate and Sandy chatted and I actually wrote. I was suddenly bemused and had to direct my desire in some form. Today was not to be the day of Sandy’s real poetry lesson, as Kate had dubbed referring to this particular seduction game, so I let my passions pour upon the page instead.
A glance at Kate, and I could feel her feed on my honest intensity to my writing; she knew I was crafting for true now, not just playing a part for the sake of the seduction. Her look made me hunger for her heat and just inspiring me more.
A glance at Sandy, and I could feel her nervous, forbidden desire fill the room. Kate’s desire for me always made me feel complete and whole. The desire we got from the occasional other woman that we have seduced over time, were different thrills. The desire that Sandy was trying to contain, instead seeped from her as her barriers dissolved, was a temptation every human being desires a taste of at least once in their life. If we weren’t civilized creatures, I might have at that moment gone over to Sandy, bent her over and taken her right then and there.
Dinner was a setting of sexual tension. Sandy and Kate drank their wine too quickly. I sipped it slowly so I could savor how I got drunk on their restrained wantonness. The air was thick with the scent of both of them and they both had to be aware of it. Sandy melted and warmed. She barely could cover her innuendos toward me. I would swear Kate came every time she saw Sandy glance over to my desk, wishing she had a moment to read what I left written there.
Kate had to practically kick Sandy out of our studio apartment as the night turned late. I watched Kate spy out the peephole for what seemed like minutes, as if Sandy was paralyzed to leave on the other side of the door. It took every ounce of willpower I had not pull up Kate’s skirt and fuck her hard against that door. I was about to right when she finally turned to face me.
“I NEED to see it. I need to read what you wrote. I need to feed on the words that will haunt her imagination tonight.”
Kate stormed past me and opened my desk, rummaging through my papers until she found what she was looking for. She sat on the desk, hiked up her skirt, and her fingers played while she read. As I have watched her do countless times when reading my poetry.
“Oh my fucking god!”
Was her simple reply to my latest creation, as she came in a fountain, as she read it to the end. Her state triggered my contained lust free. She whimpered as I entered her, her eyes glazed in broken, sweet lust. As I fucked her still coming cunt because I just couldn’t wait, her filthy wantings spurred me to fuck her harder. Her filthy promises drove me deeper. When she said, “Oh my fucking poet!” I came as I never had before. I believe she did as well. And I knew down to the depth of my soul, there was no escaping this game of seduction now, even if I wished to try to back out.
~~~
The party was dying down. Tonight was to be the night one way or the other. I do not believe Kate nor I could have waited another night to bring the game to it’s climatic fruition. Kate left with a few friends twenty minutes prior and as Kate believed, Sandy stayed with those that remained at the party with me. She hovered close enough for me to feel her presence. She was drinking but I knew she was not drunk. Another point Kate was sure of. The sweetest triumph of seduction are the times when the seduced believe they are seducing. When they are in control. You cannot be in control when drunk.
Our friends continued to melt away until Sandy was all that was left. In that moment of seemingly calm, two storms were about to crash together. She was being overtly seductive. She knew Kate had taken an occasional lover outside our relationship, but Kate assured me that Sandy only suspected that I had, based on the poems she read.
When we finally both succumbed to a kiss, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Her mouth was warm and very inviting to my poet’s tongue. It was a soft dance. It was surprising, based on what Kate shared with me about Sandy’s sexual appetites. This was slower than I was expecting.
I had enough time to turn off the one light I knew Kate was watching for with probably heated desire from the street below. One of the three tells to tell her that things were going as planned. I had most of Sandy’s attire removed from her gorgeous bronze form by then, I lacked the patience though to remove her stockings.
I was drunk on her by the time we kissed again after she had me undressed. Our clothes flowed off naturally, as if we were lovers forever. She gasped as my cock pressed against her and left a mark of warm slickness along her warmer thigh.
My hands caressed every inch of her. They needed to know her shape intimately. They wanted to know her shape. I wanted to devour, I endured her slowly instead, savoring her. It was tortuously wonderful. I did it as much for my pleasure as to buy Kate time to slip back into our apartment. By the time my tongue found Sandy’s sweet cunt, I could feel Kate’s eyes spying on us. Feasting on our lust. I wondered for a moment if she would eventually reveal herself. I doubted it though. Whenever we talked of this seduction, she always acted as a voyeur, not an active participant.
Sandy came with my tongue buried into her honeyed cunt. Every moan that escaped her lips, as I lapped at her, strummed against my cock. I was drunk on a lust that was unique to seduction and this particular one was uniquely wonderful. I felt Kate’s eyes caressing my back, reminding me of all of her filthy promises if I pulled this seduction off. A gentleman would have stopped licking at this point. The gentleman in me fell away with my clothes. I was very much something more…and at the same time, less, than a gentleman.
Sandy writhed and my mind’s eyes pondered how Kate writhed with her. Sandy screamed in a bliss that could shatter souls. In her lost aftermath, she whimpered quietly, “I’ve read your poems…I…cannot stop thinking about your delicious poems…”
I slid up onto the bed and let my warm body slide against her until I was facing her. The warmth of Kate’s gaze on us added to an impossible heat that already existed.
“You have? Which poems?”
She looked so fragile, so vulnerable, but oh, so fucking wanton.
“Poems that probably should not have been seen by eyes,” she slid her hand down to her pussy, “and felt with my fingers.”
“Ahhh, so that is why you suddenly seemed to look at me in a particularly wicked way?” My hand slid up her thigh. She blushed as if she was a virgin caught touching herself and didn’t want that virginity anymore. From what Kate shared with me about Sandy’s sexual side, it was a joy to see. It had probably been years since anyone saw that level of sexual innocence from her.
“I’m sorry.”
“No you are not. You are not sorry about reading them or this.” My fingers fluttered over her cunt fighting her fingers for access, and she gave off a sound that made me want to say hell to this seductive game and pound her mindlessly. “So, the question is, since we already indulged this far, should I pen you a poem you can take home?”
The look in her eyes was a betrayal of all things. All of her lust, all of her desires, all of her insecurities. The look gave me all of the materials I needed. The way Kate’s eyes caressed us, gave me the shape to get them. I reached over Sandy to the drawer of my end table and took a pen I kept there. I uncapped it and began to write a stanza on her left breast, as the fingers of my right hand invaded her cunt. It was impossible to tell which action made her gasp the way she did.
“You have to come for me, if you want me to finish this stanza.”
She took a few moments then suddenly convulsed against my fingers, in deep desperation to get off on my invading fingers. I had a feeling that I heard a whimper behind me, I knew Kate didn’t need such desperation. Kate had touched me from afar, but never like this. It almost made me come myself. My arousal was at a tantric level not being directly touched yet. Two lovers touching me in uniquely new ways. Some of the words I wrote were of my creation, some were as if Kate was whispering the counterstrokes of each line in my ear, and the rest were formed by the muse I fingered.
Sandy came. I finished the stanza as I promised. I didn’t give her any time to return to her senses.
“Now, you have to suck me if you want another stanza, bring me to the edge but you can’t make me come if you want me to finish it.”
With drunken, eager eyes, I watched Sandy go down on my cock swiftly. I felt her mouth take me in. I felt her struggle at trying to pleasure me without making me cum. I felt her hunger for my cum, a hunger denied. If all I had was my desire for this woman, I would have stopped playing and allowed myself to completely indulge in my lust for her. However, there was Kate to try to indulge in from afar as well. Not to mention, a poem to finish that barely had a beginning.
I began to write the next stanza on her back once I brushed her hair over her shoulder; I glance up once to see a hint of Kate naked. Enough of her to see where fingers were lost within herself. The sight alone almost made me fill Sandy’s slut hungry mouth. But it was the look in Kate’s eyes. She was in the same transcending place as me. Needing release, but needing the next level of this seduction even more.
I finished the stanza and wrapped my fingers in Sandy’s hair. I let myself fuck her mouth a few strokes and watched Kate tremble, positive that she drew blood biting her lip. I pulled Sandy’s head away and never seen a more hungry mouth on a living soul. If I were in a primal state, I am not sure how I would have taken her then, each option seemed more erotically sound than the last. I was in another place though; a deep sexual longing countered with a poetic need. The poem needed to be finished before I spilled myself on her or in her.
“You need to fuck yourself for another stanza. You cannot stop even if you come. If you do, I will never finish it.”
Sandy’s hand shot to her cunt so fast, you would have thought I was denying her of pleasuring herself for hours. I knew Kate was going to play along as if the suggestion was as much meant for her. In many ways, it was.
I sprawled the third stanza on her exposed thigh, only taking caesuras when her leg quivered too much from the pleasure or from the current orgasm.
When I finished, I let my hand join hers and leaned into her so she felt the tautness of my body blanketing her. I nuzzled her neck as if it were the only part of her flesh exposed to me, letting her feel all of my hunger pour into her in that one spot. Feeling her quake against our entwined fingers filled me with a euphoria I have rarely experienced. Feeling how the aftershocks of it made Kate slip into my skin from afar completely set me aflame in a way that I could barely contain.
“I am going to fuck you now,“ grunting that reality in Sandy’s ear, “if you want your last stanza. You have to tell me all of your desires as we fuck if the poem is to be truly real.”
The look Sandy gave as I slid the length of my cock within her impossible slickness was one of the few true moments of raw beauty I have ever seen. I wondered what Kate saw in the look?
With every thrust, Sandy gave another forbidden confession. With every thrust, my desire slowly tore completely open. The poetry became background noise to the sound of her voice and the rush of my lust.
She told me each delicious and wicked things my poems did to her.
She told me how she pleasured herself dreaming about the poems, and me.
She told me every desire she secretly craved yet never tasted.
She told me she wanted me to steal each of those secret desires from her.
She told me each thing she needed me to do to her beyond those other desires.
She told me she never wanted this to end.
She told me she wanted me to come inside her.
She whimpered as I slowed my thrusts.
She told me she *needed* me to come inside her.
I sped up my thrusts, seeing the ending of the poem almost as clear as day.
She told me she *needed* me to come inside her cunt, now!
I fucked her harder, hitting a deeper place in her and feeling a deeper place in me I rarely reached.
She begged me to come inside of her flooded and filled cunt.
I fucked her deeper, the animal finally breaking out of it’s tantric cage.
She confessed I could do anything to her, as long as I finished the poem…and finished her.
I filled her cunt in a sudden, grunting explosion as if my body was completely filled with my semen. As I grunted each stream deeply into her, I felt her shudder and I listened as two women screamed in harmony. Sandy seemed oblivious to how Kate’s orgasmic song mixed with her own. Surprisingly, I was grateful for that.
I do not recall blacking out from my ecstasy, however I came to with Sandy caressing my face almost lovingly, nuzzling my neck, her hot tears a contrast to all of her other heats.
“Please finish the poem. Please…tell me this will not be the only one you write me.”
I smiled at her and then brought her left breast in my hungry, tired mouth. I wrote the last stanza under her right breast. When I finished, I dropped the pen to the floor and collapsed to the bed, exhausted.
“Will you recite it now to me?”
“I never read my poetry aloud. Sorry.”
“Please?”
“I hate the sound of my voice. It breaks my words. I’ve never even read one aloud to Kate.”
“Please?” Her eyes, were almost doe-like. Now that I was spent, I felt her truly seducing me to her way of being.
“Sorry…”
She slid down my body.
“I’ll do anything,” she whimpered seductively.
I answered her in silence, even as my body betrayed me.
“Anything…”
She took my spent, slick cock into her mouth and nursed on me in a way that told me she could bring even the dead back to life. Kate’s eyes begged me to recite the poem as well. I was overwhelmed.
Sandy did bring my cock to full life and let it pop from her mouth.
“Please? I cannot read it myself because of everywhere you wrote it.”
My stare told her I was wavering in my refusal. It was hard to hand over the reigns of my lust to Sandy. But I knew doing so was sending Kate into a swell of rapture.
Sandy pressed her cunt against the length of my cock, sliding back and forth. “Please?”
I shuddered. She slid her tropical cunt around my cock, her eyes burned in there telling me my cock is right where it belongs. Where it has always meant to be.
I began to recite the poem I scrolled on my new lover’s body. On my new favorite canvas.
We came together at the end of it. As Sandy collapsed against me, I notice Kate’s stare. For the first time in a long time, I couldn’t read the woman I loved. I couldn’t read my other half. Before I could ponder that disturbing fact, Sandy’s mouth met mine, helping me lose myself in the moment again. In her again. The poet was gone, leaving behind a wanton man.
~~~
In early morning, I gave Sandy a longing kiss goodbye and closed the door. I felt my life shift into the new complication as if I woke from a dream. Even as I was still high on the aftermath of shared lust and seduction, I was starting to feel pensive. I was starting to fear that I inadvertently crossed a forbidden line that I didn’t know Kate had.
Kate fled before I had a chance to untangle from Sandy to check on her. I was surprised that she didn’t wait out in one of the other rooms until Sandy left. She ignored all of my texts.
I fell asleep on the couch waiting up for her to come home. Naked as the day I was born with just a blanket to keep all the warmth of the tryst that I was slowly losing now that I was alone. This was not how I wanted the seduction to end. Not on this bitter note. I needed Kate after all of that more than I needed my next breath.
When I heard the noise of the lock on the door, I snapped awake. A moment later, Kate was there in front of me. Her face a still a foreign mask.
“Where did you go?” I asked softly, a hint of concern on my voice. With as much as Kate forcing this seduction game into play, I never imagined I could do anything to hurt her.
“I…needed you to stay as you were with her. I…needed…”
“I needed you. Especially after that.”
“You lied to her,” Kate said sharply, “You wrote that poem for me.”
I laughed, even though I wasn’t sure if she was mad or touched. “I never lied. I asked her if she wanted a poem to take home, I never said the poem was entirely hers.”
“You wrote that poem for me.”
“All of them have always been for you, even before I ever met you. Sandy just happened to be the canvas for this one.”
Kate came over to me and pulled the blanket away. I wasn’t sure if she was happy to see me hard or not, her face was still an unreadable mask.
She took my cock into her mouth and fed herself with the previous evening’s fuckings left behind. Her eyes fucking me in a completely different way, in a way she had never fucked me. In a way I couldn’t read if it was longing or some form of strange jealousy.
She let me slip from her lips and stood, lifting her skirt and straddling me in a fluid dance. She slid me inside and only said quietly, “You wrote that poem…for me. To me. As you were fucking her.”
“Yes!” I hissed as she suddenly impaled herself on me, slammed down harder than I’ve ever felt. The pleasure that shot through my brain nearly knocked me out, even as my body screamed at feeling so spent.
“I love you,” she whispered. She started riding me like she only does when I have been away too long on business. “I want you to write me another poem.”
I groaned as she fucked me, as she used me. As she finally started to shed her pent up lust.
“I promise you…” she whispered.
We both whimpered, trying to hold our lust back as long as we could.
“I can find you a new canvas for your craft…your next piece of poetry…”
She clawed into my shoulders and I grabbed her hips tightly, our thrusts joining us in near perfect pleasure.
“…because I *crave* that form of poetry…I lust for it beyond reason.”
The way she said *crave* begged for my orgasm, so I came violently into her burning sex, even though I was near empty. Her cunt exploded all around me only to quake when there was no more liquid heat to drown my cock in. Once the storm of our lust subsided, she finally gave me the smile she’s been hiding from my eyes since the mask went up.
It pulled the most honest smile I owned in returned. Even as I watched her eyes start to ponder who possessed that next canvas that she would eventually bring me. To my poetry. To our shared lusts.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/d8t8zt/the_poet_fmf_seductionvoyeurcouplings