It was Linda's idea that the three of us go out together now and then. We'd travel a few hours to nearby cities on some weekends where there were new restaurants to discover, art galleries to visit, and outdoor festivals where she could show complete strangers how much she loved the company of her two men. I'm sure there were times when some might have tried to guess which of us was her lover after she put her hands on us, alternating her attention between us. I often wondered what they thought when she took both our hands, or pulled us both close so she could put an arm around each of our waists and give us both a peck on the cheek.

We'd shop for her new outfits together on those trips and loved seeing her change into them and wear them the same day. Michael's tastes ran more to the chic and sexy: open bolero jackets worn over glittering tube tops that showed more than a little cleavage and her flat little belly; roomy, chiffon blouses that could unbutton to reveal more or less of a lacy bra or sometimes bare breasts, underneath them; and airy, sleeveless tops with delicate spaghetti straps that displayed the enticing curves of her breasts beneath the soft, supple fabric. My choices were less glamorous, but ones I knew implied she was likely someone's wife in our trio, though never giving away which of us was the lucky one. I had always loved her in cotton summer dresses. They reminded me of her past innocence long ago when we first met. Now she wore them with little underneath, and I lived for those few seconds on a summer afternoon when the sun behind her displayed the entire, delicious silhouette of her body. When a breeze lifted the billowing dress to show her bare legs and ass, I wondered how many men, how many husbands, desired her in the time it took to steal a glance and look away.

We shared our bed with Michael almost every weekend. Sometimes Linda wanted us one after the other, over and over; then there were nights one of us would watch when she was greedy for the other to finish her. We became comfortable with him there at the breakfast table, he in his boxers, and Linda in just her panties as she made us thick, yellow omelets and a large pan of sizzling bacon. Michael and I would stare as we watched her stretch, up on tiptoe, when she reached for a plate or bowl on an upper shelf. Each time she bent to look in the refrigerator with her pantied little ass toward us, we would catch each other grinning. We didn't need words to show how the mouth-watering lines of her body made both of us a little hard, and I'd see the head of his cock creep from the leg of his boxers after a while, inflating and inching forward until it was obvious he would have wanted her one more time before he left.

As months passed, Michael began to travel more and more. He claimed it was for work, but Linda began to worry it might be his way of bowing out of our threesome. He put his rental house up for sale, explaining to Linda that he'd had a generous offer in a market where returns were disappointing. It meant the time they spent together was now only in our bed, which I had to admit was a certain relief to me. I still harbored this sliver of worry that more private time together would allow shared intimacies to draw them closer in ways I might regret. There was also the looming dread of having to console Linda if she was right. I knew it wouldn't devastate her, but it might fuck up our life for a while if she took it badly. The last thing I wanted was to see her emotions flattened while she did her best to convince me nothing was wrong. It wasn't that I believed she was truly in love with him, but the potential sting of rejection might leave a scattered trail of annoying refuse we'd have to mop up after his retreat. I certainly wasn't celebrating his future absence; I knew it would leave an empty space in our bed, and maybe in Linda's heart - but I wasn't about to intervene to delay or prevent it either.

More months passed until our future took an unexpected new direction.

                                                              *****

"How long has it been now, since our first night here? It must be..."

"A little over three years," I reminded her.

Linda sat across from me in the corner booth at the Excelsior Hotel bar. The waiter had just set her second strawberry daiquiri on the table in front of her, and she lifted it to take a sip as though she was savoring her first.

"It seems longer," she mused, as she casually ran her finger over the chilled bowl of her glass.

"Well, a lot has happened - we've changed since that night," I offered.

"For the better, don't you think?" She looked up at me, gazing into my eyes, hopeful that her suggestion was one I agreed with.

I smiled at her, lifted my single malt, and took a generous gulp. Its familiar sting at the back of my throat never disappointed, and the velvet aftertaste was pure luxury. It was my first, and I was ready for a second. The service had improved, and not a trace of ice had diluted the rich, amber liquid to a paler color or taste.

"Are you kidding? You do remember that first night here, don't you?" I reminded her, astonished that she could entertain any answer but the right one.

"I remember it, but I'm sure not the way you do. You really believed us, didn't you? That Michael's 'Stephan' had completely owned me - well, owned my body, at least. I regretted it for a long time after that night. I was just so angry at you for a while that I couldn't admit it. My God, thinking back, it was a savage assault on your male ego. But sometimes I wonder if it was the seed that grew over time and led us to where we are today. You don't regret that? Not at all? Are you happy, David?"

It was an easy answer, one without hesitation or need for thought. "How could I not be, Linda? We tell each other things we could never say out loud before. You may still have a few dirty little secrets, but I know you better than I ever could have hoped. Your little secrets are what make me want you even more, and hopefully you've mostly forgiven me for the worst mistake of my life. Making love is as tender and intimate as ever, and fucking is now a world of infinite imagination and possibilities."

I understood her concern. We had been through this a hundred times, but there seemed never to be a time when another tiny thread of doubt and regret wasn't unraveled and discarded.

"So, do you miss him?" I asked.

"He's been gone for a year now, but sometimes I do. It was harder at first when he moved out to LA. It's made him famous, and I've never blamed Michael for leaving, for winning the part on the daytime soap that made his dream come true. But I'm not that college coed anymore; I don't think of him every day, or wonder constantly if he might love me someday."

"But you do miss him a little? Maybe when you see him on TV?" I asked.

I recognized her sigh of frustration all too well, and that hint of a smile that followed it. "I haven't seen him or talked to him since he left. I hope he's still a friend, that we'll always be friends, but to be honest, what I miss, David, is his cock."

"You mean his big cock?"

"Well, at least now you know," she admitted, not trying to hide her sly smile. "But what I miss more is knowing two men I adore want my body constantly, and that both could make me come in so many different ways. I had two unique, skillful lovers who cared for me and fucked me like there was no other woman on earth like me. I'm just very lucky I still have the one I really want."

Her smile faded as she spoke. She was giving me what was in her heart and mind, allowing it to pour out of her without censoring or fear of how I'd accept it. She was silent for a minute, took another sip of her drink, and looked up at me with a raised eyebrow as if to ask whether her answer completely satisfied me.

"Everything is different now, David. You, me, Michael - all of it has changed so much. Michael has moved on, and soon, so will we. With your promotion, we'll make a new life a thousand miles away from here. I really don't mind leaving at all. We can live very well on your new salary, and I'll enjoy not working, at least for a while. I can spend my free time decorating our new home - we'll finally have a yard and the peace and quiet of the countryside. There's also the potential privacy we've never enjoyed in the city. I'm sure you know what that could mean for us." She stopped then, waiting to be certain I understood. I did. "I love the quaint little village, and the city is less than thirty minutes away. I want this every bit as much as you do, David. If someone like Michael comes along, and we agree we want him in our life, who knows? But I'm not looking for his replacement. After my history with him, I doubt there is another 'Michael' quite like him."

I watched her expression as she spoke, and was reminded of how exquisitely her looks had changed. No one would take her for the perfect housewife now, the girl with a softness of both character and body that once provided cover for her growing, perverse fantasies. She had cut her hair shorter in a more severe style. The straight curtain of dark, gleaming ebony followed the line of her jaw, freely exposing the nape of her neck. It made her a stylish woman of confidence and determination. The lines of her body were sleek and trim, with a trace of firm muscle that rose to reveal itself when she stretched her legs or wore the sleeveless tops that exposed her bare arms and shoulders. Her face was less heart-shaped, with finely chiseled cheekbones that could have belonged to any one of the most highly paid fashion models. Everyone we knew could see at first glance how her body had changed, thanks to her daily jogs through the city, and then her habitual, intense workouts at the gym. Michael had given her a few pointers at first, and she had been addicted to it ever since. It showed with every step she took; the lithe, panther-like stride turned heads everywhere she went. Yes, Michael had definitely changed us, in more ways than one.

"Which brings us to why we're here tonight," she said, "to make the night our lasting memory of the Excelsior instead of the one we'd both like to forget. Tonight, you own me, David. I'll do whatever you say, be whatever you want me to be. I see some very attractive men here tonight. Tell me to flirt with them, and I will. Tell me to pick one and I'll play the slut for you. Or, when the curtain falls on our little play, I can take you to our room and you can be him, the man who fucks a wife while her husband waits here in the bar, agonizing over the size of your cock. It's all for you, David. Everything I am tonight is for you."

I had expected a game, but not one that handed me the master key to her submissive fantasies. It was to be how we'd remember not only our last night at the Excelsior, but our last night in the city as well. How was I to know how potentially scandalous her game was meant to be? I wasn't certain myself how far I was willing to go to reconstruct the memory of 'Stephan's' Svengali-like hold on her back then, his hand between her legs, fingers working deeply in her wet pussy as she came for him just across the table from me.

"You would really have me choose a guy here for you to flirt with and play the slut with tonight? All I'd have to do is order you to do it? As though I was Stephan, or even Jordan?"

"What else would you have me do, David? I'm not wearing panties, so having me take them off isn't an option like it was back then. And there are so many young guys here tonight. But I'd really prefer the choice was mine. Not all of these guys are deserving of my body. I hope you'd agree."

Her words shocked me, paralyzing me where I sat. She offered up her fantasy with such a perverse mix of lasciviousness and sweetness that it seemed to hang in the air between us.

"You know I'm playing with you, don't you David? That I'm completely in your hands? That I'm only guessing what you want me to be tonight? If I'm wrong, just tell me what you want from me."

When I didn't answer, she reached across the table and gently put her hands on mine.

"I still tease you about seducing a sexy stranger I might meet someday. It seems to excite you when we fuck, but does it ever hurt you later, when you have some time to think about it? Does it upset you, or make you jealous? You're not at all sorry we've come to this? Sorry that you've agreed I'd be free to do it again someday if it's something we enjoy together?"

"Have I given you any sign that I am?" I asked.

"Of course not, David. But do you ever think of me as, well, a slut, in the true sense of the word? That I'm constantly on the prowl for men, that I'd sport-fuck them behind your back and go on my merry way, completely guiltless, like some kind of predator? Because sometimes I worry that you might think of me like that after we play with these fantasies time and time again."

"Why? Have there been more than I know? More than Michael?"

"Only Michael," she promised. "But I'm not blind to the fact that lots of men want me - it seems more now than ever. And I don't want every man I see, but I know I'd have a good chance with many of them if I'd really try. But in my fantasies I need them to pursue me, to want me badly enough to win me. I'd have to be a challenge to them, a fearless woman they don't fear. The best men are surprises, ones that appear by chance; men who can keep up with the little clues I give them about what I like and who I am. But even they have to work me. The difference is, they're the ones who know what the prize is and are willing to do what it takes to win it. If it continues to be one of your fantasies, and someone like that happens to come along and I'm genuinely attracted to him, I'll tell you, and we can decide together whether to pursue it. It's what I've promised you from the start. But they're so rare...you and Michael set a pretty high bar."

"So, only Michael then? No one else?"

She tilted her head and squinted at me, as she had when I had tried to explain Schrodinger's cat to her for the first time. "I thought you knew better by now, David. It's always been a game we've played together. It still is, and always will be. But there are labels, ones people use that hurt. It would crush me if you began to think of me that way - that I'm that easy, or deceitful."

It was my turn to take her hands in mine, lifting them off the table between us. "The only labels I'd use to describe you are ones that would make you very wet, and me very hard, I promise."

And so drama had been brought into a game where there was to be none. The night was meant to exterminate the last remaining ghosts that inhabited the Excelsior. It was finally up to me to shake the last of them off, to detach their tenuous grip on us and send them to a place where they could only be recalled as harmless shadows of our past. Could I be 'Stephan'? Linda was betting I could.

"Take a good look, then," I told her. "Is there a 'worthy' cock for you in the house? Someone we'd like to play with?" I asked, grinning.

"Mmmm, let me see. There are so many hot, young men here. More than enough, I think. Plenty looking for a horny wife," she teased, eyeing the room with a hungry smile.

"Why don't you find out, then?" I suggested. "Try promising him what's under your skirt, but twist him around your finger a bit first. I'd like to see that. But tell me, how will you know whether his cock is 'worthy'?"

Linda rose from her seat, turned to me, reached down and placed a hand on the front of my slacks, and gave my cock a light squeeze. "Sweetheart, this is how I'll tell. After a little encouragement, it never lies." It was the secret wink she gave me that told me she didn't need more of my encouragement - she was well into imagining one of many possible versions of how the night might go.

The bar had morphed over the years. Once a refuge for weary businessmen routinely booked at the Excelsior, it had been redecorated and reborn as an upscale hipster hangout where new money and inflated egos kept prices high and chased travelers on expense accounts to less expensive watering holes. Yet, in any social situation, there had never been an ego Linda couldn't massage, weaving tendrils of solicitation through the most formidable shields against intrusion. She was a match for the best of them, eventually pulling the strings, making them forfeit whatever game she chose. Many imagined they could easily seduce her, carelessly underestimating the cunning of a beautiful woman, when in fact, milking what she wanted from them was both a natural talent and a seemingly supernatural force to be reckoned with.

I watched her stroll to the bar, rolling her hips just a fraction more than was decent for an unassuming wife. Our booth was hidden away well enough that I was sure no one knew we shared it, and the attention she drew from those at the bar grew with every passing second as she waited to order another drink.

She had chosen her most provocative business attire for our last night there: a black suit jacket closed by a single button over a scanty, black half-bra; black six-inch heels; and a very short black skirt flaunting an unending stretch of naked thigh. She wore a pair of huge, black-rimmed glasses I knew the hipsters would cream over. She was an office wet dream, and a jealous husband's worst nightmare.

Watching Linda work her men was fascinating, and she had more than her share to choose from there at the bar. She touched and fawned over them, promising one after another with her charm and sexy smile that he might be the one to put his cock in her later. Eventually, she lavished more attention on one lucky guy, and the others drifted away into a hungry sea of young women more their own age. I was astonished when she brought him to our booth and ushered him in beside her.

"David, this is Johnny. Johnny, this is my date tonight, David."

He put up a good front, reaching across the table to shake my hand, smiling at me like he might just send me packing before the night was over. I wondered what she had promised him.

"David, it so happens that Johnny and I have met before. You remember the guy I told you about at the cafe when I was waiting for Michael to pick me up? That first time he took me to his place to fuck me?"

Johnny's smile faded a bit. He looked at Linda, then me, then back again at Linda, as though he was waiting for the punchline.

"I understand you like married women, Johnny," I said with as sober a face as I could manage.

Johnny began to sweat a little, suspecting this wasn't going to be his usual night out.

"I - I guess I do. But you must too, right, David?"

"I guess I do, Johnny," I answered, with a frighteningly arrogant grin. "I like them because they'll do all kinds of things for me - things they'd never do for their husbands. Isn't that right, Linda?"

Linda sighed, looked down at the table, then rolled her eyes up at me. "You're not going to tell him, are you? I mean, some of the things you make me do - they're just so - filthy and disgusting. Really, David, you just go too far sometimes." She looked over at Johnny, staring deeply into his eyes. "My husband's so afraid of him - terrified, in fact. You see, David knows certain people. People who will do just about anything he tells them to do. So, my husband just lets David have me whenever he wants me." Suddenly she looked back at me and beamed with pride. "But that's my David. He always gets what he wants. Always."

"That I do, Johnny, that I do," I told him. He inched away from Linda and smiled, somewhat painfully. "So, Johnny, what do you like about our Linda? I mean, the first time you saw her, what about her got you hard? Her tits? Maybe her legs? She's got great legs, doesn't she? But she told me you met outside, right? With lots of people around? You probably didn't get a really good look."

Johnny was out of words, and I was sure I could see his hand shake a little when he lifted his beer.

"C'mon, Linda, help him decide. Give him a better look at your tits. Go on. Open the jacket and lose the bra."

Linda twisted toward Johnny in the booth, unfastened the single button at the front of her jacket, and held it open. She was completely naked under it except for the tiny half-bra, and her nipples began to harden in the chilly air.

"Go on, Johnny - give those nipples a little pinch. She loves that. Sometimes, when we fuck, I bite them so hard they're sore for days. But then she is a little pain freak, aren't you, baby?"

"You said you wouldn't tell, David," she murmured as she exposed herself to her new friend.

"That's okay, I believe you," Johnny said as he moved a few more inches away from her.

"Aww, Jesus, Johnny, I'll bet you're waiting for all of it, right? So you can feel her up and suck those pretty titties? Go on, Linda, show him all of it."

Linda unhooked the front of the bra and withdrew it from under her jacket, still facing Johnny, thrusting her chest toward him, offering everything to him.

"Now, those are some fine tits, aren't they Johnny? It's okay, taste 'em. Give 'em a good lick and a suck. She loves that, don't you, baby?"

Linda gave me a quick glance and rolled her eyes. Maybe I was overacting. Johnny's eyes were as big as my glass, searching feverishly around the column that hid our booth from anyone who might see or hear.

"I - I just thought that - um - she was alone," he stammered, "and that - maybe she liked me, and..."

"And that maybe she'd fuck you, right?" I joked. "Well, now that's a possibility Johnny, but she's very picky about certain things. The last guy that picked her up, well, his cock was, let's say, just average. And that really pissed her off, right baby?"

Linda's smile was so wide I thought her face may crack. "You know I like them big, David. Huge, actually. Little dicks do piss me off. I guess I'm so used to yours that anything smaller...well, my pussy deserves better. If they don't measure up, I let everyone know. I just can't control myself when I get angry."

"And let me tell you, Johnny, that is some sweet, tight pussy. C'mon baby, pull your skirt up. Show the boy what I mean."

Linda paused and glared at me. Would she really let me push her further than 'Stephan' had? She had promised to make the night a lasting memory of the Excelsior, one that would erase my night of humiliation there. She had said it just minutes before: "I'll play the slut for you." How far did she intend to go to let me be 'Stephan'?

She raised herself up slightly and hiked the skirt to her waist, meeting my challenge with her famous, evil grin. Pulling one knee up onto the bench, she canted her hips upward as though she was meeting the thrust of the best and biggest cock she had ever enjoyed. Johnny stared, his mouth gaping, his back against the wall at the end of the booth. This was my final hour, my finest hour, if only Linda would pass the baton from 'Stephan' to me.

"You know, Johnny, when she cums, you wouldn't believe the look on her face. And the sounds she makes - well, it's a wonder to behold. Go on, Linda. Show him. If his dick isn't up to what your pussy deserves, it may be the only time he sees anything like it."

I wasn't sure whether Linda was determined to show me she would do anything I asked, or whether she was determined to show Johnny what he may see if he fucked her. I moved to the bench on their side of the booth to provide some cover as Linda dipped her finger between her glistening pussy lips. I pressed against her from behind and lowered my chin onto her shoulder by her ear.

"You want to suck him, don't you?" I whispered, just loud enough that Johnny would overhear. "You want to suck all of it out of him - every drop of his cum, don't you?"

She let her head fall back, rested it against mine, and whimpered her answer. "God, yes..."

"You want him to watch you cum, don't you? To show him how you slut for me."

"Oh, fuck, David - yessss," she hissed as she worked her fingers between her spread legs.

"Do you want to fuck her, Johnny? Just look at this angel face, begging for cock. Do you think that you could possibly satisfy her? Is your cock big enough, Johnny?"

Linda whimpered at those words, and her body trembled against me. In spite of the show she put on for Johnny, I wondered if she could actually cum there in our booth. She had claimed she faked her orgasm in this same booth with 'Stephan', and she had convinced me that all her confessions of that night were true. Now I wasn't so sure.

Johnny stared at her drenched pussy, unable to answer a single one of my questions.

I circled my arm around her and held her breast in the palm of my hand, trapping the nipple between my two middle fingers, scissoring them open and closed, pinching and pulling at the unbearably sensitive, pink flesh. When I put my mouth on her neck and sucked, her body suddenly bolted, then stiffened. She began to cry out in short little mews like a hungry kitten, and I moved my hand to cover her mouth, muffling the sounds as they increased in pitch and intensity until she slowly quieted and collapsed against me, gasping and panting.

To my surprise, she turned to me quickly and urgently, took my face in her hands, and kissed me deeply for a very long time. "It's all for you," she whispered. "I belong to you. Only you."

Linda motioned to Johnny to follow us as we left the bar. He walked between us, nervous but hopeful, unable to escape the unending, seductive lure of Linda's big brown eyes on him. We arrived at the elevator and waited for the doors to open. Once the three of us were inside, Linda touched the glowing button, the doors closed, and the elevator began its ascent.