by Carole Hart
He said, a little vengefully, “Oh, I’m just wondering who Babylona wants me to have sex with tomorrow.”
“Ha!” said Zaza. “Now I’m going to have a jealous rage and make you quit your job!”
“I already quit my job.”
“So why are you even doing it, then? You see? You must want to do it. Jealous rage is definitely coming on.”
“It’s already in the schedule,” he said wearily. “I have a contract.”
“Lame excuse!”
At that moment, his cell phone rang. Since it was in his pants pocket, now shoved halfway down his leg, he had to push past Zaza to get it, while she shouted happily, “Avoiding the issue! No way! You’re going to answer that now?!”
At last he’d fished it out, restraining the struggling Zaza with one arm while he pressed the button and put it to his ear. “Hello?”
“Jared,” came Babylona’s voice. “Are you in your honeymoon suite?”
“Oh, um, yeah,” he said, shaking his head at Zaza, who was giggling and trying to bite him. “Thanks—it’s . . . awesome.”
“Well,” Babylona said with a satisfied tone, “I did want that to be a disinterested gift. But it so happens I need a favor from you.”
Jared’s heart sank. At his look of alarm, Zaza stilled and frowned, trying to catch his eye, “So what’s the favor?” he said.
“I’ve figured out who I need you to fuck.”
SEVENTEEN
Emily took a shower and spent almost an hour putting on makeup and trying on different outfits before venturing out of her room. The room itself was comfortable but unremarkable—white walls, basic bed, handsome modern desk. Only when she looked out the window at the weathered stone of the medieval town below was she reminded that she was thousands of miles away from New York City—and Ralph.
Her feeling of helplessness about the Ralph situation had eased into an almost luxurious misery. It reminded her of being a teenager lost in one of the many unrequited loves of youth—the football captain, the college guy who kissed her at a party, the almost-successful local singer-songwriter who met her eye in the crowd. It was a consoling, peaceful sorrow. She couldn’t tell whether the feeling meant that deep down she trusted Ralph to come back, or that she’d given him up for good. Either one was better than the anger she had begun to feel toward him for deserting her.
And, as had happened to her before in moments of extreme stress, she felt drawn toward the decadent fellowship of her colleagues. Friselle Belesci’s (or Babylona’s) philosophy of life was oddly comforting to Emily at times like these. All she had to do was let go of her habits a little and walk downstairs, and she would be among the happiest people imaginable, having the most fun possible in the nicest way. Usually it just didn’t appeal. She preferred the quiet of her own room. Today, though, she was walking downstairs—in a lacy black minidress that set off her milky skin and emphasized her shapely legs. And as she heard the sound of revelry and laughter coming up the stairs, she relaxed as if she was slipping into a warm bath.
The noise was coming from the ballroom—a colossal room set off by white marble pilasters, with a painted ceiling that showed nude cherubs and clothed angels frolicking in a blue sky. The wooden floor had been strewn with the thick sheepskin rugs that the XTV old hands called fuck rugs. They were just large enough and soft enough to take the place of a bed in case of need. Still, most of the people who had felt that need were arranged in various orientations on a gigantic dining table on one side of the room. Looking at the mass of nude and skimpily clad flesh there—some six or seven people pleasuring one another around a massive punch bowl—Emily could immediately see what had happened. The little orgy had begun as the line for punch. One hand, held clear of the melee, still held a glass of punch, which was sloshing from side to side as its bearer was fucked heartily by a gorgeous man Emily suddenly recognized as the rock star from her interview a few weeks earlier, Greil Gage. The girl he was fucking had her head turned to one side to suck the dick of an equally handsome blond man wearing only a baseball cap, whose head was resting between the legs of the black-haired star of The Mountain Lion, Lila Parker, who was . . . and here Emily’s ability to sort out limbs into personalities gave out. Emily had never joined one of these groupings—what Jared called a spider’s nest for the seething complication of legs that first struck one’s eye. But seeing it gave her a thrill of preemptive nostalgia for the world she was leaving, where intimacy was just that easy and ecstasy was available for the price of saying yes. And she felt a shocking heat in her body, a longing to strip her clothes away and let herself fall into a world of flesh and kisses and nothing but sex.
“Admiring our centerpiece?” said a cool, low voice behind her.
She turned around and laughed up into the face of Liam “Pony” Peterson. She had gotten to know him—and fuck him—when she once appeared on an episode of The Mountain Lion as a girl disguising herself as a cowboy in order to go on a cattle drive. Of course, the sheriff had figured out her disguise and taken her aside in his office to try to talk her out of it. The sex scene occurred toward the end of the episode, after various shoot-outs and near rapes and rescues. Emily couldn’t exactly remember how the script writers managed to get Liam and her into a situation where fucking on horseback made sense. But she clearly remembered fucking on horseback—her leaning forward, holding on to the mane of the remarkably patient horse, while Liam let his dick find its way into her. Then the motion of the horse, walking, did most of the work, an experience that was strange, sensual, and alarming. Who knew a horse could be so tall? Even while Liam was fucking her, she couldn’t stop watching the ground and imagining what would happen if the horse bucked.
“Hey, Liam,” she said now, getting on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.
He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently, saying, “I heard you were getting out.”
“You make it sound like it’s prison.”
“Oh, well, I was thinking more of the army, you know.”
“Because of all the discipline,” Emily said, looking from the spider’s nest to the tipsy, semiclad couples fondling each other here and there throughout the room. As she said it, a naked girl ran past with a pair of boxer shorts in her hand, pursued by a naked man who was shouting, “It was a loan! Not a gift!”
Liam and Emily laughed. He said, “Well, maybe not the army. I was just working up to saying I was going to miss you, anyway.”
“Oh . . . well, thanks.”
She slung an arm around his waist and he pulled her against him. For a minute they stood there companionably, watching the spider’s nest move through various configurations. One girl climbed out, looking tousled and red in the face, and stood catching her breath while a stray hand from the table continued to caress her buttocks. Emily began to focus on one couple who were quietly, intently fucking in the midst of the fray, without bothering with all of the people around them. It was vanilla sex, missionary position, slow but emphatic. The man was kissing the girl deeply, passionately, while he fucked her. They could have been alone in their bed at home rather than being jostled by a half dozen other strenuously sex-engaged people. Watching it was making Emily both wistful and increasingly aroused. The pressure of Liam’s strong body against her, his broad back under her arm, were triggering a familiar sweet alertness in between her legs.
At that moment, Javier appeared in the doorway, wearing black suit pants, a white shirt that was half-unbuttoned, and a loosened tie that hung askew. Spotting Emily, he smiled and headed toward her with a purposeful stride. Emily only had time to say “Uh-oh,” before he was in front of her.
Immediately, he put his hand to her cheek and stroked it familiarly, saying, “What’s this I hear, gorgeous? You’re leaving us?” His dark eyes were soulfully wounded as his hand trailed down her throat and came to rest at her neckline, fingering the lacy cloth there. “Trail of broken hearts, needless to say.”
Emily and Liam exchanged glances. Emily was abou
t to take Javier’s hand in hers and extract it from her dress; she was about to dismiss him with a pleasantry and go on with her evening, but something stopped her. She found herself meeting his dark gaze, noticing his ridiculous good looks and his leonine poise. When he added, “You know, you owe me a fuck. You really are bad for wanting to sneak off without paying,” she should have pointed out that she owed him nothing. But she said, “Well, what if I pay?”
If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. His hand became a little more daring, the fingers straying over her collarbone and lightly tracing the cleft of her cleavage. He said, “I expected nothing less of you.”
Liam said, “Hey, you’re stealing my girl.”
Emily realized that he was trying to protect her from Javier, in case she was being pressured into something she didn’t want. At the same time, she realized that she didn’t want to let go of Liam. Well, it was a party, after all, and if things went the way she planned, she wasn’t likely to be in another situation quite like this.
She looked from one to the other: the handsome, solid blond leaning toward her protectively; the dark and sexy man who stood in front of her, his hand moving suggestively over her breasts now. She felt a warmth growing where her body pressed against Liam’s, her nipples grew hard in response to Javier’s touch, and a heat spread from her breasts. The glow spread on into her belly, the warmth from each of them, and it met between her legs, blossomed, and she felt herself grow wet, hot. She looked down and said quietly, “Don’t you want to share?”
“Share?” Liam asked, confused for just a second. He didn’t have long before Emily made her meaning clear. She took their hands, one in each of hers, and knelt down on the rug, pulling them with her. Both the men knelt down, and she saw them glance at each other. A smile came to Javier’s face, infectious, it seemed, because the same hungry smile came to Liam’s face a second later.
“Of course we’ll share, my dear,” Javier said, and reached down to lift her dress up and off, over her head. He dropped it to the floor beside them, and then leaned in to kiss her. His arm around the small of her back, he laid her down gently on the rug. His tongue darted into her mouth, found hers, and Emily kissed him back enthusiastically.
She felt a tugging at her hips and she lifted them up off the ground so that Liam could remove her underpants, as Javier’s lips moved down her neck, then lower, reaching her breasts. He took a nipple between his lips, sucked her softly, then harder, his tongue circling the sensitive spot. A second later, Emily felt a second set of lips on her other breast, as Liam took her other nipple into his mouth, flicked it with his tongue.
Electric jolts shot down from her nipples to her pussy, connecting them, as a first moan escaped her. A hand pressed down against her mons, a steady, gentle pressure, and then there was a fi nger exploring, parting her now slick pussy lips—whose hand, whose finger, she couldn’t say. That idea, that she didn’t even know who was touching her so intimately, was itself exciting, and she parted her legs to let him in.
As if he had read her mind, Javier said, “Let me make this a little more special for you.” He took off his shirt, and with a loud rip he tore a sleeve from it. Emily watched his pectoral muscles grow pronounced with the effort, mystified by why he would do such a thing. With a chuckle he reached down and covered her eyes with the cloth, tying it into a blindfold.
“Oh,” Emily said, surprised, and then she said, “Oh,” again louder, and then “Oh!” Liam had pressed his mouth to her cunt and had found her clit. His tongue moved over it slowly, up and down, and then rapidly as she squirmed and rocked to his attentions.
Standing up now, Javier removed his pants, tossed them aside, and knelt over her head. Even through the blindfold, she could see the bulk of him, a shadow, and she opened her mouth, knowing what he wanted. She wanted it, too, the salty taste of it, the feel of her mouth being filled by thick, hard dick. He pushed himself forward into her mouth, and she began to move her tongue back and forth along the underside, stroking the sensitive spot right below the head. Her hands moved to the firm, muscular cheeks of his ass, bringing him deeper into her mouth, her head bobbing back and forth in a slow, sensual rhythm.
It took her a moment to realize it was the same rhythm she felt between her legs as Liam continued to tongue her, two of his fingers moving in and out of her at the same time.
And suddenly, they were gone. At the same time, Javier pulled himself out of her mouth. Emily let out an involuntary cry of disappointment—she wanted more. “Don’t worry,” said Liam. “We’re not done with you.”
He reached down, lifted her up, and she felt all four of the men’s hands on her, stroking her, caressing her breasts and ass, as they guided her back to her knees and then down on all fours.
“Switch?” Javier asked.
“What?” she said.
“Not you,” he replied, and it dawned on her—they were changing positions, trading ends.
She spread her knees farther apart, pushed her ass up to welcome him in, and lifted her head up for Liam’s dick. Liam knelt in front of her, and as he pressed it against her lips, she remembered why they called him Pony. Javier’s dick was large but still normal; she had thought it filled her mouth, but she realized now that it hadn’t. She opened her mouth wider to take Liam.
Behind her, Javier put his hands on her hips, pressed his dick against her pussy, so wet now that there was no resistance at all. It slipped right in. She pressed back against him to draw him in deeper, then leaned a little forward to move her lips farther down the mass of Liam’s dick. Back and forth, again and again. The men stayed stable where they were, and let her rock back and forth between them. As she felt the first deep tingling that told her an orgasm was beginning to build up within her, she moaned in her throat, the sound blocked by the dick in her mouth, exciting Liam further with the vibrating hum of it.
She rocked faster and faster, filled from both ends but still wanting more, and it felt like she was fucking one man, a perfectly made creature equipped to fill her however she wanted him to, with one dick or two or three. She moaned again, or thought she did, but it hadn’t been her; it was Liam kneeling in front of her, moans and grunts escaping from his lips, and behind her Javier joined in the deep-throated bass chorus of male sounds, animal sounds. Javier took over now, grabbing her and pumping in and out of her, and as he thrust forward into her, it pushed her forward to take in Liam’s dick, and then back again.
She felt the two dicks inside her, and she imagined that she was the link between them, that through her, the two men were fucking each other: She translated Javier’s thrusting dick into her sucking mouth. As she thought about this, pictured their two dicks coming together, felt them in her but saw that they were thrusting against each other, imagined that over her back above her, they were looking deep into each other’s eyes, her orgasm began to gather, to build, the delicious tension becoming unbearable. She moved faster and faster, both the men moved faster and faster, and when she felt them come, the thick come filling her mouth and her pussy, she exploded, the orgasm so strong that behind her blindfold she saw stars.
There was a minute of confused tumbling, the two men collapsing around and over her in a way she couldn’t picture; arms hugging her and lips kissing the nape of her neck. Then she pulled the blindfold off and found herself staring into Liam’s eyes. Then, behind him, she saw Javier sitting up, looking dazed and pleased. He said, “Thank you, my love, but next time I want you to myself.” She let herself relax onto the rug and what she realized now was Liam’s upper arm, cradling her head. She said, with a smile that probably mirrored Javier’s, “Oh, but my retirement begins now. . . .”
Javier shook his head disapprovingly and began to pull his clothes back on with the neat, precise movements of a cat. “Nothing so terrible could happen,” he said. “It would be a loss to international culture.”
Liam had begun to laugh, and Emily smiled cheerfully at him, then blew a kiss at Javier as he rose to his feet and turne
d to go. He blew her a kiss back and then instantly fell into the orbit of a passing blonde. As he went off, he was saying, “My darling, the very one I came here to fuck . . .”
Emily made a face, and Liam laughed again. He said, “I don’t know about international culture. But that was pretty fantastic.”
“Thanks,” Emily said, feeling a little bit uncomfortable now that the blindfold was off, now that she could see the big, populous room in which their threesome had taken place. “It was . . . pretty fantastic for me, too.”
Liam looked into her eyes with a slight reserve. “I wouldn’t expect it from you, though. I mean, is something going on?”
Emily considered confiding in him, but she already felt too exposed to want to open herself further. She shook her head. “Just a last hurrah, I guess. The party . . . stuff going on.”
“Okay. Stuff,” he said. Then he kissed her on the tip of her nose and said, “Well, I guess stuff was working in my favor today.”
“It’s not your thing, either,” she said, a little defensively. “Is it?”
“Oh, well, I don’t mind telling you I’m having a crazy couple of weeks,” he said. “Stuff galore.”
“What kind of stuff?” When he looked at her narrowly, she added, “Well, you don’t have to tell me. I know—”
“No, it’s okay,” he said, and his face settled into a dreamy expression. “Love stuff. Falling-in-love-with-someone-who’s-a-little-troubled stuff. Trying to solve all their problems when all you want to do is make them stay with you—that stuff. Wonderful, and enough to drive you crazy.”
At this, Emily couldn’t help sighing. “Don’t I know it.” When she met his eye again, she was surprised to see him smiling at her as if he knew more than she realized.
“Well, I better get going,” he said. “I got to be on set in an hour.” As he helped her up and handed her her dress, though, his face continued to wear its bemused, knowing expression. And when he kissed her good-bye, he said, “Listen. Your stuff—a little bird told me it’s going to be all right.”