by Jenna Barton
“Me too. Matter of fact, I believe Walt and I both learned to throw a singletail from your corsetiere, if I recognize Lady Nerita’s handiwork correctly.” Tate was still beside me. We’d all moved across the room, leaving me positioned directly in front of the crossed beams.
I raised my hand. “May I?”
For a few seconds there was silence.
“Go ahead,” Walt said finally, his voice low.
Under my fingertips, the wood was satiny, cool. “What do I…” I looked to him. “Where do I put my hands?”
“Well,” he said, catching my wrist lightly between his fingers. He extended my arm along the span rising toward him. “You could just stand here and hold on to it. Or you could be tied to it.”
Behind me, Tate cleared his throat. “Or you could be cuffed. See those slots?” He reached past me and slid away a segment of the wooden beam. “There’s bolts inside.”
Walt glanced over my head to Tate. His eyes stayed there for a long second.
Suddenly, I was aware of Tate in a way similar to how I was nearly always aware of Walt.
The same certainty of his thought and intention as he looked at me caught me off guard, as it had done with Claire. Tate was thinking about me, maybe about Walt, too. About the three of us—together. Looking over my shoulder, I found him, all bare chest and broad, sardonic smile. Watching me.
The pressure from Walt’s hand increased, a steady gradient, until my arm rested fully against the smooth beam. He reached behind me with his other hand and guided me to stretch above my head until I grasped the opposite rail, just beyond Tate’s torso. I turned from Walt to Tate, and back again.
They could have me, together. Without an admission from either of them, instinct told me they’d shared women, played with them together, before. And right then, at the sudden insistence of a pulse thrumming between my legs, I would have allowed it. Even as the notion of it bloomed and came into focus in my mind, I shook my head, dismissing the thought. Gala was coming back. Walt hadn’t touched me like that since the night of my first spanking.
But the most critical failure was my own lack of a script. I didn’t know what to ask for—even if I was almost strung up from a wooden X three feet taller than me. I didn’t know how to ask Walt and someone I assumed was his very close friend to take out their toybags and use each and every item within on me until I was a shuddering, sweaty mess. And the possibility of being with both of them, how was I to know if that was a real possibility or just a twist of my over-stimulated imagination? I was here, but didn’t know how to be here.
A long stream of breath passed from me.
Walt leaned down to me, his lips hovering near my cheek. “You all right?”
“Yes.” I nodded briskly and stepped away. “Yes, of course I am.”
“Tate, I can’t find that big paddle,” Gala said behind us. The moment between Walt, Tate, and me snapped closed, and I felt Tate’s attention whirring away as he turned for the door.
“Did you check the other bag?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Excuse me, y’all. I need to find this girl’s favorite toy.”
They disappeared into the far corners of the room, Gala’s voice echoing back snatches of her own thoughts about the toy in question and their obvious miscommunication about whether or not it was, in fact, her favorite.
I sensed Walt turning for the entrance, but stilled behind him. Across the room, Tate was lining up a succession of items on a long table. Beside the wooden bench he showed us earlier, was Gala. A paradox of her earlier self, she waited, silent and unmoving, on her knees, posed as Claire had been earlier.
“Walt,” I whispered. “Wait, please.”
He turned to me but before he could speak, Lucy came through the black privacy curtains, pausing to tuck them over the metal rod they hung from. She had, effectively, opened the door for everyone—and for me—to see.
Lu rarely co-topped at parties. But she liked all of the attention—her bottom’s and any observers who might happen by the scene. And though they’d been playing in the lifestyle for better than fifteen years, Walt couldn’t remember more than a handful of times she’d done a scene where a man was her co-Top. She’d lost her corset and the brief excuse for a mini-skirt she’d been wearing, leaving her in nothing but her favorite pair of ass-high PVC boots. Reaching overhead, she twisted her long blond hair into a knot on top of her head and winked at Tate, who grinned like he knew he was the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in Grayson County.
Erin shifted at his side. Well, the second-luckiest son-of-a-bitch in Grayson County.
“All right, then,” Lu purred. “Let’s get this pretty little girl of yours dirty, Tatiana.”
Gala stood and shed the white shirt she’d taken from Tate earlier, draping it across a chair. She rose on her bare toes, kissed his cheek, then did the same to Lu.
Erin leaned toward him, whispering, “Are they—um…?”
Walt shook his head. “No, just Tate and Gala. It’s just them.” He looked up in time to catch Gala stretching her generous hips over the back of Tate’s newest spanking bench. Behind her, Lu adjusted a pair of long, latex gloves past her elbows. “Well, usually.”
“The door was open. That means it’s okay to stay, right?” Erin slanted her head away from the scene and glanced over the top of her glasses. “I’d like to…can we watch?”
Can we watch? Walt glanced in Lu’s direction to be sure she hadn’t heard. If she knew she had an audience, she’d try rattling Erin a little on purpose just to fuck with him. Still, the curtain was pulled back and looped over the rod it hung from, a clear sign the three of them didn’t care about observers. He slid his hand under her arm and steered them away from a shaft of light. Tate glanced their way, nodding with a quick quirk of his eyebrows.
“Damn exhibitionists, all three of them.” Walt shook his head, grinning at Tate, and leaned to Erin’s ear. “Yeah, I think it’s fine.”
Lu had draped her long body over Gala, with one stiletto-booted foot still on the floor. She rocked her lean thigh slowly against the girl’s round ass, pulling on her thick spill of red hair. Gala bowed back, away from the bench, and let out a sweet little moan.
Damn. Not the time to notice Gala’s ass. Walt shifted his legs and risked a glance at Erin. As soon as he found her face in the dim room, a rapid series of thwaks across the room jerked his attention away.
Lu had turned and now rested on both knees, right over the sharp indention at Gala’s waist. She was pinned—almost literally—in place by the sharp pointed heels of Lu’s boots pressing into the soft mounds of flesh below her shoulder blades. With a throaty laugh, Lu threw her head back and landed another long series of smacks across the bright-red streaks already coming up on Gala’s fair skin. Lu threw the final one hard, aimed for the sensitive crevice between the inside of Gala’s thigh and pussy. She landed it at the right place, too, because the girl squealed, thrashing and flutter-kicking her feet. Lu’s hand came down again, hard this time, across the crest of Gala’s ass.
“You watch that kicking or I’ll cuff your ankles to the bench, brat.”
Tate came to their side, smoothing over his girl’s scalded skin as he whispered in Lu’s ear. As they talked, his hand dropped between Gala’s legs. The little redhead shivered and gasped under his touch. Her thighs bounced against the bench, but she didn’t kick again, not when Lu went back to smacking her ass, and not when Tate’s hand thrust into her pussy.
Warm. This old basement was getting too damn warm. And beside him, Erin’s arm felt like it was on fire. He heard her breath, so distinct she could have been draped over his shoulder and sighing in his ear. And she took a half-step closer to him. Their arms connected, and Erin threaded her fingers through his.
After an affectionate squeeze to one of the globes of her ass, Tate stepped away from Gala and offered his hand to Lu. She rose from the bench, patting the girl’s reddened backside as she stood, and stepped aside.
“You are such a pretty girl,�
�� she purred and twisted Gala’s hair in her fingers. She rose on her elbows, following the steady tension Lu exerted on her hair. Once the girl’s torso was bowed back in a deep curve, Lu dipped her face to Gala’s. “Did you know that big, juicy ass of yours is almost as red as your lips now?”
Lu didn’t preen over a bottom unless she was going to break them into little bite-sized pieces. Anticipation of watching this luscious girl who, admittedly, Walt had looked over with appreciation more than once, come apart under two wicked Tops flared up his spine.
Reaching forward, Lu twisted one of Gala’s nipples, drawing it out between her gloved fingers. Behind them, Tate skimmed the length of a paddle he’d crafted from oak and covered in ridged black rubber.
“Know what this is, girl?”
“I know what it is, Tate, and I hate that fucking thing,” Gala sneered through a few sniffles.
Lu snorted and made a show of turning Gala’s nipple between her fingers, plucking the nub with her other fingertip. “That’s not what I heard. Tate says you call it The Brutal and every time he mentions it to you, you soak your panties like a trashy whore from the south side of Callahan.”
Erin’s hip connected with his thigh. Stayed there. Insisted he acknowledge her beside him. As unobtrusively as he could, he dipped his head to the side and kissed the top of her head. Don’t bolt. Don’t bolt. Don’t bolt. Erin didn’t know about Gala’s love of humiliation or how it extended to the trailer park life she’d left behind. He wasn’t even sure Erin knew about the mental side of some play, how plenty of bottoms like their feelings pushed as hard as their bodies. She didn’t know this was how Tate and Gala—and now, it seemed, Lu—played together. And beside him, Erin was nearly fucking molding her body to his side, sending the coarse wool kilt nudging across his stiff, engorged cock.
Every time Tate connected that paddle to Gala’s ass, every time she sniffled and sobbed against Lu’s hip, Walt’s hands and mouth and cock itched to have Erin against the rough wall behind them. He gritted his teeth at it, blew his breath out through his nose, but refused to move even an inch away from her. Watching and hearing the scene, feeling her beside him and not doing a damn thing was fucking torture, but it was better this way. Because even if she went from seduced to shocked in a second over what she saw in front of them and took off, never to be seen again, Walt would stay by Erin until the second she said “enough.” He could take it.
Gala squirmed again, mewling and whimpering until Lu released her tit, then gasping when Lu caught her creamy pink flesh in her hand and slapped it. She said something, too low to hear, and Gala’s body shook with a new round of silent tears.
The urge to indulge the inclinations he’d let play for so many years pushed hard, right at the knowledge Erin was beside him. The scent of her warmed perfume rose to him, and he felt the folds of her skirt drag across his calf. She was here, not watching a demo but an authentic—and very hot—scene going on before her. At his side, seeing how he and his closest friends really were when they played. He tugged his gaze down to her.
She wasn’t wide-eyed, not shocked or even a little bewildered. Her eyes drooped a little, almost like they did when she was on top of him, rocking on his cock and so close to coming. Deep grunts, whines, a long, slow cry registered, distantly, but it was all secondary. Nothing mattered but seeing Erin watching them. Her eyes flicked up to his and she flushed as she looked back to them. A sleepy grin twitched at one side of her mouth. As soon as it appeared, she took a breath and pursed her lips, probably trying like hell to not to let him catch her reacting to them. Without taking her eyes from the scene, she turned her face toward his. Her eyes fell closed with long, drawn-out sweeps of her lashes against her cheeks.
He bent to her. “You okay?”
“Yes,” she said and snapped her mouth shut. Her fingers tightened around his.
“I think she likes you, Lu,” Tate said, motioning with the paddle. “Come have a look.” When Lucy reached his side, he parted his girl’s thighs, exposing her shiny-wet pussy. He parked the paddle over his girl’s scalded ass and leaned into the handle. “Now you open up for Miss Lucinda, and show her how wet you are for her.”
He could see it like that with her. Erin, on her knees before him, red and whimpering and wet. How he’d feel, seeing her body bent to his will and dripping from being on the receiving end of it. How her pearly skin would light up, scarlet and purple, and the sound of her voice in his ears, telling him she was his. Calling him Sir.
Lu didn’t waste any more time with conversation. She thrust her fingers deep into the waiting cunt before her, working her hand against Gala’s pussy as the girl struggled to stay in one place. When Lu withdrew from Gala’s body, her gloved hand gleamed with the girl’s arousal. She turned to Tate and drew her fingertips across his lips, then placed her index finger against his tongue. He drew it into his mouth and sucked, followed with each one of her fingers.
Beside him, Walt heard Erin’s breath catch.
Lu leaned past Tate’s hand, pursing her lips, and blew across Gala’s glistening pussy. Gala squirmed, shimmying her hips toward Lu’s hovering mouth.
“Easy, darlin’,” Tate said, smoothing his hand over Gala’s hip. Lu stood again and started for her toybag, then stopped suddenly. Turning for Tate, she trailed the tips of her fingers over Gala’s skin.
“What does she taste like?” she asked, so soft Walt wasn’t entirely sure she’d said it, or if he’d imagined it.
Tate sank his fingers into his girl. He offered his other hand to Lu and drew her against him. “Well, come on, then,” he said, his voice rumbling low in his throat. Lifting his hand from Gala, he placed a finger at the corner of his mouth and slicked his girl’s fluid over his lip. “Come taste.”
Before Walt could summon the logic to explain what he knew was about to play out in front of him, Lu clasped Tate’s neck and pulled his mouth to hers. Flame to tinder, the intensity burst between them, two people he never would’ve put together. Lu pulled Tate’s bottom lip between her teeth and, with the advantage in height from her boots, leveraged him between Gala’s legs. Cradling her thighs in his hands, he braced against her and scooped handfuls of his girl’s creamy ass as Lu worked at his lips.
The absolute last fucking thing he’d expected. From the surprised but very satisfied grin Tate gave Lu when she broke away, he was in the same mental uncharted territory as Walt, but very pleased to be there. Tate, never one for subtleties when he played, swooped in for one more kiss from Lu, which she not only consented to, but damn-near dove into, even pressing one gloved hand to Tate’s bare chest as she swayed into him.
When they broke apart again, Lu staggered for an instant. Her eyes narrowed immediately, though, and her body went taut. She rounded Gala’s prone body again, raking her fingertips over the girl’s welted ass as she left Tate’s side.
“Cane?” she murmured to him. Gala began to shake her head vigorously. Lu chuckled, nodding to Tate. “Oh yeah. Time for the cane.”
She crouched in front of the whimpering girl, pushing at the strands of lank red hair covering her face.
“Miss…” Gala pleaded.
Lu’s face warmed with an intense, adoring smile. Placing one hand on the corner of the bench, she cupped Gala’s chin and the lifted bottom’s gaze to hers. “Yes. For me. For us. Yes. Now be a good girl for me and lift that ass so Tate can cane it for me.”
“M-Miss…”
“Up on your elbows, pretty,” Lu purred, still gazing into the girl’s eyes mere inches from hers, and adjusted the little kitten ear headband that had disappeared under Gala’s gone-wild hair. “Elbows and knees, like a good kitty over her bowl of cream.”
Gala shifted her torso over her elbows, sending her tits swaying toward Lu’s face. She leaned in, drawing one into her mouth and sucking so hard her cheeks hollowed. Gala whined again, wagging her ass in Tate’s direction. He picked up a cane—what looked like a good, springy one from Walt’s perspective—and took a hard swi
ng at her ass.
“Ow! Fuck!”
Tate landed another strike, hard and just below the first one. “Didn’t Miss tell you to be quiet?”
Lu tapped Gala’s cheek with one finger. When the girl opened her eyes, Lu smiled sweetly and brushed her lips with her own. “Shhhh. I know gags are so hard for you. So we won’t do that unless we have to. Hmmm?”
Gala replied, the words lost in the girl’s shuddering voice.
“Look at me, cupcake.”
Behind them, Tate softly tapped another, sturdier cane against Gala’s ass.
“O-Okay.”
“Good girl,” Lucy said, nodding. “How’s this girl’s sloppy cunt now, Tate?”
Tate came in close to his girl’s wide-open pussy and bit down on one of the wet folds.
“Dripping,” he said, chuckling. “Didn’t I tell you?”
Lu hummed, laughing quietly. “You did mention it.”
Tate laid a lengthy succession of quick raps on his girl’s skin. She froze in place, only flexing and squeezing her toes as the intensity increased, and finished with one sharp blow. Once a new, bright red stripe came up on her, he started another series of raps, hitting fast, again and again on the same spot, until he stepped back for a power swing. When he’d striped up a good portion of Gala’s ass, Tate set the bamboo cane aside and took out a thin, gray rod. Starting at her knee, he trailed the narrow tip along her inner thighs. She whispered to Lu, something that made both women laugh. Lu leaned forward, still laughing, and kissed the girl’s forehead as she mussed her hair.
Tate flexed his hand around the narrow carbon rod and dug the tip deep into one of the deep red stripes.
Lu’s hand still steadying her, Gala made a soft little mewl, but nothing more.
Tate laid into every mark on his girl, crossing the wider red welt with a narrow stripe that bloomed vivid purple right away. The girl rocked over her knees, swaying, as her breath shuddered through her chest. Lu watched—no, admired—it all, still holding Gala’s head in one place. The girl was a champ, too. Her ass had to be on fire but she didn’t wince away from Lu’s gaze.