Our eyes met and I reached for him, trembling as he took my hand and gently sucked my fingertips. He climbed on to the bed and pulled us both up to him, kissing first me, then Nasrin, until the cunt juices glistening on her face were sticky on all of us. Jawid smiled as he carefully licked her lips. When he was satisfied, he pulled free of Nasrin, licked his finger, and slid it between my swollen pussy lips. I shook at the exquisite torment of his thumb on my engorged and tender clit. Nasrin had done her job exceptionally well. Still, when I heard her gentle, approving laugh, I flushed and looked away.
“Don’t, Amanda,” Jawid whispered, sliding another long, slender finger into my hungry cunt. “I have told Nasrin how much you like my hands in you. Let her see you take your pleasure.” He kissed me deeply, and I tasted my juices on his tongue.
“If you say his lips don’t feel good, I won’t believe you.”
Nasrin’s hand cupped my breast, kneading gently, then holding it on her palm for her husband to play with. Their hands clasped together, holding each other, as Jawid stroked his thumb over my nipple. My skin was so tender and engorged, even that light touch was a mixture of pleasure and pain.
Jawid pulled his clothes free and lifted me on to his lap, turning me so the heat of his erection pressed into my back. He kissed the side of my neck, licking and sucking and biting. I couldn’t stop my tears. I sank back against him, into the touch I’d been certain I’d never feel again.
“Shhh, love, don’t cry,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around me. I was vaguely aware of Nasrin stuffing pillows behind him, so he could lie back against the headboard. Then he spread my legs wide and lifted me. I cried out, high and keening, as the hot, thick flesh of his swollen, unsheathed shaft slid into me, filling me, deeper and deeper. When he was inside me, naked and hot and unprotected, when I was so full of him I throbbed at the exquisite, unrelenting pressure of his cock against the centre deep inside my cunt, he again took my breasts into his hands and slowly, deliberately, milked my swollen nipples until I was writhing in his arms, desperate for the climax that was building inexorably.
Nasrin opened my thighs and moved between my legs. I mewled as she licked her way up my slit.
“You are so beautiful, beloved.” Jawid’s voice was thick with passion. “Will you come like this for me? Will you pull the seed from me, with just the walls of your wifely woman sex, until we are one in our orgasms and my semen bathes your womb?” The tip of his penis twitched deep inside my cunt. I trembled uncontrollably.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please. .” I wasn’t sure what I was asking for, I only knew that I needed their touch more than I needed to breathe. Jawid rocked me against him, groaning as my pussy walls spasmed around him. Nasrin laughed and flicked her tongue over me, then sucked my clit into her mouth. I shrieked as the orgasm gushed from me, clenching my cunt muscles as tightly around Jawid as I could, leaning into him. He arched into me and cried out, his body shaking as warm rivers of semen spurted into me and ran down his shaft. Nasrin licked us clean while I shook in Jawid’s arms.
I collapsed on to the bed, rolling on to my side, rousing myself only to suck the beautiful, dusky rose nipple that brushed hungrily against my lips. Nasrin held herself above me and cried out her pleasure as Jawid buried his face in her vulva and brought her to climax after climax.
That night, I slept like I’d never wake up again, wrapped in both their arms, warm and safe and happy.
I don’t know why I feel so married now. I mean, it’s still not legal. And even if it were, I have no interest in converting — given the rights I’d have as a woman in Jawid’s home country, I’d certainly never go back there with him. With them. But some time between that day and now, I’ve gradually moved most of my things into the house. The three of us eventually had a feast with our closest friends and colleagues and Jawid’s family. My family came, too, though they don’t even pretend to understand. But my mother says that as long as I’m happy, she can live with the scandal.
“After all,” she said loudly, clucking her tongue as she dabbed ceremonial henna on my hand, “if it’s OK with God, who am I to argue? Just keep the condo, dearie, for you and Nasrin. Any man who can live with two wives bears watching. Keep him on his toes.”
From the other room, I heard a muttered comment about mule-headed and non-traditional women. Nasrin and I laughed. My mother shook her head and joined us.
The Minyan
Lawrence Schimel
Simon felt self-conscious as he walked down East 10th Street. He wondered if everyone could tell that he was going to a sex party, which was a ridiculous thought since it was a private party being held at someone’s apartment. It wasn’t as if he were going to one of those clubs where anyone watching him enter or leave would know what he was up to.
Still, he felt like it was obvious. Which may have simply been because he was nervous. He didn’t usually go to sex parties, but one of the guys from Congregation, Uri, had invited him. Simon had spent the rest of the service wondering which of the other guys Uri had invited as well. He found himself mentally undressing the men around him, wondering what they would look like naked, how big their dicks were, if Isaac was hairy all over, thick mats of fur covering his body. He’d imagined them in all sorts of sexual poses and situations.
As if he didn’t feel that these thoughts — so improper in shul — were sacrilege enough, Simon had been embarrassed by his body’s behaviour, by the fact that he’d had a hard-on pressing its way outwards in his pants every time he stood. He’d felt like he was back in high school, getting a woody on the way to class and holding his schoolbooks in front of his crotch, as if everyone — especially all the other guys — didn’t know what that meant. The instinct to shut the siddur and hold it protectively in front of his crotch, to shield his erection from view, was still strong, but Simon resisted. He recited the responses from memory, his vision blurring as he nervously glanced to his left and his right, trying to see from the corners of his eyes if anyone had noticed his arousal. He was grateful for the fringe of his tallis, which hid his boner behind its white veil, although he was afraid that his hard-on was making the fringe stand out as well.
Although he was not certain who among the congregation was also invited — the way one did not know who exactly the lamed vavnik were — Simon had skipped services two nights ago because he felt too ashamed about seeing those men there and knowing what they planned to do this evening. Or what he imagined they planned to do; Simon wasn’t quite sure what it would be like, since he didn’t often go to this sort of party. In fact, he’d never been to one like this, although he had once been to a “sauna” when he was down in Puerto Rico on vacation. He’d been fascinated to be in the presence of sex, to watch men around him sucking and fucking in public, but he was too nervous to let anyone touch him, let alone do anything more. Men did touch him sometimes — the rules seemed to be touch first, ask later — but Simon always shied away from the groping hands, and the men who tried to sink to their knees before him. He’d fingered his own dick behind the protective curtain of his towel, too afraid to show it off in public despite the naked bodies all around him, and he came almost immediately, shooting into the terrycloth fabric. He went back to his little cubicle and turned the towel inside out, so that the come-stained side was not against his skin, all sticky.
But he did not leave.
He had felt a compulsion to stay as long as his time would permit and to watch as much sex as he could. It had taken days of rationalizations and justifications to talk himself into coming to the sauna, and he’d done it only because he was so far from home — practically in another country, though it was technically a territory of the United States. He’d always been curious about the sex clubs back home in New York, but he was always afraid that if he went to one he’d run into someone he knew. It didn’t matter that they would both be there for the same reason; Simon would just die of embarrassment if that were to happen.