'Don't fucking count on it,' I snapped. 'Ohhh.' God, it felt good. I was filled to the brim, pinned beneath him. I could see now that much of his stockiness was down to muscle, though there was some evidence of a love of the other sensual pleasures of life around his middle and hips. I like substantial weight on top of me, though, and he fitted me better than those gangling angular boys I so often went for. I lifted my thighs and rubbed them up and down his sides, my feet occasionally tapdancing on his bottom.
'Keep still,' he growled, and then he held me down, his hands on my shoulders, and I almost came then and there, while he pulled very slowly back out, very, very slowly, setting every single nerve ending inside me jangling.
'Oh, don't!' The words tumbled out quick and sharp. 'Don't!'
'Don't what? Don't pull out? Do you want this, Sophie?'
'Yes, please, keep going.'
He grinned. 'Beg me.'
'You fucker!'
'No, that's not begging, is it, Sophie? Beg me nicely.'
'I want your cock. Give it to me.'
'Mmm.' He savoured the words for a second, shutting his eyes raptly. 'But what's the magic word?'
'Please,' I snarled, shaking my head from side to side so he wouldn't see my expression. 'Please fuck me now, properly, hard.'
'Properly, hard,' he echoed, slamming his full length back up to the hilt. 'I can do that for you, Sophie.'
And he could. Properly, thoroughly, lengthily, widely, the pool floated away, the mingling moans and expletives of my fellow fuckers drifting on the humid air until they were far, far away from my world. My world, which consisted of my cunt, and the hammering it was taking, and the man who was responsible for the sparks and stars that streamed through my blood. And there was the difference. The man who was responsible. The cock-owner rarely figured in that heated mental world of sex; for the most part, the men in my encounters were simple conduits of sensation. I used them and they were happy to be used. But Lloyd would not put up with that. For Lloyd it was crucial that I was constantly aware of him, of the himness of him, of the cock being his, of his ownership of my orgasm.
I was going to come again, and he knew it. 'Say my name,' he rasped.
I never say a man's name when I come. I've usually forgotten it by then. But I did it for Lloyd. I don't know why I did it, but I did.
'Lloyd, Lloyd, Lloyd,' I chanted brokenly.
'Sophie,' he crooned, taking one hand from my shoulder and stroking a thumb across my brow before dropping down to kiss it. He began to pull out. I sat up, confused. Surely he hadn't . . . ? He was still as stiff as a flagpole. 'So about that orgy?' he said to me, raising an eyebrow.
God, I'd forgotten all about it. I looked around, seeing Jake loitering above us like a third wheel, hand clasped around his erection, face vaguely disappointed. The other three were still hammer-and-tongs in one configuration or another.
'Is it what you want, Sophie? Do you still want to have three cocks?'
I was unsure of myself suddenly. The one I hadn't wanted . . . the one I had hoped to avoid . . . that was the one I wanted now.
'Do you think . . . ?' I had no idea what I was saying.
'I know you'd love it, Sophie. I know you'd like to feel it. I want you to feel it too.'
'Have you . . . done this before?'
'Group sex? Yeah.' He smiled louchely, took my hand and led me to the graduated pool steps. 'Ready for it, Jake?' he asked over his shoulder.
Jake coughed and loped over to us, watching helplessly again when Lloyd took over my lips for yet more kissing. 'Come on then,' he broke off to harangue the hapless lifeguard. 'Touch her. Do something.' Back into the kiss, but this time Jake stood behind me, fingering my pussy and squeezing my nipples. The water tickled my ankles; I was beaded with steamy sweat, and both their bodies stuck to me.
'Sit on the step,' Lloyd told Jake, who did as he was told dumbly, his prick pointing at the ceiling from its damp nest. Lloyd kissed me one last time, then turned me towards Jake, put his hands on my shoulders and lowered me down until I straddled the long, lean erection. My knees plashed down into the shallows; I put my hands on Jake's tight biceps and wrapped his rubbered cock up in my sleeve. Jake sighed and threw his head back, grinding his hips into me. I began a slow ride, stroking up and down, rotating my pelvis until he had touched my walls at every angle. I kept it loose and languid, enjoying Lloyd's burning eyes on us, enjoying how very wicked he made me feel. Then Lloyd moved around behind me, and the next thing I was aware of was my rear cheeks being spread and a wetted finger probing my back passage. I breathed in sharply and contracted the muscles, but he continued to circle it, running his other hand up from my occupied slot, across my perineum to where that one stubby finger was doing its damnable work. Shivers and goosebumps took hold of me; I loved any attention to that area, especially when I was also otherwise engaged.
'How's that, Sophie?' breathed Lloyd, dabbing his fingers in the pool again before setting back to work. 'Does this feel good?'
'Mm hmm,' I confirmed, rocking on Jake while Lloyd's thick finger crossed the ring, giving me my first hint of double penetration.
'Do you like to be buggered, Sophie?' he asked, pulling and pushing the finger quite roughly, preparing the tight channel.
'Yes,' I mewed, biting my lip, blushing across my body.
'She does,' Jake seconded.
'I knew you would. I knew you'd like it. And I'm glad, because I've been thinking about taking your arse ever since Jake invited me to this. Well, I'll be honest, I've been thinking about it for three years. And tonight, I'm having it. Do you have any objection to that?'
'None,' I whimpered as a second finger speared inside.
'Good.' His fingers popped out and then his tongue was there, drawing a wavy line around the expanding ring that almost drove me out of my mind with exquisite intensity. I squirmed violently, trying to elude his warm breath, but I was trapped on Jake's pole. His hands were on my hips, while Lloyd wrapped an arm around my waist and there was that blunt knock at the door, that impossibly round and wide visitor to my secret sanctum.
'Oh, it'll hurt!' I yelped.
'Just for a second,' he reassured, his voice all treacly warm now. 'Then it'll be sooo nice, Sophie, so very nice.' He continued this stream of comforting nonsense-talk until his tip had widened my hole enough to push through. 'You're doing so well, Sophie, you're doing so well. That's it, don't panic, keep still.' He was boring ahead, gently but relentlessly, the thickness beginning to stretch and sting. I screwed up my face and puffed. Jake played with my clit, distracting me through the dreaded few seconds of stabbing pain, then Lloyd was in, halfway, three-quarters, all the way. I was impossibly full, laid waste by cock, pussy stretched and bum stuffed to bursting. How would I move?
As it happened, I did not need to move. They did that for me. Jake and Lloyd seemed to reach a tacit agreement, a rhythmic alliance, one thrusting while the other pulled back. Streams of painful pleasure poured up and down both recesses, up, down, back, forth until I thought I would soon be nothing but pulpy mush inside. Throughout, Lloyd kept up his sin-soaked commentary, making me mutter yes and no answers amidst the blinding sensation. Did I know that my arse was his now? Had I ever been taken so hard or so well? Did I realise I'd met my match? Did I realise my arse was so very, very tight and so very hot and so very sweet? Did I realise that I would be bending over for him many more times? Did I have any idea what I did to him? Jake kept up a yowling counterpoint of 'Oh God, yes, oh God, oh that feels good' until he came, digging his fingers into my hips, and I came too, wildly and violently, banging my knees on the floor, sinking my fingers into Jake's scalp, even screaming, while Lloyd reamed me through it, finally releasing his load when the tears started leaking out of me and on to Jake's chest.
'Shhh.' Lloyd, still inside me, pulled me up against his chest and kissed my tears. 'Wasn't that bad, was it?' He chuckled, but there was a nervous catch to it.
'No . . . it was . . . intense,' I sobbed. W
hat the hell was all this about? Crying after sex?
'I thought you were an old hand at all this,' he murmured.
'I thought so,' I said. I looked around. At some point during our bout, Jade and Maria had entered the pool and were swimming and smooching at the far end. Lincoln stood on the side, glowering down at us.
'Hey!' he said. 'I thought Sophie was going for three cocks. I thought she was going to suck me while you two fucked her.'
'Might have to . . . rain check,' I said faintly.
'Haven't you had it all sucked out of you yet?' asked Lloyd drily. 'Maria and Jade seemed to be doing a good job of it.'
'Sophie gives the best head,' said a querulous Lincoln.
'That's experience,' said Lloyd. 'Maria is keen though, isn't she? And she looks as if she could take a bit more. Go on. Show her how it's done.' He waved Lincoln away and laughed as his godlike physique descended into the depths, seeking yet another willing mouth.
My limbs regained a semblance of functionality and I began to unwind myself from Jake's softened cock, climbing over his thighs, still in Lloyd's tight embrace.
'Why don't you join them?' Lloyd suggested to his rival, pointing an elbow in the direction of the frolicking trio. 'I'll take care of Sophie. She's a bit shell-shocked but she'll be OK.'
'I . . . don't know.' Jake frowned between the two of us. 'Sophie?'
'Yeah, you go and play. I'll be fine.'
Lloyd picked me up, carried me to the jacuzzi and plonked me down on his lap. We sat like that for a while, letting the insistent bubbles cleanse and heal us, watching the riot in the pool. Jake had got some inflatables out and the foursome were demonstrating the impossibility of having sex on a lilo.
Lloyd laughed when Jake and Maria were plunged sideways into the water for a fourth time. He kissed the top of my head. 'Do you still hate me?' he asked.
I could not answer for a while. I felt skinless, endangered, laid bare. And I wanted Lloyd to kiss me again. For a long time.
'Of course I hate you,' I answered dreamily. 'Hate is not hate which alters when it alteration finds.'
'So I'm not what you thought? Better or worse?'
'Both.' I gave him a weak smile, feeling those treacherous tears at the back of my eyes.
He kissed me again. For a long time.
Maids on Call
If you called Maria a starfucker she wouldn't be offended; she takes pride in this little sideline of hers. She would never stoop so low as to sell to a tabloid, but I've heard some juicy titbits or two. Did you know that that long-haired international footballer loves nothing more than to wear your stilettos during sex? Or that a certain well-known balladeer hits notes higher than he ever can on stage if you offer to massage his prostate with a dildo?
I thought of it as harmless enough – nobody was hurt, and I had no interest in the celeb guests, finding their vanity tiresome. Any man whose ego is bigger than his cock can get them both stroked elsewhere; Hotel Sophie has no vacancies for him.
But Maria derives a spine- tingling thrill from watching the latest famous man or men as they stride up the steps with eyes shaded to deflect the popping flashbulbs, and storm through the lobby with a backwash of publicists and stylists and documentary film-makers in their wake, and thinking You're next. It is a personal challenge that she rarely fails to meet. She turns up with a chocolate for the pillow or fresh flowers for the vases, does a lot of unnecessary bending over in her short, tight skirt and before you can say Room Service she is on her back on the Egyptian cotton with her knickers around her ankles.
Of course, there is the odd failure. The ones who have spent their careers crouched beneath the media gaydar. The ones who are too drugged or drunk to want an honest-to-goodness no-strings shag. The ones who are faithful to their wives or girlfriends. Maria shrugs and moves on to the next, like a contented bee who knows that the pollen is never going to run out.
She had joy, she had fun, she had seasons in the sun, but the sex and the snogs, like the seasons, are all gone. Or so it seems today, at least.
In the no man's land between Christmas and New Year, the hotel is usually low on celebrities, but this year a very famous and fancied rocker had flown to town to appear on a New Year's Eve music special and was living it up in the penthouse suite. So far so good. No televisions on the pavement. No orgiastic coke-snorting. No demands for hedgehog and spacedust sandwiches.
So I was optimistic as I breezed into the lobby on the last day of the year, expecting a quiet day and an early escape to toast the chimes of Big Ben alone in my flat. If I didn't decide to watch a dodgy horror movie, that is. I could do whatever I defiantly jolly-well chose. And no man was going to change that. No man at all, whatsoever, not even Chase and especially not some jumped-up ice-shaker.
And then Jade hobbled over, hands in the air, rivers of mascara on her cheeks, and my cosy plans were ruined indefinitely.
'Christ, Sophie, you have to help. Something awful's happened.'
'What? What's the matter? Where's Chase?'
'I can't tell him!' Her eyes were discs of blue fear.
'OK, tell me then.'
'It's . . . oh, shit, I can't even . . . could you come into the cocktail bar? Maria's in there, and she's in a state. Lloyd's trying to calm her down.'
My heart thumped down to my feet and I felt slightly sick. The cocktail bar was the one place I definitively did not want to enter. In fact, since Christmas Eve, the red neon message flashing on and off in my brain at all hours had been 'AVOID LLOYD'. Mere mention of his name made the backs of my hands prickle as if I were about to grow hair and turn into a werewolf.
'Isn't Lloyd busy?' I asked primly.
'Well, yeah. He's supposed to be inventing a New Year champagne cocktail. C'mon, Sophie, please.'
'Can't the housekeeper help?'
'NO! Come ON!'
I didn't want to see him, but I supposed I couldn't spend the rest of my life ducking behind the desk every time he crossed the lobby. I followed Jade, cursing my jelly legs, trying not to think about that night, and failing.
'Get dressed,' he said. 'I'll take you home.'
'There's no need!'
'Yes, there is.'
I wanted to argue but I was too limp, inside and out.
In the back seat of the cab, we sat in silence, watching the coloured lights go by. Crossing the bridge, he took my hand and turned it over and over, examining it like a palmist. He put my life line to his lips and breathed in my scent, some of which was still his scent. I couldn't look at him.
We left the cab together, which made me wonder if he lived nearby. He walked me to the entry of my block of flats, holding me by the elbow as if he thought I'd fall on the floor unsupported. He might have been right.
I fished for my keys. 'Thanks,' I said. 'Goodnight.'
When he didn't reply, I had to look at him. I saw his intent, or I thought I did. I've seen enough come-to-bed eyes in my time. But these were different in a subtle way; these seemed to search me. Come-to-bed-and-stay-there. I hadn't seen that for years.
In a panic, I snapped, 'You're not coming in.'
He moved my hand from the lock it was scrabbling with, hooked his arm behind me, pulled me into him.
'I'll have to do it here then,' he said, and set to seducing me with his kiss all over again. I had thought all the kissing must have been drained from us by now, but no, there was more, much more. Once I was warm and melting into him, once his hands had burrowed inside my coat, once his cologne was in my hair and on my face and all over my scarf and I was lost at kissing sea, he let my lips go.
On Demand Page 22