J arranged all of that. This dinner. Telling me to come home on time on Friday because we were going out. That I didn’t have to change, we weren’t going anywhere fancy. Oddly nervous though. Like going on a date. Although very different. P had seen me shake and quiver and scream and I didn’t even know what his face looked like. How did you just have a normal conversation after that? We couldn’t have an abnormal conversation in a public space either.
On the drive there I reached across the console between us and hooked my index finger through J’s closest belt loop. Why were we going out at all?
“Nervous?” J asked me, glancing into the rearview.
“Yes,” I said. “Why are we going out anyway?”
“I don’t want him in your house,” J said, shrugging. “Or at least not yet. You ought to meet him first and then tell me if he’s welcome.”
“Oh,” I said.
Which of course made sense. It made me think of how he worriedly nagged me about how deeply I slept when he came home to me. About being out late. About forgetting my phone sometimes. Letting my gas get low or forgetting to take off my work badge when I left the office. He was better at taking care of me than I was at taking care of myself.
We arrived at a little bistro. Some place quiet, and walking in, very low lights and booths. We’d have some measure of privacy. We sat, J ordered tea and water for me. And two orders of coffee. One for him, presumably the other for P. I was nervous still. Sitting too close to him on the bench seat. Resting my hand lightly on his knee and taking it back again. Feeling adolescent and grabby and embarrassed.
I saw J give a little lazy-fingered wave toward the front door. My eyes latched on whoever he’d been acknowledging– it must be P. Not what I’d been expecting. Although really, I hadn’t expected anything. The only thing I knew of him, really, was his voice, his hands, the fact that he wore a beard. I wasn’t even sure about coloring or weight or anything. He had a deep voice and when he tried to be quiet it rumbled. His hands were bigger and broader than J’s but less rough. J had calluses from working with his hands at both his jobs. He was older than both of us. J was older than me by just a few years, P likely had at least a decade on both of us.
He made it to the table and J and I both stood up. I stuck out my hand, babyish and clumsy, my hips whacking into the table.
“Hi,” I squeaked.
“Hello again,” he said, shaking my hand. ‘Hello again’ made me shiver.
He was dressed like men I worked with– which was to say, basic-bitch blue button-up and khakis. He looked a little out-of-place though. He was shorter than J, but definitely broader. He did wear a beard, neatly trimmed close to his face. A watch but no wedding band.
I felt nervous, shakingly so for a second to be sitting between them. Like the two of them would suddenly turn on me and fuck me violently over the table in front of the other diners. And I didn’t want to be a punk and reach for J’s hand. He’d take it, and I’d feel like a coward if he did.
I breathed through my nose for a second. J and P talking about traffic, work, et cetera. I clocked back in recognizing the firm name that P worked at. Paused for a long moment.
“Did you work with–” I asked about a particular client.
He looked down at me, seemingly very comfortable and unaware of my breathy voice or vibrating body.
“I did indeed, a few years ago,” he said.
It turned out we worked in similar lines, and knew many of the same people. I wasn’t sure if that made all this easier or worse. We might have sat in the same conference rooms, gone to the same symposiums, been muted on the same internet calls.
He moved the conversation deftly from work. Which was good– god knows that was boring. Found out we were both reading the same novel that had just come out by a novelist that hadn’t produced in a few years. I’d been reading it aloud to J, in fact.
And suddenly I felt okay. He was smart, but seemingly had none of the meanness both J and I had. It was sort of how we connected in the first place– being catty.
Dinner arrived and that was okay too. It was a little distracting to watch him eat and remember that he’d had my flesh in his mouth. But fine. Just a little distraction. We got more coffee after dinner. As the waiter was filling our glasses he leaned his elbows on the table. Resting his chin on one raised fist and just watched me.
I glanced at him nervously and blushed furiously, ducking my head.
“J told me you’re ‘remarkably pretty’,” he said quietly, after the waiter moved off.
I glanced between them. Watching J stir his coffee and nod absently.
“I tend to agree,” he said, still staring at me. I wriggled and blushed. “I knew you had a good body. Easy enough to see, after all. And obviously I’m rather taken with your breasts. I love your coloring and how your skin flushes as you get worked on. But I think what he was more specifically referencing was your face. I like your pretty little mouth and your very readable eyes.”
I did reach out and grab J’s hand under the cover of the table. Wanting an anchor, and he was my anchor now.
“I liked what we did the other day,” I whispered. “I like how you helped take care of me.”
“I’m glad,” he said, finally sitting upright.
Making a motion at the waiter for the check. He and I had a brief tussle for it, but he won. P made a graceful exit ahead of us as I finished my little mug of tea. Sitting in comfortable silence. We left and J handed me into the car.
“If he came to play with us,” I said, once we hit the highway again. “Would he watch us having sex? Like you and I?”
“How do you feel about that?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
He sighed.
“I don’t like when you don’t give me clear yes or no answers,” he said. “It makes me nervous. All I want is for you to be happy and safe with me. I don’t want you unsure–”
“I mean I don’t know because I actually don’t know,” I interrupted. “I don’t know what to think at all.”
“Then talk it out with me,” he said, patting my knee gently. “I like to talk to you. I like how weird and thoughtful you are. I’ve liked talking to you since I interviewed you for the theater.”
“Oh,” I said. Madly in love.
“Well…” I said. “We didn’t discuss what… What would happen, over dinner. Or anything. Like what it would look like if he… trained me.” My voice dropped low on the last part.
“No,” J said. “That wasn’t the point. I wanted to see if you wanted to spend any time with him at all. This isn’t like being backstage or at the film club. He doesn’t get to come over if you don’t think you’ll like to spend time with him.”
“Oh,” I said.
That was fair. It made sense.
“I like him,” I said.
“Good,” J said. “I do too. One of my few friends.”
“Why didn’t you introduce him as a friend, then?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to influence you. I could have friends you don’t like at all. And I wouldn’t want you to feel pressured into saying yes just because he’s my friend,” he said.
“So…” he prodded, back to the question at hand. “Tell me how you feel.”
“Let me think about it,” I said.
“Good girl,” he said. “Take your time.”
We went home, he got me undressed, tumbling me into bed. Getting between my legs, cradling my face in his hands. Taking me slow and rolling us together. I kept my arms crossed behind his shoulders, my ankles locked at his waist when he finished to keep him close.
“I don’t think I want you to have sex with me in front of him,” I said. “Nobody else has seen it. There’s no reason for him to.”
I was catching my breath, nuzzling into that space where his neck met his shoulder. Feeling mellow and emotionally exhausted.
“That’s right,” he said, quietly. “That’s between us.” Reaching between us, thumping his fist between our chests. His thumb against his heart, his pinkie against mine.
“But we could have fun together without that,” I said.
“Oh I definitely think so,” J agreed. “I don’t know if you knew this about me… But I just love to show you off and share you.”
We both laughed. Rolling over and going to sleep early.
I had a small second bedroom in my home that I’d used as storage. Or, mostly empty space. It held my clothing steamer, a mop and a scattered box of paperwork. Otherwise unused. I heard J late at night in there. Cleaning. Heard him sweeping the floors and putting things into the closet there. Didn’t care, wasn’t worried. If he wanted me to know what was happening he would most assuredly tell me. So I let it go.
A little over a week after we had dinner, J cleared his throat after handing me my lunch for the day.
“This weekend,” he said. “Do you want to play?”
I nodded enthusiastically.
“Yes,” I said. “Whatever you want.”
“Good girl,” he said.
I was made nervous all over again letting P into the house. I tried to tell myself it was just like other times and we knew each other and liked each other and all of that but couldn’t quite relax. Partially it was because J wasn’t leading me like he had before. I was sort of doing this on my own.
J was behind me though. Saying his casual hellos which drove me crazy again.
“Let me show you the space I’ve been putting together,” J said to P.
“Excellent,” P said, patting my cheek gently while he brushed past me.
I followed like a puppy behind both of them toward my spare room.
J had outfitted it with a few work tables against the wall, black out curtains. Something like a padded sawhorse which made me shake. P inspected that little piece of equipment in particular and gave a business-like thumbs up to J. I was scared and turned on to see he had two comfortable chairs facing it as well.
“Well,” P said to me, sort of waving his fingers in a dismissive way. “Would you like to get undressed for us, pretty baby?”
I nodded like a puppet, chin almost dropping to my chest and started to do so. Leaving my clothes on the floor. And then stood shivering. J had finally broken my habit of trying to cover myself up while standing nude. But the impulse was still there. J went and sat in one of the chairs. Ankle up on his knee, looking relaxed and engaged. Almost the same position and face as when he was watching a movie he liked or reading a book he enjoyed.
P grabbed a few things off the tables J had set up. I had seen there was an array of toys and tools. I at least saw ropes and cuffs and the same red hood. But I hadn’t caught much else and hadn’t tried very hard to. I knew it would just arouse and scare me to look too closely.
Then he sat too. And now both of them were facing me. I shifted from hip to hip.
“Well, come here,” P said.
One of the other little differences between J and P was the tone in which they gave commands. I couldn’t say that I liked one better than the other, just that the difference was piquant. That J often had a sense of amusement, or impatience and P was always gentleness. Like he was training a very loveable but very dumb pet.
I stepped to him and he reached out, hands on my waist drawing me between his knees. There was also something thrilling about being naked while they were both clothed. Like and somehow not like being in the crowds.
“Bend forward,” he directed.
I did, a little. He sighed, curling a finger downward. I bent in half at the waist, going until I rested my hands on the arms of his chair. He reached up, cradling and cupping both my hanging breasts.
“This,” he sighed. “I really like this. When you just sort of…” he shifted his hands so his palms were just brushing my nipples. “Drop into my hands.”
I moaned and wriggled, nipples drawing viciously hard and tight against his hands.
“Hence this lovely little bench J rigged up for us,” P continued.
I dropped deeper into his hands. Hoping for that coaxing pull he’d do.
“Did you hear me?” P asked, suddenly pinching me hard. I squeaked and rocked into it. “Turn your head and tell him thank you.”
I gasped, turned my head to the right. Catching J’s eyes. Blushing furiously.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Painfully pinched again.
“Thank you!” I cried, raising myself to my toes to try and escape P’s fingers.
“There’s a good girl,” P said, going exactly into that milking movement I liked.
I rocked into his hands, knees whacking into the seat of his chair.
“That’s right,” he said, low, soothingly. “I forgot you like ‘good girl.’ I’ll remember that now.”
I moaned again, thrusting my hips forward. Wanting contact now.
“What do you call J?” he asked me.
I paused. Went quiet. Flushing.
“Are you a ‘daddy’?” he asked J, chuckling a little. J laughed back.
“No, it’s just tenderness between us,” J said.
I was totally overwhelmed. I hadn’t wanted to answer the question because J was right– it was tenderness between us. Darling and dearest and lover. And I didn’t want P to ask me to call him that. And also to listen to them casually conversing about me while I writhed.
“Which is to say,” P said, turning back to me and continuing his massage. “If you like to use a title, little girl, go right ahead.”
“Sir,” I panted, hands sliding off the arms of the chair to land on his thighs.
Both men laughed then.
“I thought it might be something like that,” P said to J, sounding amused. “And I rather hoped it might be. I loved hearing her moaning it at the film club. Do you remember?”
“Ah yes,” J said. “Moaning about drowning some ‘poor sir.’”
I groaned, partially in embarrassment for being reminded and partially because I desperately wanted to be touched further.
“Please sir,” I said. “Could I have more, please?”
“Of course,” P answered.
His hands left me, making me moan again. Reaching into his pocket and drawing forth something like little rubber shot glasses. Pinching them and then pressing them to my nipples and releasing them. The pressure change drew them deeply into the cups, making me squeak.
“Please,” I said, almost crouching. “I’d like to come.”
J laughed a bit again, and I turned my face toward him.
“I’ve literally never heard her ask to have one,” J said to P, ignoring me entirely. “She is always begging to not come.”
“Oh, that’s right,” P said back, flicking the little cups and setting them bouncing. “How could I have forgotten that your particular game is giving too much?”
“I’m obsessed with giving her too much,” J said.
“I’m going to teach you the fun of having what you want withheld from you, little girl,” P said to me.
I groaned.
“But indulge my curiosity,” P said, whipping the cups off my nipples. Making me gasp and almost stand up right. “Show me how you beg him. When you think you can’t come any more.”
I felt incredibly humiliated and excited. And more humiliated by how excited I was. I dropped to my knees between P’s legs. Resting my hands on his right knee and bowing my head.
“Ah,” P said. “I never would have pegged you for the kind of man who likes the kingly treatment,” he said to J.
I couldn’t stand their jocular, easy conversation any more. It was driving me mad, and unfortunately turning me on.
With the backs of his fingers he lifted my chin, bending forward a little, catching my eye.
“But not with me though,” he said. “When you beg me you look right into my face. I want to hear your voice, and have your eyes looking up at me when you do it.”
“Yes sir,” I said. Trying very hard to be clear and keep my voice raised.
“Oh, good girl,” he said. For the first time sounding anything other than nonchalant. “Bit of a reward for that.”
He reached forward again, putting the suction cups back to my nipples. And then lifting something out of the side of the chair. A dildo, roughly human shaped but thankfully not terribly large. Still, I blushed and backed away. He seemed unperturbed, leaning forward over his own legs. I watched him carefully. Almost choking when I realized it had a little suction itself on the base. Placing it firmly on the toe of his dress shoe.
“Well,” he said, shifting his foot a little. “Mount up, little girl.”
I stared up at him, pressing my hands to my hot cheeks.
He reached forward again, a single finger between my legs.
“Oh, you can do it,” he said, with a coaching tone. “You’re drenched. It’ll be easy.”
I swallowed, reaching forward and resting my hands on his right knee again. Spreading my legs over his foot. Lowering myself down on it. Using one hand on his knee to keep myself steady, the other to guide the dildo inside of me.
I rested for a moment, panting. He let me. For maybe a minute altogether. When I’d apparently been unmoving for too long, he rested both hands on the top of my head, pushing me downward. Until I was filled, and resting right on the laces of his shoes. Clitoris painfully thrumming against them.
He took the suckers from my nipples, beginning to massage again. I wished he’d put his mouth on me again.
“Say thank you,” he said to me.
“Thank you,” I panted, feeling very full, lifting my chest into his fingers.
“Tell him thank you, too,” he said, jerking his head toward J.
“Thank you,” I said, turning sideways.
“Go ahead and start bouncing to show him how thankful you are,” P said. “But don’t try rubbing that hungry little clit into me, I’ll know.”
Almost crying, I started riding the dildo and said ‘thank you’ again in J’s direction.
“Say ‘thank you for all my nice toys and the nice play room you made me’,” P prodded.
“Thank you for all my nice toys and the nice play room you made me,” I said, arching back so I could see around the chair and see J better.
“You’re so very welcome my darling,” J said. “Besides, it was all just dividends from your new investment accounts now that you’re not wasting money any more.”
The two men laughed again. I wondered if J had told P about taking over my finances. I appreciated it deeply and was terribly impressed but disgusted with myself and would hardly want P knowing about all that.
I started bouncing harder and faster. Slightly concerned about making a mess on his shoe. Slightly upset that I liked the idea of making a mess on his shoe. He rapped my knuckles on his knee briskly with his own.
“Slow down,” he said. “I can feel you trying to get yourself off on my foot. You’re not doing that today.”
I hissed, fisting my hand. Not a terrible pain but a tender one. And I hated being called out for what I was doing. Because I was. Leaning into him on the downswing, letting my swollen clit brush against the tongue of his shoe.
“Like this,” he said, suddenly pinching my nipples and pulling me upward. Moving me up and down with his fingers twisting into me. A too-slow rhythm. Up and then down again in twenty second rotations.
“Please,” I said to him, making sure to make eye contact. And then I turned toward J, catching his eye.
“Maybe you can just–”
J lifted his hand, laughing and waving me off.
“Don’t appeal to him,” P said. “He’s not even touching you today. We’ve already discussed it. I knew if he laid a hand on you he’d make you come. He agrees he’s helpless to do anything but get you off and so… You’re just mine today, little girl.”
I whined. But kept moving, at the too-slow pace he’d set. Just rubbing my nipples gently. And then they started talking again! Like before. I couldn’t track the conversation. Felt too crazy to do so. But just movies and scores and directors and things like that. P suddenly stopped touching me. Tapping the top of my head. When I didn’t stop moving he fisted his hands in my loose hair.
“Stand up,” he directed.
Reaching between us again to help ease myself off the dildo, I did. Legs shaking. Knees hurting from being on the ground for so long.
J leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and whistled.
“Tell me you waterproofed those shoes,” he said to P.
I shivered, feeling come dripping down my thighs.
“Not to worry,” P said airly. “I’m a man who comes prepared.”
“Can I please–” I started whining, almost stomping my foot.
I was ignored by both of them.
“Have you ever watched her masturbate?” P asked J.
“No, I haven’t,” J said thoughtfully. “It just hasn’t come up yet.”
P stood up, sidling around me. I wanted to grab hold of his arms and hold him to me but kept still. Not wanting to be pinched or further teased for not behaving.
P dragged over a sturdy little coffee table. A little shorter than average. Setting it about a foot away from the chairs and about two feet in front of them. Then back to the tall work table to get more toys while I moaned about it.
He returned with large cups this time. Not like the little pressure cups and the kinds with screws that fit only over nipples. But something that could easily accommodate the whole of my breasts.
“Bend forward again,” he directed.
I did, bending at the waist again. His hand on the back of my head, he bent me in half. Fitting a cup over one breast carefully. Screwing a hose to it. Giving the hose a sudden harsh pump from a bulb. Suctioning in my breast. Moving on to the second one.
“Easier to do it while you hang. We use gravity to our advantage,” P said, talking gently, like he had to use a bedside manner with me.
“Now go get into the position you use,” he said to me.
I hesitated. Shifting uncomfortably before him. At this point I knew I really ought not to be ashamed of anything in front of either of them. Especially J. They’d both seen me literally coated in come and crying. And I needed further direction.
“Get up on the table for us, baby,” J said, using his gentle voice. “Show us how you do it when you’re alone.”
I approached the table. Trying to figure out just how to situate myself. When I masturbated I was almost flat on my stomach. A little up on my knees to get both hands under myself. But nearly prone. The table wasn’t quite long enough to accommodate that. My head and shoulders would have to hang off one end. But that would probably be more comfortable, I realized, with the cups over my breasts. I wouldn’t want to lay on those. So I got up on the table, getting into position, feet hanging off one end, my head shoulders and breasts off the other. I’d get strained soon, because I liked to use both hands to masturbate. So I had to rest my rib cage on the edge of the table. But I didn’t imagine either of them would let me pleasure myself for long.
“Good girl,” P said. “Go ahead and start. But slow.”
“Yes sir,” I said, reaching underneath myself. It was odd to see the hoses hanging in front of me as they dangled from the cups. He pumped both up twice. Feeling my breast swell up against the cups. It felt as though they should spring free but they didn’t. He pumped me up several more times until I groaned and bucked. It seemed like they’d be a full cup size larger by the end of this.
Then he went back to sit in his seat.
I was moving very slowly and barely making contact with myself. Otherwise it would be all over very quickly. I looked over my shoulder when I heard his chair creaking. Both of them just watched intently and silently.
J suddenly snapped his fingers and I almost went to him. Used to being snapped at when he wanted to fuck me.
“I think it’s funny that one of her favorite positions to get fucked in is on her stomach,” J said, delighted like he’d come across some massive discovery.
“This is why you watch them,” P said sagely.
I let my hands drop to the tabletop.
“I can’t keep going,” I said.
“Why not?” P asked.
“I’m going to come if I don’t stop touching myself… And you didn’t give me leave to, sir.”
“Good girl!” he said, clapping.
He came over to me and helped me kneel up on the table, one hand under my shoulder, another in my hair. He unscrewed the hoses. It was odd to feel his palm on the plastic of the cups because I could feel his warmth through them but not the actual texture of his flesh.
“I’m going to let you loose,” he said. “You might tingle.”
He broke the suction at the base of my breasts and my skin unstuck and sank back. But I was right, I didn’t think they’d fit into the bra I’d been wearing today. And my nipples felt engorged. Tingly, a bit, but numb or pins and needles, hardly.
He went back to his usual massaging and I nearly screamed.
“If you orgasm from nipple stimulation, excellent,” he said, when I tried to back away. “It’s just not going to happen the usual way.”
I cried and wiggled, knees feeling bruised.
“Sir,” I panted. “Maybe I could. Maybe I could if I had your mouth again.”
“Ah-ha,” he said. “I’m helpless when it comes to resisting you.”
He left me to return to the work table. I whined since he wasn’t touching me any more. Then bent forward again on the table, showing myself off to J, and perhaps attempting to trick him into touching me. Of course it didn’t.
When P came back to me he got me down off the table and led me to the saw horse. Bent over at the waist. He started strapping a new cuff to me. What J had used previously were standard metal ones. These were padded, and oddly wrapped in a similar fashion to my ankle and wrist weights for working out. Both wrists and ankles were secured to the legs of the horse, keeping me spread wide open.
I was expecting for my stomach, breast bone and hip bones to hurt bent over the sawhorse. But that too was padded. P dragged the table I’d been masturbating on in front of me, sitting on it himself. Reaching up until his palms just touched my nipples. The way I knew he liked. Because he told me he loved to feel my weight drop into him. And just knowing that he liked it turned me on.
“That’s right,” he murmured. “That’s my good girl. You’re doing so good. You’re going to be so good at this.”
I looked up at him, and he caught my eye. He’d been watching my face the whole time. He smiled at me. I’d have to remember he liked eye contact. Because I’d see the sudden throb under his zipper, how his hands would ever so briefly spasm on me.
J had told me he liked the moment when I lost myself. Eyes closed, unable to speak in words any more. “That’s when I know you’re in your body,” he’d said. P wanted me there, with him. Again, neither was better than the other. But contrasting them gave them both greater intensity. It made me wonder if that was J’s goal. Some kind of ultimate doll for everyone.
I heard J stand up suddenly. And I turned my face to watch him. He was just circling around us, thumbs hanging from his belt loops. Inspecting like I was a museum piece. I wanted him so terribly then. I knew we’d discussed it. And at any other time, when I was thinking more clearly, I wouldn’t feel the way I felt now.
But I just wanted him unbuttoned and unzipped and behind me. Filling me up. I groaned when he was behind me, trying vainly to lift my backside against the restraints, presenting myself like a dumb animal.
“You’re so lovely,” J said. And he sounded closer than he had been. I tried to toss my head to watch him but couldn’t.
“So lovely,” he said. And from where I heard his voice I could tell he was kneeling behind me and only inches away.
“You know,” J said thoughtfully. I could tell now he was craning his face around my hip to speak to P. “I think after we get her coming from her nipples I have another project in mind.”
“Oh?” P said calmly, still massaging me as I writhed.
“I have this fantasy of getting her to the point that as soon as a hand touches her she starts dripping like this,” J said.
I felt his fingers on my inner thigh and cried out, rocking the whole of the sawhorse in my struggles.
I looked over my left shoulder as he held up his shining hand under the overhead lights to show P.
“Cruelty,” P laughed. “So you mean when you’re just helping her into the car or what have you, whatever she’s wearing is just quite suddenly soaked in come?”
“Precisely,” J laughed, and then he went and sat back down as I tried to reach for him with my cuffed hands.
P slid off the top of the table and started sucking me.
I screamed for half a breath and then bit my lip. Remembering that we weren’t in the middle of nowhere but my neighborhood.
I tried quite earnestly then to chase my orgasm. Feeling myself clenching between my legs.
And for a while I was just lost in sensation. Marking when he switched. Mouth from left to right, using his hand on whichever wasn’t being suckled.
“You’re doing a great job, P,” J suddenly said. “I think she’s just being stubborn.”
I grunted when P stopped. Fighting over the sawhorse again. Feeling terribly disrupted and punished. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed. But I guessed it had been a while. From J’s tone of impatience. Almost the same voice he used when I said I couldn’t come again.
“Perhaps just a change of pace, for me,” P said thoughtfully. Standing back up. “Although god knows I could have kept going for another hour.”
He started uncuffing me. I slithered off the horse, collapsing splay legged to the floor in front of him. Concerned about dripping onto it. He sat back down on the table and reached a hand out to me. I went to him on hands and knees. If I’d been able to think clearly I’d be pleased by the airless little groan that escaped him when I did.
When I was between his feet I knelt back up and made eye contact with him.
“Sir,” I said.
Still with a little sense of triumphance that he’d been obviously turned on. No longer that detachment. He reached behind himself and grabbed a bottle of lube. Rubbing it gently into my chest while I moaned and moved into every stroke.
“My hands are a mess,” he said. “Undo my pants for me.”
I reached forward, keeping my eyes on his and did so. Loving that little upward tilt in his hips as he helped me ease him out. I stuck out my tongue, letting it loll against my bottom lip at him in an ask. He shook his head and I sighed, disappointed. Until he clasped my breasts together and slid his shaft between them.
I gasped, sliding closer to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. I’d never had this and it was wonderful. Nothing had felt quite as smooth and velvety on my chest. And there was an odd echoing thrum in my lower stomach. Almost as if I could feel the thrust and back and forth inside as well as against my chest.
“Oh yes,” I cried out. “Thank you, sir.”
Keeping me tightly around his cock he shifted his thumbs so he could brush them across my nipples.
I came, crying thank you over and over. A weirdly painful and empty orgasm. Because it felt like my lower body was helplessly trying to embrace emptiness. And that my still swollen clit remained full and desiring. But an orgasm nevertheless. I collapsed into him. Lapping briefly at the head of his cock beneath my chin.
“Good girl,” he groaned, coming himself.
I leaned forward, cleaning him up hurriedly so he wouldn’t have to worry about his pants. His hand in my hair, petting me as I did so. I backed away from him so he could stand up. Hitching his pants back up.
“Good work,” J said. Coming over to me and laying a hand on the top of my head.
I looked up at him, feeling in love being on my knees like this. His little dismissive pat.
“I’m going to leave you two alone,” P said, cupping my jaw briefly.
“Good night,” I squeaked from the floor, making them both laugh at me again.
J walked him out as they quietly talked. I couldn’t hear their conversation.
When he returned I stayed on the floor, watching him come in. Taking off his shirt, kicking off his boots. He had this little trick where he’d flick open the button of his dark jeans. And let them slide down his hips just a bit. Like a burlesque tease. He knew it drove me crazy.
“Do I get to have you, darling?” I asked. “I need you. Very badly.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll always give you what you need.”
I was worried he would only touch me with his hands or mouth. But he seemed to innately understand I needed him inside of me. And he obliged. Laying sweaty and worn to the bones after the evening.
“I love you,” he said to me as I rolled into his side, cuddling into him on the floor.
“I love you,” I said.