By David Sellers
“Pick one.”
Roger was sitting on a small stool near the head of the bondage board. He was fully dressed in his work clothes, smiling broadly, and holding two used condoms over my head. He had one in each hand. One was from last night’s fuck, he told me, one was from this morning’s fuck. And one was going about to be emptied into my mouth. My choice would determine whether I got this morning’s load — still warm, Roger said — or last night’s cold, congealed load.
They — my husband, my husband’s boyfriend — had come into the storeroom a moment ago. I wasn’t quite asleep, but the clicking of both deadbolts quickly brought me out of a bondage-induced dream state. Roger pulled the stool we keep in the storeroom over to the bondage board and removed my blindfold. He told me it had been six hours — “maybe a little more” — and then he held the condoms up.
“Choose,” Roger said.
He flashed me that smile again. He was loving this. I nodded my head toward Roger’s right hand.
“Too bad,” said Roger. “Last night’s condom.”
