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This story begins in medias res - that is, without much of a prologue and without its proper context For a personal introduction, suffice it to say that I'm a grad student at a well-respected midwestern university. Kurt had had me on a line all afternoon, texting me about his "South City Whore" and their coming tryst. He is my sex mentor, you might say. A brutal, muscular man in his mid-forties. He might be ex-military, I'm not sure, but from things he's said I gather that he works at a prison.

He's a professional disciplinarian, and he has an unmatchable sex drive and little empathy or regard for feeling. I found him on Craigslist; he was looking for a bisexual wingman, someone to tag team "whores" and "sluts," and to suck his cock along with those whores. I responded with an email and a photo, he came back with his phone number, and we texted for a while. He made me photograph my body from every angle, including my spread asshole, and send him the photos.

At the time, I had let my pubic hair grow untrimmed for a while, and he derided me for it. He told me to shave myself bare and then send him another picture. I felt a hot brick settle low in my stomach and my cock push against my jeans when I read that text. I knew then that I was his bitch. In the shower that night, I took my razor and slowly, carefully shaved my cock and balls and then shaved upward toward my stomach. My hair, facial nude pussy pics and body, grows sparsely anyway, so it wasn't an onerous chore.

I was hard the whole time, and leaking precum. I sent him the photo, snapped on my phone in the foggy bathroom mirror. He sent his approval and I texted back, "Thank you, sir." I guess this has turned into a prologue after all. But I won't tell, at least right now, about the first couple of his whores that I got with naked girl or the first time I choked up on his dick. I want to write about my night with Kurt and Ceci. As I said, he had had me on a line all day, teasing me with the chance to fuck his south city whore.

He sent me a couple of photos of her, ass in the air, fist shoved deep in her cunt. In one of them, an brightly colored umbrella stuck out of her ass. It was like a fucking x-rated Wonka factory shot. At nine o'clock, he told me it was off. She was crazy, he said, and was giving him a hell of a time. I told him that it was fine, of course. I licked his proverbial boots. And then I went out to a bar where a few friends of mine had gathered and nursed a beer while constantly checking my phone.

Around 10:30, I received a text with an address, telling me to "be there now." I made a quick, lame excuse to my friends, left my beer, and drove quickly but carefully toward the address. It was only about 10 minutes from the bar, in a decent neighborhood, and I arrived sooner than I had anticipated. My palms were slick and I could smell the sharp nervousness of my sweat under my arms. I always get so keyed up during these episodes.

I found the house and climbed the wooden steps. I could hear music playing inside. I texted Kurt that I had arrived, and he came and opened the door in just his underwear and socks. His skin was red and lightly covered with sweat. They had already started. He told me, in a low voice, to go ahead of him into the low-lit bedroom. "Ceci," he said. "Evan's here." She rolled over in the bed, but she couldn't see me: she was wearing a blindfold, and a large red baseball shirt, the kind with the three-quarter sleeves.

Kurt got back into bed with her and I stood awkwardly beside the bed. He patted her and spoke softly to her, like one does to a horse or an injured dog. He gestured me around to the other side of the bed and within reach of her groping hand. She patted my t-shirt and then my stomach - approvingly, I thought - and then groped lower to my belt. I reached to help her, but Kurt stopped me. "Let her work for it," he said. I waited, my cock growing, while Ceci fumbled with the latch on my belt.

It finally popped free, and she pulled my shorts down. I helped her with my boxer briefs before Kurt could object.