by Cara McKenna
He nodded. “I thought about that. I wondered if he’d allow it, and if he did, what you’d be like.”
“Guess it’s up to him to decide whether or not that stays a mystery,” Emily teased.
“Yeah.”
Rasul cut through the haze of flirtation. “Let him go.”
Emily dropped her hands and obediently stepped back a pace.
The tone of the scene changed for Jeremy as Rasul walked to Emily. The way the man held her jaw as he leaned in to kiss her…an act of possession like he’d never seen. He kissed with an aggression and a confidence that cooled Jeremy’s excitement and reminded who he was—a guest, but perhaps not the guest of honor. He realized then this was the first time he’d seen the couple touch, but watching their bodies and faces, mismatched as they were, there was no mistaking these two lusted for one another.
As he watched Emily being consumed by her husband, Jeremy felt put in his place. Accessory. Plaything. He didn’t mind though. These two were insanely right together and he wanted to be a part of that, nearly as much as he might selfishly want her all to himself, in some alternate reality.
After a minute of filthy kissing, Rasul pushed Emily away to arm’s length. He yanked his tee shirt up his torso and tossed it aside. Jeremy suddenly felt very small and pale and hairless. But Emily wanted him too…she’d invited him to come here, against whatever her wedding vows might dictate.
They must have been working from a well-practiced script, as Emily dropped to her knees the second Rasul’s hands went to his belt buckle. Jeremy’s cock hardened further, from both apprehension and excitement. He was being offered a show, a better one than he could ever find on the internet some lonely evening. Sounds and scents and sights, live and vivid, three-dimensional. All for him. Or at least all for Emily. His body was begging but he held back the hand dying to cup his crotch, knowing that too required permission.
Rasul kicked his jeans away, standing before his kneeling wife in black briefs tented by his erection. Reaching down, he stroked Emily’s hair and cheek, seeming to make her wait. With his other hand he touched the bulge in his underwear, fondling for half a minute before he pushed the band down and freed his cock.
A petty bit of Jeremy relaxed to see this man’s dick wasn’t as larger than life as his fearsome charisma.
Jeremy and Emily watched passively as Rasul stroked himself, a slow taunt testing Jeremy’s threadbare patience. But something shifted in Jeremy’s head as he waited, or clicked into place. He and this intimidating man were a team tonight. United in a mission to blow Emily’s mind. With that realization grounding him, Jeremy let go of any intimidation or jealousy or insecurity, quit measuring their dicks and chose to see Rasul as a partner, not a rival.
A murmured word from Emily drew Jeremy out of his head.
“Please.”
Rasul replied with a faint and patronizing, “Shhhh.”
She licked her lips and Jeremy’s cock surged, eager to volunteer if her husband continued to deny her what she wanted.
Rasul looked to Jeremy. “You may sit.”
He obeyed, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. Rasul stroked himself with a few more slow pulls, then his arm flexed, the hand on Emily’s head urging her closer. She shuffled forward on her knees, turning ever so slightly to give Jeremy a better view. Rasul pushed her hair back then gave the order.
“Taste me.”
She brought her face close, seeming to breathe him in. He held himself still as her lower lip grazed his tip. Jeremy’s cock screamed its impatience. Rasul drew his head across her lips several times then pushed inside as her mouth opened.
“Good,” he muttered. Then he issued another order, words in a harsh tongue Jeremy couldn’t translate. Clearly Emily could, however. She took her husband’s cock deeper. Jeremy studied her hollowed cheeks and fantasized how it would feel if it were him she was sucking.
Then something ten thousand times more exciting happened—her eyes flashed to his.
He moaned without even meaning to. Could she be imagining the same act as him? Wondering what he’d taste like and how he’d feel? He kneaded his thighs, aching to masturbate. Aching for an order.
Before him, the scene grew harsher. Rasul’s hand on Emily’s head seemed to transform from guiding to commanding. Another inch of his thick cock disappeared between her lips, then another. Her breaths turned strained and nasal as her mouth met his belly. His arm tensed, as though he were holding her in place, and his hips began to pump. Jeremy supplied the sounds his host was so masterfully repressing—groans and grunts of disbelief and longing. He wanted Emily’s hands on him as he pushed inside her mouth. Always such a contradiction, her misleading sweetness made him want to defile her. That was what she wanted. That’s what got her off.
“That’s good,” Rasul muttered. He released her, watching with smug approval as he slid from her flushed lips. His gaze snapped to Jeremy but he addressed his wife. “Do you want to see him now?”
She looked from man to man. “Yeah.”
“Come here,” Rasul ordered Jeremy.
He stood and stepped closer, body filling with dark, primitive aggression as he and this other man loomed above her kneeling body. The pleasure of imagining such a scenario would normally have been diminished by the thought that, in real life, no rational woman would want to be treated so like a lesser person, a servant. A victim, even.
“Let her see.”
Finally, Jeremy was allowed to touch himself. Now in the role of menacing male, he suppressed his moans as he rubbed a palm over his shrouded erection. Emily’s gaze on his hand only deepened the pounding pressure between his legs.
“Show her.”
The air of the room felt dry and cool as he pushed his shorts down. His head was already beading with pre-come, and his scent must be potent to her, heady with impatience and undermining his imitation of callous detachment. Out of necessity, Jeremy shifted his thoughts to the mundane—the color of the walls and carpet. He focused on those thoughts as he began to masturbate; if he thought of what was happening he’d lose himself in a single stroke.
Rasul directed his wife’s mouth back to his own cock, dragging Jeremy from the safety of pondering the decor. He slowed his hand but the need to come was excruciating.
“Let her hear you.”
Jeremy let them both hear everything, including how near he was to breaking his promise to climax last. His gasps were rough and desperate, breaths raspy. “Fuck. I’m too close.”
“Let go.” Rasul’s order was sharp and its meaning plain.
Jeremy released his cock, resigned to the screaming need pulsing up and down his body. He tugged his shorts up and over his erection, the light touch of the cotton nearly enough to wreck him.
“Sit.”
Jeremy went back to the bed, trying hard to focus only on his breathing. All was silent. Emily released Rasul from her mouth and sat patiently on her heels as both men recuperated. After two minutes or more, Rasul broke the peace.
“Let’s show him what you like.”
Chapter Seven
Emily was burning alive inside her skin.
This evening was more than she’d expected it would be, and more than she’d even hoped for. Standing before her, her controlled and controlling husband, arousal given away only by his hard cock. To her side, Jeremy—more worked up than she’d known a man could get. Just about suffering, and from her. The high was intoxicating and it had everything to do with power, but she hid that feeling, always the way with Rasul. One was in charge, the other their slave, and as usual, their true roles didn’t match appearances.
“Get up,” he ordered.
She stood and was immediately drawn into his kisses. His mouth was always bossy, but tonight its aggression had a new edge, unmistakable. New eyes were on them, and on the stiff dick pressed to her soft belly, surely. Well, they’d show their guest that, and much more.
Rasul pulled away and slapped her hip. “Let him undress you.”
She feared Jeremy might explode if she did as Rasul commanded, but she took the order nonetheless. She walked over and stood before him, leaving him room to stand. As he got to his feet, his tallness felt new again, as did his lighter skin, smooth chest, blue eyes. But his lack of self-possession was the biggest turn-on of all. She saw his hands shaking as he reached around her, felt his fingers trembling as he found the clasp of her bra. He got it open with only a few seconds’ fumbling. Warm palms slid to her shoulders, pushing the straps down her arms. Emily let the garment fall between them, standing motionless as he studied her bare chest.
“Wow,” he murmured.
She smiled at that. She liked her breasts…they weren’t especially big, but they were a nice shape. She liked them even more as she watched Jeremy’s lips part, corroborating his spoken awe.
She expected him to touch her, and doubtless earn an angry bark from Rasul for doing so without permission. But Jeremy was good—a natural at this role. His eyes drank their fill but his hands obediently moved on to complete their assignment. Sliding his thumbs into the straps at the sides of her bikini briefs, he eased them over her hips, their faces coming close as he bent to push them down her thighs. He straightened and they held one another’s gaze, Jeremy surely dying of curiosity over the next order, just as she was. Then her attention jumped to the mirror, to her make-believe third. Unneeded tonight. Their witness was the real deal, and she prayed he’d be allowed to do more than merely watch.
Rasul moved, walking to the vanity and pulling out its chair. He set it beside the corner of the mattress and nodded curtly. Jeremy took the directive, sitting.
“On the bed,” Rasul said to Emily. “The edge.”
She sat, keeping her legs together. Rasul corrected that swiftly. He stepped close and pushed her thighs wide with his knees. She eyed his cock, half veiled behind his underwear, but he surprised her. He dropped to his knees before the bed and clamped a strong hand beneath each of her thighs. She draped them over his shoulders, studying his stern, handsome face as his mouth came close. This was a rare moment when the two of them appeared on the outside as they truly were—spoiled wife, husband so eager to please. She stroked the very faint stubble of his shaved head, and traced his ears with her fingertips as he took in her scent. She glanced at Jeremy, mere feet away, their eyes locking a split second before Rasul’s tongue lapped her clit and she lost her mind.
“Baby.” Her eyes closed and she concentrated on those first few slippery caresses, quenching after the crazy-making teases of the past ten minutes. When she opened them again she found Jeremy’s gaze glued to her face. She stroked her husband’s head as she stared at their guest, hoping her look said what she wished she could tell him telepathically. I want this to be you, before the night’s over. She wanted many things. The cock he’d shown her, for one. His eyes, his mouth, his excitement. His voice. She replayed the sounds of his moans in her head, praying she’d hear them again as he slid inside her.
As Rasul brought the pleasure, fantasies flashed across her mind. Both men at once, perhaps Rasul taking her from behind, Jeremy in her mouth. Perhaps something more ambitious still, some ingenious order Rasul had at the ready, one she’d never have thought up herself. She let the guessing go and melted against the motions of his tongue, leaning back, luxuriating.
Rasul changed his technique. He brought one hand around her thigh and placed his palm on her mound, thumb stroking her slick clit. His mouth slipped lower, tongue delving deep.
She hummed her approval, and for a moment she imagined this nonstandard caress was Jeremy’s. In her mind, she swapped Rasul’s black eyes for blue ones, switching which man was serving her and which was watching. She longed to hear what orders her husband might issue. Maybe the practiced fingers strumming her clit would before long be tangled in Jeremy’s hair, forcing his face closer against her pussy.
The fantasy hijacked her mouth. “Want to feel what he’s like,” she muttered.
Rasul let her legs go without hesitation, as though he’d been waiting for just such a request. He bade her to stand and took a seat on the bed himself before drawing her back down to sit between his spread legs. She felt his rock-hard erection at the small of her back and glanced at Jeremy’s bulge.
“Give her what she wants,” Rasul said coldly.
Jeremy made it slowly to the carpet before Emily. She propped one thigh over Rasul’s to open herself wider. As Jeremy studied her, she reached down to touch his hair, his sideburn, his eyebrow. All so different, as different as his mouth would feel, surely.
“Please,” she murmured.
“Taste her.”
Jeremy answered both the plea and the demand with a soft press of his lips to her clit. His stubble was surely just a couple of days’ worth, but after years with Rasul and his daily straight-razor shaves, the scruff above Jeremy’s lip felt foreign and thrilling. It prickled against her sensitive skin as he tasted her folds. She fisted his hair. Rasul’s hand came around to rest atop hers, pushing it and Jeremy’s mouth closer.
“Deeper,” he ordered.
She sighed as Jeremy’s tongue slid inside her. He did indeed feel different. Unsure but eager.
Rasul’s voice in her ear was low and rough. “Tell me what you want tonight.”
“I want him. More than just his mouth.”
“He gets nothing until he’s watched me enjoy it.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“I’ll show him how it’s done. I’ll remind you how well I know you, before you let some clumsy stranger inside my territory.”
Shit, that one sent blood pounding all over her body—cheeks, lips, pussy, toes. Stranger. Territory.
“He’s not as big as me,” Rasul said. It was a new game, this rude and blatant objectification of their guest. She liked it, and she could tell from the intensifying strokes of Jeremy’s tongue that he wasn’t opposed.
“I like his cock,” Emily countered.
“He won’t fuck you as well as I can.”
“He doesn’t have to. He only has to fuck me as well as he can.”
Rasul’s hand moved to fist Jeremy’s hair. “You hear that? My wife wants you to fuck her tonight.”
A muffled sound came as Jeremy’s answer, a noise full of excitement and fear.
Rasul gave his head a small shake. “You’ll do as she wants, and you’ll do it the way I tell you to. Answer me.” He tugged Jeremy’s hair, drawing his face back an inch.
“Yes.”
“Yes what? What will you do?”
“I’ll fuck her however you tell me to.”
“Good.” Rasul released Jeremy’s hair, and their guest’s mouth returned to its duties, more hesitant than before.
Emily shivered as Rasul’s broad hands slid beneath her arms and stroked her breasts. He grazed his palms over her nipples, the pleasure pulsing between her legs flashing hot through the rest of her body, connecting her.
“Baby.”
Warm, hard flesh against her back, wet, firm tongue against her clit…sinful or not, this was what heaven ought to be. An errant thought crossed her mind, the disapproving faces of everyone who’d gotten down on her for her reputation as a teenager. If they could see me now. If her mother could—all that nonsense about kissing her sexual pleasure goodbye when she married Rasul. Then she shoved the intruders from her consciousness and focused on reality. This experience might come but once in her lifetime, and she shouldn’t lose another second to such wasteful thoughts.
“He’s good?” Rasul asked, mouth just behind her ear.
“He is. He’s different,” she added, and stroked Jeremy’s hair.
He was different. When Rasul did this to her, his mouth was controlled and precise, every caress designed to edge her toward orgasm. Jeremy was needier…thirstier. It felt as though he were getting as much pleasure from this as she was, and unlike Rasul, his pleasure was tied up in the act itself, not its power dynamics. Everything about him was softer. His hair and expressi
on and approach and voice, the motions of his tongue against her pussy. Very suddenly, she longed to reward him.
“I want to come,” she murmured, unsure what reply to expect.
Rasul kneaded her breasts gently for a few moments before he spoke. “You think he can make you come better than I can?”
“Not better. Just different.”
“He can’t have that. Not yet.”
Her body cooled only the slightest bit.
“He can’t have that unless he shares it with me,” Rasul added. One of the hands stroking her breasts slid down her belly, his first two fingers finding her clit, forcing Jeremy’s mouth lower.
Emily gave a soundless gasp, at the pleasure as well as the thought. Rasul’s free arm locked around Emily’s torso, locking her own arms in place. The sensation filled her with a familiar, scary, beautiful sensation—helplessness. Rasul rubbed her the way he was so trained at. Jeremy gave her folds deep strokes with his tongue and she could see his nose glance Rasul’s knuckles, such an odd little bit of contact for these men to share. She studied his expression, wishing she could reach down and touch his face or hair. His eyes were closed, brows pinched tight in excitement or agony or apprehension.
“You enjoyin’ yourself?” she asked him quietly. “Jeremy?”
He freed his mouth and opened his eyes. Forming a reply seemed a challenge. “Yes,” he said simply.
She smiled down at him. “Good. You feel wonderful.”
He put his mouth back to her pussy but his eyes opened every once in a while, flashing that unfamiliar blue up at her. She imagined him on top of her, their faces close, his eyes and breath and noises as his body worked to give both of them pleasure. She prayed he’d be allowed to climax inside her so she could watch his face as he came. She’d memorize whatever his expression would be, and imagine it on quiet nights when he sat across the bar from her at work. The contrast—Jeremy her acquaintance and Jeremy her lover—brought the experience to a new level. She could feel the orgasm building against his mouth and Rasul’s fingers.