Booty calls

By Danni (BiF) I learned long ago that I am a chameleon, a non-traditionalist, not limited by gender roles or expectations or social mores, for that matter. My sexuality is more fluid than that - and I defy labels or categories. Sometimes it's hard to pin me down, and I find that fascinating. I've been told I have the psychology of both a male and a female and can relate to anyone. In short, I am an equal opportunity slut.

This fluidity - and perhaps our maturity level and security of our relationship - have provided me (and my hubby B) with the recent lifestyle rule changes. The red pill (previous post) seems to get redder all the time.

After my recent encounter with the suave Rocco (previous post), the sex monster has been re-released and I've gone a little cock crazy. But another, more significant, change has occurred. B and I have expanded our sexual repertoire to include booty calls ... with another(s) and without each other present.

I love how Urban Dictionary describes a booty call as a "clandestine sexual liaisons on an ad hoc basis." Deliciously decadent!

Where to begin?

After my lustful, massage-induced New Year's Eve sexual rendezvous, B and I discussed where the rule change would lead. As it was when we first started in the lifestyle, we jumped feet first and went "all in."

B had two booty calls this week alone. While he likes what I refer to as "strange," he prefers familiar girls with whom we've played before and is comfortable with as well as attracted to, enjoying the time spent to learn the intimate desires of another. Ginger (of Fred and Ginger) and Charlotte (of JD and Charlotte) were the lucky ladies this week.

As B described to me: he and Ginger played at our home while I was away overnight on business. With her lithe body, they fucked on just about every surface of the house, ending in our satin-wrapped bed. He was amazed at the way she expertly rode his face, grinding her pleasure point (i.e., clit) into just the right spot until she came. Once that happened, she was done using my husband.

As Ginger shared with me, Fred rewarded her booty call by buying her a new dresser to match their four-poster bedroom set. He said, "It's always fun opening new drawers." I love my Ginger and Fred. (But, hey, where's my gift?)

Now, I haven't as many details from his time with Charlotte. From her, all I have received is a text that simply said, "Thank U!" B rented a hotel room and met C there. Charlotte is aggressive, like me, and he loves that in a woman. As I understand, she practically raped him in the hotel hallway until he explained that they were married, to other people, and how would this look? Oh, my sweet B!

Charlotte is not just a squirter, like me, but a gusher. I pity the poor housekeeping staffer who has to change that bed. Perhaps the sheets had the opportunity to dry overnight before maid service began. After all, booty calls don't take but a few hours.

B may have other details to add. Or the ladies may feel so inclined. Do tell me more!

My booty call preference is "strange" and I called on my new friend (with benefits) Rocco. We're still feeling our way, but the connection was just as electric as before.

After my business trip, I took a chance Rocco was working and made an appointment for a 90-minute massage to surprise him. I wish I could have booked him longer but other staff may have wondered.

The massage was just as mysterious as the first time Rocco touched me - before I enticed him to bed with me - and just as tantalizing as our time together on New Year's Eve. This time, playing in a reputable "vanilla" establishment just added to the thrill.

Rocco, ever the gentlemen and consummate professional, stepped from the room so that I could disrobe and settle under the sheet. Slutty Danni made certain the sheet barely covered her ass as he re-entered to work.

We spoke softly so as not to attract attention through the door and thin walls. And when his massage technique turned toward the tantric, I ended up biting the inside of my cheek to stifle the sounds of passion that normally emanate from me.

He spent a great amount of time on actual massage, working my back and neck muscles still sore from dancing and playing at the Virginia Friends' New Year's celebration. To tease me, he would lean close to my face, hidden from view by the head cradle, and kiss my ears, sending a shiver down my spine straight to the building moistness between my thighs.

And when he moved toward my legs and ass, work mode officially ended. My legs naturally spread and hips tilted slightly upward to meet his warm, strong hands. His fingers slipped naturally within to play with my pussy lips, quivering with anticipation. And then he began to explore with that exquisite mouth and tongue, and ultimately, fingers.

Rocco is a master at bringing me close to the brink of ecstasy and then releasing my energy, providing a plateau before beginning again. Next, he moved to my feet, again kissing and licking my toes with barely a flicker. As he worked on my legs and feet, my hands reached underneath my torso, continuing the massage to my clit and pussy. Ah, the joy of massage.

With intimacy firmly established between us, there was no need for him to turn his back or hold the sheet for me as I rolled over onto my back. I love being nakedly examined almost as much as being touched. The way his eyes drank me in was exhilarating; I felt a flush all over my body.

As I lay on the table, now exposed, he sat next to me. We kissed. Deeply. I cradled his head to my breast and he suckled me with desire. He took my hand in his, first kneading each finger with his hands and then slipping each pussy-drenched finger into his mouth and lightly sucking it.

I could feel his excitement when he arose to stand next to me. Unfortunately, our time was up. There, at least.

We agreed to meet at a local hotel. Neither of us was ready to break the connection, but we had to leave separately. He was again the professional, bringing me cold water as I left the room, tightly robed and legs shaking. He met me at the counter as I checked out, asked if I had a pleasurable experience and wished me a satisfying remainder of the day. The irony was dripping as was I.

The hotel sex was even better than before. In all things, knowledge is power. Knowing the buttons to push with a sex partner is the ultimate power, the power to bring them to one climax after another, each one more forceful than the last. We spent hours together in that room, shut away from the rest of the world.

Rocco has impressive stamina and flexibility. And we share an intimacy, I must admit, that I have found is rare in the lifestyle. I have to remind myself, that he is not IN the lifestyle. I've dragged him into our world, teased him with the thought of adding another girl, enjoying a MFM with me and my hubby, attending a group party, but... only time will tell if he takes the red pill or chooses the blue pill and turns away. That is up to him. I can only offer the choice.

Again, we laid entwined, pressing sweaty bodies together, chatting about our lives and our loves when I realized that I had not shared my "don't-touch-me-anymore-I'm-really-done-now" orgasm with him. I pulled out my cordless vibrator (similar to Hitachi wand but much more powerful) and began to work my now raw and swollen clit. I asked him to hold onto my throat tightly; he complied - less than willing - afraid he would hurt me. The short period of constriction coupled with the vibrator makes for a killer (no pun intended) orgasm that literally lifts me in the air.

Tonight, as I write this, is the first night in - I don't remember how long - that I haven't had sex. B fell asleep early. I was thinking booty call, anyone?

Then, in his slumber, B reached out for my hand and placed it on his very early morning wood. Ah....thanks, honey!

But I still have this awful crick in my neck... will I see Rocco Vansant again?