Ken's Birthday Gift Revisited

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2023 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: F+/m; M/mf; fpov; cuckold; costume; collar; leash; fem; voy; bond; cuffs; rope; susp; strip; naked; gag; mast; climax; sex; cons; X

Continues from

Part 2

…The bike ride home was uneventful, except that I could feel the tension building within me every mile closer we got towards the town we all grew up in. My happy place was almost certainly someplace else one day, but where? I wanted a life with my boyfriend turned one day into my husband, but this happy go lucky riding on the back of Ken's Milwaukee vibrator-life was fun too. Away from home, away from that environment, no real responsibilities; did I really have to go back?

Anyway, my folks had some things going on in life, although so did I; but to say that they were less than supportive when I told them that I had been "let go" would be an understatement, so much so that I thought I might have to find a new place to live straight away, so no pressure for an unemployed teen or anything. I'm a freshly unemployed, just out of high school teen with no car of her own, and now they want me to start paying rent, and no token amount either. As for the car thing, they offer to "sell" me one of their junk cars that just about runs, at a premium price, although they never offered to let me even drive it before.

So in other words, what was at best a strained relationship had turned into an almost hostile one, so much so that I looked with envy at both guys' own homes as more of a model of what I would like to one day have myself…

As far as my license goes, the only reason I even have that is because of both my boyfriend, who took me out practice-driving on my learner's permit that he took me to get, and my future mother in law who even took me for the road test, in her own car. Either one of those two people could have not helped me for a host of plausible reasons, and that would have left me dependent, dependent on my generous boyfriend for rides, and of course my very freedom. He didn't do that though, he helped me to achieve this milestone adult step, even though it well could have become a step away from him; which in reality it did for a bit there. That I think explains my guy the best, that simple act, he was willing to do "for" me, even though it could potentially lead to something not one hundred percent in his best interest. Now I could also claim that he didn't maybe see where all this might one day lead, but that would be to imply that my guy was unintelligent, and trust me that just wasn't the case.

Anyway, my folks obviously didn't want me to get a license, as if that would keep me around to babysit my sister back when she needed such, or continue to clean the house and cook like Cinderella for them. I didn't mind paying my way like this, taking turns cooking and cleaning, or even cutting the lawn, but when you do such and all you get is criticism, you pretty much associate your efforts and good deeds with negative comments and failure. Is it no wonder why I struggled with self-esteem back then?

…Anyway, I return my boyfriend's car when he gets back in town, and he can tell instantly that something is up, but I have so much going on that it's hard to tell what exactly he sees and feels. I tell him about the job first, face to face though, after I get my own bone crushing hug from him, telling me that everything will be alright now that we're together again. It makes logical sense to start there even though I'm near tears again, as this is what started everything in motion in the first place. I'm not even in his house yet, we're talking in the driveway, and I can see his mother peeking at us out of the living room windows. I can see the concern on her face, she somehow knows something is up too, but I assume she thinks it's maybe he and I breaking up or something based on my distressed face, although we're not exactly standing in confrontational stances, and the hug that she maybe didn't see was pure comfort and love.

So while fighting back tears I tell him that I HAVE to get out of THAT house, I don't know how, but somehow. I tell him about them wanting to sell me their old car, and he tells me "no fricken way!" I tell him about wanting to charge me rent, knowing that his folks charge him rent already, ten percent of his gross salary. The deal his dad made with him was ten percent of what he made after high school, unless he were in college or trade school full time, and then it would be free. It sounded very doable and fair to me, and to him too as he ate more than that in groceries alone, and I kind of did too over there as food was scarce in my own home…

…It's kind of a funny little side story, but one of the first times I had been in his house with him alone, as in his folks weren't home at the time, it was around lunch time, and he asks me if I'm hungry, kind of suspecting that I might be based on I don't know what. So I say something like "if you are'' or something non-committal like that, not expecting this young man to feed me or anything. I guess he was hungry himself, because he was always hungry back then, and skinny, but also blessed at that age with a phenomenal metabolism. So there was this steak in his folks fridge and he asks me if I like steak, which I tell him I do. So he grabs it while I watch, almost dumbfounded, and I ask him if we can eat that.

In my house that one steak would be a meal for four and quite special, and I say something like "isn't that FOR somebody?"

"Yeah, it's for us, we're hungry!" he tells me, almost as if, "why did you even ask?" It's just such a culture shock for me, not that his folks were wealthy or anything, but lots of food and love in that house of theirs. So this is like one of our first official boyfriend/girlfriend type dates, and already this young man is providing for me, cooking a steak for me, which back home would be a rare treat. It's casual to him, no big deal, and I was so hung up on the steak and the gesture that I don't even remember if we had anything with it, like a veggie or anything.

And guess what, they had a grill on the back porch, a nice gas one, and this young man that I already felt like I had known forever can cook too, steak is done medium perfect, nicely seasoned too. Having something like that so seldomly makes one savor the experience after all. We eat at the kitchen table and then clean up together, and other than the steak missing from the fridge you'd never know we were even there. So in my own home they expect me to take care of them, to serve them, and here this young man is taking care of me, providing for me, the contrast stark, even for an at times shallow-thoughts teen.

That's my giving and selfless future husband though, the one that shares me every now and then because he apparently gets something out of that too. It's not straight up cheating or fooling around behind his back either, there is an established pattern of his being diminished in some way first, either by Ken and I, or Ken's aunt and uncle with their own agenda, or even by my boyfriend's own "lost bet" actions. My giving boyfriend is therefore no victim here, he's incredibly an active participant in all this, there's a rather complex implied element of "doing this to him" in all of it, but consensually, if that makes any sense. To date these events are exclusively with his/our best friend, who not only had experiences with several previous girlfriends of his own to learn from, but also has some unique needs of his own now too, partially thanks to me. Again, no guilt at all, I think amusingly.

Oddly enough, it didn't occur to me - this contrast - until sometime later, that my very first meal alone with Ken had been mac and cheese that I had cooked; and the one with my future husband steak that he had cooked. Now I'm not all about food per say, but being raised with an empty fridge rather than a full one has given me a certain outlook on abundant food and security.

…Anyway, back to the rent thing, the ten percent was never stipulated as before or after taxes, but my boyfriend found his dad every week and cheerfully paid him ten percent of his gross salary, later on also cheerfully sharing whenever he got a raise. Lots of love in that house, and generosity too…

Any job that I could work full time myself would keep me out of that house and busy with a purpose, but I don't have one of those anymore, and no real cash to go out and do fun things when my boyfriend is at work. My boyfriend has a good starter job, really a starting career already, but he's had a few interrelated ones over the many years we've been together. He's good at a lot of things and can humble himself when he has to, and even back then he turned that into a good teen "living at home" paycheck. It's not "move out on your own money" yet, but he doesn't really need to at this point in his life; I'm obviously another matter though…

I've inadvertently put him in a terrible no-win situation, he can't afford to take me away from all my problems, and I can't afford to pay half the bills, nor get married either, and there is no way his folks would like him moving out, and then in with me unmarried anyway. I don't know that anybody would have rented an apartment to two teens back in the day either, but I'd wager likely not. The military was an obvious option, but I'd meet someone else there, and more importantly he'd meet somebody else while I was there too. If not for both him and Ken I'd likely already be talking to a recruiter, as in "sign me up and get me outta here!"

"Why don't you take the summer off?" my concerned boyfriend asks me deadpan, seeing my distress and coming up with an instant solution. This is of course about the polar opposite to Ken's suggestion. "I don't know when I'll be able to do this for you again, but I can do it now, gas money, some spending money, we just have to be careful" he adds for clarity, to let me know what he's really offering.

I literally don't know what to say for a few seconds, I'm shocked speechless. I'm not hinting at something like this, and really not expecting it either. In this scenario he'd work and I'd go out and have a good time on his dime, spending his money and driving his car like we were married already; who does something like that, other than somebody with "forever" plans? "Do this for you again" also implies that there will be a next time as well, but to be sure I have no problem with working; he and I have even teamed up to cut the grass at his folks very large yard, so his dad didn't have to. We made a game out of it - it was also very husband and wife-like - but when we work together we usually do make a game of it. The reward for that selfless act was sometimes dinner, either in their home, or out at a restaurant; another rare treat for me while growing up.

The only argument that I can come up with for not taking him up on his generous offer is that I couldn't possibly take "his" money, conveniently forgetting that he both paid for our dates already, and his overall impossibly generous way with his best friend and myself obviously. This is a young man who is accustomed to giving, rather than getting, it's who he is to this day, how he was raised.

"It's not my money, it's our money" he corrects me, not for the first time. I don't think of it like it's "our money," but he does, and then of course I start to think a bit more critically about the other things that I've just done with Ken, this other form of sharing, maybe with good intentions for some of it, but selfish needy ones for the rest maybe. It perhaps didn't feel all that selfish in the lusty moment, but the next day, and after, I'm just not quite so sure. I usually get like that though, hungry and needy/lusty on the build up, and contemplative after the passion has abated, after the proverbial itch has been thoroughly scratched. Perhaps we all do this to some degree or another, but my teenage self could be quite needy in the actual moment, my mood swings extreme, most especially ever since that extraordinary camping trip.

How do I tell this young man making this kind of deep commitment to me that I'm not reciprocating in kind, that I've just agreed to go steady with Ken too, or even chastise him for keeping Ken's aunt's health a secret from me; from Ken too maybe? How could I possibly tell him that in both my hour of need, and his absence, Ken and I went up to his cabin, got rained-in, stuck together alone up there, and then got up to some heavy, heavy mischief with that boat-found bondage bag kit of his? How could I tell him that emotionally Ken and I have grown closer, despite my intentions not to for obvious reasons? There was even a fully nude picture of me taken on the master bed up there to commemorate the experience, taken while waiting for Ken to recharge enough for round two, a picture that my boyfriend would well know he hadn't taken himself.

Ken would for sure have to keep that picture well hidden and to himself, I couldn't have it in my house for obvious reasons, and my boyfriend couldn't ever see it either, I thought to myself, conveniently forgetting that forever was a very long time…

It was overwhelming really, here this young man had flippantly offered to solve one half of my present problems by both making me even more dependent on him - while offering further freedom from my troubled home to do as I pleased - but potentially also making me more available for Ken's attention; all while asking nothing in return. Ken has a job too, so this isn't exactly like throwing me into his arms for the whole summer to screw around with him while my boyfriend's at work or anything, but I'll likely still have some time to get into some kind of mischief with him. I still needed a new place to live though, but more on that just a bit later. Anyway, I decided on a kind of half-truth rather instantly and on the fly, the guilt at keeping "everything" from him troubling my conscience greatly.

"While you were gone Ken and I took a ride up on his bike to see his aunt and uncle by the way; he told me that she's sick" I told him. It was technically all true, but delivered very "matter of factly," although with several rather critical elements in that timeline missing. I even made it sound kind of innocent and logical too; again with my teen self, what was left out of something was at least as important as what was put in.

"How is she?" he asks compassionately. Not "good" not "did you really?" nothing like that at all. The hours-long ride on the back of Ken's tauntingly vibrating Sportster, and then back home as far as he was concerned; spending pretty much the entire day alone with him, grinding on his rather nice ass and holding onto his muscular torso like a lover from behind, that was nothing. "How is she?" was the question, especially bearing in mind how she had treated him the last time we were all together. She had treated him like way less than our teenage equal that night, almost sub-human really, and this hasn't dampened his compassion for her in the least; it maybe even added something to it.

Did he expect that I'd eventually find out, did he also expect that we'd - meaning Ken and I - do something like this, maybe even implying to them that Ken and I are just a bit better friends than we looked like while in my true boyfriend's presence? It's not too much different than what my boyfriend had suggested on that pickup truck ride we all took together up to their place the time before - as if he had planted those seeds in my or Ken's mind - but there were still elements here that bothered me, like how easy this was for me to do once things got rolling along. Or for that matter, how easy it was for me to get all housewify with Ken once one-on-one alone with him like that. I needed a new home though, so this has to be a factor; the dry sponge and water effect perhaps?

"She looks tired, but cheerful enough, all things considered" I tell him honestly; happily getting back to something one hundred percent honest with him again.

…And perhaps somewhat settled now that she thinks Ken has a steady and acceptable girl in his life… I quipped in my mind.

"I'm pretty sure it's over between him and the latest girl by the way," I add.

"That sucks," he says, but in a way that implies that he's not surprised by this at all, although my telling him that Ken and I took that long ride together maybe suggests to him that the girl was no longer in Ken's picture even then. This of course also suggests that I had taken her place here, taken her proverbial seat behind Ken on his bike too…

"How is he?" he then asks, again with the others over self thing, it's like he's self-elected to be last in line for consideration. I just hate being deceptive like this with anybody, let alone him, but my imperfect teen self is trying to find a balance here that works for everybody; everybody else though. I'm trying to be everything to everybody; and perhaps maybe losing myself in the process. It's a personality defect that I need to eventually work on - being a perpetual people pleaser - but in a few years and with a little help I'll have it mostly sorted out. It's a consequence of how and where I was raised, but far easier to clearly see once out of that environment and into an unconditionally loving one.

"He's pretty bummed out, but I told him that I'd play at being his steady girlfriend for his aunt's benefit, so she doesn't worry quite so much about him while she's sick" I offer; impossible to take back now, even if I wanted to.

There, I've done it, I haven't asked, I've informed, I thought to myself, it's the perfect tonal balance that I've somehow struck here. I don't know where this inner strength came from, this candor, but maybe it's another little baby step for a perpetual people pleaser like myself, although this time not in the actual heat of passion. At the moment Ken has a greater need than my guy does though, and I'm at least partially at fault here too.

I can obviously be quite focused, driven, and demanding when lusty things are involved, but outside of that it's a struggle not to be rolled over by certain others, excluding my boyfriend obviously. He set those rules rather early-on with us as a couple though, empowered me to say no whenever I wanted to, to choose the direction of our relationship like that. But I also fear failure, and I just got fired for the first time ever, so I maybe also want some additional approval here, from Ken though, and oddly enough maybe even from his aunt and uncle, because I already have that unconditionally from my boyfriend.

I'm also watching my boyfriend's face while I'm telling him all this, reading his mood, and what I see gives me some further confidence. He's aroused, excited by what I just told him, maybe not erect and sexually aroused, but mentally so; mentally stimulated by Ken and I doing something alone, without him there to see. He maybe even has an imaginary picture in his head of how that might have looked, Ken and I riding up and visiting Ken's aunt and uncle alone together with our bodies pressed together tight on that bike. He should know exactly what that looks like though, as he's seen me on the back of Ken's bike with my legs and girl parts tight up against him more than once; although he's anything but angry, or hurt, or even jealous over that, that's for certain. I want to please him too obviously, but I'm also struggling to be my own person, a one day equal partner and not a tag along accessory, a burden to be carried; it just was all so terribly confusing back then.

"I think Ken maybe needs a special birthday gift this year too; any ideas?" I ask softly, playfully, getting the read of the proverbial room and fishing for something specific with him. I was miserable just a bit earlier, nearly in tears, but my mood has snapped around almost instantly - it's feels very guy-like to me - maybe this thinking about doing something wonderful for Ken's birthday has distracted me, or maybe it's my burden-lifting, my partially coming clean on spending alone time with Ken, and obviously the receptive way that was received. It's a welcome feeling either way, and I press forward, perhaps selfishly, perhaps even altruistically.

What would my giving, half-horned-up boyfriend offer to give to his needy best friend fresh into a breakup? I wonder mischievously. He's been away with his folks for like over a week straight, in their perpetual company, so I assume he hasn't had the "opportunity" for any self-entertainment, his neediness perhaps altering his mood and allowing for just a bit more acceptance than even what's normal for him these days. He doesn't really talk about self entertainment - it's a taboo subject between us - but I have to believe that he does it. Full disclosure here, I do, because if I didn't I'd likely lose my mind with stress. Ever since that camping trip my needs in that department have exponentially increased, although I have yet to hear my boyfriend complain about this. Anyway, he'll do pretty much anything for me if he's horned up enough, so he's quite passive and deferential where I'm concerned; "pussy whipped" the guys used to crudely call it back in the day. I should also be just as needy myself, but Ken had fixed that for me up at the cabin, although not in quite as grand a fashion as he had while camping. Don't get me wrong, it was still pretty awesome and all that, the cuffs and standing/ hanging position especially, but not the best ever, with that awful cramp of mine. That camping trip was a first time thought, and a first-time anything is special, I had to again remind myself.

I've maybe manipulated my boyfriend into this special gift thing, but playfully, and not maliciously. It will be Ken's twentieth birthday - no longer a teen - he's almost certainly thinking about man-like things, a career, his own place, a person to spend his life with… And I've just screwed that last part up for him too.

I like this giving mindset though, it takes my own mind off of my other problems, and the ones that I've inadvertently caused too. I think I'm maybe onto something here; that my boyfriend has the right idea on this selfless giving thing himself, but how to do that without forever being a people pleaser, as in forever somebody else's idea of what and who I should be?

The simplistic teenage answer in the short term was to do something that's also very good for me too, and worry about later, later…

I can't take full credit for the insanity to follow, but every element just kind of clicked into place, like it was meant to be, or maybe the devil himself had a hand in it.

The dress was easy and already owned, and I didn't mind modifying and destroying that at all. The cheap high heels were bought for me later that day by my boyfriend at a discount shoes kind of mall store, they were about the tallest ones that I could actually walk in even for a short distance and not very well made, but good enough for the brief time I'd actually be wearing them. My guy got seriously into shoe shopping with me, playing shoe salesman on his knees before me and getting me several pairs in my size off the various racks, all as I sat there like a princess and allowed him to serve me in this way as well. At first it was super uncomfortable for me, but he wanted to do this. When I modeled them for him in my shorts and tee shirt, walking around the store for both him and the other watching men he looked about to cream his jeans. These particular shoes for me were like magic, they made me feel sexy. This was another first really, but I didn't even realize the significance of it at the time; my boyfriend and future husband had specifically bought something for me to wear for another man, to facilitate his gifting me to that same man for pretty much an "anything goes" kind of night.

I also bought myself a multipack of very inexpensive plain white cotton bikini panties that same day; he offered to do that for me too, walk them to the register and pay for them himself, but I flat out refused. These were what I like to call one week specials, but having him buy me utilitarian undergarments like this was a bit far for me at the time, although Victoria Secret things would have had a whole different vibe to me.

I had drafted both him and my little cosmetology student sister to help with this project, she was positively excited to do so, but with her own devious little twist that I may or may not have approved of if I knew about it first. It was also good for me to focus on something like this while unemployed, it gave my life a short term purpose. My boyfriend was characteristically on board for this crazy idea too, even though he'd get very little physically for his efforts, more giving on his part, without getting, but Ken had a need that exceeded his own.

…My sister and I had a very big secret that we now shared, and I had to be careful that I didn't cross her as she could wreck me not only at home, but with this giving guy that I wanted to keep well after this next crazy adventure, despite her own obvious thoughts to the contrary as to which one I should actually keep for myself. Anyway, this thing we talked through and planned was half a joke, half serious, but easier for us to pull off because of this; I'd be Ken's very special birthday gift this year, his boxed up life-sized talking Barbie doll though, the perfect woman for him that says only positive things, that literally can't say no to him. We bought him the twelve inch tall boxed up little girl's version once as the perfect girlfriend for him, and he even strapped her onto the rear seat of his bike when riding sometimes as a joke, to make light of not having a girl of his own to ride back there.

Now I haven't told my sister that I'm gifting myself to Ken so he can "have" me or anything, I've just implied that there will be a surprise party of sorts, and this "costume" that I'll be wearing will be part of that surprise. What she thought might happen afterwards, or if she even realized that my boyfriend fully knew what kind of gift this really was remained unsaid, but the way things went down I kind of think she knew, or at least suspected; most especially after my just having spent that entire stormy night with Ken all alone up at his cabin with him. She exclusively knew about that, and it's a secret that she's kept so far, oddly enough.

The basis for my Barbie costume would be those impossibly tall white heels, and my old nurse's aid white uniform dress, but that would have to be severely modified; in other words seriously sexed up. New sexy dresses cost money that these two teens didn't have in great abundance; not to throw away on a single use thing anyway. My folks weren't home for this one either. Before I realized what my sister was up to, she had whisked my boyfriend off to her room and had him stripped down to his denim shorts, then modeling that uniform dress for us, ostensibly so that we could then cut it up and modify it for my Barbie persona/costume. She could tell him to do pretty much anything back then and he'd do it, he was that kind of deferential to her, kind of like with me, but without the implied sexual component. In fact, the more I thought about it, he was deferential to pretty much any woman - Ken's aunt comes to mind - it's just the way he was.

I know this sounds "out there" but you just have to understand both my - I'm used to getting my own way - little sister, and this guy that I'm with, the interaction between them; the established but unnatural pecking order between them. Once, maybe two years or so earlier, she was just being a pain in the butt, hanging around with us in the house and asking all sorts of questions of this new boyfriend of mine; he thought it was cute, but I thought it was a bother. So anyway, it's just us three in the house, but we're staying in the common areas of the house without my folks home, and we have our little talkative chaperone with us to make sure we're not getting up to anything anyway. I had to stay around and "watch" her, quasi-babysitting without compensation back then.

Out of the blue she asks if he thought the old dog collar would fit around a person's neck. He just looks at her like "what?" But then he recovers quickly and goes on to tell her super reasonably that she shouldn't ever put something tight around her own neck because it could be dangerous. It's a great big-brotherly answer, but now I'm really watching and wondering what she's angling at. She seems and looks innocent enough, even today, but everything with her also seems to have an angle, a purpose.

"It doesn't seem to hurt the dog's neck," she persists innocently.

"No, I suppose it doesn't," he tells her. "Still, please promise me that you won't try something like that with your neck though," he asks her as I watch, smiling inwardly to myself because I can almost see where this is going now.

"Not my OWN neck, I promise," she agrees most reasonably, "but I'm still curious you know… I'll be right back," she blurts out, a decision of some kind already made, and I think to myself; here it comes.

She comes back with an old big-dog dog collar complete with a tag that says "if lost call…" It's a long story how we got that collar, and the heavy leash for it too, but we used to dog watch for somebody once, and these were spares. She knew right where this collar was though, and she came back with it in her hands almost running towards my boyfriend, anxious to show him the collar. It even still had that "dog" smell to it, I could smell it a few feet away.

Anyway, she opens the buckle on the collar and moves to put it on him, she's not asking, but neither of us are stopping her either. It's incredible, as if she has my boyfriend in a trance or something, but he lifts both his neck and collar-length long teen hair with both hands to facilitate my little sister collaring him like her very own pet dog. She buckles it maybe a bit tight, but he obviously doesn't want to make this traumatic for her or anything, so he comically flaps his arms and makes a big show of choking to death, and she's laughing so hard now that I have to step in and loosen my future husband's new collar a notch or two, lest he choke for real right in front of us.

He's playing along with her, humoring her, but if somebody else walked in on us right then it would have been quite the explanation. So anyway, we're all laughing at this, it's funny and very non-sexual and innocent coming from her; if I had done this instead it would have a whole different feeling though, but then again my little sister wouldn't be in attendance either.

So to play along with her further he gets down on his hands and knees without being asked, and then he barks and prances around, and she's hysterical now, laughing so hard that no sound is actually coming out. He's obviously working really hard at getting along with her, likely thinking that if he had forever intentions with me, my little sister and he would also have to get along too. I don't like my sister's intrusion here, but I absolutely LOVE how he's playing along with her, humbling himself because it makes her laugh, because she wants him to. So then she runs and gets the old leash, hooks him up, and proceeds to "walk" my boyfriend around the upper floor of our house, all the time he's barking and snarling, and generally putting on a very good dog show. He actually makes a great pet dog; the thought sticks with me for future use. Sufficient to also say that I'm seriously jealous of her, the easy way she gets people to do the things she wants them to do with just the right words, and of course a very pretty and perfect smile too…

Anyway, when I first saw him standing there in my old uniform dress it brought me back to the dog collar thing, but I bit the inside of my lip hard and fought the urge to say something harsh, not just because of what it looked like on him, but for being so easily manipulated by her still again. I was half disappointed, and half amused that she got him into that dress in like fifteen seconds flat, or so it seemed to me. Laughing at him wouldn't be good for him either, and in all fairness to my sister it did somewhat fit his thin frame, although he obviously didn't fill out either the hips, or the bust like I did. Well, full disclosure here, with his slightly bulky denim cut off shorts under my dress he did halfway fill out the hips. Anyway, anything too awful said by me at that moment might also imply that both of us were trying our hardest to make a fool of him, which may well have been her specific intention - although I don't know exactly why - but obviously not my own.

I gave my sister a look that said "you've had your fun with him, but no further than this though," and I left it at that. Not getting that message - either by ignorance or design - she then suggested that the dress would fit our stand in alterations mannequin far better if we put him in one of my "ginormous bras," her exact words, and then packed it out with socks and underwear, to which I flatly refused before she could have my boyfriend up and do it for her. Would his blushing self have done so? I don't really know for sure, but I put a stop to it there, secret or no secret.

"It'll never fit him," I told her reflexively by way of an excuse, perhaps implying to her that this was the only reason not to do so though.

Would my band even go around his chest without ruining a fairly expensive undergarment? I then thought. Logically, if my dress went around his chest one might conclude that one of my older stretched out bras might as well, but I still wasn't actively participating in feminizing him any further, at least any more than what both our camping trip and this dress had already done. The concept truly did nothing for me back in the day, I wanted a boyfriend and one day husband, not an intimate girlfriend with guy parts.

The funny part was that the cut of that dress, and the room for a full chest that was cut into the material itself with its sewn in darts, kind of made it look like he had boobs already, and I'm not talking little man boobs here, which he did have a bit of himself; which was also odd for such a thin young man. I had high school gym class obviously, and sometimes the guys played with the girls, and sometimes the guys were "skins and shirts" when they were playing team sports, and trust me my guy wasn't the only young man with little man boobs. Anyway, before our camping trip this was just who he was, and in my eyes still perfect, but Ken's hairy masculine chest that I had been up close and personal with was much more manly, no man boobs at all on him. I'd also been to the beach many times, and while it's always fun to look, my tunnel vision was for my guy exclusively before that camping trip.

So anyway, we have our cajoled dress mannequin standing before us, so that my sister and I can collaborate on design; and not trying to make too big of a deal over that we start at the hem of the dress first, measuring a bunch of times and then cutting it all the way to mid thigh evenly on my boyfriend, just below his rather short shorts. It will need to be properly sewn - or maybe just glue ironed if I find myself feeling lazy or pinched for time - but she and I pin it up so I can properly hem it one way or the other later. We don't really have all that much in common, her and I, so this is kind of nice actually, and I catch myself wondering if this was my boyfriend's motivation in allowing her to dress him.

Anyway, she tells him to get up on his toes as she stands back with her hand on her chin, as if deep in thought, and he does so mindlessly for her once again, turning in place on his toes. I think maybe she wants to see if we need to take some more off, but no, she instead wolf-whistles at him and playfully tells him his legs look really nice like that. I've noticed this myself, but the fact that she just has too makes him blush bright red and stammer for a bit. Has my little sister just realized for the first time, in a womanly way, that my boyfriend was a good looking young man himself; in perhaps his own unique way?

My little sister was right obviously, a packed out chest more along the lines of my own would have been far better, fit wise, but as a second option I have him roll his shoulders back and pull the chest area out taunt, as if I were wearing it and braless, and he were pinching and pulling on both of my sensitive nipples at the same time through it. It's a bit obscene to be doing in front of my sister, but he does as he's told anyway.

Barbie dresses get buttoned or Velcro closed at the back, to facilitate little girls easily dressing and undressing them, Barbie not having the shape or flexibility that easily allows for tight non-spandex dresses to easily go over her head elsewise. I know there are exceptions in today's world, but this was back then, and my design here will eventually make sense. Does my little sister actually know what she's helping me to create, and for what eventual exact purpose? I wonder again.

She and I gather and roll the material along the spine of both the dress and my future husband, but something isn't quite right, he may have nice legs and all, even long teen guy hair aiding in his faux feminization, but not a true womanly shape. He's straight bodied like a typical man, maybe not quite as broad shouldered as Ken, but you get the idea. A cloth tape on both he and I confirmed what we see ourselves, and I tell him to suck in his gut, even though he doesn't really have one. He pulls it in as deep as he can, concaving his belly, but it's still not enough.

"I think he needs a girdle," my sister opines while snickering, but I'm just not going there, and it's not like either one of us owns one to lend him anyway, and rummaging in my folks drawers and closets is a serious no go. Just like with the dog collar though, my sister peels out of there and is back from the kitchen in a flash, holding a roll of plastic wrap and looking like a young woman with a plan. I think to maybe object, but before I can she tells him to strip, which we both end up helping with so he doesn't get scratched with the temporary hem pins. Dress over the head to undress, it has to be a first for him, but so was dropping one over his head and wearing one in the first place.

He's standing before us in cut off denim shorts and nothing else, on display in my sister's bedroom, little man boobs and all. This is kind of out there in uncharted territory for all three of us, but what she does next gives me something to ponder at a later date. It's a trick that I didn't know about, but at my age and weight back then I didn't need to know about it either.

"Arms up and suck in that gut Sally!" she barks playfully, but I'm left to wonder where "Sally" came from. Later on I learned that this was a girl in class with her that, let's just say, wasn't a class favorite. He does as he's told like a robot, answering to the new name - or maybe shell-shocked and not knowing it was directed at him. It's profound to watch my little sister take physical command of him like this; she's like thirteen at the time, and we're both nineteen, and still he's acting like he's her puppet, totally owned and controlled.

Does submission come that naturally to him, or just submission to women? I should have asked myself back then.

Then she starts to wrap his stomach with the cling wrap, it's just touching his ribs and covering him to his belly; she's pulling tight and really changing his shape. It's not straight up feminine, although it does reduce the diameter of the trunk of his body, but his sucked in and wrapped condition also really thrusts out his little man boobs too, which I purposely don't mention. I think my sister maybe sees this too, but thankfully she doesn't comment on them either. The both of them could possibly even wear the same bra cup, I realize with an inward chuckle, but there is no way on earth that I could ever say such a thing out loud. This isn't hostile or anything, we're still having fun with all this, but my sister is getting to see a slightly different side of this guy of mine, or maybe the exact same side she saw like two years earlier with the dog collar for all I know.

He's still obviously breathing, but not really speaking, but we don't need to talk with him either, and as the dress goes back on him it's obvious that my little sister has done this plastic wrap trick before; actually for school she had told me when I asked. They made dresses from scratch, had cooking class, did hair and cosmetology, it's just what she was interested in, all things girly and feminine; odd really that she and I were even related at all.

So with his new smaller waist and shape we feel confident enough to make some cuts in the back of the dress now, this part will be Velcroed back together and allow for some minor adjustments, so if I'm a bit off I can overlap and cinch it up back there to adjust it as needed. Help with that while getting dressed would obviously be nice, but I don't know if that's going to be an option depending on how we work out the specific delivery details. As an awesome best ever element I'd really like to be boxed up and truck delivered to Ken as a surprise. It's Ken's truck though, so that leaves my boyfriend's car; and just transporting an empty five and a half-ish foot long box in a full sized passenger car will be challenging enough. So anyway, back to the dress; we cut and pin the dress in the back, and make our marks with pink chalk, and when we step back to see our handiwork it's hard to believe it's the same dress, or the same young man either.

Then we make some more cuts, taking the collar and sleeves off, really opening it up a bit to show some cleavage - that my guy obviously doesn't have - my little sister quite good at this; she really has an eye for it. I will admit the inspiration for the cuts and removing the sleeves came from the bother of us getting the pinned dress over his head, but it would also make for a better "break away" kind of dress for Ken's birthday.

Our dress model turns slowly for us so we can see it from all sides, and a part of me likes what I see, and a part of me wishes I didn't see it. He's looking for approval, but my sister is smiling, and thinking, I can see it on her face. It was unfair not to let him see it too though, so my sister tells him to look for himself in her big mirror. He walks over and turns this way and that, then poses himself in a fairly good caricature of a posing fashion model wannabe, and tells both of us that it's not his color. It's funny and light hearted for him and I, but eventually something else for her; more on that much later though…

Could my little sister and I have done this ourselves? Possibly, but I liked him having some skin in this game, quite literally, although I hadn't planned on this level of involvement from him specifically. He was putting humbling effort into making me an extra presentable gift for our friend, and he would do some more as the Barbie box was totally on him. Hours of labor, all to gift me to another man for that man's birthday, and something else too for a few others as it happened…

From a "what I know now" frame of mind I realize that my sister had inadvertently opened another door for him with her dress antics, a further submission, but I'm getting there…

That concluded his actual physical dress-help though, just a little taste for him of what it's like to actually wear one, and then of course my own actual labor on the dress began in earnest. It almost seemed a shame to put this kind of time into something for such a single-use thing, but I had the time, and destroying that particular dress was therapeutic for me; it was burning the proverbial bridge that I never wanted to cross again. I didn't yet know what I wanted to do in life, but I knew what I didn't want to do.

The delivery and display box was made from a pool toys box, specifically a bulk cardboard display box for those brightly colored Styrofoam pool noodles that were all the rage at one time. He remade it with a plywood floor and back to give it some rigidity though, so it could stand up on its own and not look like a coffin laying down. That part was all on him, but we had to make something that would actually - dimensionally speaking - fit inside his car for transport to Ken's cabin, the place of mischief once again for Ken and I; but this time my boyfriend would actually know about it. This would be a planned event too though, and not one hundred percent spontaneous as I preferred, so in the back of my mind I hoped it would all work out.

My boyfriend was to take Ken out to dinner for his birthday up near the cabin, and then arrange to drop him off to play with his special surprise present solo, the one that would be dressed, boxed up, and waiting there for him. My boyfriend made a big deal of the dinner party, but Ken was a little out of sorts when he learned that I wouldn't be there for dinner; that I would "try" to catch up with them later as I had something I couldn't get out of. There was always a spare Key hidden under a rock by the porch, in case anybody ever drove all the way up there and forgot their own keys, and I obviously knew where that was.

My boyfriend and I both thought it was a great plan, an awesome sexual surprise, an awesome gift from one young man to the other; but sometimes great plans go awry. I liked the concept of being Ken's gift, especially dressed and boxed up like a doll; very objectifying for me. I had a few concerns on my mind though, the very last time I had been there with Ken it was some serious mischief for us, and I knew I had to be careful that I didn't spill the beans and refer to that event at all, at least for the brief time my boyfriend was to be there with us. He was to drop Ken off at his own cabin, and then disappear someplace to solo camp for the night - maybe even just out of sight and hearing inside the big barn - leaving Ken and I alone in the cabin proper as was my own preference for fooling around with my other steady guy. My boyfriend to date had never actually seen Ken bind me up and get rough with me, and while I absolutely loved that barbarian act, that "make me struggle" thing from Ken, I didn't know if he'd love actually watching that for himself; lots of emotions in something like that, maybe even defensive ones. Not that my guy would feel the need to rescue me from Ken, but why tempt fate any more than we already were?

So anyway, we briefly test-fit myself inside the box in his folks garage, intending to use the cover story of a very early Halloween decoration if asked; but we simply never were. The weekend of Ken's Birthday comes and the guys arrange to go out together, in Ken's truck, leaving my boyfriend's car for me to drive up to the cabin solo. It sounds odd, but this was the farthest distance that I've ever driven on my own to date, but the car is perfect, and I have some boyfriend-supplied cash on me for gas and whatever. No credit cards and no cell phones back then, so traveling a distance from home alone like this, especially for a teen girl, could turn into a serious adventure. I know the route because I've just been there with Ken less than two weeks earlier, but I have a highlighted AAA map anyway; yes it was that long ago, maps were still a thing and kept in the glove box just in case one got seriously lost.

…So to back up half a step - because I don't want to miss anything - the dress fits me like a velcro adjusted glove, but I can't exactly wear it on the ride up there, because if I need gas, or if I get a flat, if I have to do too much of anything in it at all the velcro will likely pull apart and I'll be left standing there nearly naked in a pair of serious heels and panties on the side of the road. I probably can't even drive in those heels anyway! This dress is "look at me sexy" and makes me feel seriously on display when I wear it, but this isn't the very best way for a traveling teen far from home to dress on a road trip all alone either. There is also the little potential problem of me getting out of my own house dressed so impossibly provocatively, but again they weren't home; lots of turmoil in that house back then.

The dress was designed to roughly tear off, but in Ken's own hands. He loved ripping that old bikini off of me, and I loved him doing it too, very barbaric and manly. My cheap bikini panties were intended to have the very same fate, that's the plan anyway. I wear that dress and model it before my own mirror, slipping on the tall heels that I've been hiding in the trunk of my guy's car and looking at what I looked like. This dress was sexy as hell, and I FELT sexy and powerful wearing it; a fitting and proper adult birthday gift for Ken all things considered. I accidentally F-ed up the girlfriend thing on him, and now I'm the stand-in surrogate girlfriend with benefits; it all makes teenage sense somehow.

I take a long bath the day I'm to leave in preparation, nice smelling soap, I even shaved my legs smooth. I'll be wearing a very short dress for Ken without any stockings, so smooth legs and good overall grooming are crucial; I want to be the perfect gift for Ken on this particular birthday; especially this one. I get to thinking, remembering the jungle I had going on the last time he and I got together, and I do a little extra special trim down there, and then a little more… I've botched it up ever so slightly like three times over, it's not at all symmetrical, and I know Ken just loves symmetrical. I'm preparing my girl parts specifically for Ken this time though, it's again profound, just like with the heels.

What might Ken like? I ask myself scandalously while still in my bath, razor in hand and lightly stroking and toying with myself, an evil smile on my face.

What would also be one hundred percent authentic for an anatomically correct adult-sized Barbie?

I totally abandoned the landing strip I was now working towards as a last resort and shaved myself bald, dolls don't have such things I tell myself logically. The last time I had seen this look on myself in the bath I had been playing with Barbies myself, and the thought makes me laugh. Anyway, back then for an "of-age" woman smooth and bald just wasn't a thing, but today it seems almost universal. I truthfully think it makes me look immature down there, or perhaps super innocent - which I'm obviously not - but to look at the rest of me I'm most certainly an adult woman.

Will Ken like it though; that's the real question?

I've modeled the finished dress and heels for my sister as she had some labor in this too, and on this one thing she seemed to be able to keep the secret, well two things really counting the bike ride and overnight at Ken's cabin that made this dress and gift necessary. She suddenly wants to trim my hair and do my makeup right before I go, two things that I just never let her do. But for whatever reason I gave in to her requests this time; and here I wonder why my boyfriend was so easily manipulated by her too.

I'm wearing shorts and a button down shirt now to travel in, the dress and heels are now packed and hidden, my fabricated excuse for being not home for the weekend already given. My sister makes small talk to put me at ease like she would do for any other practice client in her chair at school, and she tells me she thinks I look really good in that dress we made together, and she also tells me I could do better; it's a rare physical compliment from her, although I don't agree with the second premise. I'm a captive audience as she works on my hair first, so I kind of have to listen to her. She does a little more than a "trim" on my hair as I watch in her room's mirror, but it's a very nice and trendy layered look for me, totally different from what I usually do, which is to almost let nature take its course.

Next she does my makeup, and as a rule I don't wear any as A, I don't like it B, it takes too much time, and C, I can't stop touching my face when I'm wearing it. Young girls generally seem to think that if a little is good, way too much is awesome, and I was kind of expecting this from her too.

She does this at school for a grade though, and she's apparently good at it too, because the woman eventually looking back at me in the mirror is almost unfamiliar. It's almost a china doll look, so more innocent doll-like than slutty, which was the look I thought she might try. I knew I could always wash it off at my destination if I didn't like it, but I'd keep this look if I could as part of Ken's surprise, although slutty might have been a better overall fit for my sexed up modified uniform dress. She gave me what I would need to touch up or even completely redo my face, all in a cosmetics travel case, and we had a very sisterly hug right before I left. She knows something profound is likely going to happen this weekend, and she also knows there will be guys involved, as I far prefer to play with the boys…

…So my long solo drive to the cabin was impossibly empowering, but uneventful, and I found the cabin's key easily enough and got myself inside, struggling to bring the big Barbie box in myself next. I see the ropes right where we left them like two weeks earlier, hoping nobody came up there to check on things, somebody perhaps seeing them and wondering what on earth was going on up here. It was just two hanging ropes, but the covers were still off of the steel columns; more curious things for somebody else to puzzle over if they came up here and noticed. I had one particular person in mind obviously, Ken's uncle, as he's likely the only one who might stop in on the place, and even that's unlikely with everything they have going on now. If it was actually his bondage bag kit though, he might just put two and two together with Ken and I, "knowing" of our new girlfriend/boyfriend relationship…

So while I don't know the exact details of the conversation both guys had at dinner together - something very rare for them without me being there these days - I know it was my boyfriend's intentions to put Ken more at ease with this odd three way thing we seem to have together. Ken was growing into a very confident young man with all this, or perhaps more accurately this thing we were doing together was letting the real confident-Ken come more to the surface, all while maybe trying not to run overtop of his very good and generous friend. So I assumed the conversation that they had was something along the lines of "let's just have some fun with all this," or perhaps, "this kinky shit really turns me on!"

So Ken was the top dog here, game wise, but my boyfriend could still end the game when he wanted to, it was still his gift to give; or so things still seemed right up until they walked in together. Something further changed at their dinner together, it's a slightly different vibe, but I'm getting ahead of myself a bit… Anyway, there were a lot of complex emotions and concepts at work here; in other words, a three way anything wasn't exactly easy, and the old saying goes that "if you want to make a proper omelet, you need to break some eggs" eventually comes to mind. The guys were working at making it work though, to one's obvious advantage, and the other's disadvantage, or so it seemed on the surface.

For my boyfriend to once again submit to Ken fully, to also gift himself to Ken physically might take this in an unwanted direction though. What did Ken really want for himself? It was almost too easy to forget about that part now and then. We were both very giving in the moment, impossibly so, but maybe long-term selfish too; in it for the kink and sexual fun of the moment, but perhaps ever so slightly ignorant of the potential long term consequences…

What if Ken for-real stole me away from my boyfriend, if of course I let him? I wondered. Surely his aunt and uncle would be happy with that outcome; although really we had led them to believe it already had happened, and everybody involved was inexplicably fine with that. I eventually came to the conclusion that, in some ways, tempting fate like this was also a secret additional turn-on for both my kinky boyfriend and even myself too; a taboo "I shouldn't want this," allowing Ken the ability to steal me away from my guy, maybe for a night or even a weekend, maybe even forever if I started thinking with the wrong part of my anatomy…

Anyway, I have time to burn at the cabin, so I busy myself to calm my nerves, I clean up and make the bed perfect, also noticing the empty polaroid camera right where we left it and putting it back where it should be. I have a full glass of sweet wine while I work to further calm my nerves; there is usually something harder to drink up at the cabin. When the time we agreed on gets close, I slip into my modified former uniform dress, less bra, but wearing one fresh pair of the cheap bikini panties too, and of course my very tall heels. It obviously wasn't a dress to work in any longer, but I also had some slight apprehension about somebody else coming here and catching me all alone dressed so provocatively, so working in my travel clothes made sense from a comfort point of view.

What would Ken's uncle think and do if he walked in on me dressed like this? I wondered.

…In my SO's version of this adventure I wore nothing under that dress, but it just didn't happen that way; gifting myself to Ken while wearing some things that he could literally tear from my body like a barbarian was the whole idea for me, literally in my mind part of the gift. But I alone had seen the look in his eyes and felt his excitement when I had encouraged him to rip my old bikini off of me in that tent, so I knew this was something he'd just love to do again under the right circumstances…

When I eventually see the early evening distant headlights of Ken's truck coming down the very long dirt driveway I scramble into my standing Barbie box, tie myself into it with simple knots at my ankles, middle, and just over my boobs, all in homage to how my namesake original doll was boxed and displayed; standing there herself on display on a store shelf someplace and waiting to be purchased and roughly used. I'm kind of after something like that myself, ironically enough. The ropes binding me into the box are also wrapped around one of the vertical foe beams, helping to hold my display box upright. I struggled to wiggle the flimsy cardboard lid with plastic windows into place, but I got it done with time to spare.

The sound is distorted inside that box, and I have a crazy idea briefly flash before my eyes. What if this isn't Ken and my boyfriend at all, but somebody else, or even several somebody elses? What if this is instead somebody here to rob the place, and I've even left the door unlocked for them and made their job super easy for them? What would they do if they were to find me instead, boxed up for them already and easily transportable, to an ultimate fate of who knows what?

I sometimes have such hot fantasies when I'm aroused, so much so that I almost wonder what's wrong with me!

It's Ken though, and he's through the unlocked door first as it's his place, and I can even hear him saying something to somebody, as it turns out my own boyfriend as per our plan, who is a step behind and in effect delivering his best friend to play with his new birthday toy as we intended. I know it's Ken's truck and Ken almost certainly drove, so the reality is Ken had delivered himself, but the delivery thing kind of sticks with me, as in I'd just love to be delivered someplace one day, maybe all boxed up like Barbie even. Things, after all, are delivered, roughly stripped and used, and then put away, stuffed in the proverbial closet until next time… and people instead visit, it's a completely different thing.

Anyway, Ken obviously saw that not only were the cabin lights were on, but my boyfriend's car was already there, so he kind of has a clue that something special is about to go down. I don't know how much of the surprise my boyfriend gave away during their dinner and likely candid talk, but judging by Ken's reactions I'd say not the whole surprise.

Ken first has an open mouth of shock as he looks at my standing Barbie box, but then smiles warmly at me through the distorted plastic lid's window, likely pondering the new possibilities for his night. He says quite sincerely that we've made his day, and with everything he has going on lately this maybe isn't an understatement. I smile back and wiggle my hips a little; this no act, as gifting myself to him dressed and boxed up like this has me very turned on. I already both smell and feel my own arousal inside the tight confines of that little box, air holes and all; inside is one seriously horned up doll/woman, and she'll need some immediate manly attention before she loses her flippin mind. I've had a full glass of wine - and little to eat - to further lower my inhibitions, and with all that plus the stale sexual smelling air in that little box I'm so horned up I'm almost in an altered state of mind, rational thoughts are therefore few and far between for me…

In the plastic's distortion Ken's smile even looks a bit evil, but I know in my heart that it's not. Anyway, my boyfriend can see me now too, he's seen the dress - hell he very briefly wore it himself for a few minutes during alterations - but he's not seen the completed finished package, hair and touched up makeup perfect, like way better than I could ever do on my own. Does he even realize that my devious little sister helped with this new look of mine, that she's a co-conspirator here as well; either in properly gifting me to Ken, or un-gifting me from my generous boyfriend even? I can't be both guys' playmate at the same time for some reason or another; if it didn't happen that first super hot night, it just never would. It's better this way anyway, as one would easily get rolled over by the other, and our threesome would quickly turn into a twosome, with an awkwardly watching superfluous third, or worst yet one that stormed away in a huff. It's one thing to be forbidden from the competition by some means or another, but a different thing to compete and handily lose to the perceived "better" man in the room. One is unique sex play between consenting adults, and the other both ego and relationship crushing…

Is my future husband having second thoughts on all this now, seeing the complete package, seeing the magnitude of the special gift that he's once again giving away for free, but obviously while gift wrapped in a way he's never seen before too? We all didn't go to prom, so I don't own anything close to a prom dress, and I'd never be allowed out of the house while wearing something like that anyway, adult or not.

Now I say this with little humility obviously, but everything we had done, all the preparations to get to even here, and then my sister's final efforts on top of all that - not to mention the wine - have me feeling very full of myself. I very rarely look in the mirror and like what I see, but dressed and painted up like this I almost do now; I seem a fitting and proper gift for Ken, in my mind at least. All the work put into this "gift" feels like one long extended session of mental foreplay in my mind too, and now we're about to get to the main event, and in my mind all we have to do now is get rid of my watching boyfriend for my randy planets to be in proper alignment.

It has to be this dress, not only the labor put into it, but just sneaking away and wearing something sexy like this for Ken, to be put on implied sexual display like this, and maybe not necessarily just for Ken either. Yes, my almost-didn't-fit-any-longer bikini that Ken destroyed on me was sexy too, but for some reason this feels different than that; bikinis are maybe for swimming and sunning, this dress and heels for something else though. Anyway, my future husband dry-mouth stammers and says something about getting out of there to let Ken play with his new toy, meaning of course me. I was left thinking that he thought he needed to get himself out of there quickly before he ruined everything for Ken; but instead his friend stopped him cold.

"I don't think so, pal!" Ken forcefully tells my visibly agitated boyfriend, grabbing his shoulder with a manly and commanding grip to physically stop him. Ken's taking physical charge of the situation now, of both of us. Yes, it was a grand surprise he was just graciously given, but it's Ken's birthday, and now things are going to go the way he wants them to go; he's the birthday boy. I can't explain how hot this makes me, it's like the keys to the car, without them you can't even get inside if it's locked, nor make it run and drive, so it's not good for much but looking at; but with those proverbial keys in your hand you can go anywhere you wish. It's a freedom to do almost anything you desire, fast or slow, rough or gentle, and I'm way ready to hand Ken the keys and get this lusty show on the road.

"Go to my truck and strip off everything, and then put all your stuff, including your clothes, on the seat in the cab, and then lock both doors," Ken tells my boyfriend while pointing at the door, but still staring at me in my box. He's smiling at me, I'm the sole focus of his lusty intentions, and my gracious boyfriend doesn't even warrant eye contact now. It's not our plan, as I'd prefer alone time with Ken so I can really let go and get loud and wild, struggling like my life depended on it, but Ken just changed that plan on the fly. There's also something lurking in that cabin, a sense that this thing is really happening now, like nothing on earth could stop it if it tried. It's the plan obviously, but a theoretical plan, and seeing it come to almost certain fruition, the fact that it's actually happening, is still crazy wild. It's surreal; who in their right mind gives a human another willing human as a birthday gift?

Anyway, Ken follows my boyfriend to the front door and I both watch and hear him lock it behind him - I can even hear it inside my closed Barbie box - and then he walks to the rear door and I hear him make sure that one is locked too. Both are deadbolts for security, so locking that door has a certain dry "clack" sound to it, a certain finality that has to have been heard as easily outside as it was inside… I wonder why my guy left that part out of his own twenty plus year old account of this event, as for me it was a very profound moment. Anyway, if my boyfriend actually does as he's told he'll not only be locked out of the cabin, but separated from his clothes too, as in totally nude, helpless, and outside in the near darkness, hoping maybe to somehow get back in, if Ken permits it. It's the exercise of raw manly power by Ken, and it excites me even further. Ken has noticeably bumped up his game here with us, but I'll puzzle over that part later.

Once we're alone Ken removes the lid from my box and reaches in for a kiss without untying me, nor asking, and he can tell from my own passionate kiss back that I want him very very badly. Can he smell what the inside of my box smells like too, the raw "I need to jump your bones" sexual arousal I feel?

"What's the real deal here?" he asks me much more sweetly than the way he just harshly spoke with my guy, who he just banished to outside in the approaching night until such time as he decides to let him back in. Still there was playful humor in that move of his, I know it may not sound like that, but you just had to be there in the moment. These guys love each other like brothers, and maybe I don't say that enough. This was also possibly seeking permission for what's obviously to come; maybe just a bit of the lingering Cathy effect…

"I'm your other talking Barbie, your full sized one, I can only say and do positive things, I literally can't say no to you" I tell him logically, as if he should know this already just by looking at my boxed-up self. I've been thinking about this the whole time I was puttering around up at Ken's cabin all alone, a passive nicely wrapped gift that spread her legs on command was one thing, but Ken maybe needs something slightly different, he needs to hunt and capture what he proverbially eats. I at the same time loved that costume, and what it did to my psyche; dressed for a purpose, delivered for a purpose, and about to be roughly used for that purpose too. I was literally the perfect gift for Ken at that time in his life, or so I thought with little humility.

I also loved being bound up by Ken too though, I loved the "hold me down and make me struggle'' part myself - so this wasn't one sided at all - and I know he liked the struggle part too, overpowering me physically to get the prize, to physically take me like a brutish man might like to. Anyway, I'm boiling hot thinking about all this, and Ken knows me well enough to know this. I'm not only his human birthday gift, but a gift with few rules attached; no real safety net for me, no annoying texture-stealing condoms to deal with, no pulling out at the last possible moment and hoping for the best when nature and instinct screams for a man to stay in deep, no nothing at all except our mutual desires and my animal need to sate them.

"Fuck, you look good like that!" he tells me, Ken not a guy that curses all that often, so this has extra passionate meaning for me.

"What are 'we' to do with HIM?" I ask both coldly and logically, seeing as how my concept of making him go away until the morning has kind of been scuttled. I'm disappointed by this little hiccup, and it shows. "We" also implies that I'm in this too though, that I'm maybe more of a co-conspirator and not on the same level as my generous guy is. It wasn't intentional, nor did it really go with my temporary "anything you say" mindless doll persona, but that's just the way the words came out of my mouth. I could obviously play at being a mindless doll, and while I'll admit to being a bit shallow at times back in the day, I also had some real thoughts too, and it's hard to turn those off.

"The old dog house?" Ken asks with humor, but I don't know if he's joking or serious, or just trying to cheer me up. This is different too, there is a new, or perhaps intensified intimacy between him and I, one that seems to flourish when we're alone. I like it, but I'm also in the very back of my mind frightened by it, all at the same time. Teenagers can send some mixed signals though, and not that it's an excuse, but my hormone driven moods can go all over the place, and sometimes you truly do want the one you're with the most; to bruitally paraphrase the lyrics of a very old Stephen Stills song.

Ken understandably wants to be emotionally close to the woman he's making love to himself, the one he's being roughly intimate with on a level that nobody else to date would apparently let him. Just some rope playfully put on her wrists and Cathy just about filed a police report, so is it any wonder that my desire to play like this has him very interested? In comparison I'm possibly unique, or refreshingly different, or maybe just slightly insane; I'll let somebody else decide that part. I also remember the time my little sister put my boyfriend in a collar and leash, and my own time with him very briefly leashed by his guy parts, both of those events were a bit different too. Anyway, I'm pretty sure we told Ken about the former, but I don't actually recall if we ever told him about the latter.

"I have our handcuuufffffssss…" I tell Ken in sing-song fashion, making this also like a joke in case he's not receptive. I'm not necessarily thinking wrists though, and I've also temporarily forgotten about the bondage bag and all those leather cuffs Ken now has to pay with, easily enough for more than one "victim" at a time. An evil, playful idea further forms in my horned up brain; I don't know where such crazy thoughts originate to be honest, but one most certainly has to think outside of the proverbial box to get where I am sometimes. Truth be told, when we had transported my future husband in the back of Ken’s truck, like naked human cargo, dumped him off in the woods on that impossibly long rope, handcuffed, gagged with my old panties, and barefoot naked, that wasn't one hundred percent Ken's doing; some of those ideas were my own suggestions offered up to Ken. It made sense, I specifically knew what sexually excited him from our back seat hand job stories, possibly better than anybody else. Just like then, this would be more "playful evil" and not "I want to hurt you evil," but I was perhaps looking for Ken to rein me in when I shared the general concept for my crazy cuffs idea; which he didn't…

I suddenly feel the need to explain myself further with the look Ken gave me though, which I do: "Once when we were out and screwing around early one morning we kind of collectively got the idea to leash him up and take him for a walk. Stripped, no glasses, no shoes, and just he and I in this empty park parking lot early in the morning, and I'm going to walk him on a leash like that for a bit, like a bipedal dog. So I have this, I think it was a long leather bootlace, but don't hold me to it, well anyway, the slip knot went around the base of his guy parts and I pulled it snug, walking him just a short distance like that on my lead with the locked car behind us; he was quite docile and helpless while it lasted."

"He told me this once already, he said it was one of the hottest and most scary things he'd ever done, that you guys almost got caught too,'' Ken tells me. I'm listening to him as he's untying me from my box, but when he gets down to undo my ankles his face is just about in my other box, the one I just shaved bald for him, the one I feel soaking through my very thin panties with anticipation. If Ken can't smell how F-ing hot I am for him down there he's dead, I think to myself.

"So we handcuff his guy parts; to something?" Ken asks, finally seeing where I was maybe going with this; the inspiration for my lust fueled insanity in my one-time improvised bootlace leash. He smiles up at me while moving his tongue around the inside of his mouth as if savoring a particularly wonderful flavor; or perhaps irony. I think he's understanding where I'm going now though, and he's there with me, his motivation for such roughness literally inches from his face and just begging for manly attention. I think Ken smelling my arousal did something to him too, temporary guy insanity maybe, just like when we were camping together and my boyfriend became "in the way" of our mutual lust.

Are there also ulterior motivations for either one of us? At least in my case, not conscious ones, but this will, to an even greater degree, diminish my guy before Ken and I get to do our naughty thing together. It's an established pattern for us with rare exceptions, and I don't know that I like it to be honest, but it just somehow happens anyway. I know what else that magnificent tongue of Ken's can do too though, and my mind is way more there at the moment, and less with the other guy who is presently naked and outside someplace, literally locked out and soon to be looking in; both metaphorically, and physically.

We eventually both hear the front door urgently rattle and a "Hey guys, the door's locked!" to which Ken and I both smile.

"Yes… it… is!" Ken calls out over his shoulder slowly, sarcastically, just to make a point of this being no accident on his part, that this was Ken in full jerk mode again.

"Go away, we don't want any!" I call out playfully in an accidental half-truth, but then half a second later I wonder if I shouldn't have. Ken doesn't need the help subduing and controlling anybody, and my words were easily open to vast and differing interpretations. It's both the wine and my boiling desire that's affecting my candor and self control, but that's no excuse. Instead of one against two, just my few poorly chosen words have flipped the odds to two against one, an almost sure loser for my guy. Back at the restaurant with Ken's aunt and uncle that night - with Ken's new bike - it had been four against one for my boyfriend; he didn't have a chance then either.

But he likes to lose to us though, I console my guilty conscience with. He likes to be forced to do things outside his comfort zone, to remove any guilt he may one day have over doing them, over freely participating in this debauchery of ours. It may seem needlessly cruel at times, but it's really the ultimate gift that Ken is giving here. So, from a certain point of view Ken is both giving and getting here…

We've been momentarily interrupted, but that's a lesser need than finishing our little scheming private talk, so Ken ignores him at the door and I continue.

"Would that hurt him?" I ask Ken softly, looking for some guy input on this, looking perhaps for him to talk me down from all this, to slightly backpedal on where my raunchy mind is driving. I've had this happen before, things sound good in my mind when I'm in a certain mood, but when I share them or go to act on them they seem especially outlandish. Anyway, not that Ken is the ultimate authority on all things masculine, but he has the same general parts so he should know if this is actually safe to do or not for my boyfriend's own guy parts. I had him on that soft leather bootlace for less than five minutes once, where this could maybe last all night long if everything clicks into pace for us. I sincerely hope it does, screwing around with Ken for hours on end sure beats the hell out of a two minute backseat quickie with a hastily filled rubber and no complimentary orgasm for me; many times at least.

To be fair this was my "less than wonderful" bitter self slipping through in my thoughts, because my guy did do for me rather selflessly in that department. In the back of my mind though, I was so getting done with hidden back seat sex, I wanted more adult things and a more adult life. Sleeping together with Ken, in an actual bed, without even counting the wonderful sex we had before that was just awesome, and a better template for the future I wanted. I associated Ken with awesome new adult adventures in my mind, a further thing to give me "thoughts" in those quiet times that we all have.

"He should be fine; your leather leash didn't hurt him, did it?" he asks flippantly. He's giving the impression with his tone that he couldn't care less one way or the other, that my other guy with damaged guy parts wouldn't be a hardship - for him - at all, or so goes my perception in the moment. It's all an act obviously, part of the "Ken is a jerk" game we're playing, so I too play along, mimicking his indifference. This therefore has the appearance of being potentially serious peril for my guy's guy parts, but it's not really if we're careful about it.

There's a big picture window overlooking the porch with two smaller ones left and right that actually open for some airflow - as they presently are with screens installed - and my boyfriend is now looking inside the lit cabin through the big one to see what he's missing. His cock is standing straight out erect, and it looks hard enough to hang a shirt hanger from, and it's also illuminated by the light bleeding out from inside. It's also just touching and pre-cum sliming the glass, reminiscent of a wet dog's nose on a car window. His little man boobs are almost on the glass too, it's quite the look all things considered.

I know he's getting off on this treatment by that alone, despite his feeble locked-door mock protests to the contrary. I smile and wink at him through the window, and then high step out of my display box in those impossibly tall heels, the ones that make my legs look like a stripper's. It's about the last apparent compassion that I have for him that night, but I belong to Ken now, I'm his gift. I've also just intentionally flashed Ken my white panties, a little tempting offer of what's to come. Ken is crawling backwards to accommodate my move, but he's still on his knees before me, looking up at my Barbie inspired body in awe. Ken doesn't know yet that we have an audience, and while not my preference, there is something "separating" about him being on one side of that glass, and Ken and I on the other.

From today's point of view I think this is maybe due to the boys from Crestmont erotic backseat hand-job stories I used to tell him to get him off; both his great big glass-smearing stiffy, and my quasi-comfort with him watching from there. In one particular version of that story he had to watch from the back of the farmer truck as it sped down that desolate county road, through the rear window as the farmer boys molested and stripped me bare right on their bench seat; all as he was helpless to stop it. Being outside and looking in it's like he's here with us, but not really "here," as in can interrupt the festivities if he has a sudden change of heart.

I eventually share with Ken almost silently that we have an audience, as Ken's back is towards the windows. He's kind of rubbing his hands up and down my legs, really liking and savoring their freshly shaved feel and shape, which is also very good for my female ego. It feels magnificent, sexually so, but I really want something else that will also feel magnificent, and that Ken can exclusively provide. I have both of my hands lightly on his head at this point, not really dragging him towards me, but more steadying myself in those heels while massaging his scalp. My watching boyfriend is transfixed at the window by the scene before him though; he's not even really blinking.

This time Ken's rubbing hands go higher, under my short hem that he's stayed away from so far, as if he's gotten the message that I need him by pheromones alone. Both his thumbs together stroke overtop of my soaked panties, gently parting my womanhood beneath as I gasp. My watching guy sees my painted lips open gasp, but most likely not what Ken just did to make me do so with his body in the way. I'm obviously boiling hot down there, but Ken obviously feels something new and different down there as well, and his knuckles flip my short dress up to possessively have a look. My thin, thin white panties are soaked through and transparent, and he can now see what he likely thought he felt, my one hundred percent bald snatch. He looks up and gives me a big slow growing smile, realization on his handsome face. He knows that I did this exclusively for him, that I've modified my body, albeit temporarily, but still just for him. My sister-cut hair and makeup was one thing, but this is intimate and personal. My window watching boyfriend can't see this little detail yet though, so for just a bit longer this will be Ken's secret. If things had gone how I envisioned this might have been Ken's forever secret instead, but I can't help that now. It's not lost on me either that the last time I was here with Ken I was wearing his uncle's big floppy borrowed shirt and I looked and felt like a wooly mammoth down there, and this time I'm bald in a short dress and heels looking about as sexy as I possibly could; talk about contrast.

"Can't we go into the bedroom and close the door or something? I don't want him watching" I tell Ken in a whisper, knowing there are all sorts of possibilities on that bed. Watching from the window is one thing, but I'm thinking it might rain, and leaving him locked out, even on the covered porch in the rain, is just something I can't easily do. We could possibly anchor him outside, someplace away from the windows with the cuffs, attaching his guy parts with a short chain to one of the small posts that hold up the porch maybe, but what if a bear came by and ate his ass, or even a swarm of hungry mosquitoes?

I see Ken looking around the cabin, I can almost see his thinking, see the wheels turning. Ken is a natural problem solver though, and this is a problem. I have a need, and he too is looking for a way to provide for it, but so that he too can get something that he really, really wants while still incorporating my suggestion that obviously titillates him on some level. I want it too though, we just have to work out a little inconvenient detail first; where to safely deposit my boyfriend so he can't interfere, and can't directly watch. Stuffing and cuffing him in the entry closet and closing the door comes to mind, as does blindfolding him someplace else or even tying him up in the second bedroom; he could still possibly listen from any of those places and maybe get something from that, but I'd not have to see him directly…

"Go to the barn and get a Phillips screwdriver," Ken calls over his shoulder.

I watch my guy walk away into the night, savoring even this very brief alone time that Ken and I have. Ken then gets his head under my dress, and he licks me full length, his tongue-pushing my panties deeply into my squishy self as he does so. It feels almost like fine sandpaper down there; it's an extraordinary feeling really. He also sucks through my panties, pulling them back out of me, tasting me more fully, but the sound he makes is like finishing the very last of a milkshake through a straw; truthfully it's a bit obscene, but we both laugh anyway. Yes this particular night has the appearance of being very serious, but it's fun and playful for us too…

I think maybe my boyfriend heard the very last of Ken noisily slurping up my girl juices - it felt just wonderful - but I've only just accidentally noticed that he's standing at the window once again with the screwdriver in his hand. Time has compressed for me, and I don't know if this was two minutes, or fifteen. What I do know is it's fully dark out now, like clouds and no moon, like it's going to open up and rain soon, so whatever we do with him should be inside, or maybe inside the barn; although Ken doesn't like this option for some reason that he's being a bit evasive about.

I tell Ken softly, for his ears alone that he's back, and then I ask if he has a plan, which he tells me that he does.

"Go out there somewhere and take a leak before you come in, you won't get another chance until the morning, so make it count," Ken tells his friend through the window, but this time while actually standing tall and looking down at him. Ken and I are fully clothed inside, and my boyfriend is once again standing before us just as barefoot and naked as can be, but outside. Once again Ken and I feel like the couple, standing side by side, and he feels like the extra unnecessary component, at least right at that moment. The porch is a step down from the level of the floor in the cabin too, so Ken is looking down at him from the inside, it exemplifies the power difference between both young men rather dramatically. In my heels I'm looking down on him too as he stands on the porch barefoot, but naked means exactly that. I also notice that he's no longer erect, as if his own guy parts are unwilling to make that kind of public showing for a critically watching Ken, or perhaps maybe the Ken-interrupted quasi-porn show at the window also interrupted the thought process that caused his stiffy to begin with.

This is strict physical control in telling somebody when and where to go to the bathroom, even outside, and I'm reminded of grammar school and embarrassing wooden bathroom hall passes. Anyway, Ken lets him back in with his screwdriver in hand and it's obvious that he's been kowtowed by Ken's taking charge like this, his guy parts are flobbly, flaccid, and turtle hiding, and he's also being especially meek and mild, anything but challenging with his eyes lowered. A certain shallow part of my teenage self that I don't especially like is turned on by all this dominance and submission. It's not very nice of me, but it's also real. Ken is in charge, and he's very horned up himself, and I don't think anything or anyone is going to stop him from enjoying the hell out of his birthday gift, even the one who graciously helped give it to him.

"Take the covers off of that column over there, just like the others!" Ken orders my future husband while pointing, presumably he's to use the screwdriver he just got. Ken gives me some orders myself, but his tone is different, not quite telling, but not exactly asking either. Ken apparently wants to watch my guy perform his task, and he also apparently doesn't want my boyfriend and I alone for a few seconds so we can talk or share a look either, as would have happened if he collected what he wanted instead of myself.

Had my boyfriend already noticed the other two sets of covers and the other exposed steel columns? Does he wonder about those, and about the rope that's still in place, pretty much where we left it when we were done playing during the rainstorm two weeks earlier? I didn't remove the rope myself because I didn't expect my boyfriend to really come inside, not long enough to look around anyway. It was perhaps a huge mistake on my part, but we're here now.

With my Barbie box standing upright on its own faux beam, and the two to the left of that one in front of the closet door being the ones that I had been strung up from two weeks prior, it's at least possible that he still can't take in the whole picture; to be fair I didn't myself when I first saw it. The column he's stripping is to the right of my Barbie box, and I have an idea what's to happen based on my suggestions, but Ken very recently has a way of twisting things up a bit too.

"Put those in the extra bedroom with the others" Ken orders, verbally rushing the simple chore along, obviously after he has all the screws out first though. This will take him directly past the hanging ropes, but I wish it hadn't. Anyway, just walking around in these heels is wild and sexy, it's a show to watch I'm sure, and I feel both guys' attention on my displayed body. I'm suddenly taller, and my little "wiggle your ass" steps - which makes both guys stare as if it's in their DNA - has both guys very distracted with this modified tight dress of mine… Come to think of it, it kind of is in their DNA! Anyway, heels and all my boyfriend likely had trouble staying focused on all that unscrewing while I was walking away to do Ken's bidding - I felt his stare - probably all while Ken was focused on doing just the opposite with me. My boyfriend is a bit slow and distracted in this simple task though - it's just a few wood screws - so he's foolishly placed himself in the way of our impending fun, the feeling is in the very air.

The two young men are watching me like a cat does a mouse as I walk back from the master bedroom, hands full with what Ken told me to get; but only one cat - the big properly dressed one in this case - will get what he's after tonight. One will be an active participant, and the other a helpless kowtowed spectator; and in a strange kind of way I think each is okay with their roles; or will be once things start rolling along. I hand Ken our fur lined cuffs first, along with the keys, which he pockets in a very visible and showy way. The message is clear, Ken will be the sole arbiter of his freedom this weekend with those keys in his possession, what I want or don't want is irrelevant; it's Ken's birthday, and we're technically both his presents now. This is physically gifting my boyfriend to Ken as well, but as it turns out not exactly in the way I had hoped for.

Ken makes a bit of a hands-on-hips impatient show of waiting for my guy to finish with the screws - while still holding the cuffs right handed - so that my guy can put the planks in the other room as he was told. The message is crystal clear, not only are these cuffs for him to wear the moment he's done, but that his needless delays are getting in the way of Ken's fun time with me. There is a slightly more nuanced message here as well; my guy is doing this to himself, we're not doing it to him at all. It's just a bit of mock aggression from Ken in my humble opinion, but how much of this was play time, and how much was for-real "you're starting to piss me off buddy" is perhaps up for debate.

As an odd bit of body language my guy got down on his haunches before both Ken and I when he returned from putting the planks away, and to the best of my recollection he did this on his own; it's not like I saw Ken tell him to do it or anything. Down low and hiding his exposed guy parts reflexively, or low and non-threatening to the irritated more needy alpha male of our little trio? I wondered.

No matter one way or the other Ken hands down the cuffs and tells him to lock one end just as tight as he can tolerate it around the base of his guy parts, "the whole proverbial package," although Ken didn't use those exact words as guys talking between each other can be a bit crude. The other cuff, he's told rather directly, is to face backwards between his butt cheeks. It's Ken's no-nonsense tone, "do this, like that, right now!" He looks to Ken first anyway, almost comically so, as in "did I just hear you right?" Then he looks to me next, perhaps expecting I don't know what, a pardon maybe. But what he does get from me instead is a smile, a rather evil playful smile back down at him with my tongue in my cheek, as if suppressing some serious secret laughter.

He maybe suspects where this came from now, the author of this handcuff insanity; it's a version of my leather bootlace leash obviously, but this one is steel and exponentially stronger, and Ken now has the only keys. You also have to remember that I had just handed off the cuffs, our cuffs, and the keys to Ken, and he had watched me do it, so implied here is that it's again two against one, which at that high tension point in time that night it actually was. Not exactly one of my best moments, but Ken had a way of bringing out the very worst in me at times.

I kind of learned something here, well to be honest I was learning things all the time with these two guys. Anyway, guys can make themselves look big and intimidating, kind of like a turkey or a peacock puffing up its feathers, or they can make themselves look small, meek, and non-threatening. I had seen this on the camping trip, and I was seeing it again right now, it was a wild bit of guy psychology to behold, or reflect on later as I was very distracted myself at that particular moment in time.

So, in keeping with his small and non-threatening stance he gets down even lower to accomplish his assigned task, and he spreads his legs super wide, really letting it all hang out there, fully on display, so much so that he's nearly dragging his flaccid hanging guy parts on the wood floor. Ken and I are standing intimately close to each other, and both of us are still fully dressed and tower over him; in more than one way. He's honestly trying with the cuffs though, trying to get the cuff open enough between his thighs to again close it around the root of his hanging guy package; all without ripping out a bunch of very sensitive little hairs down there. He's simply never done this before, and watching somebody struggle through doing anything for the first time can be a bit exasperating. Ken lets him struggle a bit with his task as we critically watch, but Ken isn't exactly offering hands-on help for my boyfriend either, nor am I. I suspect that there's a reason Ken is making him do this to himself, and later on when we're alone Ken confirms this.

So anyway, once he finally has the one cuff positioned tight up against the trunk of his body, and closed with a click, fully capturing his hanging guy package at the root, he ratchets it tighter, and then tighter again, the slow click, click, click having a finality to it's sound in the quiet cabin. About the only thing I really hear is my own ragged breathing, and my heart pounding in my chest, my lust for the young man so adroitly subduing and dominating the other young man in my life with mere alone words is simply off the charts. My guy's lusty guy parts, in part, brought him to this specific situation in life anyway, and ironically now they were going to keep him here, quite literally anchored in place in proverbial attendance for the upcoming show. I'm not really jazzed up about his watching this "show" to be honest, so I think mentally this is a further explanation as to why I was decoupling from him emotionally, all while sucking in closer to Ken; "love the one you're with" playing in my mind someplace…

It's obvious that my guy is sincerely looking for tight enough not to fall off, but not so tight that he ends up like a freshly farm-castrated piglet by the morning; so while obviously not his idea, he's still trying to faithfully obey Ken the birthday boy/man. His understandable delicacy and delay with this most sensitive part of his anatomy is exasperating for the watching Ken though, and even myself too, as I so want this part done and Ken playing with his gift just as soon as possible.

When the cuff is finally tight enough Ken reminds him to lock the cuff so it doesn't tighten any further if pinched between his thighs. On those specific cuffs this is done with a little lever, but I know more expensive ones do it differently, although you have to remember that we won these cuffs in a seaside claw grabber arcade machine. Sufficient to say that while they are real steel and require a key, they aren't exactly what the cops use.

So with one end secured on my guy's anything-but-erect package all that's left is to attach the other end to something robust, and in my mind this would be a short chain of some sort wrapped around the freshly bared steel pole in leash-like fashion, with the open cuff locking the chain somehow. In this way he could move around a bit, even lay down and sleep for the night, but not go too far nor intrude on our fun without risking a catastrophic guy-parts injury. Anyway, Ken didn't have me grab a chain or anything like that from the bag, or even the whole bag, so I'm kind of wondering where he's going with this, maybe suspecting he's going to attach the other items in my hand to the cuffs somehow.

Anyway, with my boyfriend down on all fours - reminiscent of his brief dog act with my little sister once - Ken very carefully gets ahold of the other open bracelet hanging off of his guy package and tugs him backwards by it, seemingly working very hard not to touch his naked ass and guy parts, as that would likely make him puke, or instantly gay or something.

Ken was somewhat gentle with him at first, but I'm also struggling not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, all as I watch my tethered guy awkwardly scramble backwards like a terrified dog in reverse, going wherever Ken drags his guy parts; and Ken obviously sees this and realizes that it amuses me. This whole deal with my guy staying with us for the night had gotten a bit serious for a few moments, but the humor in all this is back - at least for us - and now Ken isn't being all that gentle. It's not like he's going to rip my boyfriend's guy parts off or anything, but then again it's not like my boyfriend is going to resist and play tug-o-war back with him either, not with that particular part of his anatomy involved.

Anyway, Ken has taken a very indirect path to the now freshly exposed steel column he was near, and facing the front entry door Ken eventually backs him right up against the likely cold steel pole, bisecting his tiny ass cheeks with it. Ken has him get low and push up against the pole tight, and then with just enough slack he anchors the open cuff to the lower small part of the pole; my boyfriend is simply not going anywhere now, even if he did suddenly have a change of heart about sharing me with Ken again. Ken has the only keys to his freedom, he literally owns his ass now.

I didn't see Ken anchoring my guy directly to the pole with the other bracelet as an actual physical possibility, but I'm looking at the proof before me, and I simply can't unsee what I see…

Ken's on a roll though, and I can tell that he's feeling very manly and full of himself too, his chest is puffed out, and his voice is even slightly deeper and more commanding now too. It's Ken's jerk act again, but this time it feels like it's turned to eleven he's so lusted up. Now it's obviously his birthday and I'm obviously his special birthday gift, but in this particular situation my boyfriend has in effect physically gifted himself to Ken too, although perhaps not in a way that either of us intended with Ken's on the fly manipulation of the night so far.

Anyway, even though my guy isn't going anywhere now Ken still grabs him by both wrists and slowly twists his arms up and behind his back, slowly forcing his right cheek to the clean floor as my boyfriend keeps his ass backed up tight to the steel post as if he's making love to it - or offering to - less his guy parts get pulled off his body. He's not resisting Ken physically at all as his face is literally on the floor just a few inches from my heels, glasses askew, looking at them one eyed with his head turned and his cheek flattened by the floorboards themselves. He's utterly helpless in Ken's firm grasp, pathetically so, and I'm seriously turned by all this; as in I have to fight the urge to step over there and rub up on Ken. It's a power-thing I realize, Ken has the power and this time he's aggressively flaunting it, and my helpless boyfriend doesn't; my remaining empathy is easily overwritten by my heart pounding lust.

To be objective, Ken isn't really being unnecessarily rough with him either, not yet, but this move keeps my guy's face planted firmly on the floor as Ken steps over him and straddles his back as if he's riding him, he quite literally can't go any lower for us, physically, or otherwise. It's as if he's actually bowing in supplication to the both of us, totally subdued; and it's not the first time I've had this feeling with him either.

Anyway, Ken then takes the other items from me one handed that he's told me to get, two of the leather cuffs and a single little keyed padlock, cuffing my future husband's wrists together without slack behind his back as he holds him down, but not around the pole. It's a stressed position for him to be sure, but also kind of helpless and hot visually; Ken is literally mounted on top of him like a rider. Ken then gives me a triumphant look and smile as if to say "now that that little problem is properly taken care of, on to the fun stuff with you."

Ken steps off my boyfriend in exaggerated fashion by pushing off on his back hard, mashing his face further down playfully, or perhaps even not so playfully for all I know. Ken is horned up and needy, and I get the feeling that he doesn't really know his own strength when in that kind of a lusty rage. At this moment in time it's almost like he's not a caring and loving friend; he's instead a needy man, and I uniquely have what he needs.

I love this next part with Ken at a very base, instinctive level, his muscles move me and hold me firmly like I was clamped in a machine, like nothing on earth could stop him, or pull me away from him. It's a power that I crave to have unleashed on my willing body to be honest, to be roughly taken, strapped down, held down, and used, used for his pleasure, but also my own. This is not making love and snuggling, this is being taken!

My guy remains face planted in place for a few moments longer taking in the entirety what just happened to him, seeing this new amped up level of physical hands-on domination from Ken. I would find out later that he and Ken had a conversation during dinner where my guy told my other guy that he liked it when he made him do things, that it made him "hot" was I think the word that he used. I'm sure that they talked about all sorts of things during that dinner, but it wasn't my place to ask about the details. Was he thinking something rough and quasi-humiliating like this when he had made that foolish offer to Ken, knowing what was waiting for Ken at his cabin after dinner, or was this a bit of "be careful what you ask for, you just might get it in a way you didn't anticipate!"

"So, you're my talking Barbie for the weekend?" Ken asks playfully, now that no serious interruptions can possibly occur. He's making me say this for my future husband's benefit too, telling both men clearly what this gift actually is. This is more talking though, and I don't really want to talk. I can't possibly get any hotter, and talking therefore can only take me in a single direction, as in force me to really see what we had just collectively done to my rather wonderful and generous boyfriend.

"I am. And I can only say positive things, you know like 'that sounds like fun' that kind of thing. I can't say no to anything you tell me to do, well almost anything" I admit as I blush, as I'm not offering Ken my butt; nobody's getting that, at least not in the near future.

"What does Barbie think about keeping that guy over there chained up all weekend?" Ken asks me while pointing with his thumb at my bowed and submissively humbled future husband.

"That sounds like fun" I tell him in my best empty headed Barbie voice, realizing that this was Ken still asking, seeking the go-ahead to play along like this. In that moment I think he was maybe looking to see if I thought he had gone too far himself, looking for words that would tell him to back it down a few notches. But I didn't give any of those, and in not doing so owned a part of anything negative to come from it. Ken was the major actor here, but the reality was that WE had done this to my boyfriend, although the situation only occurred because he had encouraged it; gone along with the gift idea that I had skillfully presented. This was impossibly complicated for two still teens and one just twenty years old, and sometimes you can do things that you really shouldn't, but unconditional love means just that, without conditions.

Anyway, a dozen makeup smearing kisses later as we slow dance and grind away from where my chained guy can directly see, Ken has me absolutely boiling again with desire, and both guys have to know this. He's a great kisser, and we're noisily eating each other's faces off. Sex is wonderful, obviously, but just making out with Ken like this, with his roaming hands and implied offer of "what's next" is pretty fricken hot too. I sometimes just love the up close intimacy of seriously making out, even if nothing happens next, but I also know that this time it will. The proverbial stage is set, the audience properly and expectantly in their "seats," let the show start; first act, scene one…

Ken breathlessly tells me to grab the bag out of the bedroom, and I'm a little put off by still another delay in things to be honest, but I do as I'm told anyway. I've obligated myself to be an obedient little Barbie doll for Ken, and this is hardly an unreasonable request. As I was coming back I saw him adjusting the angle of the mirrored closet door, and it eventually occurred to me that he was making it so that my guy could still watch, although indirectly. He didn't have to do this, but he did anyway, perhaps as a courtesy, or perhaps even to taunt my guy a bit further that night. My still standing Barbie delivery box would be in my guy's direct line of sight with his guy parts short-chain anchored as they were, but this way he could still possibly see what was going on by means of the closet door's mirrored reflection - and obviously hear as well - at least while we were between the two posts that Ken and I had used previously. I assume he's taking me there again and that's why the rope is still in place, it's a little curious to me to be honest as this was supposed to be a surprise gift, but not exactly a hardship for me. I liked hanging like that last time, and I absolutely loved the way Ken drilled into me like a mad man, but with my instant muscle cramp I don't think we got everything from that rather hot and helpless position that we could have, so a repeat, while not what I expected, was fine by me.

Ken proceeds to pull cuff after cuff from the boat-found bondage bag, locking each on a wrist or an ankle with a seemingly endless supply of the tiny padlocks - keyed alike I would later learn - all as I passive allow him. This is something like one or two sizes larger than you would use to lock the zipper of a suitcase closed with, but still plenty strong enough for this. In hushed tones for my ears alone he tells me he wants to string me up and then strip me afterwards, but that he doesn't want to ruin my dress as he likes it.

"Ruin it please, it's part of your gift," I tell him just as softly.

Now reading my husband's twenty plus year old account of this next part I can only deduce that he maybe couldn't see it clearly from his vantage point while looking in the mirror - perhaps even with Ken's body in the way - but also in there someplace is completely leaving out the cuffs on his guy package holding him to the pole, something he apparently didn't want to share back then.

He didn't like that part, I would later learn, but the specific reason was a bit elusive…

With the tiny padlocks holding the leather cuffs on me Ken hands off two carabiners, which I easily thread into the hasp of the wrist locks myself. Simply put, we inadvertently both look like we've done this before, perhaps not exactly this, but close enough for somebody who knows us as well as my chained up guy does to maybe figure it out. We didn't fumble around at all like my guy did with the cuffs on his guy parts, perhaps telling an observant soul that this wasn't the first time that Ken and I had done something like this together.

"Rip it!" I goad through gritted teeth, "and don't be nice about it either." I want this last chapter of rejection in my life symbolically gone for good, and Ken is the man who's going to do it for me.

Taking the hint Ken reaches behind me and effortlessly rips my tight dress open from behind with that "velcro being ripped off of velcro sound" that also sounds like tearing cloth. It's a powerfully erotic sound in this quiet lusty environment, and so far things are getting back on track for me. I still don't like my guy actually being there, but I'm trying to get past that; you can't get everything you want in life after all.

Ken tosses the torn off dress across the room like trash and I find myself standing before him wearing a thin pair of white panties and matching heels, but so far just wearing the cuffs, as in, they're not attached to anything. I heard that dress slide across the wood floor, and that means somebody else could hear it as well. Anyway, Ken then lifts me with both arms around my butt and his face in my chest, favoring my left wrist side of the pole as I attach the carabiner to the rope myself, locking the barrel part closed with my free hand; something I might never do for the boys from Crestmount. This kind of spoils the abducted and strung up vibe that I'd maybe like here for myself, but it's maybe more along the lines of a very compliant Barbie doll being posed for her owner, and trust me still hot all the same.

Anyway, Ken then steps towards the right pole and hanging rope, and one handed I can get the carabiner into the rope's loop, but that's about it. I could hang like this and it would support me anyway, certainly while also holding the knots on the ropes, but this wouldn't be symmetrical for Ken, and I as well wouldn't feel quite as helplessly trapped by him either. Ken does this part for me one handed, and then gently lowers me to the floor, which while both wearing my heels and with the extra distance of the little padlocks is in reach.

Ken steps to the side and back and looks at his handiwork, at his strung up and helpless human birthday present, arms up and out, boobs riding high once again on my chest. I also feel the chill of fresh air on my soaked panties, letting me know I'm hanging out there as well. Does Ken step aside to selfishly take in the whole picture, or as a sharing gesture so that my guy can see too. This could of course be further taunting between both guys, or even something a bit friendlier. I see my future husband's cheek still submissively on the floor in the mirror's reflection, and this likely means that he can see my willing hungry face, as well as getting a rather nice view of my soaked and likely transparent panties, letting him know that I'm sexually wound up like this for Ken though, and not him. His face is on the floor looking up, he's as low as he can go, and I'm looking down on him from my high position, it's again profound.

"I don't think we should tie your legs wide this time," Ken tells me absent mindedly, obviously remembering my mood crashing cramp from two weeks ago, but in my mind I scream; NO, NO, NO, don't say that out loud! If my guy wasn't here in the room with us we could talk about what to do next, and how, but his being here makes this difficult.

Ken is right obviously, but just to get a feel for that again I slump down in my bonds and spread my legs as far as possible, and while I can't see this in the angled mirror's reflection this time, I still know it looks sexy and vulnerable, because it feels that way to me too. A bit more stretching and I feel myself start to gape, opening my womanhood for Ken invitingly, this all the encouragement that Ken needed to finish the job for me.

Ken is now standing behind me, head between my own head and my extended right arm, grinding on my panty covered ass and reminding me of his interest in it once again. He'd maybe like to claim that too, but that's just not happening anytime soon, or even ever. He pulls my hair back and out of the way and gives me a territory marking love bite on my neck as I squeal, sucking really hard on my tender flesh there and making a mark that will be hard to hide later. Kind of at the same time he reaches around me with his right hand and blindly cups my left boob, and then squeezes and rolls the flesh just a little roughly, which makes me take in a sharp breath. I love to be manhandled like this by him, but both moves caught me by surprise. I can't run away or use my arms to protect myself, so this was maybe a factor, as was his being behind me. My cuffed guy is almost certainly watching Ken roughly molest me, but I'm not paying attention to that at all, it's not in my eye's focus; almost as if Ken and I are alone again, just like two weeks ago in the pounding rain.

His left hand goes between my spread legs, snaking inside my soaked panties, one, and then two of his fingers easily sweeping deeply inside of my gushing slick self. Yes, Ken has rather large hands, although not the thick sausage-like fingers of his uncle. He's staying away from my button, and that's a pretty good trick with the tension of my tightly pulled panties mashing his hand up against me. He's fishing inside of me deep from this unique angle, looking for something specific, and when his curled middle finger finds it's bumpy textured target I roll my head back and make a sound that sounds very much like anguish, flexing in my bonds.

I know this now to be my G-spot, but on my specific body it's deep inside and not easily reached, it's just the way I'm apparently made. He's obviously proud of himself and his discovery, but this makes me wonder how he knew to look for this. It's a bit of something to have any guy teach you about your own body, and really something to have Ken doing this for me with something like this too. Did he learn this from an experienced former girlfriend, or from some helpful adult in his life? I had a specific adult in mind, a man who might be motivated to give Ken tools beyond his years to make sure the prize he apparently now had remained happily and contently his; as in an unfair competitive edge for the other young man in my life…

If Ken's newfound skills are in fact due to the suggestions of that specific man, the man who actually owns this place we're presently occupying, the man whose shirt I borrowed as my only clothing once; how on earth do I ever look him in the eye again? Those pillows, that shirt, even the bed we're to later occupy, all of it smells slightly like him, his manly scent is literally everywhere. Ken's aunt is the blood relation to Ken and his family, his uncle is married into the family, but he's a very good guy and treats Ken like something very special. My mind is awash with all kinds of forbidden things, but chief among them is what if another with a lifetime of experience had me strung up here instead, and all the time in the world with no watching spectators at all?

Anyway, I have to get my mind on the here and now, and the little electric shocks I feel as he rubs me there on and off does this, my legs and stomach literally twitching in time. It's convulsing sweet torture and I'm a sweaty wreck in mere moments, thrusting my box down onto his hand as best as I can, goading him to finish me off already. I'm on the verge of a magnificent epic digital orgasm while spread eagled hanging by my wrists, simply by riding two of Ken's magnificent fingers; it boggles the mind! It's the setting, the hanging restraint, my crazy wandering forbidden thoughts, maybe even the audience I'm reluctantly ashamed to admit, but all of that together with his two exploring fingers have made me a complete emotional babbling mess. I'm fantasizing about things I just plain shouldn't, most especially now. I turn my head to shamelessly plead my case, to beg for my orgasmic release, but I can see in his face that he knows exactly what he's doing to me. He open-mouth kisses me and I find myself begging into his as our tongues wrestle, my muffled "PLEASE!" perhaps understood, perhaps not though.

My nipple that he's been aggressively toying with is rock hard, and he flicks it to let me again know that he knows what he's doing to me. It's a bit cruel maybe, but he's actually taking me somewhere magical, and when we get there it will almost certainly be worth the effort. He then takes his fingers out of me, and in my mind this is going the wrong way, as I very much want them back in there to finish the job he started. He instead brings them to my lips and I have a moment of recollection with my own guy, something he flat out refused to do for me in his back seat once, but to be fair also directly after he had his own mood crushing epic orgasm.

I smell myself strongly on Ken's fingers as they linger right under my sensitive nose, but it's not like I haven't had him inside of my mouth almost directly after he was inside my box before. I was so horned up and in a twisted state of mind at that particular moment that I would have done the whole football team in mass, on the fifty yard line with the bleachers full of family and friends, to include the cheerleaders, and maybe even the mascot too! Over the top teen lust and rational thoughts didn't always go hand in hand back then for me, this just one of many examples of such from back in the day. I'm way better now, more sexually mature, but back then with the lusty attention of both guys I had turned myself into quite the handful. I was like a charged-up super weapon with a poor aiming system; a little dangerous, a little unpredictable, a little bit fun I would also hope. They say guys think with their guy parts - at least at times - and while that may be true for many of them, I was also guilty of a bit of that myself, thinking with my girl parts for a bit there, searching for acceptance physically by doing outlandish physical things.

Anyway, I open my mouth and take Ken's offered fingers in, not just simply tasting myself though, my insane lusted up need is far greater than just that. It's like I'm giving head to his fingers, orally making love to them, noisily sucking them off, tongue, teeth, and all. It's impossibly slutty and over the top, and something I'd never do for my own guy, and I even think I might have surprised him with that level of raunchiness; but to be fair he started it.

Apparently satisfied with my slutty efforts though Ken reaches down and rips my soaked panties from my body with a quick jerk, hands in each leg hole at the band, likely so as not to injure me with them by pulling them up and in someplace they don't belong. One leg hole failed before the other, so it took a second grip to properly finish the job and completely remove them from me, but the tearing sound was also quite violent in that quiet cabin. There was a finality to it as well, Ken's birthday present was now fully unwrapped, and this thing is most certainly going to happen. The easy way he destroyed my panties also reminds me of Ken's amped up strength in his moment of lust, and that kind of strength seriously turns me on; I did this to Ken, pretty much like nobody else on earth has yet. Ken has given me a whole bunch of firsts, but I've also given him a few too I think. Somewhere in there as well I have to remind myself that there is a third member of this insanity watching, and he's getting his fair share of firsts too here, seeing something he never has before, at least not rough like this.

Ken holds my ripped and ruined panties under my nose this time, letting me inhale my scent, and just like with his fingers I open my willing mouth to receive them. I even reach for them slowly as if biting an apple, so there can be little doubt as to my attempted lusty compliance. Being gagged by Ken is just something super hot that turns me on, in concept at least, and I so want the total experience from him to get me back into that abducted and used mindset maybe; and I could always spit them out if I really had to anyway. I've wanted him to gag me once or twice already, but it just didn't work out then, and gagging yourself just isn't the same.

The act of pushing something like a cloth - or a bikini bottom - into another's mouth, somebody you care about at any rate, is kind of odd; I've actually done that with my guy already in the heat of the moment. But being on the receiving end of that is apparently something Ken just doesn't want to do to me for some reason or another, so this time as well it's a hollow threat from him once again, and my ruined panties are tossed over his shoulder somewhere out of my sight.

Did he like hearing me vocalize and carry on for him that much, or was he just wanting my "stop" or "no" clearly heard should he exceed my boundaries in a Cathy kind of way; which admittedly were few where Ken was concerned, most especially in that altered state of mind?

While still behind me for a few more seconds Ken slowly runs his middle finger only up through my bald open snatch - his hand awkwardly closed in a fist - perhaps savoring the feeling while also allowing his extended middle "fuck you" finger to once again easily dip inside my squishy self in it's travels. Was this a special message for somebody watching I wondered; but truthfully not right away as I was highly distracted.

The tactile feeling of being bald and lightly handled down there is very nice and unique for me, and possibly even for the both of us. Ken has yet to stand in front of me to see it bare and uncovered for himself though, and here my cuffed and watching guy possibly got something first for once over Ken, as I see him up on his knees now in the mirror's reflection back towards us. He can clearly see Ken's dominant bodily possession and rough handling, and I likewise can see his total humbling bound submission kneeling before us. If there were others here to see him like this too I might call it humiliating, but there isn't, so in my mind it isn't. This "abuse" for lack of a better word is private, just between us three, nobody ever has to really know about it, it's just another one of many secrets that must somehow be kept.

Anyway, now he's down low with his ass a little less tight up against the pole, and his eyes are wide open and looking at the new and smooth me on strung up full display, glasses still askew as he had no free hands to properly reset them on his face. It's a little detail that sticks with me, but not necessarily a sexy one. It makes him look fragile and weak, and that's not what I need at the moment.

Speaking of which, he's holding onto the pole behind him for stability, his legs spread obscenely wide, the same legs that both my sister and I think look kind of nice for a guy. He doesn't shave them or anything, but at that age he wasn't a very hairy man like Ken either; genetics can be kind of cruel I suppose. With his arms tight behind him his little man boobs and almost hairless chest are front and center for me to see, thrust out on quasi-display as if a young teen wearing her first bra and wanting everybody to notice that she's in the club now too. Speaking of clubs, my guy's "club" is missing in action, pulled back and under him tight by the tension of the cuffs, and what's left for me to see is a little feminine looking cleft in his hair down there. The total package I'm therefore left looking at isn't necessarily all that masculine, like not at all zero, but Ken is there for me to fill the proverbial void, if you'll pardon the cheap sexual pun.

I'm also offered Ken's penetrative middle finger, and I playfully suck and tongue this clean for him with a big smile on my face too, my ability to resist anything he offers at near zero with all this stimulation.

Ken then steps around in front of me, blocking my view of the mirror and my watching boyfriend, which is just fine with me as I've seen enough anyway. I'm horned up and super needy and I'm driven to focus exclusively on Ken anyway, it truthfully wasn't one of my better girlfriend moments - one that I'd like to pretend never happened - but I also realized what's in the mirror wasn't going to satisfy my present oversexed needs either. It would have been ten thousand times better for me if Ken didn't keep him here with us, but more on that later as this wasn't an accident on his part. Anyway, Ken looks me up and down in my near suspension, but then exclusively down at my "shaved just for him" girl parts. He goes to his knees before me as if in worship of my bound-for-him body, and while I'm very wound up already and needing something just a bit more substantial from him, there are obviously worse things for a woman, and I'm in no position to complain, nor resist anyway.

Even with my legs widely spread and supporting only some of my weight, I realize that I could likely do this for considerably longer than the last time. I liked the concept of hanging spread eagled, firmly bound at all four corners for either Ken, or even the boys from Crestmount fictionally, but the reality is that the cramp I had last time kind of soured me to the position for a bit. In this case doing pretty much the exact same thing over again with Ken up here at his cabin a second time kind of makes sense, allowing us to correct our earlier errors; bound muscular tension and intense orgasm are not always good bedfellows, oddly enough…

Outside, inside, all around the proverbial block Ken goes, slobbering and sucking on me intimately down there, and yes it feels just magnificent being bald like this, his textured tongue on my very smooth bare flesh is nothing but fabulous. It seems like a new thing for him too, a new toy to learn all about. Then he does something quite similar to what he did while standing behind me a few moments earlier, reaching his middle finger deep inside of me and raking it slowly past my textured G spot; and that plus everything else he was doing with his mouth sent me off on a squealing rocketship ride to the moon, tremoring and convulsing like mad…

I'm left shaken and weak by the time this one completely rolls over and through me. I can't say that this was the best one ever, but certainly one of the five best ever. I'm almost hanging in my bonds and needing a slight intermission, and Ken with a rather smug and satisfied look on his face takes this time to strip off what he was wearing; Ken in effect catching up to both my kneeling guy and myself in comparison, as we haven't been wearing a stitch for a little while now, unless of course you count my heels.

Once nude himself he makes a brief detour to play with my boobs, nursing on them a bit out of habit I suppose, but it almost feels like this is something he's doing because it's expected, or something that checks a box someplace, rather than straight up desire to play with them. In any event it doesn't last long and Ken is then onto the main event proper, erect and ready, pretty much a repeat of two weeks ago, but hopefully without the major cramping this time.

I'm impossibly ready, and with my legs spread as wide as they'll go Ken easily gets himself lined up at the wide open doors, and easily sinks his large self into me in one slow deep upwards stroke as he watches. I won't say "no resistance at all" because that would be a lie, but with one hand on himself and the other holding me by my ass the mechanics of what we were doing easily worked out. By the third stroke Ken was driving up and into me with both hands on my ass, our bodies coming together firmly, our rhythm easy to once again establish, as we've been here and done that quite recently. He watches himself sink into me a few times, apparently the visual of his large self penetrating my bald snatch was unique enough that he had to watch. Anyway, his slow pace bumping up into me soon turns into a full blown flesh slapping F-fest though as our eyes lock, my boobs once again flying all over the place, and his facial expressions telling me that it still feels very, very good to him this second time around.

I'm soon creaming all over Ken as I lock my ankles around him and pull him in tight, but looking at his messy face I've already done a bit of that to him already. This is something else that's changed with my body, post camping trip; my body produces excess fluid, lube, girl cum, I don't know, call it what you will, but my boyfriend has even playfully commented on it while going down on me. He's playfully called me his honey-pot dessert, his back seat treat I suppose, but I'm not exactly complaining here either. He'll go down on me until I have nothing left to give him, he'll beg for the very privilege, and I haven't gone down on him a single time to date; it's most unfair and one-sided.

Anyway, this thing with Ken is fast and loud and I'm being impossibly vocal, and the lube my body is making is not only easing Ken's passage, but reducing the friction for me at the same time. This is a double edged sword though, because as big and physically filling as Ken is, a bit more friction would be nirvana for me, but I'm not getting sore either. The sounds and smells as he drills up into me though, the grunts of our combined exertions in that quiet cabin, the heavy slap of bare flesh meeting bare flesh, and the squelch of Ken's wet plunging, even my boobs flopping up and down, all together it's over the top stimulation. This is not an act for my watching and listening guy either, because to be honest I've totally forgotten about him for a bit due to some serious tunnel vision.

Ken is drilling up and into me hard, I actually see the dripping sweat running down his face from his wet hairline, I smell the man smells he's making, and judging by both his urgency and his in time vs his out time, I know the birthday boy is seconds away from blowing out the proverbial candles and popping off himself. I had a rather epic one while bound and riding his face a few minutes earlier, Ken gets one too, it seems quite fair to a certain part of my brain, but the needy-bitch shallow part of me still wants more; I've come to expect such when with Ken.

Fortunately Ken apparently wants more for me too, and it's almost no additional effort on his part to reach around with one of his fingers as his hands are on my ass bouncing me up and down anyway; which he does. He touches off on me rather firmly right on my only forbidden spot, not actually entering, but very close to that, and the result is once again like throwing a switch in my brain.

In the back of my mind do I think Ken will enter me there anyway, even though I say I don't want that, even though it's about the one thing Ken hasn't taken away from my future husband already; taken first before he's had his chance? I don't know exactly why that little intrusive act drives me off the proverbial cliff, but sometimes you don't ask, you just do…

An exhaled and anguished animal sound escapes my smeared lipstick covered lips - for that matter with all this activity and sweating my painted up face probably looks pretty terrible at the moment - but Ken doesn't seem to mind or notice. My clutching squeezing orgasm trips his own though, and being filled so wall to wall fully, and then having him pop off inside of me after that is once again just wonderful. Not a best ever, but still pretty wild and hot all the same, especially while hanging from the rafters…

Fortunately this isn't the end of the night, just the end of the quasi-public act one…

With my legs wrapped tight around him and his half-hard self still somewhat inside of my messy dripping box he breathlessly reaches up and unclips the carabiners from my wrists, easily carrying me towards the bedroom like a child does a doll, or maybe a puppy. He's panting like a dog in the sun on a hot day, and I've done this to him too.

I'm wrapped around him possessively with my arms now too, he's holding and carrying me just as possessively himself with his chin mashed into my chest, almost blindly navigating the short distance. There's just something physically exciting about a man carrying you anyplace, like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold the very first time. These were my actual dangerous thoughts in the moment, but my mind just went there all on its own with its "I'm yours" attitude. So I'm obviously being a bit passive and owned here, but maybe this works with the Barbie thing and all that. There was a white dress involved too, so this as well could play into my”‘bride thoughts”. I'm not Ken's bride though, I have vague plans to eventually be another's bride instead.

The way my boyfriend is captured he can't really follow us with his eyes, but as we break the plane of the master bedroom's door I kick it closed anyway with my passing foot, the action a bit more violent than I intended though, it slamming closed with a vengeance and I even losing a heel in the process. Ken once again dumps me on my back in the center of the bed, the box spring compressing noisily as I hit and bounce, telling anybody listening what just happened. We're giggling and laughing together, dumping me on the bed was funny this second time too. In a perfect world he would have used the cuffs I was still wearing to properly restrain me in some creative and helpless way, but it didn't go exactly like that.

The first time while hanging from my wrists was fast and furious, but this second time with Ken on an actual bed was much more like two adults making love without a heavy dose of kink involved. It took Ken deep into my boyfriend's loving territory, but Ken was the birthday boy, and I was his "say yes to almost anything" birthday present, my temporary guilt at giving Ken still another "win" over my selfless guy temporarily excused. My guy would know we were soon to be doing "it" on an actual bed, from his perspective another first Ken would get over him.

I held the bars of the bed, Ken on and off held my wrists pinned to the mattress, and he generally bent me this way and that as he equated himself quite well and took me noisily to orgasm more than once, the bed squeaking and protesting all that activity for at least half the night; or so it seemed to me. It wasn't the least bit quiet for my listening and rather uniquely cuffed guy either, and at one point we even broke down into a fit of mutual laughter when Ken flopped out of me after pulling out too far, then stroking forward and stabbing his erect self into my thigh instead; but not a word of complaint from my guy on any of that. Ken likes to be noisy, and for his birthday I made no effort not to be that night. Ken after all was the birthday boy here, and I was having a disproportionately fun time being his human birthday present.

Ken also has rather impressive staying power the second time around - hell with my boyfriend there almost never was a second time - but with that being said he eventually held me in an iron grip filled me a second time, Ken rolling off of me totally spent and sated after that, his messy deflated cock laying limply on his thigh. Later he even admitted that his back hurt, but I don't know if that was due to his carrying me to bed, or plowing me like a madman while I hung from my wrists. The strange part was that I could probably go again; wearing Ken out like nobody else ever.

I also knew that one of us would have to check on my boyfriend, but I just didn't want to go myself. I was both coming down from my sexual high and needing to come to terms with what I had just helped do to him still again; it suddenly felt just a bit evil to be honest, even though he had been an apparently willing participant. This was my post orgasm low though, and I knew it affected the way I saw things in the short term, and while I was trying to get a handle on that, actually seeing my boyfriend at that moment might not have been good for me at all.

I also wanted to remain in my hips-up legs tightly closed position until my body absorbed all of what Ken had just given to me. No condom sex just feels like nothing else on earth, but the post fun mess really isn't all that fun. To walk anywhere but maybe the very short distance to the bathroom to take a shower like this would be difficult, without making a messy trail both down my legs, and on the nice floor too. I could obviously take a shower and let it all go safely down the drain, but that would further wake me up, and I suspected sleep would never come then. As far as the sheets, they were a total mess anyway, so if I added to that over the course of the night, if I could somehow maybe sleep like that, it would be no additional laundry. I also had a sneaky ulterior motive in wanting Ken to go in my place, something that just titillated me early on for some reason, a further evil perhaps, or maybe just making sure my guy got all the submission that he could handle.

Ken and I were just laying on our backs in bed looking up at the ceiling and talking quietly in a room that smelled very much like sex, and I asked about keeping my guy here, as opposed to sending him off to camp someplace else. I had a direction I wanted this conversation to go, and Ken was very relaxed and sated so it was an easy and friendly one to have. In my mind, decoupling and rolling over to go to sleep, or in some other way separating, was the more wise path for me here, but it didn't go like that this time.

He told me he wouldn't get into the specifics, but that the conversation both guys had over dinner made it clear that this was fun for him too, but if it became a bit rougher and not so nice it would be so much better for him, or so he thought. He also admitted that my being his present wasn't a complete surprise, but no details on that, as in how he found out, or how much he found out either. The last part was a bit of a surprise for me, but a somewhat logical one; Ken told me that by keeping him here with us he in effect didn't miss anything from our solo bike trip up here in the rain, that his being present for this kind of thing negated that entirely. The logic of that was a bit sketchy to be honest, but it worked for me for a very long time; I'm ashamed to say for how long exactly.

I then formally asked Ken to check on him, telling him truthfully that I just couldn't this time, and even offering the half-hearted excuse that since he's the one who bound him up to begin with, it was his responsibility to check on him to make sure he was okay. It was anything but courageous of me, but there you go.

Sated and sleepy as he was Ken still agreed to go, it felt a little like "I don't want to let the dog out; isn't it your turn anyway?" to me, but to his credit Ken took his turn, perhaps maybe so that my guy and I didn't have any one on one time that night; a further cruelty perhaps, or more in keeping with my guy's newly stated wishes? I watch Ken grab a key out of the bondage bag and open the door to go towards him, and while I can't see my chained down-low guy directly, I can see tall and bare ass naked Ken making his way over to where I know him to be in the single lamp lit room… That's a little detail that I forgot to be honest, something so reflexive that you don't even remember doing it; when we had entered the bedroom Ken had flicked the room lights off at the switch on the outer master bedroom wall, and the only light accidentally left on for my guy was a single lamp over the stove, a very low power bulb, a night light kind of illumination only. It's not like he's afraid of the dark or anything, but if he thought this was intentional on our part it would seem kind of cruel and needlessly mean. Locked up and locked out in the dark; in other words one hundred percent unneeded!

Anyway, Ken's flaccid manhood was sticky and messy with our combined glistening bodily fluids - not to mention the "I just had a lot of hot passionate sex with your girlfriend smell" - it's going to be like rubbing what he both just did to me, and with me, in my guy's face, quite literally, and the very dark part of my brain is just hoping that Ken will make my kneeling guy clean him off properly at a bare minimum. He's had all the elements individually, this is just combining them "in the flesh" so to speak, no big deal at all in my brain, but I'm not a guy either. I also thought that if my guy doing anything at all oral for Ken was ever going to happen - and not just with the rubber Ken-bought toy in his likeness - this would be it, on his birthday, literally handcuffed on his knees for him with little choice in the matter; talk about potentially upping Ken's aggressive game. A dark part of me might even like to watch that, watch my guy service Ken like I once had, watch that level of submission to him, but the bigger part would be just as content to simply know that it happened.

Well, watching Ken's body moving about I can kind of deduce that oral anything didn't happen, but when he comes back to bed he tells me softly that he uncuffed him and got him a blanket and a couch pillow so he could sleep. I thought it was a touching sweet thing to do, but then I wondered why my guy didn't just wander off to the other bedroom with the bunk beds. I was focused on something else though, so maybe a bit slow on the uptake. Anyway, I then asked about my guy giving Ken his own special birthday gift while looking directly at his floppy and still messy cock, and Ken got my drift.

"That's just never going to happen" he tells me rather matter of factly, it wasn't said angrily or anything like that, just a statement of fact. We end up spooning and I'm trying very hard to both calm my mind, and go to sleep with a serious pool of Ken's little swimmers still doing laps inside of me, searching for their own prize that modern medicine has denied them. My mind replays the events of the last few minutes as I try to get to sleep this second time in this very bed with this man; something's amiss though…

KEYS! Ken took the keys out of the boat-found bondage bag, presumably for the padlocks on my guys leather wrist cuffs, leaving the only two keys to my steel handcuffs inside his pants pocket; wherever the hell they ended up. He made a big show of putting them there earlier, and I watched where he had walked, and that meant that my guy would be tethered to the post by his guy parts for the entire night. Ken was almost asleep by then, his flaccid guy parts poking at my butt; do I wake the birthday boy, or let him sleep, trusting that he already made sure my guy's own guy parts weren't going to lose circulation or anything? He was also spooning and holding me, I felt quite protected like this, but I wasn't easily sneaking away to check myself either.

Again, not some of my finer moments from back in the day, but if this didn't scare this young future husband off, nothing ever would…

To sooth my conscience, or further confuse things, I didn't even know if Ken had left those keys in his pants pocket, or if he instead hid them someplace else.

"Ken?" I asked softly, feeling really bad for waking him.

"I'm exhausted and my back hurts bad Babe," he tells me in a half-whine.


"Thank you Babe, this was like the best birthday ever."


Continues in

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