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I got the call on Friday. After chatting a while, he casually asked, "You want to come down to the cottage tomorrow?" I happily began daydreaming about sailing and swimming and sunbathing . . . before I could answer, my reverie was broken with "Ryan will be there." I gasped, knowing what that meant. I felt my pussy tighten with excitement. Ever since Brad had compelled me to confess some of my sexual fantasies, he had been alternately teasing me about them and fulfilling them. He knew about my two-man fantasy. Now and then he would point out a mutual acquaintance in a "what about him?" sort of way, and he could tell by the flush in my face if I found the guy attractive. Over time Brad's friend Ryan, whom I had never met, was mentioned more frequently as a possibility, as someone with the appropriate discretion, not to mention good photography skills and equipment.

"But he's a stranger!" I blurted. This had been another impediment to the fantasy. The idea of sex with a stranger scared me, and Brad knew it. But seeing Brad was scary to begin with; I was married but not to him, and every encounter contained an element of risk. He had broken me out of the dull routine of my former sex life, and he was gradually pushing all of my limits, somehow talking me into doing things I had never imagined, probing every part of my body and psyche with his very insistent sexuality. And the truth was, I now looked forward to any new erotic plans he had for me. "You can do whatever you want," he said in that seductive voice he had which conveyed that he fully ...

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