by Amy Brent
“It’s not exactly rocket science,” said Altaire. “Please,” he gestured to the table. Alisha and Calvin laid their towels and robes down on it.
There was an awkward moment where they stood waiting for the brothers to leave, until Altaire said, “Oh, I see. You think we’re going to leave you—no.”
Mars picked up Calvin’s wrists. “Relax,” he intoned, as he lifted Calvin’s arms. Calvin dropped his shoulders automatically, and let Mars guide his hands over to Alisha. “Undress her,” he said.
“I’m not wearing—” Alisha began, but Altaire put his finger over her lips. “Your job is to experience this,” he said, turning her so that her back was to Calvin.
“Touch,” Mars said, and on one shoulder she felt Mars’ massive hand engulf her collarbone, while Calvin’s wispy touch settled on her other shoulder. “No,” Mars said. “Remember, she wants to please you—we’ve established that. You have to show her what you want her to feel.”
“Strength,” said Altaire, reaching around her and moving Calvin’s hand to her waist. “Feel her breathing. Let it flow into yours. Feel her, sense how strong she is—give her what you want her to be.”
“I don’t want to hurt her,” said Calvin.
“She will give you what you give her,” said Mars, as he began to squeeze her shoulder, and she could feel the strength in his hands seeking out the bones of her body. “Like this,” and she felt Calvin’s hand squeeze her shoulder, as he’d always tried to do—but it was different this time. This time the pressure didn’t come from his fingers, it came from his hand, and this time she could feel the muscles in her shoulder giving in to his touch, her body revealing its strength to him—and the gasp of surprise when she moaned softly. Mars’ hand disappeared from her shoulder. In the mirror, he’d moved behind Calvin.
“Touch,” Altaire said, now, as he came around behind her and ran the back of his hand down her spine. “This is the most direct path to her mind. So what you give here, she feels a hundred percent, here,” he said, touching the top of her head with his finger, and then he pressed his palm against her breast, over her heart. “And here.”
“What do you want me to do?” Alisha asked, as Calvin ran his hand down her spine, with a firmer touch than what Altaire had done. It awakened a tingling warmth in her spine, and she could feel his fingers working the zipper of her dress down her back.
“Just wait,” said Mars. “He needs to see you change, remember? So you just have to be, until he changes you.”
Calvin’s hand on her waist became firm, and Mars said, “Yes, that’s right,” as her body pushed against his hand, the resistance foreshadowing a taste of what was to come. She looked up and saw Mars’ hand on Calvin’s waist. There was something about that sight that turned her on.
“Now,” came Altaire’s voice. “Both hands—open her.”
She felt Calvin’s slim bony hands butterfly open on her shoulder blades, and he slid her dress of her shoulders with a single, smooth push. Altaire helped tug the dress over her hips, and the fabric puddled on the floor. “Both hands,” Altaire repeated, and Calvin’s hands slid down to her hips and worked her panties over her hips, then back up and she felt her bra come loose, before it, too, joined the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. Mirroring everything that Mars was doing to him.
She had been facing the mirror—she’d seen her naked body reflected back at her enough not to be surprised at it, but what did surprise her was Calvin’s face behind hers, and the longing in his eyes as he reached his hand around her and took her breast in his hand, using the same cupping motion that Mars had taught him on her shoulder, and for the first time she felt warmth instead of cold, she wanted more instead of less—she desired instead of tolerated.
“Not yet,” said Sol, as he came in. He’d changed into a tank top and loose pants, showing off his bulging biceps. He turned her around to face Calvin, and she felt his hand on her ass as he pushed them together, so that their bodies just touched. “You want her to anticipate, not to be gratified. This is just the beginning. Now, look into her eyes,” Sol said. “Remember what you felt when you told me about your desires. Kiss her with that feeling.”
Calvin turned her around and began to kiss her, more deeply and sensuously than she’d thought he was capable of. His lips didn’t quiver this time—they were as sure as Stella’s had been that first time, teasing her with gentle tugs, his tongue coaxing the first swell of pleasure out of the depths of her being. When he broke away the only thing she wanted for him to keep going, and as Sol and Mars eased them into the water she found herself thinking only of what was to come.
The water was warm and Sol and Altaire and Mars gathered around them. Altaire and Mars removed their suit jackets—they were wearing sleeveless shirts underneath—and reached into the water, guiding Alisha’s and Calvin’s hands to each other’s bodies. Altaire showed Calvin how to fondle her breasts so that she craved his touch, how to gently ghost his finger over her nipple to send shudders down her spine, right into her pussy. Sol traced his hand down Calvin’s chest side-by-side with her hand; when they reached his cock Sol wrapped her fingers around him, one at a time, and as he moved her hand up and down, slowly, pinching her fingers slightly tighter at the beginning and end of each stroke, Calvin’s face took on a look of pure wonder. I did this, she thought—and her stomach fluttered at the idea that she had that kind of power inside her.
Sol’s fingers were toying with the skin on the inside of her thighs as she leaned into Calvin for a kiss—and found herself kissing Altaire, instead. For a moment she was taken aback, too caught up in the pleasure of the kiss to stop, too guilty wondering what Calvin would think to continue. But then Calvin reached for her face and turned it to Altaire, and she felt Calvin kissing her breasts, his tongue making luxurious circles around her nipples, setting off fireworks inside her belly.
“Now,” whispered Sol, placing two sponges in their hands. “Bathe each other.”
Mars drew her up to her feet, and Calvin, reached up and ran the loofah over her breasts, around her belly. Something about the way the water trickled down her body made her want to move, but Sol’s hands around her hips kept her still. She ran her sponge over Calvin’s face—and Altaire ran his fingers up her legs, stopping just before he got to her pussy. She groaned and tried to move her body down—she just needed some satisfaction, some closure—
“It’s time,” Sol said. “Come.”
The bedroom was farther from the bathroom than she’d thought it would be, which gave her enough time to waver between desire and “What the fuck am I doing?” as they followed Mars’ massive figure past a half-dozen closed doors. “What’s in there?” asked Calvin.
“Things that don’t concern you,” said Sol.
Mars opened the door—the bedroom was not a nineteenth-century boudoir nor a love suite out of the seventies; she didn’t quite know what to make of the room. There was wood paneling on the bottom half of the wall and ornate, gilded wall paper in red and gold on the top half, but the rest of the space was simple. A dresser against the wall, white gauzy curtains, and the massive bed was in the middle—and there were silk scarves and blindfolds spread out on it. She balked, but Altaire and Mars were pulling her along and Calvin was too dazed by Sol’s patter about what was going to happen now to notice that she was getting dragged over to the bed, and her vision went black when the cool silk slid over her eyes.
“I’m not into kinky stuff,” she protested, but then she felt hands on her body, easing her down on the bed, and she could hear Sol’s voice saying, “Now, if you don’t mind, Calvin, take your hand—no, everybody always wants to start with the pussy, but you saw how eager she was back there, didn’t you? Yes, like that—”
She felt a mouth close around her nipple—and then another one. Calvin’s body was hot against hers—and much to her surprise she felt another naked body, firm and hard underneath her hand, writhing against her. She felt her legs coming together of their own accord, b
ut someone forced them apart and Calvin slid himself down her body, pressing warm kisses to her belly. Then he was gone, and then someone—she didn’t know who—was kissing and licking her pussy, running his tongue against her clit and his lips and tongue against the folds, while hands—tugged at her nipples until her body drenched the sheets between her legs. She cried and begged for release—
And then a cock thrust inside her, and while Mars—she could tell it was him, he was the biggest of them all—sat her up on his lap she could feel his erection hard against the small of her back. Was he really—
Whoever was thrusting inside her suddenly withdrew and suddenly she felt the rubbery tip of the cock against her mouth and she took it obediently, not the least because at that point she had to gasp as Mars shoved himself up her ass and groaned—he was huge so it hurt, and not in an entirely pleasant way, but he did it slowly enough so that whatever pain there was could be coated in a layer of pleasure, and eventually, when he was all in, she found the sense of fullness marvelous. Someone else shoved himself inside her cunt and all of the anticipation that she’d been accruing for the past two hours came to a head and as the three of them thrust inside her the waves of pleasure and ecstasy took her to entirely new heights. She suddenly understood why masturbating wasn’t everything—her body drank in everything the men had to give, greedy for the sudden rush she knew was coming, eager for it to be as big as possible.
And when it happened—when he came inside her mouth and then Mars slid out of her, and the release was total, complete. The cries that came out of her seemed to come from another world—the visions that danced in front of her eyes certainly did—and the gush of ecstasy went on and on, until finally, spent, she curled up on the bed. Someone removed the blindfold; another covered her naked body. This was the last thing she was aware of before she fell asleep.
“Are you still together?”
Two weeks later she’d gone back to see Sol and her stepbrothers, at their request. It was a family visit—they’d told her as much—but she was a little concerned when Sol showed her to the library where they’d started that epic session. “Yes,” she said, now, watching as Altaire poured her a cup of tea. “He’s learned a lot,” she added. “He makes me so, so happy.”
“We’re glad,” said Mars. He’d taken Calvin’s seat next to her, and his massive hand settled on her knee.
“All right, boys, what do you want?” Alisha asked. “Do you want to fuck me or something?”
Sol turned red. Alisha felt her eyes get big. She’d been joking—the session had been a success, and Calvin was now a much, much better lover. That was the end of it, right? “Seriously?” she asked, standing up. “I don’t fucking believe—”
“Please, hear us out,” said Altaire, now, putting a hand on her shoulder and gently pushing her back into the chair. She glared at him—it’d always been a mystery to her, how a man so slender and reedy could be so strong. “It’s not like that.”
“Then by all means, enlighten me—what’s it like?” she snapped.
Sol ran his fingers over the front of her dress, and she shivered when his touch brushed her nipple. “It’s like this,” Sol said. “We frequently find ourselves aiding single men who want to learn how to please a woman. They need, shall we say, practice. Some of them want to try out bondage, others want to try out being bound. Sometimes we have women, too, who want to command—”
“Wait, what?!”
“We need someone who’s relatively easy to bring to orgasm, a woman who’s open-minded to trying new things, and who isn’t ashamed to get naked in front of strangers—”
She flushed when she remembered that night at Blue Diamond. Hm, maybe they’ll teach me how to go down on the owner, she thought—and then at once she felt a deep and burning shame for having thought that. She was getting propositioned by her brothers—and all she wanted to was a VIP pass to the Blue Diamond? She’d always been a proponent of the idea that sex was fun and should be enjoyed, but the idea of going down on the owner of the Blue Diamond just to get a pass was too close to prostitution. “I never said I was into trying new things,” she protested. Sol looked at her: Really?
“We won’t let anybody else fuck you,” Altaire said, softly. “We’ll make sure that it’s one of us who’s going in-”
“Please, Alisha,” Sol said, brushing her other nipple with his hand. “Was it that bad the last time?”
“No,” she said. “But you’re talking about me having sex with someone else—I’m quite happy with Calvin, okay? You’ve seen to that already.”
“What if we told you that Calvin is okay with it?”
She felt her jaw drop open with surprise. “That doesn’t sound like Calvin at all,” she said. But then again, he had let three strangers touch her, and two of the cocks that had been inside her weren’t his. Sol was looking smugly, infuriatingly, amused again.
“As long as it’s one of us,” Mars said, sliding her dress up her leg. “You’ve got nothing on underneath,” he said, surprised.
“It’s laundry day,” Alisha muttered, turning red. Between that, and everything that Calvin had been doing to make her go wet and wild, she didn’t have anything clean that day. But it didn’t matter, so she’d told herself.
“Alisha,” Sol said, “just try this one thing, okay?”
“One thing,” she repeated.
Sol nodded. Altaire helped her to her feet, and said, “Feet shoulder-width apart, please.”
Sol pulled out a slender stick, with a little piece of stiff leather on the end. “What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s called a riding crop,” Sol said, slapping his own knee with the little patch of stiff leather. “In sex, it’s used to hit certain body parts, to elicit a certain reaction. Some of our clients find this pleasurable to watch—”
“—and some of them find it fun to do,” said Mars.
Sol dragged the crop over her breasts—and then he raised it suddenly and she flinched, bracing herself for the sting. She could imagine it falling on her nipple, the crisp smack as it hit her, the little shot of pain that would go through her. But the blow never fell—and much to her surprise the thought of getting hit made her wet.
So stepped up close to her and reached up her skirt, sliding two fingers into her cunt. “See, if you weren’t into this, you wouldn’t be wet,” he said, softly. “If the thought of you being taught how to take a fist didn’t excite you in the least you would have left at the beginning of this meeting, no matter what I’d asked. If the thought of getting your pussy hit with this stick really left you cold, you’d have closed your legs by now.”
Alisha didn’t know what to say. She didn’t quite know if what Sol was saying was really true, but it felt that way. “And yes,” Sol continued, “there’s the fact that you’re beautiful and we’d like to keep fucking you if we can.”
“We’re prepared to offer you forty percent,” said Mars.
“Forty percent?” she repeated. She was aware she sounded like an idiot.
“Of our profits, from the sessions that include you,” said Altaire. “You are, after all, the one who’s going to be putting up with men who couldn’t find a clit if you tattooed a little sign to it, saying, “I’m the clit!’”
“That doesn’t sound reassuring,” she said.
“But just think,” Altaire said. “You remember how unhappy you were with Calvin just two weeks ago? Just imagine being able to help other women like you—and help them feel what you do and love their men the way you love Calvin.”
Altaire always knew how to appeal to the best in her—but he did have a point: between the three of them they’d saved her relationship with Calvin. She could feel herself wavering. “Doesn’t every woman deserve a shot at happiness?” asked Sol.
“All right,” she agreed. “But first, do me a favor.”
“What’s that?
“Smack my pussy with that,” she said. “I want to know how it feels.”
THE END
My Christmas Gift
Chapter One
Monsters, giant cats and vampires spin around me as I rush from table to table during the last hour of my day shift at Kennedy’s, the newest and therefore busiest restaurant in an already fast paced city.
I bump into an evil fairy and groan. I’ve already had to wipe fake blood off of my white apron before it stained, and still I look like I had an accident with a kitchen knife.
“Don’t bother.” Charlie, bartender and my favorite coworker, says as I reach for a napkin on the bar counter. “It’s Halloween, a bit of fake blood isn’t going to hurt.”
“A bit of fake blood is going to stain.” I argue and thank him as he dips the end of a napkin in a glass of water. “And you know David would take a new apron out of my paycheck. Cheap ass.” I mutter and finish wiping it off. Charlie fixes his long dark ponytail and shakes his head.
I continue my rounds like a robot, laughing politely when appropriate and focusing only on my assigned tables. It’s one of those lucky nights where my shift ends before any of my tables are finished eating, and I’ll be able to pass them over to my best friend and least favorite coworker Camila when she clocks in.
“Remy, no costume?” Scott Picton, my regular, comments when I get him and his friends their beer. “You could throw those curves in anything and make some extra money on the side.” Scott runs a hand across his much too small chin and raises an eyebrow.
“You’re disgusting.” I look him in the eye and gesture at the table full of guys in tattered clothing and cheap makeup. “And zombies are overrated, sweetie.”
They take their turn ordering, throwing a few casual remarks about Scott’s disastrous flirting.
“Number eight, no mustard.” Scott says and asks me what I’m doing after my shift.
“Nothing with you.” I respond sweetly. His friends make a commotion as I take their menus.