ENTROPY
I performed the ablutions, which triggered an obsessive-compulsive cleanliness jag. It involved scrubbing every part of my anatomy raw. When Sebastian pounded on the door for the third time and threatened to break it down, I hauled myself out of the bath and covered my modesty with a towel. Examining my reflection in the steam-streaked mirror, I was surprised, if disappointed, to find I did not have ‘Lamb To the Slaughter’ tattooed on my forehead.
When I emerged, Jean was diagonally draped across the bed, wearing nothing but his bracelets. He waved a joint the size of Italy in my direction.
‘Stop looking like a martyr and suck on this. No one’s going to eat you. Well, not me anyway.’
Sebastian sat propped up against a mound of pillows waiting, it appeared, for someone to peel him a grape. When I perched on the side of the bed and reached for the spliff, he grabbed me from behind, pulled me to his chest, and wrapped all four limbs around me.
‘Come here, you gorgeous slut. We’re going to fuck you six ways from Sunday.’
The hit I took off the joint was manic and greedy and reduced it by about an inch. I held the smoke in my lungs and waited for the familiar tingle at the back of my thighs informing me the drugs had hit my bloodstream. With enough THC in my body, I could probably damp down any amount of impending doom.
I suspected this wasn’t the first joint Jean had smoked while I was in the bathroom. His eyes were red-rimmed and mischievous. Weed made him act like a mad pixie. He straddled my outstretched legs. Hazy-gazed, he drifted the tips of his fingers across my lips and licked his own.
I wet mine in response. Mostly because the dope was doing its job and my mouth had gone bone dry. But perhaps not. I trapped Jean’s index finger between my teeth and sucked at its tip. His pupils dilated and the edge of his mouth crooked a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. Something hungrier.
Sebastian stirred. His hand trailed along Jean’s kneeling thighs and then down onto mine. The hard line of a growing erection pressed against the small of my back. I knew where I wanted that hand, but I couldn’t spread my legs with Jean sitting on them. And I knew what I wanted in my mouth, but I couldn’t bend forward with Sebastian’s arm around my waist. So instead, I took Jean by the wrist and pulled another finger into my mouth and sucked with as much finesse as I could manage.
He held it there, like a bride waiting to have a ring slipped onto her finger. When I broke eye contact and looked down, it resolved any question of gender. His pale cock, tipped a rosy pink, stood straight up between his splayed thighs. I let go of his fingers with a wet popping sound.
‘You know what I want,’ I whispered.
Jean bit his lip and inhaled. His mouth resolved into a seductive half-smile and he leaned back, taking his weight on his hands.
I grinned back at him. ‘I won’t gag. I promise.’
‘I don’t care if you do.’
Squirming out of Sebastian’s embrace, I bent forward and tried to remember everything I learned during the evening of the dripping chocolate. Holding him still with one hand, I trailed my pointed tongue all the way from the root to the tip of his cock, lingering just under the head to worry that tiny site of stretched and velvety skin, before parting my lips and covering the head. I had stored the most detailed mental film of Sebastian doing exactly this. Jean’s cock twitched, his breath hitched in his chest. In one smooth, concerted suck, I slid my mouth down around the shaft, released the suction with a smack, and then restored it to suck again as I pulled up and over the crown.
‘Good God, Shira. You’re a quick study.’
I mumbled as much of a thank-you as anyone can with a cock in her mouth. He watched me, but I lost any sense of performance. I’d taken Seb’s advice to heart: it was all about sensation. Smooth skin sheathing hard flesh and an insistent pulse that fed it all beneath. I revelled in it: the wickedness of my own tongue, the salt-sweet taste of his sweat, the glide and the push and the swell as his cockhead raked the roof of my mouth. The trap I made for him as I sucked. The tang he gave up to me with each demanding upward stroke.
It might have been that Jean was more modestly sized, or perhaps, at the back of my mind, was the thought that I could make him come this way and not have to face what I feared, but it was the first time in my life I had really enjoyed sucking cock. There was a strange and wonderful sense of power in it, and it made my cunt ache.
‘Stop it,’ Jean whispered. ‘God, stop. I’m going to come.’
I fully intended to ignore him, but Sebastian slid his arms around me from behind and pulled me upright. ‘Bad girl,’ he said, and kissed my cheek.
‘I learned from the best.’
‘Could we lose the towel?’
He tugged at it, but something made me clutch it back. The something, if I had to be honest, was a fear that showing all my girly bits might spoil the moment. I pulled my legs out from under a panting, slightly stunned Jean and turned to Sebastian.
‘Maybe it would be better if I didn’t.’
‘Not for me.’ He prised the fold apart and dragged the towel away, tossing it onto the floor. ‘Kiss me. I want to taste him in your mouth.’
How could I not? I pressed my open mouth to his and felt the seal of his lips and the dipping stroke of his tongue against mine. Even as he kissed me, he was shifting me onto his lap, moving my legs so I straddled him. I knew what he was doing and I didn’t stop him. Not when he slid the flat of his hand against my cunt, slicking it with my juices, pushing his fingers inside me. Not when he guided my hand to his cock and wrapped it around him, so I could feel it throb under my fingertips. Not when he broke the kiss, gazed over my shoulder and nodded at Jean.
The puddle of lube was cold. The moment Jean’s fingers spread it between my ass cheeks, I seized rigid.
‘Don’t freak out. You know what comes next. It’s all good. You’ll like it.’
An arm snaked around my neck and Jean pressed a kiss to my cheek. ‘You will like it. I promise.’
But I had no words. Because their fingers were inside me, prising me open. The sense of invasion was so acute, my thighs were trembling. It felt like I was being pushed back and forth from inside, like my body wasn’t mine any more. I was a puppet on other people’s fingers. The whimper that snaked out of my mouth sounded alien, not mine either.
‘Breathe, Shira,’ whispered Jean. ‘Relax and push down on me.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, of course you can. Believe me, you’ll be surprised.’
Jean was right, of course. When I finally did as he said, the pressure of his fingers didn’t feel nearly as intense.
‘See?’ asked Sebastian. ‘Not bad at all, is it?’
‘No,’ I squeaked.
‘Then you can stop gripping my cock quite so tight, can’t you?’
‘Oh. Sorry.’
‘I’ll live,’ he smirked. ‘Now, we’re all going to move just a little. Okay?’
Before I could respond, he’d pulled his fingers out of my pussy and shimmied down the bed until he was almost flat on his back with me perched above him on his closed thighs. I glanced over my shoulder. Jean sat on his heels, sliding a condom onto his cock.
That’s when it struck me that this was really going to happen. As horny as I was, and as much as I adored these men, I was still scared. No one had ever died from buggery, I reminded myself.
‘I’m glad it’s you,’ I said to Jean. ‘I’m glad it’s not some idiot I took home from a club.’
Jean shot me a wicked smile. ‘I’m glad it’s me, too.’
When I turned back to Sebastian, he was sheathing his own cock.
‘No . . . No way!’
He laughed and reached up, snaking his fingers over the nape of my neck and into my hair. ‘Come here,’ he growled, dragging me down to meet his lips. ‘Just in case. I don’t want to try and find one later.’
But I knew, as I began to kiss him, as he hooked his hands under my thighs and pulled me tight against his hips
, as he arched them and ground against me, I knew.
Jean had overdone it with the lube. It was everywhere, halfway down my legs. Each time Sebastian rolled his hips, his cock slid between the splayed lips of my cunt and over my clit. It was unbearably good. So good that when I felt Jean behind me, settling into place and nestling the head of his cock against my ass, I hardly flinched.
Jean stroked my hip with one hand. ‘Just like before, Shirakins,’ he murmured. ‘Relax. Let me fuck you.’
The tip of his cock pressed a moment, a dull pain before it sort of popped past my exterior muscles. A harsh sob got away from me before I’d noticed it emerge. Then I was shaking, clawing at Sebastian’s shoulders, staring into his eyes. Three disembodied hands were stroking my back, my sides, my thighs. The even penetration never stopped. Sebastian rolled his hips again, raising me up, pushing me onto Jean, forcing him deeper into me, until I could feel the heat of his hips against my buttocks, and the curve of his body over my lower back.
‘My God,’ I hissed.
Jean raked his fingers through my hair and tugged at it gently. ‘My God good?’
‘Yes. Yes. Good.’
Then he began to fuck me. I had never felt anything like this. I was so small, so pinned, so at someone else’s mercy. I could not have stirred if I had wanted to. Jean’s thrusts were slow, and incremental, deeper by degrees. A deep dark ache sang between my legs, not painful, just delicious and overwhelming. My cunt spasmed as he moved, my muscles echoed the contractions with enough force to make Jean gasp and lean his head between my shoulder blades. His breath was hot and moist on my skin.
Only after several strokes did I realize I had been staring blindly into Sebastian’s eyes.
He smiled, as if knowing I’d regained my sight. ‘Good?’
I panted, nodded.
‘Do you want me?’
‘Y-yes. Yes!’
‘In you?’
‘Yes.’ It was a whine, a God-awful bottomless greed. ‘Fuck, yes.’
‘Good.’
He worked his hand between us. I did my best to raise my hips, using my thighs to give him space to angle his cock properly. When the thrust came, I pressed my face to his neck and screamed. Jean gasped, caught in the wave of my contractions. He hilted himself in my ass.
That’s all it took. One pair of thrusts and I was coming. It felt like a fucking apocalypse. I’d lost myself. Nothing but nerves and muscles and pleasure so intense I would surely lose my goddamned mind.
They ground me down to pulp between them. And I knew, in some small corner of my brain, that part of what they were feeling was the unity of their penetration. Their cocks almost meeting across the thin membrane of my sex: the thing I was to Sebastian and the thing I was to Jean. They came together across me, to meet, to fuck, and to make me the flesh stage upon which it was played out. I don’t remember who came, or when. I’d lost my capacity to chronicle the event. All I know is that, when it was over, when we rolled apart, I had been unmade.
The foetal position I curled into disturbed them, I could tell. But it was the only way I felt I could lie still, with my knees tucked up and my hands tucked between. They lay on either side of me stroking and whispering. Attempting, I think, to find comfort or absolution, perhaps.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look fine, honey.’ Jean cupped my face, nuzzled my cheek with his lips.
‘I’m good. Just – I don’t know – empty.’
‘What do you mean “empty”,’ Sebastian asked.
I forced a smile and mutely shook my head. There was a great aching emptiness inside me. The whole lower half of my body thrummed and twitched, as if their ghosts were still fucking me. But it was more than physical. The thing I’d become between them was someone I didn’t know. All mindless meat and rapture and blind, senseless need. And over me, they had become both more, and less, than the men I loved.
Would I do this with other men? Would I care who they were, as long as they gave me the pleasure I craved? Knowing what I knew now, how could I ever unknow it? Everything else would forever be an insipid shadow of this. That terrified me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:
OFF THE RAILS
Thursday was a no-work day. That was one of the perks at Sweetwater Sound. All the employees were, in one way or another, involved in music and had a deep appreciation of the need to muster a calm headspace before a performance. Still, sleep eluded me. My brain was being torturous.
I lay in bed for a while, listening to Jean’s strange little noises of protest. He didn’t exactly talk in his sleep, but I could tell he was dreaming about something problematic. Sebastian was doing his usual impression of a thoroughly dead body. So, when I could see a sliver of indigo through the gap in the curtains, I got up, showered, went downstairs and made waffles as a peace offering. I figured I owed them something for being so uncommunicative the night before. Also, I’d noticed that Sebastian had an electric waffle iron and it was one of the few breakfast foods I could be relied upon to produce without burning something.
Perhaps fourteen waffles was overkill. But all the batter beating, the iron oiling and the watching for bubbles and brown edges was exactly the sort of distraction I needed. I chopped fruit, whipped cream and made coffee, twice. I was squeezing oranges like they were war criminals when Sebastian padded into the kitchen. I think he was attempting to be stealthy, but it didn’t pan out.
‘Hiya,’ I said, sending half an orange to its pulpy doom.
He stepped behind me and cupped my breasts beneath my t-shirt, which, I’m sad to say, made the oranges look massive. ‘You’ve been a busy bee. Leave that. Come back to bed.’
‘I can’t. I’m sore.’
Propping his chin on the top of my head, he said: ‘Are you really? Did we hurt you?’ He didn’t ask with exaggerated concern, but I knew, from the tone, he was serious.
‘No,’ I said softly, ‘Not really. I just need to be up and doing things.’
He eyed the ridiculous pile of waffles warming in the oven. ‘If I’d known you were going to make so much breakfast, we could have had an orgy. Then you really would have been sore.’
He just stood there for a while, letting me murder the oranges in silence. Then he pulled me around to face him.
‘What’s the matter? You seem cold. Sad.’
‘I’m not,’ I said to his chest.
‘Then why won’t you look at me, Shirakins? I’m starting to feel like we did something awful to you. But last night, you didn’t seem to mind it. Did you?’
I looked up at him. There was the barest hint of bristle on his chin. His hair was rumpled and he smelled like sleep. ‘I didn’t mind it at all. I loved it. It was insane. It was wonderful and overwhelming. It was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Now I have no idea how I’ll survive without it. I’m going to spend the rest of my life feeling like nothing else compares.’
Sebastian tilted his head and smirked. ‘Why do you have to survive without it?’
But the smile faded on his face when I met his eyes. ‘Everything ends, Sebastian. Everything changes.’
He inhaled deeply, pulling me against his chest. ‘I know it does. I know it. But I just don’t want to think about it right now, you know? I’m happy now. Can’t you be? Just for now?’ He moved back and stared. ‘There’s no need to speed it on its way. Is there?’
I let his words sink in. He was right. Of course he was. Why rehearse the ending? It would come. ‘No. No, there isn’t.’
‘We could have a big fight now, break up and then have make-up sex,’ called Jean, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He combed his fingers through the rat’s nest of his hair.
There was no way to get through even half the food I’d made. We sat at the counter and picked at the leftovers for what seemed like hours. Jean was funny and flirty and firmly quashed any talk that didn’t meet his standards for euphoric optimism. By eleven, Sebastian excused himself to make sure he could rent a better projector for the
show.
Jean hustled me into the big bathroom under the auspices of dying my roots and trimming my split ends. He didn’t talk about the night before and neither did I, but he was different with me: shy in the way he’d been with Sebastian when they’d first started seeing each other. He wasn’t acting like my friend any more. He was acting like my lover.
By four in the afternoon, I sat on the side of the tub, eyes half-closed as he stroked on my eyeliner.
‘Shira?’
‘Mm?’
‘Don’t leave me . . . Don’t leave us.’
I glanced up at him. He had the most heartbreaking, worried look on his face. ‘God, are you nuts? How could I leave you? You’re my best friend in the world.’
‘Not as a friend. You know what I mean.’
Hooking my thumbs into his belt loops, I pulled him to me and kissed his stomach, leaving a perfect red kiss-mark on his skin. ‘Yes. I know what you mean. And no, I’m not going anywhere, Jean. I love you. Both of you.’
‘Oh, stop with all the pathos!’ he laughed, glancing up and whisking a strategic finger beneath his mascara. ‘It makes me weepy.’
I smiled up at him. ‘Kiss me, bitch.’
‘Not until the Lipcote dries, slut!’
Bars and music venues are haunted places in the afternoon. They smell of the fun everyone has spilled the night before. The walls are always more scratched up than you thought they were. The lights are shabbier. They’re like forlorn parties waiting to happen.
The Pump had a good stage. It was just about thigh level. Too low a stage and the back of the crowd has to stand on tiptoes to see what’s happening; too high and they get a neck ache trying to watch the band. Best of all, it had a great sound system. All the speakers except for the bass bins were flown from the ceiling, which freed up much more room on the stage.
It also had a strict rule. No opening bands. That made it a pleasure to play, because you never had to worry about jostling for time at soundcheck or worry that someone might mess up your levels once you’d set them.
We ran through three songs: our loudest, our softest and the last one in the set. While we worked through the normal problems, I saw Sebastian walk in with a heavy anvil case and climb up to the mezzanine, where the lighting was controlled. He tested the projector, running a short clip of the video against the white painted brick behind us. We could have had a screen set up, but he’d insisted that the video was meant to be shown on the band and through us to the wall. It was hard to tell how it would look because the house lights were on, but I laughed as I saw the tracery of Jean’s costume skittering across my skin.
Beautiful Losers (Modern Erotic Classics) Page 20