Chapter 1

The loveliness of Paris seems somehow sadly gay
The glory that was Rome is of another day
I've been terribly alone and forgotten in Manhattan
I'm going home to my city by the Bay
I left my heart in San Francisco
High on a hill, it calls to me
To be where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars
The morning fog may chill the air, I don't care
My love waits there in San Francisco
Above the blue and windy sea
When I come home to you, San Francisco
Your golden sun will shine for me

Quite a few people, if they were being honest about it, would admit to being too tired to do anything on a wedding night, at least a wedding night before leaving for the actual honeymoon. Since Vanessa and I had been living together anyway, we didn't worry about it. My work had been taking me frequently from Washington, DC to San Francisco and Silicon Valley, so it was a familiar and relaxed trip for me, with lots of frequent traveler benefits.

In the three years we had lived together, Vanessa had grown a great deal. She had been a very shy junior consultant at her Big 4 accounting firm, but had decided to dress like a partner, and took confidence from that in a way she didn't take from excellent work. She joined me in weight training, and soon was more intense about it than I was. One evening, she came home and demanded a celebration. Without even thinking about it, during some office reorganization, she picked two electric typewriters, balanced them each on a hip, and took them into another room. As she did so, a senior manager, who had made unwelcome passes at her, jumped aside, eyes wide. There was a bit of fear in his eyes.

A few months ago, she decided not to continue going for amateur competition bodybuilding, but kept her body sculptured, in a most feminine way. In fact, she still was fine-tuning her body, to have more of the fitness model look. Rather than having an obviously ripped appearance, her skin was taut but smooth, softly covering the muscles. She was particular to describe her weight at precisely 118, and her height at 5'6" 1/2. Given her perfect posture, preference for four-inch heels, and long, curly auburn hair, she seemed considerably taller. Her body proportions gave her exceptionally long legs. She had also shifted from general accounting into tax, but was actively thinking of becoming a software developer.

She had considered becoming a professional makeup artist, and was exceptionally skilled at makeup. While she was concerned with the effect of the sun on her skin, she had been getting an all-over tan for her honeymoon. Rather than the golden tan of a blonde, hers was more a light mahogany, with a warm redness. In preparation, she had trimmed her pubic hair to a small landing strip. She also had asked me to shave some of my own, "to keep the hair out of my teeth."

Our bachelor and bachelorette parties had been fun, if unusual. I was taken out by a number of her female friends, and she got some of mine, all of whom were quite aware that we had an open marriage. That's a story for another time.

I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Victor. I'm 6'4", with red hair, blue eyes, and a beard. While I don't really play sports, I do work out regularly, and take various martial arts. So, I'm well muscled. My professional life involves mixing medicine and computer science, trying to play physicians on computers. My undergraduate degree is in microbiology, and I have a master's in interdisciplinary stuff. I don't have to do it, but enjoy doing it. Picking correct ancestors meant that I was "independently wealthy." I had a large house in the Georgetown section of DC, overlooking the Potomac River.

Washington Navy Yard Officers' Club, Saturday afternoon

Preparations for the wedding had been interesting, to say the least. I winced, thinking of dealing with Norma the Evil Stepmother in the arrangements at my father-in-law's officers' club. Our input on the menu was not welcome. Now, I'm from the greater New York City area. I love good chopped liver, and never have understood the taunt, "what am I, chopped liver?" With my grandparents' tradition that all food became kosher in a Chinese restaurant, I had learned to like well-prepared snacks like bacon-wrapped chicken liver.

Vanessa was stunning, both in model-quality beauty, and in her inner glow.

The wedding had its moments of comedy, as when she threw the bouquet, straight into the ceiling, where it fell like a dead bird. Her bridesmaids liked being single and ran from it. Eventually, a ten-year-old girl picked it up.

She had much more fun launching her garter.

Of the buffet ordered by Norma, only a tray of rumaki -- bacon wrapped shrimp -- remained. Good rumaki is a delight. This wasn't, as we had learned when tasting samples.

Back at home, Saturday night

We took them home, and presented a nicely arranged tray to Constance, our most refined Russian Blue cat. Constance was a gourmet and a gourmand. No shrimp was safe on a table, unless actively guarded from a swooping gray streak who would run off with it. On one memorable occasion, this eight-pound cat managed to get a substantial roast of beef off the table. She adored the liquid from canned lima beans, would fight for cantaloupe, and thought highly of mashed potatoes. This was not a cat of limited tastes.

As she approached the leftovers, her walk slowed. Her nose twitched. Carefully, an elegant paw reached out and moved a liver. Her nose twitched again. She lowered her face to the plate, inhaled, and sneezed. Constance looked at us, not so much disdainfully as surprised we would do such a thing to her. The next sound clearly meant, "As a lady, I rarely curse, but what the fuck is this? Am I being punished?"

Keying from that idea, she continued to bestow guilt over being banished during the wedding, and now sentenced to eat something worse than the gruel of the fairy tales.

Apologizing to Constance with a dish of cream, Vanessa and I decided to relax a little before packing. While I'm not an adept of the Japanese tea ceremony, I can prepare tea and some side dishes with considerable flair. We meditated a bit over the water boiling, then closed our eyes to sense the aroma of the brewing tea.

Another meditation

Calmed by the tea, Vanessa suggested another meditation. "You know that anthropologists formally define a fetish as an object that has magical power. I realize that for you, my heels are exactly that. When you play with them, it has nothing to do with submission. It has to do with you having a mental focus for sex."

I hadn't realized it, but she had changed to her most exotic six-inch heels. She was right. "I want to suck and lick your heels, and think of them as a conduit for the sexual energy flowing between us."

As she stretched out her leg, she reached down and began to finger herself. I returned the compliment, enjoying jerking off. When I came, I came onto her shoe. She removed it, licked off the cum. Vanessa then leaned forward and kissed me deeply. It was another way to have a magickal exchange.

Preparing.

We packed. Vanessa had put together what she called a "toy bag", adapted from a paramedic's bag with a locking top and lots of compartments. For our honeymoon, it was lightly backed with some vibrators, dildoes, lubricants, and scented candles. She left plenty of room for things we might acquire in San Francisco, including an expanding cloth part that could hold clothing.

Our apartment, early Sunday morning

Waking up on our wedding morning, we confirmed the cat sitter, and headed off to Washington National Airport. Vanessa had told me she planned to be on the exhibitionist side for our honeymoon, starting with a classy look but adapting to circumstances.

For travel, she had chosen a bright red-skirted suit that first seemed just inside the acceptable edge of business wear. Well ... maybe if the skirt were a couple of inches longer. Still, it was one of the power suit colors. Under it, she wore a soft, cream-colored buttoned sweater. The sweater was carefully tailored. It was less that she was busty, as much as she had a tight waist to which her top clung. That she had a softly defined six-pack wasn't obvious, but still affected her look.

I had become a regular on the much-missed Frontier Horizon Airlines. Just before our cab arrived, I called their VIP lounge, and confirmed some details of the flight. "Vanessa, honey, we're getting off to a great start. One of my favorite flight attendants is the purser. She's eager to meet you, and I trust that she'll make the flight as exotic as possible. All depends on what she can do given other passengers. Molly Anne is San Francisco based because that fits her lifestyle, and she's very tolerant, even of practicing heterosexuals."

"So she should be even more tolerant of me, then. Dear, on our honeymoon, I feel totally safe with you, and I want to try some things that I've been scared to do at home."

At First Class check in, we were second in line. Dixie, the station manager, waved, and then scribbled something. She passed it to me when I got to the line. It read, "Honeymoon, right?" I nodded.

As we finished checking in, there was a little beep-beep. Behind us was an airline golf cart, with a driver, but also an attendant from the VIP club, who had a tray of champagne glasses. It was a good omen on a trail of good omens. Early Sunday flights rarely were that full, but, when we boarded, we found that we were the only people in First. I whispered to Vanessa, "Some of my favorite FAs." Molly Anne, the purser, glanced up for permission, and then hugged Vanessa and then me. "Never sure about touching passengers, especially passenger spouses."

"Let me introduce the two of you. Vanessa, so no one is hiding anything, Molly Anne and I are classic friends with benefits. When we travel to one anothers' cities, we might do cultural things, and if the timing works, we might have nice friendly sex. We've also gone to swing clubs together. Given her travel, we've never tried to have a relationship beyond that."

As Vanessa looked at Molly Anne, she thought, her uniform covers it, but she has an incredible figure. I'd guess that her breasts are just short of unbalancing her, but they look shapely. Tiny waist -- yet she also looks athletic. I can see her legs in that short skirt. I'd certainly consider her in working on my opinion of women, and I imagine I could greatly enjoy watching her with Victor. Definite threesome material, especially because she seems really nice.

Vanessa grinned, said, "consider this my Mae West impression. Why did you let go so soon? Are you being heterocentrist on the San Francisco run?" Molly Anne did a doubletake, grinned, and said "Later, then." With that, I got a hug from Derek, the other flight attendant, who camped it up a bit. "I may have preferences, but I'm equal opportunity."

Molly Anne and Derek closed the curtain to the peons, and started to give the requisite safety briefing, with an apology that I certainly knew it. "Excuse me. Isn't the FAA requirement that it be said, not who says it?" I stood. "Sit."

"In the unlikely event of a loss of cabin pressure," I intoned, "grab your mask as it flops in the hurricane-force winds. Pull the tube far enough that it is straight and has slight tension, which will start the oxygen flow. Do not, however, pull it out of the ceiling. Do not be concerned if the bag does not inflate. That is there to inflate if you vomit, so the airflow doesn't get blocked..." I observed two FAs in hysterics. I looked longer and more appreciatively at Molly Anne, whose skirt had risen almost as high as Vanessa's. Vanessa leaned over, stroked Molly Anne's leg, and inquired about the continuation of the hug. They exchanged a laugh and a lipstick-sparing kiss. At that moment, I got a friendly lip kiss from Derek, which seemed only fair. On to San Francisco.

Derek came by with blankets. "Should you want to cuddle with some privacy, these will help. We'll try to keep this section private, although I can't do anything about the cockpit crew. I gave a heads-up to our friends in coach, and they'll help keep it private. Now, if you do want witnesses, which, Vanessa, your outfit might suggest, we're available.

"Trust us. The Mile-High Club, unless you're on a private plane, isn't worth it. Essence of 727 lavatory is just not romantic.

"Will you want the meal? We can also put together a cold tray for you."

"Thanks Derek. It might be nice to eat with you guys."

A bit later, Molly Anne brought our trays. "Best I can do is sit across from you. One of us does need to be on duty at the curtain."

Derek, rather dramatically, waved his hands and complained the women got all the advantages, being able to show themselves off in skirts. Molly Anne gave him a grope, and teased back, "yes, and if you get into the way of giving them a show, you don't get to give anyone a blowjob!"

Without any question, we enjoyed cuddling, kissing, and groping. We also talked. "Vanessa, when you talked about trying things that had worried you at home, am I thinking that #1 on that list is BDSM?"

"That, or unleashing my inner whore. The more I hear about the BDSM scene, the more interesting my fantasies. I know you suggested going to the education seminar at the Dark Lotus, but I'd have been mortified if anyone, who knew me, saw me there. What if Norma the Evil Stepmother knew?"

"Screw Norma ... well, figuratively. The literal is a frightening thought."

"I've told you that humiliation and scat are hard limits for me. Norma would be both."

Vanessa snickered. "In fact, let me try some inner whore." When Molly Anne came by, she licked her lips and said, "Want to watch me play?"

She was surprised, but asked Derek to guard the gate to Coach Class. "Derek is mostly gay, but he might like a turn." Vanessa reclined her seat, raised her skirt to her hips, revealing stocking and no panties. She reached into her purse and pulled out a medium-sized pink vibrating dildo. Turning it on, she stroked it against one side, and then the other, of her clit. When she was warmed up, she moved it directly against her clit. Vanessa dropped one hand, and played with her slit, collecting juices. By then, Molly Anne had her skirt pulled high. She pushed aside her panties to show a shaved mound, which she began to stroke and squeeze.

Vanessa offered her a juice-covered finger, which Molly Anne licked off, very happily. Under a blanket, I was jerking off. Vanessa looked back and lifted the blanket enough to give Molly Anne a very good look, and then covered me again. "We can drop skirts fast if interrupted. That's harder to hide."

Molly Anne purred, "Victor, I want that in all of my holes. Looks delicious." She bent forward to kiss Vanessa. A minute or so after their tongues met, both climaxed.

Chapter 2 »