It was Grigori who unfastened her. As he undid the belts on her wrists, he offered her a deep soul kiss. She craned her neck, letting her eyes slide shut. The man's tongue was salty sweet, the taste of Giovanni's sex still coating it. Julie released a small moan as he pushed deeper, simulating the action of his cock in her mouth.
She was so completely ready it was not funny.
Grigori returned to his knees to free her ankles. On his way down he offered soft kisses to the places where the flogger had struck. She clutched at his head, threading her fingers through his long curly hair. He paused to kiss her belly once and the delta of her sex as well. As he removed each ankle strap, he caressed the ankle and instep, sending shivers down her spine. Taking hold of her hands, he helped her step away from the rack. As she tried to stand on her own she found she was too weak to hold herself up. Too many sensations, too much stimulation.
Grigori willingly swept her up in his arms as he had before. Only this time it was so much closer and more intimate because she knew him, as a woman knows a man, and she had feelings for him. This was not just a man in the generic sense, this was an individual with a history so different from her own and yet with whom she found herself identifying with intensely. A man whom if she were to never see again in her life would leave her with an indescribable emptiness.
It was not logical and it had no precedent in her life, but it was real. Snuggling her head against his shoulder, she felt a sense of safety, a knowledge that she was at home, and that nothing would hurt her here. She clung to his neck, her thin, feminine arms around that great cord of muscles. She did not want him to put her down at first. Suddenly Giovanni seemed like an intruder.
But she couldn't deny the Maestro's place in this. He had brought them together, and in an odd way he was fueling things now. Serving as a catalyst between them, an erotic fluid for them to mix in. Julie's small body barely impacted the well-used bed. She swooned at the smells around her, the sheets soaked with male sweat, the sheer tinge of testosterone.
Giovanni whispered something and Grigori lay beside her, going to work once more on her lips. She was so soft and pliant, ready to give her all. Every little crevice of lip connected now. Their mouths fit, it was true. And so did his hands on her breasts, molding them perfectly.
"You are quite irresistible,” said Giovanni, and the next thing she knew, she felt the Director's lips on her labia. She drew a sudden breath, stabbingly sweet. The man wasn't doing oral so much as kissing her pussy. No one had ever quite done that before. Making love to the lips themselves, touching them gently as butterfly wings to a cloud, yet transferring to them a powerful life energy.
She could not help but erupt in reply. This was more than a little unexpected. She was supposed to be servicing them and here they were worshipping her body like she was Cleopatra.
Not that she minded.
Giovanni's tongue pierced her opening. The motion was so delicate it was almost like the air itself, or the entering of the ghostly moonlight into the room. But there was nothing invisible about what he was doing to her clit. Isolating it, he treated it to swirling sweetness that made her kiss Grigori all the harder. It was like the two men were one; a super lover capable of possessing her with a double mouth.
And that meant a double cock, too. Breaking free, she begged for the chance to do what Giovanni had said she must. “Please, let me make you hard. Use my mouth … let me suck…” The words were a whore's rasp, a concubine's confession, the utterances of a female reduced to her elemental needs. She wasn't playing the good girl anymore. She was the painted lady now. And craving more of it.
Giovanni turned her to her side, indicating his control over her with a pair of smacks to her glowing ass, still sporting the color of her earlier spanking. “You suck when told to, not before."
"Yes, sir,” she replied, rubbing together her super heated thighs.
"Grigori…” He had instructions for the man, involving lifting Julie up to her knees at the far end of the bed.
She felt like a rag doll being put in place. What did Giovanni have in mind, now? She could only wait and see, an audience, for the moment at least, to the man's unfolding, entirely unfilmed epic.
She licked her lips as they lay down, side by side. The pair was holding hands, looking so very delicious, two men, long haired, intense, free spirited, six foot tall and then some, one in his early twenties, the other in his early fifties, each a presence, an irresistible, magnetic draw.
My stars, she thought, seeing how those hands clasped one another, this is something intense here. Could it be love? She doubted they'd admitted anything of the sort to each other, but from her perspective, at least, there was something more than just lust. Call it a gut instinct-or maybe the result of her ability to read Grigori.
Her heart sank as she thought how her handsome Dasklovian was likely to reject her in the end for the dashing Director. They'd make a lovely couple and she would be left in the cold.
"I think you know what comes next, Julie,” said Giovanni.
Yes, she did. She must please these cocks, side by side, somehow trying to be more than a third wheel between them. Julie fought back the tears, amazed she was taking this so hard. She needed to get back to the lust, to the idea of sexual service. She was living the fantasy of being a little whore, being used, and when they were done, they would all go separate ways. Once she'd finished filming this blockbuster of a movie, that is. Assuming the man could pull some rabbit out of a hat and turn it into one.
"Did you like our little scene, Julie?” Giovanni wanted to know.
Planting herself between their legs, she said. “You are both … amazing men."
Giovanni snorted. “Amazing are we? You seemed more than amazed to me, unless I misjudged that smell in the air the whole time."
She hung her head, hiding the blush. He was referring to her arousal. There would have been no mistaking the quickness of her breathing either.
"I was hot,” she confessed. “I wanted to be with you both.” Wantonly she let her long, silky hair flow over both men's organs, titillating and teasing. She wanted them to want her as badly as she wanted them.
Grigori moaned in reply and Giovanni muttered, “Si, bene, bene."
One after another she kissed their darling heads. Both cocks were languid, spent. She had her work cut out for her. Bending her head down, she licked each, full wet, playful slobbers. She followed this up with kisses to their balls. Now she touched them, lightly stroking their testicles. What magic there was in making a man excited. What sexier thing could a woman do, knowing that erection was going to fill her and pummel her and ultimately get her off?
"You are both so fucking fantastic.” She dabbed her tongue at their muscular thighs, expanding her area of worship. “I never thought I could feel comfortable like this. I admit it. I admit I love this. Even if it is wrong."
"How can it be wrong when it feels like this?” Giovanni wanted to know.
It was Grigori who got his erection back first. This was largely a function of age, though Julie wondered if maybe it had something to do with his feelings for her, too-all that passion transforming itself into testosterone. She wanted to take him deep, but the man had something else in mind. Sitting up, he grabbed her by the waist and scooted her around so that crotch was over his face.
He held her fast, pushing his tongue aggressively into her wet hole. She responded by devouring his sex in turn. Enjoying the fruit of her hard work, she slurped him to the back of her throat. Meanwhile, he was making the walls of her pussy clench greedily, craving even deeper invasion. Her clit welcomed him as an old friend, allowing him to loft her into the stratosphere. She wanted them to come together and fast.