Exhibition

by Danielle Zeta

  Oliver cupped the other breast and lifted it to his mouth. His dark red tongue lapped the erect tip with long, confident strokes. She felt her knees buckle.

  “So lovely,” Oliver said. His breath was warm on her wet nipples; she lost her balance. His powerful arm came up behind her waist, steadying her. “You need something to hold on to, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  She snaked her hands up his chest, feeling his broad strength under the dress shirt, glad he was supporting her weight because her own muscles were melting like butter.

  “You have beautiful tits,” Oliver said, “but I’ve always been more of an ass man. Let’s turn you around so we both get what we need.”

  His rough words made her blush. She liked it, she realized as he rotated her in his arms so she was facing the workmen.

  She braced her hands on the railing and bent forward until her head was level with the men’s blank faces. She was so close she could see gold flecks in the blue eyes of the young blond one, and a two-inch scar on the chin on his older, rougher-looking companion.

  It was crazy they didn’t realize they practically had a naked woman in their laps.

  Not naked yet, the voice said.

  Oliver took hold of her hips from behind and pressed himself against her. She still wore the skirt, but the material was thin and loose, and she could feel the hard, probing length of his arousal grinding into her. Instinctively she widened her stance and shifted her hips higher to meet him.

  “Oh, baby,” Oliver said, sliding his hand over her bottom—her ass—in firm circles. Then he grabbed a handful of her flesh through the fabric and squeezed, kneaded, stroked, and patted. She bent forward a little more, a groan escaping from her throat. Then the fabric of her skirt was being pulled up and hitched over her hips. She felt cold air on the backs of her thighs, then her bottom, and finally—

  He yanked her panties down her legs. The damp cotton caught on her calves, binding her legs together; she lifted one foot and kicked them off.

  She was entirely exposed now. She felt the folds of her sex open, knowing he could see everything.

  Her heart pounded against her ribs as she waited for him to penetrate her like she’d see in dirty movies. All that pornography she’d discovered on the computers since she’d left home had scared her a little.

  A lot.

  Most of her fantasies weren’t about being impaled like that. Just imagining a man (or, God help her, more than one man) looking at her that way, taking off her clothes—that was enough to compel her to slide her hand between her legs and rub herself until she’d completely shamed herself.

  Of course a girl like her had had to leave home before her capacity for sin was discovered. Better to flee into exile than be locked up at home, forever without a man, with her parents. Better to discover pleasure where it was allowed.

  If she was going to go to hell anyway, she might as well enjoy herself.

  I knew I’d chosen well, the voice said, sounding amused.

  I’m afraid, she admitted to him. It was almost like talking to God.

  Don’t worry, I’m not Him, the voice replied. Nor am I the other guy.

  Oliver’s hand slid down between her legs and cupped her. She sucked in a breath, shocked by the feel of his finger pushing between the folds. That’s not what I’m afraid of!

  What then?

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Does it hurt?

  His laughter rumbled through her mind, then stopped. Well, you know, it just might, the voice said. Take a look.

  She opened her eyes, gazing up at the oblivious workmen’s faces and, after getting no reassurance there, finally finding the courage to turn her head and look behind her.

  She’d felt Oliver’s penis—his cock, they said in the videos—but now she saw it jutting hard and enormous out of his charcoal trousers and aiming for the wet, vulnerable place between her legs.

  “You’re too big,” she gasped.

  Oliver smiled with pleasure and stroked himself. His thumb rolled over the tip of his cock while his eyes closed halfway. “I’ll break you in slowly, don’t worry.”

  “I don’t want to break,” she said, sending him a pleading look.

  Smiling tenderly, his hand slid up and down her spine in a gentle caress. “Yes you do,” he said softly. “It’s exactly what you want.”

  Desire pooled in her belly. She felt a tightening, an urgency.

  “Spread your legs, darling,” Oliver said.

  An emptiness.

  She turned away from him and offered herself again, hips high.

  “My dream girl,” Oliver said roughly, grabbing her hips.

  * * *

  Marcus felt a moment of uncharacteristic jealousy as the handsome businessman prepared to penetrate a very willing, very ready Ashley. Marcus had never planned to take her himself, but—well, it was tempting, very tempting.

  Which was, of course, insane. Wasn’t he himself the product of such a foolish misstep?

  He’d have to amuse himself in other ways.

  He slipped between Ashley and the railing and sank to his knees, pushing the skirt aside to settle his face between her legs. At the same time, he let his awareness drift into her mind so he could enjoy her responses fully.

  Fear. She was afraid.

  But that was only on the surface, as he’d hoped. At her core she was brimming with impatient, ravenous desire.

  Well, Oliver was a well-hung chap, but he was too caught up in his own fantasy to think about giving Ashley anything more than the gift of his long, thick cock.

  There wasn’t much room for him down at her feet, but Marcus wasn’t an ordinary man; he moved his head to fit between her trembling thighs and separated the wet folds of her pussy with his fingers.

  “Oh,” Ashley whispered. And then, silently: Is that you?

  Hold on, he told her. Just as Marcus licked her engorged clitoris, Oliver’s cock thrust into her in a hard, powerful stroke.

  With a high-pitched cry, Ashley arched her back and fell into Marcus’s patient embrace. He wrapped his fingers around her soft thighs and supported her while Oliver drew back and pounded into her again, sweat and ecstasy breaking out on his face.

  Marcus could feel Ashley’s alarm at the feel of the large object breaking her open, her panic and resistance, the initial wave of pain that shattered into sweet, sultry pleasure.

  She was being filled like she’d never been before; stretched open; pulled apart. Marcus let her emotions wash over him as he moved in for another kiss. He lapped at her tender flesh, tasted her, inhaled the smell of her, reveling in the effects of the added stimulation to her wild mood.

  “Oh, God!” she cried out, hanging by her hands onto the railing as she took Oliver harder and deeper from the rear, spreading her legs wider for Marcus to lick her from the front.

  If Oliver hadn’t been holding her around the waist and Marcus around her legs, she certainly would’ve fallen to the floor of the train.

  Or perhaps into the lap of the young men who were, with Marcus’s permission, becoming vaguely aware of the scene unfolding mere inches in front of them. The blond one was licking his lips; his friend was growing uncomfortable with the tightness in his jeans. Neither suspected that the sudden fantasy unfolding in their minds was actually happening, that if they sat up and reached forward they could caress a lonely young woman’s large breasts; kiss her erect, pink nipples; take turns pushing their hardening dicks into her parted, panting mouth while she was being fucked from behind.

  Was she ready for that much fun? Marcus wondered.

  CHAPTER 6

  ASHLEY’S FEAR WAS forgotten. All she could feel was pleasure—or pain that felt good. She took it on and begged for more.

  Oliver was pounding her apart, the invisible being was licking her open, but what could she do but whimper and hang on? It felt so good to do nothing, but she’d imagined more, all these years. Not just taking, but giving. Doing.

  Which would you prefer? the voice asked. Th
e fair one or his swarthy companion?

  She didn’t need him to explain what he meant. The workmen didn’t look bored anymore. Shifting in their seats, with sweat breaking out on their brows, their eyes, slightly unfocused, were now trained on Ashley. They were like men caught up in an erotic dream.

  She let her gaze drop down to the blond man’s lap, where a bulge was growing. He arched his back, licking his lips, but seemed too sleepy to do anything about his own discomfort.

  That one, she said.

  Go ahead, the voice replied. He won’t mind.

  Just then Oliver pushed into her even harder than before. She gasped, almost cried out. She heard the wet, erotic sounds of his cock inside her and forgot about the workmen for a moment. A tightness was growing low inside her she recognized from her own private experiments, but this feeling was deeper, less predictable. She didn’t know how much time she had before she broke but she wanted everything when it happened.

  She bent over the cold metal divider between her and the men, bracing her weight on the blond’s thighs while Oliver thrust into her from behind. This one needed her; she could see that. What would it be like to just unzip his pants and take out his cock? This stranger who didn’t even know he was awake, that she was real?

  Her fingers caressed the contours of his muscular thighs. He had a beautiful body, very male, strong. Hands shaking, body rocking with the force of Oliver’s weight, Ashley found the button on the man’s pants, forced it open, unzipped his fly. His head rolled backward, his tongue licking his lips as he lifted his hips to give her better access.

  His cock was hard under the zipper. She rubbed it with her thumb over the fabric of his underwear, marveling at its size, how thick and hot it was, imagining it was the cock filling her right now.

  It could be. While the blond man let out a groan, she freed his cock and, squeezing it as hard as she could, drew it into her mouth.

  Ah, he was big, getting bigger. Now she was filled. Velvety, salty skin under her tongue, between her lips, pressing the back of her throat.

  The coil inside her tightened; she squeezed down on Oliver with her pussy and sucked harder on the cock in her mouth, willing her body up and over the mountain of pleasure.

  Impossibly—it was all impossible!—the invisible tongue was licking her everywhere as well, between her legs, the backs of her knees, her throat, her ears, her navel, her toes. She was a flame, burning bright with need and passion and power.

  Finally, oh, finally. She wanted to share that pleasure with these men, even the impossible one, and when Oliver’s pace quickened with an urgency that suggested he was losing control, she pumped and sucked harder on the cock in her mouth. And just as Oliver pumped into her with one final, shaking thrust, her mouth filled with salty, hot cum and her vision went white with her own blinding, shattering climax.

  You’re so beautiful, the voice cooed. She felt hands everywhere, gentle and strong, supporting her limp body. Her eyes were closed, her mind still reeling. Waves of sweet pleasure lapped over her; she feared opening her eyes, ending the dream.

  What a wonderful surprise you are, Ashley, the voice continued. You’ve made more than one soul very happy today.

  I’m pretty happy myself, she told him after a minute, when her thoughts had cleared.

  She didn’t open her eyes. He—they?—were holding her upright, smoothing her hair, pulling her skirt down, replacing her panties and bra and sweater while the train rumbled on.

  God only knew where she was now. She’d have to open her eyes and see where the train had taken her, figure out how to get home.

  But she didn’t want the dream to be over, not yet. For the first time in her life, she felt good, really good. Relaxed, powerful, mature, female.

  It’s not a dream, the voice said in her ear.

  She tilted her head, inviting the invisible being to kiss her neck. He obliged and she felt the stirrings of desire flare again.

  If she wanted to seize this pleasure for herself again, she’d have to take charge and make it happen, not wait for some fantasy demon to force it on her.

  I didn’t force anything, he said, sounding indignant.

  Smiling, she opened her eyes. She looked at the blond man first, knowing she’d made him feel good but gratified to see how much by the dazed, slack-jawed expression on his face.

  Then she turned to find Oliver. He’d collapsed into a seat by the doors, his shirt unbuttoned, his pants still gaping open, and he stared at her with a mixture of awe and confusion.

  I know exactly how you feel, she thought. But he couldn’t hear her the way the other one could, and he didn’t look as if he really saw her anymore.

  The train squealed into the next station. She bent down to look out the window at the sign on the platform, wondering if she’d know how to find her way home, then shook her head in amazement to see it was her usual stop.

  She glanced at Oliver, then the blond workman. Should she say something? Would either of them want to see her again?

  The doors slid open. With sudden clarity, she took a deep breath and walked out onto the platform, never looking back.

  She didn’t need them. If she saw them again, maybe they could have some fun, but right now she was tired and wanted to take a bath.

  Laughing at her own confidence, Ashley adjusted her purse on her shoulder and jogged with the rest of the mob of commuters up the stairs to the street level. What a rush! She’d never felt so free. So light. Years of heavy misery were lifted from her. It was as if she’d cast off the hair shirt her grandmother used to wear under her coarse dresses.

  Out of the corner of her eye she realized a man was staring at her, and she realized she wasn’t on that train with that mysterious anymore, that people could see her. She wished she’d asked his name—she wanted to define him, talk about him, at least to herself. The demon? No, impossible; he brought only pleasure. Happiness.

  She decided he was an angel. For the rest of her life, she’d call him the angel.

  Her angel.

  “Ashley!”

  She paused at the top of the stairs, the smile still on her lips, and turned around. Had he followed her?

  “What’s the matter with you? You walked right past me!” the man said.

  Confused, she stared at the man with light brown hair and hazel eyes. He was wearing a tight red T-shirt and fashionable jeans, but the face, she realized belatedly, was Shane’s.

  “Oh. Hello.” She glanced at her watch, hoping he didn’t expect her to act happy to see him. The idea of a long, hot bath had grown infinitely appealing. “I thought you’d gone back home.”

  “How could I? When you were here?” He put his hand on her arm, stopping her at the top of the stairs.

  She pulled her arm free and stepped out of the path of busy people heading home.

  So, here he was again, she thought, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at him.

  “What’s the matter with you? Are you ill?” he asked. “You’re flushed.”

  “What do you want, Shane?”

  His eyes widened. “What do you mean? Isn’t it obvious?” He gestured down at his body dressed in modern, mainstream clothing. “I’ve decided you were right. We can’t go back. We have to try to blend in a little bit if we’re going to survive here.” He shrugged. “At least on the surface.”

  “They wouldn’t take you back, would they?” she asked.

  His face darkened. But unlike the last time they’d been together, he made a visible effort to control his temper. “I wouldn’t be able to live there again anyway. Not now.” He moved closer. “Not without you.”

  Was he serious? The last time they’d seen each other he’d hit her. Called her a whore. She’d been devastated for months. And now he expected her to fall at his feet because she was so grateful he was willing to speak to her again?

  Anger boiled inside her.

  “Ashley?” he asked, uneasiness creeping into his eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right? You do lo
ok ill, you know.”

  “Just… overwhelmed to see you again,” she said through a false smile. Would he apologize, she wondered?

  He nodded, relaxing. “We can be together now,” he said. “I’ve decided it’s the only way.”

  “Oh, you have?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

  “I have. You can understand what a shock it was… before. When you surprised me in those clothes.” His smile was unpleasant. “I’d never seen you looking like that before. Naturally, I was overcome and lashed out.”

  Naturally. She put her hand on his chest, stroked his chest through the T-shirt until she could feel his nipples harden. “Overcome?” she asked softly.

  “Your body…” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you could look like that.”

  She finger-walked down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. “Like a whore?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Her fingers slid under the denim, felt pubic hair. “It’s okay, you can say it.” She pushed him against the wall of the subway station, his arousal growing under her attentions, and shot him a sultry glance under her eyelashes. “Say it.”

  “Ashley—” he choked out.

  She wriggled her hand down and grabbed the shaft of his erection. “Say it.”

  Lips parting, he nodded furiously. “Yes, like a whore. You looked like a whore.”

  “And you wanted me.”

  “Yes. God. I wanted you so bad I wanted to die.”

  “Like now?”

  He looked down at her and grabbed one of her breasts in his hand. “Oh, yeah. You’re so fucking hot. My little whore.”

  She dropped the smile, withdrew her hand, and kneed him in the balls. “Go to hell,” she said. While he doubled over, coughing and moaning, Ashley wiped her hand on her sweater and strode away, wanting that bath hotter and longer than ever.

  That had almost felt as good as the fucking on the train.

  She’d never been so happy in her life.

  EPILOGUE

  MARCUS WATCHED HER go, smiling to himself. Oliver and the two men were already forgetting her—a courtesy to Ashley he felt was necessary, given how often they might see her again on this same train—but he wouldn’t. He could still taste her on his tongue.