by P. J. Fox
“He’s underplaying the situation, as usual.”
Belle didn’t doubt that Ash was right. Piers struck her as the kind of man who might be awarded a Nobel Prize and dismiss the whole thing as an unfortunate accident. His wasn’t false modesty but the genuine desire of the truly humble to go unrecognized. She’d heard that the best members of law enforcement were like this: able to blend into virtually any setting, making themselves seem as stupid and uncouth as they wished.
“Well, he escaped. Ran off into the woods wearing only a cap. And carrying a hatchet.”
“You mean—he was naked?”
“Well the cap only fit over one head.” Piers shrugged. “I told him, later on, when we were in the interrogation that I hadn’t seen anything worth covering up.”
“And he’s—going to prison?”
“Yes. Eventually. He’s insisting on a trial, or so I hear. But after we got a warrant for his flat, we discovered a severed head in the sink. Just sitting there next to one of those old fashioned vegetable peelers.”
Belle had, she realized, begun to feel a little bit ill. She drank more wine, hoping to settle her stomach. Except that was stupid; when had wine settled anyone’s stomach?
The conversation moved on to other subjects.
Belle listened more than she talked, letting the atmosphere of the evening wash over her. The third course was served, and then the fourth, and then dessert: a strawberry and pistachio mousse cake with a strawberry gelee. This was one of her favorite desserts but she toyed with it, finding that, as the night wore on, she was increasingly unable to face the idea of food. And not because of the events that Piers had recounted.
She squirmed in her seat. It hadn’t been so bad when she was sitting on the couch, able to relax into the deep cushions, but these chairs had only the thinnest of padding. And the needlepoint-covered seats, by now, felt as unyielding as if she’d been sitting on a cement cinder block. Even the tiniest movement brought a fresh thrill of—not arousal but knowledge. And yet she had to move, or she was too uncomfortable.
The plug, more and more, felt like a cock in her bottom. Driving into it. Claiming it. And thinking about how it was there made her want a cock there. Made her simultaneously crave and dread what was fast approaching.
So far, no one had mentioned anything.
This was, except for the fact that she was half naked and perched on a sex toy, a completely normal dinner.
Coffee was served.
“Will you be staying with us long?” Ash asked.
“Through the weekend.”
It was Friday night.
“In truth,” Piers added, sipping his coffee, “I’m amazed that I could get away for that long. And I may get called back. Probably will, tomorrow. Still, I wanted to at least pretend that I was having a holiday. Better to leave and leave early, I reasoned, than to sit home staring at the telly and wishing I’d come.” He chuckled. “No pun intended.”
Belle felt another thrill of fear.
Piers, she realized, was watching her.
“You’ve had a bit to drink,” he said. There was no accusation in his statement; it was only a simple observation. “Are you well?”
She nodded. “Yes,” she said truthfully.
He relaxed in his chair. His eyes were still on hers. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but his next question surprised her. Caught her totally off guard. “What kind of men do you like?”
“I, ah….” She didn’t know how to answer.
“What do you like about Ash?” There was no pressure in to his question, only simple interest.
“I, ah…he’s tall. And broad-shouldered.” Somehow, she knew that Piers wasn’t asking about Ash’s heart. “His eyes. His lips. His confidence…how he carries himself. He’s patrician, and he’s cold, and I find that attractive in a man.” She was surprised to learn that this was so, even as she spoke the words. He frightened her, and that turned her on.
“Do you find me attractive?”
Belle swallowed. He, too, was tall and broad-shouldered. Dominant, although in a different way than Ash. Fair where Ash was dark. Effusive where Ash was reserved. He wasn’t Ash. She liked him, liked him a lot, actually. He was someone who, before, she might have dated. If he’d asked her out back in her college days. And he was the kind of boy—man—she could imagine meeting in a place like Harvard Square.
But she’d never dream of him. Even so, she had to admit that the thought of him excited her. Of him exploring her with his fingers. His tongue.
“Yes.”
The admission wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be. She glanced at Ash to gauge his reaction. His eyes were dark and he, too, was studying her. Much as a cat might study a particularly round, delectable-looking mouse. He was turned on by this. Turned on by hearing her admit to lusting after another man.
He’d explained it to her once, why some men fantasized about watching their partners screaming in ecstasy in the arms of other men. For some, the draw was simply voyeuristic: only instead of watching pornography on their computers, they had their own tableau in the privacy of their bedroom. A tableau starring what was, for them, the most desirable woman in the world. While other men were aroused by competition.
And still others grew hard contemplating the idea that their partner was merely their property, which they could loan out to others.
Belle was suddenly conscious, once again, of the fact that nearly everything was visible through the sheer mesh of her gown. Her nipples, as hard as rocks and painful, jutted proudly forth. The space between her legs was wet. She was terrified, almost as terrified as she’d been the night Ash first took her, and that only heightened her arousal.
She’d been raised to believe that anything beyond the missionary position was unacceptable. And that actually wanting anything beyond the missionary position made her a deviant. Morally reprehensible. Good girls weren’t supposed to like sex, and they certainly weren’t supposed to like the idea of sex with almost complete strangers.
She turned back to Ash in a mute appeal for help.
“I still own you,” he said.
The comment was entirely casual, as though he’d just reminded her that they owned several cars, or had an appointment on Tuesday. Strangely, though, she found his response comforting. He wasn’t insecure. He wasn’t threatened. Of course he wasn’t. He was the strongest man in the world.
“Yes,” she said.
He held out his hand.
EIGHTY-THREE
She stood in the center of the bedroom, the men on either side of her. No one spoke. The room was dim, with only a single lamp lit. But the outdoor lights, spilling in through the rain-spattered windows, seemed to add their own phosphorescence.
Both men were naked. Belle was still clothed. Ash took a step toward her, running his hand over her shoulder. Easing the thin strap down. Belle stood perfectly still, waiting. His hand moved lower, along the curve of her side. He cupped her bottom, his hand firm against the plug. She pushed back against him, sighing at the exquisite pain.
And then she felt another hand on her other shoulder, easing the other strap down, and a second pair of lips on her neck. Her own lips parted slightly. Fingers unzipped her dress and it slid over her, pooling on the floor. Ash traced a single, aristocratic finger around her erect nipple.
“You think Piers is attractive,” he said.
“Yes.” The word was little more than a whisper.
“And you want to be a little slut for him, don’t you.”
“Yes.”
Ash guided her down onto the floor. She was grateful for the soft pile of the carpet under her knees. Piers was standing right in front of her. She had no choice but to stare at his cock. Ash stood behind her, stroking her hair. Holding her head in position. Not forcing her, not rigidly, but not letting her look away either.
Did she want to say no? Did she want to run from this room screaming? She didn’t know. A strange, rebellious part of her wanted to see
what happened next.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s a glorious cock. Long, and with a good girth. I’d like to feel it stretching me open, to reach down and finger my distended lips as it takes its pleasure inside me.”
She couldn’t believe that she had just said that. She didn’t know where the words had come from; it was like someone else had spoken them.
“Good girl. Now rub your cheek against it.”
She did. The skin was velvet smooth, and smelled pleasantly of sandalwood cologne. He’d trimmed the hair that curled around the base of his shaft very short.
“Now kiss it.”
Slowly, gently, she planted her lips on the tip. And then, overcome by an impulse she didn’t understand, she ran her tongue back and forth along the underside of the shaft.
Ash chuckled, pulling her head back. Not a tug. Not enough to hurt. “Eager, aren’t we. Someone’s a little slut, after all.”
But the words were spoken with a certain degree of amusement, and they didn’t sting. In that moment, she wanted to be a slut. And so she knelt there, on the rug, wearing nothing but stockings, her legs slightly spread as she gazed with longing at the engorged member in front of her. She knew that if she touched herself she’d be slippery with desire.
“Lick his balls. Take them in your mouth. Suck on them. Coat them with your saliva.”
As she did, he stroked her hair.
“You look beautiful right now,” he said.
She blushed, her mouth open wide to accept Piers’ balls. She placed one hand on his well-muscled thigh to steady herself and with the other, she stroked him. She could still feel Ash’s fingers in her hair. Stroking her. Guiding her gently.
That he was so completely in charge made things easier. She’d been wondering, when the moment finally came, what she’d do. If things would be awkward. Confusing. But she knew exactly what to do and, moreover, that by doing it she was pleasing him. Pleasing them both. And the fact that he was turned on by seeing her mouth encasing another man’s balls turned her on even more.
She lapped and sucked and stroked. She still hadn’t been given permission to take him fully into her mouth. Although she wanted to. God, she wanted to.
The tingle between her legs had become a driving, unreasonable need.
Placing his hands to either side of her head, Ash guided her down onto his shaft.
“Fuck it with your mouth,” he said. “Make him come.”
And then he was kneeling behind her, pinching and pulling on her nipples as the cock drove deep into her throat. It was Piers holding her head now, but between him and Ash she was trapped. Immobile, a passive receptacle for his lust. She did her best to please him with her mouth, her tongue, but soon his thrusts became such that she could do nothing but simply accept him into her.
She was so close to coming, herself, but she couldn’t. She moaned in frustration, the sound barely audible.
“God, yes, you filthy whore,” Piers said, thrusting his hips forward as he held her against him. “Show me how much you need my come in your mouth.”
She tried.
He groaned, convulsing as he shot his load deep into her throat. She gagged, but that was more of a reflex action. She swallowed as best she could. He released her head and she licked up and down his shaft, lapping up the last of his seed.
Ash helped her up and then, holding her hand, led her toward the bed. He laid himself down amidst the pile of pillows, every inch the sultan. Lazily, he gestured at her. “On my chest,” he said. As she took her position straddling him, she felt the bed move as Piers climbed on bed behind her. As Ash dominated them all.
He sighed as Piers got into position and then, lowering his head, took Ash’s cock in his mouth.
Ash gazed up at Belle. “And now, my randy little minx, you need release.”
She nodded.
He lifted a hand, feeling around the distended opening of her ass. She sighed.
And then, without warning, he spanked her. She jumped.
“Play with yourself. Make yourself come, while I watch. Show me just how much of a needy, desperate slut you really are. That you need to come, no matter who’s watching.”
His words worked on her like a bolt of lightning. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she slid her hand down between her legs and parted her lips, exposing herself completely for him to see. With her other hand, she began to rub herself. Slowly, drawing out the pleasure.
And it was exquisite.
“My randy little minx with a randy little cunt.”
She imagined that it was his cock inside her as she pushed her fingers in deep and then, with her thumb, pushed her clitoral hood back and began massaging the aching, needy little bud. She thrust her hips forward, abandoning herself to sensation. She felt Ash’s hands on her hips, steading her as she rode herself.
He sighed softly, his eyes half-closed. The knowledge that another man was pleasuring him right now was almost enough to send her over the edge by itself. That Piers, who’d just dominated her so thoroughly, was completely in submission to Ash made her want to do anything to please him. She’d never been so desperate to please him, or anyone, in her life. With a sharp cry of release, she collapsed on top of him.
He found his own release moments later. How many moments Belle didn’t know; she was in an almost catatonic state, overwhelmed from the outpouring of so much pent-up pleasure. She was only vaguely aware of Ash getting up, disappearing into the bathroom, and returning a little while later with a glass of water.
Someone came to the door and Ash accepted a tray, still naked.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he pressed a grape to Belle’s lips. Automatically, she opened them. “You’ve had your rest, angel, but you’re not done pleasuring us.”
She blinked, sitting up.
“On your knees,” he said, “legs spread.” The words were less order and more invitation. “We want to see that beautiful ass.”
She did as he requested.
She felt a gentling touch on her flank and then a strange emptiness as the plug was removed.
Piers sat down on the other side of her. She was acutely conscious of his eyes on her gaping ass and dripping sex. Experimentally, he ran a finger down her slit. She shuddered, feeling a renewal of the same need. Being put on display like this, too, excited her.
“Now,” Ash said, “there’s been some discussion of how the two of us should best enjoy you. But I think that, given your earlier excitement, you’ve answered that question for us. Yes?”
Belle looked at him questioningly.
“Your hungry little pussy wants his cock.”
She blushed again. It was true.
Moving toward the head of the bed, Piers half-reclined on the pillows and beckoned to her.
She crawled over to him. And then, straddling him, she lowered herself down onto his shaft. He felt enormous but, then again, so did Ash. Having another man’s cock inside her wasn’t as strange as she’d thought, but perhaps that was because they were of a size.
“God,” Piers breathed, “how she grips me.”
She’d clamped down on him as soon as he entered her, unable to help herself. To do so had become a conditioned response, and one that brought her tremendous pleasure. She felt Ash’s fingers caressing her breast, his breath on her neck as his lips tickled her ear.
“You’re so beautiful when you surrender,” he said.
He leaned down to take her nipple between his lips. His tongue flicked back and forth over the hard, distended bud as his hand moved down to caress her equally hard, distended clitoris. She shivered. His tongue flicked harder as he suckled her, sending waves of ecstasy radiating out from that one point. Her head dropped back as her mouth opened slightly.
His mouth disappeared, but his hand remained. “You are distended around his cock.” He traced her opening, stretched wide to receive the foreign member. “Do you like that?�
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“Oh,” she breathed, “oh yes.”
“And you’d like to come with us both inside you, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, yes. Please, yes.”
Guiding her down onto Piers, so she was accessible to him, Ash entered her from behind. He felt magnificent. The feeling of being so completely full, so stimulated, was magnificent. Ash pressed his fingers to her lips and, as she had for the grape, she opened them. His fingers in her mouth, she began sucking them. He chuckled, the sound low in his throat.
The sensation was amazing. She was completely filled up, everywhere. On the verge of orgasm, everywhere. One cock was the anchor, holding her in place and forcing her to take the pleasure, while the other thrust into her from behind. She’d seen things like this before, online, or thought she had. And she’d heard them discussed as sick and twisted, something done only to objectify women, in college. But this was nothing like that. This was intimate. Incredible.
Their love nest became a writhing tumble of fingers and tongues, all three of them equal participants with each other.
Belle trembled as the first climax rocked through her; she’d long passed the point where she had control over herself, and was able to do nothing except passively accept the experience.
She lost all sense of time, and place.
And when she came for the last time, she was barely conscious.
EIGHTY-FOUR
Belle rolled over, and moaned.
She hurt all over, but it was a good hurt. The kind of hurt she used to feel after a particularly satisfying performance. One where she knew, in her heart, that she’d hit all the high notes.
Her eyes fluttered open. She was alone in the bed and strong midmorning sun streamed in through the window. She sat up, disoriented. What—what was happening?
The bathroom door opened and Ash appeared. He was in his robe, and holding a cup of coffee. He’d showered, obviously. Seeing that she was awake, he smiled.
She smiled back, if more shyly.
He poured her a cup of coffee from the pot on the table and brought it to her, sitting down on the bed next to her. Wrapping herself in a sheet, more for warmth than for modesty, she accepted the cup. Coffee, at that precise moment, sounded like the most wonderful thing on earth.