“Bastian, you’re driver called the office to let us know where you were. No one has heard from Ferry. The last anyone knows he left a bar with a woman last night.”
“I’d ask if anyone has a description of the woman but it wouldn’t matter. Ferry never goes home with the same one twice. Did anyone know the girl?”
“Not that I can discern. Shawn was with him but he wasn’t familiar with her.”
Patting him on the shoulder, I say, “Don’t worry, Aaron. He’ll be here.” I try to give him a comforting look but I don’t think I calmed his fears at all. “Why don’t you introduce me to some of your guests?”
“Ahh, yes, that would be a good idea.” In the blink of an eye, Aaron goes from frantic to poised, taking the time to introduce me to each of the guests in attendance. Every one of them received an invitation specifically for another artist, but they each seem grateful for the one-on-one attention they’re getting from both Aaron and me. My ability to be charming and charismatic stuns me. I’m normally awkward and gangly, but when I start talking about art, mine or anyone else’s, I seem to come alive these days. I’m selling Ferry’s work as much as my own. Having been intricately involved in a lot of his shoots in the last few months, I’m aware of where they were taken, the event, the mood, everything he should be doing for himself…if he were here.
Two hours later, around nine o’clock (well beyond fashionably late) Ferry strolls in the door. He’s brewing, anger ready to boil over. I see it through the window before he actually makes it inside but it’s completely clear once he steps foot in the door. He steals the show the moment he’s inside. He’s a huge man but has an even larger personality to go along with it. He’s an artist in more ways than one; his theatrical performance tonight would win him an Academy Award. When I catch a glimpse of Aaron, I see the frustration in his eyes, but there’s not a speck of it on his face. He’s affable, collected. I’d like to think Ferry will be the worst artist he deals with but I highly doubt it.
Working his way through the crowd, Ferry finds me talking to a patron whose name I can’t remember when I attempt to introduce them. Luckily, the guy interrupts me in order to introduce himself to Ferry.
After cordial conversation, I get Ferry to the side. “Where the hell were you? Do you have any idea how pissed off Aaron is?”
He waves his hand in indifference, essentially dismissing me, effectively pissing me off. “He’s fine. We’re here making him money; he doesn’t always call the shots. Don’t worry so much, Bastian.”
“It’s just disrespectful. There’s a lot of people here to see and mingle with you, and you show up two hours late?”
“I don’t answer to you, either, Bastian. You worry about you. I do just fine on my own. I’ve been doing this for years and never needed a keeper.”
I don’t bother to respond, he’s callous and doesn’t give a shit that what he does for this show reflects on me as much as himself, but I can assure you, it’s the last time I will associate with Ferry publicly. With my own frustration threatening to boil over, I excuse myself, only to be face to face with Emily.
Wow.
I thought she was beautiful without clothes, but she’s breathtaking with them. Her gown is an absolute perfect match for her skin tones and hair, deep green velvet, bead-crusted lace with cap sleeves that accentuates her long neck and lean shoulders. It hugs her curves from shoulder to waist before giving her just enough sway in the fabric to walk comfortably. Substantial sparkle adorns her neck, every carat of which I’m sure is authentic, and matching drop-earrings. Her make-up is perfect, she’s so flawlessly put together. On the arm of a man I don’t know, she kisses my cheek fondly, he extends his hand in greeting.
“Bastian, this is my husband, David.”
If I were drinking anything I would have choked. He shakes rather firmly when I take his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you this week.”
How the hell do you respond to that? Oh yeah, man, thanks for letting me fuck your wife, twice. Or how about, you’re wife’s pussy is so tight it reminded me of why I love women? Even better, your wife sucks one hell of a mean cock.
Emily laughs. “Bastian, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. David’s just playing with you, calm down. I did want to introduce you, though. He flew in tonight to see your work. We’re leaving in the morning.”
“I’m glad you could make it. Sincerely.”
“Are you going back to Shawn’s after this?” Emily looks anxious.
“Yes, but I’m not sure what time that will be. I get to do it all over again tomorrow night so I won’t be going out.”
Pulling David and myself to the side, she lowers her voice. “Would you accompany us back to the house when you’re done here?” She smiles an inviting smile that seems to beg me not to refuse her.
“Sure, if you guys want to hang around.”
Around eleven o’clock, Emily, David, and I follow the last guest out, allowing Aaron to lock the door behind us. Ferry left about fifteen minutes ago but I hung out until the bitter end. Climbing into the limo with the dashing couple, who do obviously have an incredible friendship, Emily looks to David, who nods, giving her some sort of go ahead.
She takes out a crystal decanter with clear liquid from a little fridge, and pours each of us a glass with a splash of Coke.
“To successful openings,” she toasts.
Figuring one drink will help me sleep, I raise my glass before downing the smooth liquid, not tasting a hint of liquor. Neither of them nurses theirs too tenderly, either. Emily quickly replenishes the nectar. Each time I empty the glass, she’s there to refill it. I lost count around four or five, gaining a strong buzz as we meander our way out of the city; each of them has matched my consumption.
We enter the home, gaily laughing, at what I’m not sure. I stop to bid them goodnight when Emily puts her hand on my forearm, my eyes drop to her touch before lifting to find her staring at me. “Why don’t you come downstairs for a bit, Bastian?” Her voice sounds as if I’m hearing it underwater, and I’m sure that’s because of the liquor.
Checking my watch, I notice it’s almost midnight. Realistically, I have tons of time to get a good night sleep in before the gallery tomorrow. “Sure.” They’re nice people. David’s a funny guy and Emily lights up when he’s around. Knowing their relationship, it’s clear seeing them together. They’re like me and Nate, not me and Sylvie.
David closes the door behind us, secluding us in Emily’s room. The room seemed much larger the last time I was in it but with a third person, it’s effectively shrinking, and I’m clueless where to sit or if I should stand. He loosens his bowtie, unbuttons the first few buttons on his shirt, and David gets comfortable in the chair Emily sat in the last time I visited. She hands her husband a bottle of beer from the bar apparently stashed somewhere in the room. He takes a long draw when she turns from him in order to focus her attention on me, still standing unaware of what to do with myself.
She beckons me closer with the crook of her finger, but I stand firmly planted. My eyes race from her to David and back to her. Panicked, I’m unsure of what game they’re playing. I never would have slept with her if I had known she was married. The words tangle in my mind and my mouth, unintelligible garble comes out. Damn, I know better than to drink anywhere but the security of my own home.
Each step she takes closer to me makes the beat of my heart harder, crashing against the walls of my chest. She reaches for my bowtie; pulling back, I avoid her touch. “Emily,” I stutter her name. “What are you doing?” She laughs at the horror in my voice.
“You don’t want to play again before I leave?”
She has to be fucking kidding me. Her husband is sitting in a chair five feet from me. He may be gay but he looks like a damn line backer and I don’t have the least bit of interest in fucking with anyone who could beat my ass. Who am I kidding? I’m not interested in fucking with anyone period. God didn’t
gear me that way.
Pulling me by the lapels to her, she whispers in my ear, “He’d like to watch.” My eyes get wide as saucers, round circles of hysteria.
“Wwwhhattt?” It stumbles out before I can catch it. If he’s not into women, that means he’s into men, which means he’s into me. Somewhere in my drunken state, I rationalize all he wants to do is watch me fuck his wife whom he has no interest in doing, and in less than eight hours, they will fly back across the country, never to see me again. I come to peace with a man, sitting in a corner, watching me stick my dick in his wife’s twat, because I’m fucking horny and completed inebriated. When I glance in his direction, he nods his agreement.
Seeing my acceptance, Emily begins to undress me. She’s much more showy about it than she had been the time before as she puts on a performance for David. I can’t tell if this is something she did before but I’m going to allow myself to believe it’s not. She pays close attention to every inch of my skin, as she teases, licks, and flirts. Every touch is a unique sensation. I believe that’s the alcohol taking over my senses. With her hair wrapped around my hand, I bend her head back to nibble at her neck. “What does he want to see?”
“I want you to fuck her. It should be about your pleasure, not hers.” Apparently, I asked that in a drunken whisper that he heard across the room.
She giggles. It’s a submissive role I know she’s comfortable with or I wouldn’t agree to it. She rises to her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. I make eye contact with him as she finishes her request. He raises his bottle to me. What the fuck am I doing? Everything about this situation should be sounding alarms.
Moving behind me, she effectively presents me to her husband to show the package she has so kindly unwrapped for his viewing pleasure. Her hips press firmly against my ass, one hand plays with my nuts, the other strokes my cock to attention. He scoots forward in the chair; his elbows on his knees, looking completely sober. I’m proud of what I’m sporting below: he’s solid. You can’t be as tall as I am and have a tiny penis. It just doesn’t work. I’m by no means a Greek god, but as I’ve put on weight and been running with Zane, my physique has trimmed up nicely. I’m an attractive guy now that I don’t look like I’m dying from malnutrition. The look on his face as he licks his lips tells me he agrees.
Enough of the presentation to David, my cock is hard and I’m less than interested in showing it to him. If he wants to watch me take his wife and get his rocks off that way, more power to him but I’m hard and ache to get back inside her wet center. There’s really no foreplay when it’s simply fucking which makes the transition seem a little awkward, but I have no interest in kissing her mouth. Her pussy is another story, but there won’t be any making out.
She obviously spent some more time bound to the cross on the receiving end of a whip. The marks are fresh, likely from today. She likes to have them touched, stroked to bring out the sting and highlight it, but her husband wants me to take her ass, which is difficult to do with her on her back. There’s no way I’m taking her anally without loosening her up first. I realize I’m putting way too much thought into this ordeal and decide to let what happens happen and stop overanalyzing.
Emily takes the initiative, and drags me by the hand closer to where her husband sits, to give him a better view. Indicating I should lie on my back, I do so. She climbs on me, reverse cowgirl to face her husband. My dick is in plain view sliding in and out of her pussy, my balls completely exposed with my legs open on the corner of the bed—the corner he sits in. With her waist in my hands, I begin to help her ride. The longer she rides the harder I get. Sitting up behind her, forces her forward just a bit. She grasps my knees as I rock into her, my hand slides around her waist, to tease her clit. My fingers spread to feel my dick slide in and out of her soaked pussy, realizing I’m not sporting a condom. I should be more concerned but between the euphoria of fucking a gorgeous woman and the alcohol that courses through my veins, being bare back intensifies the feeling of her muscles gripping my cock.
When David stands, I don’t think about what he’s doing, or even that he’s present; I’m too consumed with pussy. I watch as he unzips his fly, pulling his boxers down enough to present his own cock to her. I’m in awe of him. I can see his chiseled hips. He’s well groomed, and certainly well endowed. Somehow it’s turning me on watching the woman I’m fucking suck him off. It’s erotic, taboo, and so fucking hot I almost bust my load in her. I force myself to look away long enough to regain my composure. His hand is on the back of her head. He controls the speed at which she deep throats him. My pace begins to match theirs. Each time she gags I thrust harder, giving her pussy exactly what her throat’s receiving.
His voice thunders through the room. “Lie back, Bastian.” Submitting to him unconsciously, I mindlessly do as he tells me. She spins around to face me before she slides back down on my cock.
She looks me straight in the eyes and asks, “Wanna try something new?”
“This is all pretty new to me already,” I slur. “But hell, why not. I’m game.”
In the blink of an eye, David stands with his cock in my face, his hard, perfect fucking cock. She whispers to me, “Taste him, Bastian.”
I scrunch my face up in rejection when her hand surrounds him, teasing his head against my lips, the precum glistening on the tip. I open, and allow her to feed me her husband’s dick, indulging in the salty treat. I almost choke on his enormity as he slides in, taking my hair in his fist. She leans back to continue her ride. Before I know it, my eyes close, and I stroke his cock as if it’s my own, with mine in his wife’s pussy. When his body starts to tense, he pulls away, and my eyes open to see what I’d done wrong. I watch him move to the end of the bed, my view of him clearing as Emily flattens herself against my chest still pumping my cock in her.
When he stands between my legs, instinctively, I stop fucking her, waiting for him to make his move and hope it’s not a sucker punch to my dick. I feel her legs spread, and he slides in her ass. The sensation of feeling another man’s cock in her ass is odd. The membrane separating the two of us as thin as paper. His dick is essentially rubbing against my own. The space is ungodly tight. I wonder how, between the two of us, our girth isn’t tearing her apart. But she’s in fucking heaven.
We move in tandem, she screams in ecstasy, and begs us to keep going…barely able to speak. She’s gasping as her husband takes her ass and I her pussy, panting for more. I lose focus on her pleasure, fixating solely on my own, loving the feel of his cock against mine. It’s like getting a hand job while fucking. The ridge of his head massages my cock from within.
There’s such an intense gratification when my eyes meet his. We’re both oblivious to her even between us in some grotesque morphed way. I watch him as he fucks her and concurrently takes my virginity in a completely different way. I’m unable to curb my explosion any longer. My impending detonation is almost painful. I grab her ass, and sink my nails deep into her skin to draw her forcefully to me. My back arches as my body spasms. I feel him come with me, the change in temperature definite. His sperm and mine mixed in different parts of her body creates an undeniable heat.
My body finally stills, my penis remains inside her. My eyes have never left his, nor his mine. He pulls away from her following my gaze as he walks to the bathroom, finally breaking contact when he closes the door.
She climbs off me and says, “That was seriously profound.” This irritating valley-girl replaces the classy, seemingly well-educated woman I spent a few hours with a couple nights ago.
Encouraging her the rest of the way off me, I’m finally free of her confines. Suddenly sober, I collect my clothes and pull on my pants as I escape the room. I’m fleeing her, and whatever the hell it is I just did with her husband. Holy shit. I sucked another man’s dick. The sheer joy I felt doing so mortifying. With the size of his cock, stretching my mouth and the taste of his juice on the back of my throat. I loved having him in my mouth while I simultaneously hated him for the
experience. I don’t even know what to call the double penetration action. I completely forgot she was even in the room as if I were fucking her husband. The thought quickly crosses my mind: I wanted to fuck her husband. I wanted to feel him against my cock. For a brief moment, I had wished her not to be involved. If he had tried to take me, I might have let him. In the moment, it felt good, incredibly fucking good. Now…now I want to throw up and scour my skin with a Brillo pad. Holy fuck, what have I done?
“Bastian!” she calls after me, the confusion obvious in her voice. “Bastian, come back!”
I don’t stop.
I don’t look back.
By the time I’m down the hall, I break into a full-on run. Finally behind the closed door of my room, I secure the lock, my back against the door, I sink to the floor, horrified by what I’ve just done. I can smell her all around me. Closing my lids, I see him staring at me, fucking me with his eyes. She wasn’t present for him, either. I begin murmuring to myself, “No, no, no,” over and over as though if I tell myself it didn’t happen enough it will make it reality. Running to the bathroom, I purge the contents of my stomach.
I strip the rest of my tux off, and vow to burn it when I get home. The thought of wearing the damn thing tomorrow makes me ill. I take the hottest shower I can stand. Surely burning off the top layer of skin and scrubbing with the washcloth my host provided will make the filth disappear, but it doesn’t. Resigning myself to living with this for the evening, I towel off to climb in bed. My phone. Fuck, my phone has been sitting here for hours. Seven missed calls from Nate and countless text messages.
30
Every message is the same. His voice panicked as he begs me to call him. The last one says, “Damn, Bastian. It’s fucking midnight. Where the hell are you? Call me back.”
The last call came in almost three hours ago.
“Where in the actual fuck have you been, Bastian?”
“Hey to you, too, Nate.”
“Seriously, asshole, where have you been?”
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