HER TWO JOHNS

EIGHTEEN

“I’m not blind, Zayd. I see the way you two look at each other like hungry seal pups.”

–John Bishop

And Then There Were Three

John Bishop “catching flu” was the tactic that finally fulfilled the Johns’ diktat.

He announced over the intercom that it was urgent that they meet in the Library. The two were in John Marshall’s office working on ideas for the upcoming Oktoberfest Jamboree. They set aside their task.

Zayd knew John Bishop wasn’t feeling well the past few days and had urged him to see his doctor, but was alarmed just the same to see an actual hospital mask covering half his face!

“Please don’t tell us you’re dying,” she kidded.

“Gee, Zayd, don’t sic the buzzards to pick my bones just yet!” he kidded in return.

“So tell us, man, why the mask?”

“Marshall, I’ve been diagnosed with a virulent strain of the bird flu. I have meds and I am sure to recover with bed rest. And of course, it’s important that I don’t contaminate you two. So I am going to quarantine myself for the duration. I will need food and supplies so I’ll keep in touch by text and phone.

“And one other thing…”

John Bishop paused, his eyes flicking from John Marshall to Zayd and then back again to the man he most trusted in the world, before continuing:

“Marshall, I’m depending on you to keep Zayd content and satisfied in my absence.”

With that terse statement he turned to go, leaving them open-mouthed.

“John Bishop!”

He halted at Zayd’s strident tone but kept his back turned on them.

“What? No marching orders for me?”

“I thought I made myself clear, Zayd.”

“Oh, you did. But I won’t be handed off like a relay baton!”

Okay, that didn’t make sense even to her own ears. Had she not been guilty of passing herself secretly between them?

“You might can fool yourselves, but I’m not blind. I see the way you two look at each other like hungry seal pups. I want you to settle this thing between you however you have to. Once you’re my wife, Zayd, there will be no sneaking behind my back into another man’s bed. Marshall is not a man who gives up. Now, if you two will excuse me, I’d like to get on with the business of recovery. I may need my strength to fight for you, Zayd, after this is over.”

Later that same night…

“He’s got some nerve…”

p>

“The man’s right. We’re crazy hot for each other.”

“…ordering me around like he owns me!”

“He’s got a point.”

“Too bad it’s at the top of his head! Who does he think he is? We’re not even engaged!”

“There is this particular Damocles Sword hanging over our heads called our secret marriage.”

“‘Once I’m his wife’…well, I can’t be his wife. I’m your wife and I have a good mind to stay your wife.”

“I’m not happy with his heavy-handedness either, but—what? You want to stay my wife?”

“He throws us together then expects us to return to our neutral corners when he decides to yank us apart!” Zayd bitched and moaned. “He can’t play emperor with our lives like this! Can he, John?”

John Marshall pulled her naked body tighter into the curve of his, placing a compassionate kiss on her forehead. Zayd moved her lips up to his and clung to them as though they were her lifeline. She didn’t want compassion. She wanted passion. The deep inside her vagina kind. And that’s what he gave her as he rocked rhythmically and unhurried inside her heated, insatiable body.

“Hmm. That feels sooo good, John.”

“Does it?”

“Yes. Extra, please.”

He gave her extra.

“Harder, please, John.”

He rocked harder…and ‘extra’ harder.

Franticly.

Wildly.

And with manifest joy…as they came together.

“You’re wonderful, you know,” Zayd shared, her nipples nettled in the springy hairs of his chest, her body still trembling from their powerful orgasm. “You always make complete love to me. I never reciprocate. That’s hardly fair.”

“Huh?” He appeared surprised. “I haven’t noticed anything lacking on your part. You’re right there with me, baby, with every roll of your hips…every squeeze…every thrust…”

“Shouldn’t I be doing more? Take your nipples—I want to suck them. They are so plum for a man.”

“My nipples, Zayd…and any other part of me you’d like to slob down.”

“I’d be happy to but I’m not good at that.”

“Your assessment or Bishop’s? Baby, you were both traumatized by that semen-in-your-eye thing and he is either leery or lacks the confidence to guide you through it. I’m a whole other animal; I don’t miss.”

Zayd was reassured by his words.

“You want to suck me?” he asked lightly, his thumb thrumming gently over her nipple.

“Yes,” she sighed, shivering. “And, John, I want very much to swallow you down into my belly.”

Eager, John Marshall rose to a kneel, caught her ankles and slid her lower in the bed for her first lesson.

Zayd graduated that same night from ‘Introduction to Giving Head’ to ‘Swallowing for Beginners’.

And John Marshall, poor bastard, had trouble remembering where he was—Heaven or Earth.

“Am I still alive?”

“Yes, my darling.”

“Just checking.”

Now when they took their morning shower together—his hand cupping her nape; the other fondling her breast—Zayd lovingly milked him cum-dry…swallowing smoothly…and warming her gut with his bountiful ejaculate.

What a way to start the morning!

The two were like lovers on a Roman holiday at the expense of a sick man, or so Zayd thought, not feeling any guilt. After all, it was John Bishop’s own decree.

The Johns knew different. But as part of their master plan, Bishop stayed hidden throughout. Out of sight; out of mind. Nearly forgotten while the pair made love in half the bedrooms in the mansion.

They enjoyed dining out at fancy restaurants. But when they took their meals at home, they did so naked, chest to breast, intertwined in one chair, sharing one plate, their loins fused in one long, continuous orgasmic orgy.

It was time to ask the question:

“Am I turning into a nymphomaniac, John darling?”

“Lord, I hope so!”

One meal positively on the menu—revisiting where it all started—the scene of the crime—the pantry.

At breakfast one morning, Zayd enticed John Marshall inside the food closet, wearing only grits and her red satin sling-backs.

He licked up every grit from her brown skin as she leaned back against the door clutching his shoulders, one leg hung over the bend in his arm, aiding his tongue to extend inside her pussy for the furthermost granule!

With one sweep of his arm, he cleared a paper towel shelf and Zayd braced her four-inch heels against the cater-corner wall for leverage as she lobbed back his deep, bank shot thrusts. “Bang me,” she cried. “Don’t you dare be gentle! Suck my tits and bang the hell out of my pussy till I cry uncle!” Her ankles crossed at his ass to trap him deep until he’d dumped every drop of Marshall-Bey cum into her greedy little receptacle.

“Did I get it all?” she whimpered, ready to squeeze out more drainage.

“Good God in Heaven, Zayd,” he groaned. “Are you trying to kill me or what?”

And Zayd laughed jubilantly.