After dinner, there were cigars on the balcony, and me holding the ashtray on my now bare chest, my back to the world, their voices winding with the smoke around me, wrapping round my bare skin, sliding between my thighs. I could tell that Sir was pleased with me by the way he absently rested his boot on my thigh, knew that he was happy to sit here with Dexter, catching up, and showing me off. Every time Dexter chuckled, my clit would pulse, my ass would clench around the plug and my lips would part with a sigh.
I was aching already and they had barely acknowledged me. How would I survive the full attention of both of them?
Sir turned to Dexter with a sly smile, and said, “Shall I prepare her for you?”
Dexter nodded, and took the ashtray from my chest.
My heart started racing. Sir walked ahead of me, giving the hand signal to crawl, and so I did, Dexter’s eyes on my ass as I left the balcony.
I approached Sir slowly, with that catlike crawl he loves so much. He was on the bed, and as my eyes met his, a shock jumped between us. He reached down, pulling me by my hair and bending me over his lap. It felt so good to be there, his hands all over my skin, my head hanging over the side of the bed.
Then I felt it. That squirmy twisting as he pulled the plug out. I am never prepared for it, but when it comes as a surprise it grabs onto the center of my chest and squeezes, bringing a tinge of nausea with it. My hands grabbed for the bed as he slowly slid a new plug into my ass, cold with lube. (I knew it instantly; it was the Tristan anniversary edition plug, the one I drooled over in the store, the one he got me for my birthday.) It is so intense when it first comes in, I literally can’t breathe for a moment. My eyes were closed, my head ringing, and then I let my breath out. Sir tapped on it and I shuddered.
It is a shift, to go from the expectation of silence, to the expectation that I will show him my need. I am often tentative at first, finding my voice and movement. He pressed me down onto him, so I could feel his cock against my belly, and my ass clenched in response. It was so full, my hand kept fisting the blanket. Then the baton hit my ass, driving sound from me, garnering me praise.
I held on tight, knowing it would last a long time, each stroke reverberating through the plug, slamming sounds out of me. It felt like a pounding relentless fuck, getting hit with that baton, hard and ramming, and it made me grind my cunt onto him and moan. I forgot everything but that I was on Sir’s lap, my ass stuffed full, getting pummeled by his baton. The room disappeared, contracted to my need, which had been building all day. I began to beg, pleading with him to let me come for him, describing how much I needed it.
He told me I had to wait.
I began to whimper, words escaping as I throbbed and thought about his cock swelling under me, picturing my ass with the black-and-blue plug, knowing he wanted my thighs and cheeks to match it, aching for release.
I was lost in my own need, writhing on Sir’s lap, when I felt Dexter’s hands grip my hair. I spasmed, loud begging noises coming from my throat, until they were silenced by his cock, hard and thick and made of unforgiving silicone. Sir kept slamming the baton into me, and it drove my mouth onto Dexter’s cock, his hands holding me there, taking my throat for his own, claiming me.
“I know how much Christian likes the sounds you make. I want to feel you begging around my cock, girl,” he said.
I worked to get louder, choking on his cock, my whimpers so loud in my own head, tears flowing. I could feel my need covering my skin, wrapping me up; my cunt grabbing air, aching to be full too; my throat gaspingly crammed. It was so much, too much, building and building inside me with nowhere to go. I began to beg louder, desperate to come, and I could hear Sir chuckle.
“No, girl. You don’t get to come until he does. So you better please him.”
I began to sob, choking, helpless, my hands reaching for Dexter, grasping for his thighs, holding on, as if I was going to wash away. I looked up at him, eyes begging, throat closing on his cock, needing him to come. I formed the words around him somehow, over and over.
“Please, Sir. Please. Please. Please, Sir.”
I didn’t know if he could understand, but I said it again and again, taking him into me, aching for him, all my need concentrated on his release. His hands gripped my hair tighter, moving my mouth how he wanted it. Yes, I thought. Yes, use me, take me, claim me. Sir offered me to you, and now I offer me too. Take what you need from me. I want you to have it. Please take me. Please.
There is no greater high than this, when I give myself over, my need wrapping around another’s. I wanted him, wanted to please him, wanted him to use me, wanted to be given and taken, to be worthy for exchange. Sir began to beat my inner thighs, and I wanted to be sore and bruised for him, ached for it, wanted these men to take exactly what they needed from me.
Dexter shuddered in my mouth, growling, his hands holding me still as he thrust, deep in my throat, coming. I closed my eyes and savored it, knowing I had pleased him.
“Come for me,” Sir said.
I did, letting it out, moaning around Dexter’s cock, writhing on Sir’s lap as he continued to slam the baton into my thighs, holding on as hard as I could. It felt so good to come, so right.
I felt limp, as they moved me around, got me situated, ready for the next thing they wanted to do to me. It wasn’t until I felt myself being held down and spread wide that I fully opened my eyes. Sir had my head resting on his bare cock, his thighs pressing my arms into the bed. My ass was propped up on a pillow, my skirt pulled up, and Sir’s boots were spreading my legs, holding me open. I was cradled between his legs, held open for Dexter, who could see everything. My eyes met Dexter’s, captivated, as Sir laid his gloved hand across my throat. Oh.
Dexter pulled his belt from his jeans, the sound making my heart race.
“You need to be marked here too,” he said, running his hand along the front of my thigh above my stocking.
Yes, I thought. Mark me.
“Please,” I said, my voice trembling.
Belts reached inside me. The pain invaded, ripped through me, wrapping round my throat and stopping my breath. He did not warm me up, and I wanted it that way. Wanted him brutal, wanted him to claim me without holding back. Wanted to show him how my Sir had taught me to take pain, savor its delights and feed it back to him, tears streaming, moaning for more. I wanted his belt deep inside me, as his cock had been and hopefully would be again.
“Take it for me,” he said.
I took him in, tasting like liquid metal in my throat, trembling with the intensity of his belt, and let the pain pour out of my eyes, stream out of my mouth; let my cunt drip with it as my ass clenched around it. I begged him for more even as I screamed, my hands clutching the blanket, safely held down by my Sir, feeling him smile proudly at me.
My thighs were on fire, and the flames took me over, until I could feel my cunt burning with it, my chest hot, and I was begging to come for him; could I please show him how much I appreciated his cruelty, please, Sir.
He laughed, and refused me, continuing to lay pain onto me as I writhed, moaning, sobbing with it, blazing. I begged him not to stop, to please keep hurting me, claiming me with his belt. Saying that I needed it, needed his marks on me. He was ruthless and I shuddered with it, a conflagration of need taking me over. I was in that place where I felt like I could take all the pain in the world, eat it all and spit the flames of it right back, a burning circle between us, for as long as he wanted, perhaps longer.
He stopped. Let me writhe in hunger, aching for him, wanting more, begging him to hurt me. He just smiled his cruel smile and watched me, as Sir covered my mouth and nose with his hand, taking my breath and holding it. He made me come, as he held on to my breath, orgasm exploding in my head, sounds escaping my mouth around his hand. I started to move my head, fighting to breathe. Finally, he let me breathe.