by Iris Astres
Amin Clay leaned his head back and pressed his hands over his face. “What can I do?” he asked the ceiling, voice congested with frustration.
“Perhaps,” said Raj, surprising everyone by offering an answer, “you might consider ways of keeping Earth First radicals out of your home.”
Chapter Six
Amin turned his attention to the man who’d spoken. Keep them out. That wasn’t bad advice.
The future wasn’t something he’d considered. His thoughts had all been busy with the grim and recent past. For the last four hours an endless loop had played in his mind. The violent invasion. That man with his tattoos and snarling mouth descending on Solange. “What are you staring at, bitch? You been sucking alien cock so long you forget what your own kind looks like?” Self-directed hatred made him watch the next part in slow motion. The man’s contempt. The spittle flying from his mouth. And then Solange—frightened, yes, but so much worse than that. He’d seen her stricken with grief, aware that she might soon be dying, and sad, so sad to lose her life.
No matter what she said, he blamed her for not running when she could.
For all the rest he blamed himself.
Earth First had threatened him. Dozens of times. His lawyer had a file full of violent ramblings from various supposed members. Even without that, it was clear the so-called radicals had made him their obsession. They’d bombed his buildings, stolen merchandise, tied up deals for him in court, and bragged about it on any infostation low enough to run the story.
He’d ignored their petty protests as a point of pride. The people were Neanderthals. Backward thinkers. Not worth his time.
And for that supreme bit of arrogance, he’d almost lost his wife.
How was that possible?
No part of him had ever thought that anyone would harm Solange. The shock of her assault still felt as raw as surgery. The senseless attack had taken something from him. Altered his trust in the world’s rationality. Diminished his faith in his own strength. And now the extent of his vulnerability loomed before him, an inner iceberg far more massive than he’d ever have imagined.
Worst of all, the memory imposed on him a vision of his wife’s dead body that he couldn’t shake. He saw her with her throat slashed or a bullet in her head. Cut. Trampled. Lifeless. Bleeding.
Then he saw the world without her, and he had to stop and make himself draw breath.
Solange wasn’t dead, he told himself. They’d failed. That was important. Now it was his move, and he would make damn sure they never got a second chance. Tonight when he had Solange safely tucked in bed, he’d put together what amounted to a modern fortress. The best in any world. He’d just have to believe the best was good enough.
“No amount of security is foolproof,” he said, turning to the Bod.
“Perhaps not,” came the answer. “And still powerful men have had to thwart determined enemies since the dawn of time. Most of them have been remarkably successful. Remember the bounty they put out on General Resdin fifty years ago? No one ever got within a mile of the man.”
“True,” said Amin. It was a heartening example. After his part in Assassination August, Resdin was more hated than he himself would ever be.
“How did those men get in your home today?”
Amin shifted away from the unwelcome question, wishing he hadn’t. Knowing he’d given something away. “Joseph,” he said, looking at Solange.
“Oh no.” She pushed away from him. He wouldn’t let her go.
“The man I killed. The one who threatened you. Joseph was his son.”
Solange turned her head away. The air went out of her in a slow exhalation. “That monster was sweet Joseph’s father?”
“So it seems.”
“And is he dead?”
Amin looked at her, then understood.
“Joseph’s in jail,” he said.
“And you hired this man?” asked Raj.
“My wife hired him.” Amin couched this fact in a clear warning that all questions on the matter ended there. As to the Bod’s point, it was well-taken. Security had been lax. And that would change. Tomorrow he’d erect a wall between Solange and the world’s dangers. But his wife’s long-standing habit of opening their door to all and sundry would not ever be criticized. It would hurt her too much to have to stop.
“You’ll have to agree to changes, Solange.”
“I agree,” she said. “You can lock me in an iron fortress full of booby traps. I won’t complain. Whatever you decide.”
The words were hers. The tone was someone else. Flat. Vacant. Amin looked at her and saw her nerves. Her tension. Her face receding into some unhappy elsewhere.
He had to be careful with his moods around her. His state of mind could hit her like a dangerous infection. When it was his exhilaration she absorbed, that was fine, but his anxiety, his fury, he had no wish to share. Outwardly she bore it philosophically. Inwardly God alone knew what damage it did. Tonight he’d brought her to the Body House to spare her the effects of his atrocious mood. And it had been a wise decision. But there would be no point if he reversed the outcome of his efforts.
“Kiss me,” he said. She looked at him with something like suspicion. He kept his face blank and his body still. Solange tilted slowly toward him. Her lips were cool and damp with pool water, which made the inside of her mouth feel very hot.
Amin licked a slow, shallow trail between her lips. She liked that kiss. Her body arched instinctively against him. He closed one hand over the back of her head; the other he kept wrapped around her waist. “Kiss me,” he said again, and this time she gave him an openly sexual embrace, which he encouraged by tightening his hold. She stroked his hair, his arms and back. Moments later she was rippling against him, murmuring the way she did when she wanted to make love.
There was so much love in her tight body. Sometimes he could feel it like a drug that turned him sluggish. The rush of devotion he felt toward her made his muscles clench protectively around an inner bleed of tenderness.
She worked her body a little closer. His cock went hard and buoyant. It rose and nudged her thigh. She reached down as she always did. He had to stop her, as he always did. “Wait,” he ordered.
Solange shook her head, eyebrows lowered into a pained expression. “Not wait,” she said. “I want you now.”
“Soon.” He lifted her out of the water and set her down on the surrounding tiles. Gently he ran one hand over her sex. “One of you find me some lubrication,” he said without looking away.
“I don’t need it.” Solange shook her head again, her hair already curling in the steamy air. “I’m wet. I’m ready.
“Let’s make sure,” he said.
She lay back on the tiles, one arm thrown over her eyes. “You think that you’re so big and I’m so small,” she muttered.
It wasn’t so much what he thought as what was true. But she was oddly stubborn on the point of their respective sizes. “Remember our first summer together?” A week of imposed abstinence had been the price of overfucking. He wasn’t risking that again.
Solange would risk it every day. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t risk. It was her nature to be headlong—to rush toward life with no thought for consequences. He loved that. And it seriously pissed him off.
His own mind was a steady stream of calculations. Business sense, they said. To him it was just how he’d always worked. Even now, when he was burning with the sudden need to fuck, a part of him was laying out a plan.
He would make love to her. He’d make it very good. And when he had her peaceful and assured that all was well between them, he’d take her home to bed. While she slept, he’d go to work. By the time she was awake again, he’d have her locked inside an infinitely safer world.
The blue-eyed man stood over him with a small black pot of something in his hand.
“Set it down there,” he instructed. The Bods, like half the world before them, would have to forgive his curtness. He had his mind on other things.
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Using two careful fingers, he examined his wife’s perfect quim and found she was indeed wet. Open. She might in fact be wet enough to take him, as she’d said. He rubbed and teased until he’d spread a thick layer of her moisture over her soft flesh. Amin gave her pussy a protective kiss. Then he gave himself the pleasure of her taste. He licked until she clamped her thighs against his ears in protest. “Fuck,” she said.
Amin realigned himself and dragged Solange across the tiles. He fit the head of his cock against her opening, entering her slowly. She curled her fingers over the lip of the pool and wrapped her legs around him, urging more of him inside. He wanted to hold back, but there was no resisting her expression.
“What are you looking at, bitch?” Halfway inside her he was frozen by the image of that monster standing over her. Disaster had been very close. If the man’s accomplices had been a fraction smarter, they’d have shot Amin immediately, disabled him, and then God knows what would have happened to Solange.
“Don’t stop.” She flattened her palms into his lower back. He hooked his arm around her hips and lifted her until she had her body wrapped around him. Her cunt slid, hot and silky, onto his erection. She flexed the muscles in her thighs and worked her body onto his until she had him all—their bodies flush against each other. He didn’t try to stop her. There was no point. She always wanted all of him. Had never settled for a fraction less. When she was satisfied, he pulled her back with him into the water.
Solange was calmer now, pacified by his hard cock inside her. Her eyes were closed as she caressed him, her lovely face relaxed and dreamy while her hands retraced their favorite path along the muscles in his back and arms. “Amin. Ah, Amin.” She’d made his name her pleasure mantra, and he loved the lulling whisper.
“Where are you going?” Amin saw the two Bods make a move toward the door.
Solange opened her eyes. She looked from her husband to the men exchanging glances by the pool.
Water rippled as she strained to see over his shoulder. “Oh, you can’t,” she said when it was clear that they were leaving. “I know we’re being rude, but it’s because we almost died.” She leaned away, legs tightening to keep her balance as she reached both arms to them. “If you really want to go, at least give me a hug.”
With no objection Raj and Malcolm waded back into the pool. Amin watched his wife’s wet skin press itself against first one man, then the other. She lingered over each of them, her face nuzzling their necks, her hands touching their bodies, her breasts brushing their chests. He remembered then—the sight of her slim body skewered between two hard cocks. The echo of her wailing orgasm reverberated in his belly, and he grew a fraction harder.
Solange turned to him, a quizzical cast to her face.
“Did you like watching?”
“You know I’ve always loved to look at you.”
“But.” She frowned. “Not all husbands enjoy seeing their wives with other men.”
“Am I supposed to give a fuck what other husbands do?”
“No,” she said. “But I’d still like to know why you’re not even slightly jealous.”
He looked at the dark man whose cum had spilled over her chin. Then he looked at Malcolm, with those eyes of his still staring so intently at Solange. He might be jealous of that look of longing. Except a willing woman to a Bod was like a roasted chicken to a fat man—any one was equally appealing. There were no favorites. Or so everyone swore.
“I’m not jealous for two reasons,” he said easily. “First, you say you love me and I never doubt your word.”
“I hope that’s not a dig at me,” Solange said with a hint of warning. “It’s not like I can take your word for loving me.”
“Second,” Amin said, ignoring the complaint, “I’ll kill any man who tries to take you from me. Those things being true, why shouldn’t I enjoy watching you fucked into a faint?” It was also true that she’d been called a whore by would-be murderers—an outrage he’d decided to address. His wife was lovely when she fucked. Whomever she was fucking. So fuck that cold, dead bastard and his shitty little thoughts. Amin moved his cock in and out of his wife’s body. It was good.
Solange bit her lip. “I wasn’t in a faint,” she objected.
He grabbed her hips and moved again. “The night is young,” he said. Continuing the meditative movement back and forth between her legs, Amin looked at the two Bods.
“How many times could we three make her come, in your professional opinion?”
“It’s hard to say,” said Malcolm.
“Quantity and quality,” Raj explained. “In general, however, the masters all profess a rule of three. The first orgasm is for nature. The second is for reason. The third’s for art.”
Amin gave Solange a look meant to provoke her. “You heard the man,” he said. “Twice more for you.”
“With all three of you?”
“Why not?” His let his eyes go heavy with erotic challenge, knowing she had never walked away from any dare. “Backusians say that taking on three lovers is like falling in a world that has no up or down.”
“You’re familiar with our proverbs?” The tall, dark Bod seemed genuinely impressed by this.
“What do you want, Amin?” Solange wasn’t joking now.
“I want to see you come and come again.”
“Don’t I always?” She glanced suspiciously from him to the two Bods. “Maybe they’d rather go do something else.”
That made the dark one laugh out loud. Amin liked him. Raj, his name was.
“Three men,” Solange mumbled. “It beats murder, I suppose.”
Amin smiled at her. It occurred to him that he was happy. Almost overjoyed. He had his wife’s warm body in his arms and the chance to make sure she was never harmed by anyone again.
“This fuck is mine,” he announced. “Although I don’t mind sharing, within reason.” He withdrew from Solange and then thrust in deep, rocking slightly where their bodies joined. She flexed around him, rubbing against what felt good.
By now her pussy would have tightened on his cock over a thousand times, but some things were as good the first time as the last. Sex between them might even be better now. Why wouldn’t that be true? Money brought more money. Power brought more power. It stood to reason that good fucks would lead to even better fucks. And in twelve years together, they’d had many perfect fucks to build on.
The two Bods took him up on his offer to share. They claimed their territory on either side of her, weighing out the options. Malcolm dipped his head and drew the tip of one small breast between his lips. Raj stood behind her, doing something Amin couldn’t see.
Solange’s body was softening, the way it did when she could scent her orgasm arriving on the air.
“Don’t bother coming too soon, darling,” he admonished. “If you do, you’ll just be fucked again. Three hard cocks could keep you in this state all night. An endless fuck and never any rest. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Shut up. I’m busy.” Solange tipped her neck back, her arm circled Raj’s head, and she pulled the man into a slow, indecent kiss. Her pink tongue slid over his lips. Her mouth opened wide, inviting him to lick inside.
Malcolm continued to suckle the tip of one breast and then the other, closing his fingers around each increasingly reddened peak the moment his mouth left it. There was a current around Amin’s testicles that told him one or both of them, was fondling his wife’s ass.
“Hold her steady,” he instructed. Raj braced her like a boxing coach holding a punching bag. The image prodded Amin into action.
He fucked her hard. When kink had done its job, Solange was known to like a good, old-fashioned drilling. It was something he was happy to provide.
Amin grabbed her ass and fucked. He fucked until his heart was pounding in his chest and every exhalation from his wife was full of sound. It got to him—the cries, the moans, the pleading whimpers. He had to numb his mind and let his body be commanded by more primal inst
incts.
A sharp tug on his cock told him her sex was drawing inward. He tightened his grip and drove himself into the yawning tide of pleasure. Solange’s body went limp in the extremities, rigid at the core. The Bods still plucked and licked and egged her on. She tightened with a cry, thrashing once, the waves of water cresting around her. Then she was coming, howling with how good it was.
Amin let her pulsing cunt pull him in deeper. He held on while her body jerked against his straining torso. One last sob of pleasure from her slowed his pace. Solange fell against him, and he paused, panting while the water spilled over the pool edge onto the smooth tile floor.
“Amin.” She drew a shaky breath and grabbed at him. “Come now. I want you to.”
As always, he obliged. She was even wetter now. He pounded harder but more slowly, letting the intoxication of her make him grunt and roar. His balls drew tight; his asshole clenched. A blur of images ran through his mind—her face, her tongue, her soft, wet cunt.
Amin buried his face into her neck and came. He breathed the sun and earth of her hair and let the spasms pull at him and die away.
When it was over, he was leaning against the side of the pool with Solange nestled sleepily against his chest.
The two Bods had withdrawn again. They sat with some decorum on the far side of the pool.
He roused his wife. She watched his cock slide out of her. It rose above the water hard as stone.
“We’re not finished,” Amin said.
Chapter Seven
Solange was finished. That last orgasm had rattled her bones. All she wanted now was sleep, and then perhaps a sandwich and more tea. What with all the sex and murder, she hadn’t had a thing to eat all day. But the three men standing round her were all hard as pikes, their exigent cocks bobbing in the water, their minds obviously set on complicated plans for her. She sighed and looked into her husband’s face. Amin’s heavy-lidded eyes were coal black, which was appropriate: when his fire was lit, there wasn’t any dousing his ideas.