by Robin Gideon
It was a comforting thought for Dirk. He had been concerned that his feelings for Faye would be so overpowering that the idea of sharing her would cause problems. Now, sharing her with his best friend, he felt closer to Radburn than ever before, and his love for Faye only intensified with each passing day.
She released Radburn, shifted her position slightly, then began licking the crown of Dirk’s cock. After several seconds, she licked down the shaft then sucked lightly on his testicles one at a time.
“Oh, damn, that feels wonderful,” Dirk said then groaned softly as Faye drew a firmer suction on his testicle.
“It’s nothing more than you deserve,” Faye said a moment later.
She licked her way slowly up his shaft then pushed her soft lips over the crown of his cock. Her tongue moved slowly against the underside of the knob, drawing another low groan of lust from Dirk. His cock felt hard as stone, and he knew that his next climax would be a powerful one. When she turned her gaze up to his, the lewd image of such a beautiful woman sucking on his cock nearly sent him tumbling into the abyss of another climax.
“What do you want?” Dirk asked. “Ask me anything, and I’ll make it happen.” He was determined to give Faye more pleasure, more satisfaction, than she could possibly withstand.
He watched her close her eyes, then a shiver went through her. She took his hard flesh out of her mouth and leaned away, sitting on the backs of her heels.
She opened her eyes, and in a small voice asked, “Anything?” Dirk nodded, and another shiver went through Faye. “Take me. Take me together.” Again she closed her eyes briefly, as though struggling for words. “I want to feel both of you inside me.” She took an uneven breath, causing her breasts to tremble erotically. “Inside me…at the same time.”
Dirk felt a surge of lust go through him, and a drop of pre-cum formed at the slit in the head of his cock.
“When you start, whatever you do, don’t stop until you’re finished,” Faye whispered. And then, in an even softer voice, she said, “I can’t believe I just asked to get fucked in the ass.”
* * * *
Faye looked down at Radburn, his powerful body prone on the sofa, his thick cock pointing straight up. His cock was thicker than Dirk’s, though not as long, and that was the reason she had chosen to make her surprising sexual request of Dirk.
She straddled his hips with her knees, and with her fingertips adjusted the angle of his erection. Slowly, she moved lower then felt the plump head of his cock pressing against the entrance to her slit.
“You’re so thick,” she whispered as she felt her labia stretching to accommodate Radburn’s dimensions. When she took the head into her pussy, she gasped and said, “I’m addicted to you.”
She bobbed slowly, taking more and more of the solid erection into her slit with each revolution. Radburn’s enormous hands were at her hips, but he wasn’t holding her or setting her rhythm. Soon, her weight was upon Radburn, and every inch of his cock was filling her tight slit.
Faye felt a strong hand on her back, directly between her shoulder blades. Dirk pushed, forcing her to bend down until her full breasts compressed against the broad expanse of Radburn’s powerful chest. A moment later she felt a finger, slick with some kind of ointment, swirl briefly around her anus then plunge inside.
“Ah!” she gasped, the sensation of having her back entrance pierced wickedly, darkly erotic.
Radburn took her face in his hands and kissed her. Faye trembled, feeling his tongue moving about in her mouth as she felt his cock pulsing inside her pussy. Dirk’s finger slipped back and forth between her cheeks several times then retreated completely.
I’m not prepared for this. I’m not ready. They’re both so big and…
The head of Dirk’s cock pressed against her puckered opening. Faye ended her kiss with Radburn, and she started to push herself up, but Dirk’s left hand was at the middle of her back to hold her down, and his strength was much greater than her own.
“Relax and it’ll be easier.”
Dirk knows what to do.
She tried to relax, but that was impossible. She clenched her teeth and promised herself to not scream as the pressure against her opening grew stronger. And then feminine resistance gave way to masculine determination, and the head of Dirk’s cock slipped between the cheeks of her ass and powered past her tight ring and into her anus.
A red-hot burst of pain shot through Faye’s nerves, causing her to flinch from head to toe.
I can’t take it. I can’t take all he’s got.
She felt relief when he withdrew, but it was short-lived because hardly had he slipped out of her taboo passage then he powered himself back in again, impaling Faye with even more of his lusty cock.
Back and forth it went, pain and then pleasure and then pain again. When she felt Dirk’s chest pressing against her back, Faye knew that she’d taken everything he had.
“Wait,” she gasped. “Give me a second…to adjust.”
With the full length of Radburn’s cock stuffed up her pussy and Dirk’s cock in her ass, Faye felt stuffed to overflowing with men. A sheen of perspiration broke out all over her body. She was breathing deeply, her breasts pressed tightly against Radburn’s chest, feeling trapped and helpless between two powerful, masculine bodies.
And then, as though they could read each other’s mind, the men began moving slowly, and in unison. The pain of having her anus plundered had transformed into a pleasure/pain that was different from any sensation Faye had ever before experienced. With her head turned aside, Radburn kissed one side of her face while Dirk kissed the other.
They began slowly and with comparative gentleness. But soon both men were working furiously, straining to plunder Faye’s body more deeply, with greater energy, with raw lust. The sound of their labored breathing was like the roar of twin railroad steam engines, filling Faye’s ears as their cocks filled her ass and pussy.
I’m getting fucked. It was a strangely casual thought in the recesses of Faye’s lust-distorted mind. And I’m going to come.
Her knees were up tight against Radburn’s ribs when her pussy and ass began a series of climactic spasms. Throughout her climax, she felt the seesawing columns of hard masculinity filling her, driving to the deepest depths of her soul. She had to clench her teeth to keep from crying out in ecstasy. Her skin felt like it was on fire. Her own perspiration made tendrils of hair cling to her temples. Beneath her and above her, the men were sweating, straining mightily to deliver to Faye everything they had to offer.
Their harsh, throaty groans told Faye they had reached the pinnacle and could take no more. And then they were lax, two powerful men gulping in air as they began basking in the afterglow of a draining climax.
She was still trapped between them, their cocks still inside her, when Faye said, “I’m going to be so sore tomorrow. But I wouldn’t have done anything different for all the gold in the London.”
“Next time,” Radburn said, “I’ll take the top. You two have about squished me.”
The three of them laughed then and, with sighs and groans, began moving off the sofa, one at a time.
Chapter Ten
On Sunday night, Agatha, feeling confident, bent from the waist to put her nose close to Faye’s. Her daughter-in-law had returned home less than an hour earlier from her mysterious weekend sojourn.
Agatha smiled with malicious delight and said, “We’re going to do things my way for the next couple of hours, my dear, so you might as well relax. I’ve got plans for you. You’re not going anywhere.”
The naked panic in Faye’s lavender eyes gave Agatha an ecstatic sense of triumph.
Faye sat in a straight-backed armchair in Agatha’s sunroom. Her wrists were tied to the arms of the chair with coarse hemp rope that chafed her skin. Her ankles were tied to the chair’s front legs. A silk handkerchief had been used as a gag and tied tightly around her head. Faye seemed to be trying to bite her way through the handkerchief, her efforts a futile act
that caused no end of amusement for Agatha. Whenever Faye protested, her words were so indistinct and slurred by the gag all she managed were energetically delivered mumbling sounds.
It hadn’t been easy getting Faye into the chair upon her return home. Derwin, Vicar Wilson, and Francis Nichols had struggled to get her properly tied. She had fought like a wildcat the entire time and had drawn blood from both the vicar and the barrister with her fingernails.
Vicar Wilson, clearly shaken by the violence, stood in a corner of the room, nursing his second brandy. His face was ghostly pale, and he kept dabbing at three bloody streaks on his cheek.
“Have you gotten your nerve back yet, Vicar?” Agatha asked, her cold gaze taking in the trembling man.
“This is highly irregular,” the vicar replied. He seemed unable or unwilling to look at the young woman he had helped bind and gag.
“Don’t make me angry with you.”
The old man shivered.
Agatha looked at Francis Nichols. He was bearing up better than the vicar, but not by much. Looking him directly in the eye, Agatha asked, “You’ve got all the documents ready to be signed?”
“Right here.” Francis lifted his leather briefcase. “Once the ceremony is over and the papers are signed, Faye will be Derwin’s lawfully wedded wife.” He turned his beady gaze upon Faye, and in a low, malevolent tone added, “Whether she likes it or not.”
Turning to her son, Agatha gave him a once-over. “Well, don’t just stand there like a deaf-mute, you idiot. Stand next to your fiancée, and we’ll start the ceremony.”
Her words triggered another bout of furious effort as Faye once again struggled to free herself from the ropes that bound her to the heavy chair. She bit down so hard on the handkerchief that tendons stood out in stark relief on her neck.
“Come on, Vicar. You’ve got words to say. We’re doing this all right and proper.” Agatha stepped close to her captive daughter-in-law. “Listen to me carefully, Faye. We’re expecting you to have a boy baby soon. The quicker you give us a male heir, the less often you have to get fucked by Derwin.” She laughed hollowly. “That ought to be incentive enough for you to squeeze out a boy.”
The statement brought on more futile thrashing and gnashing by Faye. It went on for a full minute, and when she was finished, she slumped in the chair, exhausted by her efforts. A sheen of perspiration glistened on her skin, and her wrists and ankles were rubbed raw by the coarse rope.
Agatha turned to the vicar and said, “Make it the short version. I don’t need a lot of talk of God and such—I just want to make it legal.”
Vicar Wilson closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were clear and held a certain determination. Agatha’s respect for the man went up. He was a repellant human being, to be sure, but he could square his shoulders and do what was necessary as long as he had proper motivation.
He mumbled several lines of Latin, which didn’t please Agatha in the least, although she didn’t chastise him for it, then said in his well-practiced, stentorian manner, “Do you, Derwin Winchell Smythe, take Faye…um…” He turned to Agatha. “What’s her middle name?”
“Get on with it, damn you!” Agatha was too close to Faye’s fortune to have any patience for frivolous formality.
“Do you take Faye Smythe to be your lawfully wedded wife, to honor and cherish, for richer or for poorer, ’til death do you part?”
Derwin sucked in his stomach and puffed out his chest. “I do.”
Vicar Wilson turned his attention to Faye, and when he saw her, bound and gagged, pale and perspiring with fear and exhaustion, he again closed his eyes, but only for a second. Then he said, “And do you, Faye Smythe, take Derwin Winchell Smythe as your lawfully wedded husband, to honor and obey, for richer or for poorer, ’til death do you part?”
The gag prevented Faye’s reply from being put into words, but she shook her head vigorously, sending her ebony hair flying around her shoulders.
“That means yes,” Agatha said, laughter in her tone.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.” Already turning away, Vicar Wilson said, “You may now kiss your wife.”
Agatha uttered a short, barking laugh. “He’s going to do more than just kiss her. And don’t you go anywhere, Vicar Wilson. You’re going to be one of the wedding night witnesses.”
Francis Nichols touched Agatha’s arm. When she turned toward him, he smiled and said, “There are documents that must be signed.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” Agatha patted her protuberant stomach, her round face literally beaming with satisfaction. “Where are they?”
“There are two sets,” the barrister explained. “The first set must be signed by the vicar and Derwin, and witnessed by me. The second set pertains to Faye’s fulfillment of her marriage bed vows. It, too, must be signed by witnesses in the event the marriage is contested.”
Too many years of having witnessed foul greed up close had stripped Francis of his ability to believe in people’s inherent goodness. He grinned crookedly and said, “The last time I witnessed a marriage consummation was about ten years ago. The bride was already enceinte, and her father wanted to be able to say in court that she had gotten pregnant on her wedding night.”
The barrister spread out the stiff parchment sheets on a writing table. He dipped his pen, signed his name with a flourish, then handed the pen to Derwin. When it was Agatha’s turn to sign, her hands shook. Not badly, but enough so others might notice. She compressed her fleshy lips into a thin, embittered smile. Very soon, she would once again be a wealthy woman, and then she’d teach that banker, Georges Mann, a thing or two about showing respect to their betters.
“Get on with it, Derwin,” Agatha said, pulling a chair close to Faye. “I’d leave her tied, if I were you. At least until you’ve done the deed. She’s already bloodied you up.”
Agatha looked at Vicar Wilson and Francis Nichols. Both men moved much closer to the bound woman, jockeying for the best viewing position. Faye’s beauty was beyond question, and though both men were trying to pretend their interests were only in seeing that the marriage was irrevocably legally completed, Agatha knew that prurient interests dominated their thoughts. Agatha had chosen the right men to satisfy the needs of the courts and the church.
When Derwin began unbuttoning Faye’s blouse, Agatha let out a low groan of frustration and asked, “Is that really necessary?”
Derwin’s eyes were big, round, and glassy with lust. Without turning his gaze away from Faye, he nodded his head enthusiastically. When his fumbling fingers couldn’t work free several buttons, he stuffed his fingers inside the neckline of Faye’s blouse, and as she squirmed and fought the ropes that bound her, Derwin ripped apart the garment with all his strength.
The assembled audience gasped in unison when Derwin tore Faye’s blouse and gasped a second time when he split her camisole from neckline to bottom hem, exposing a white, silk underbust corset holding up her two generous, pink-tipped breasts.
A muscle flickered in Agatha’s cheek. While she had known her son frequented bordellos in London in search of sexual satisfaction, she hadn’t thought he had the savagery to rip away Faye’s clothes. As her son pulled up Faye’s skirt, fighting against the layers of petticoats, Agatha considered other ways in which Derwin could be of service to her. After all, if he could fuck Faye with his mother, a vicar, and a barrister in the room, then surely he had the toughness for less pleasant tasks.
Derwin had just torn Faye’s drawers from her and was fighting with the fly buttons of his trousers when the sound of wood splintering drew Agatha’s attention. The door to the sunroom had been locked—and now it dangled awkwardly, completely dislodged from the top hinge, with a massive section of the doorjamb missing. Radburn McSwain had just kicked it in, and now he strode forward with Dirk Boyd at his side, the two of them with clenched fists and blood in their eyes.
“You’re too late!” Agatha screamed, instantly recognizing the two reprobates. “The little bitch
is married to my Derwin!”
Derwin seemed in a trance, unable to fully comprehend what was happening, too focused on sexually forcing himself upon a beautiful woman. Though he was looking at Dirk, he didn’t seem to see him. It didn’t matter. When Dirk’s fist connected with Derwin’s nose, his head snapped backward and he crumpled to the floor.
“You’re too late! Too late!” Agatha screamed, only mildly put off by seeing her son’s unconscious figure on the floor, blood sluicing from a nose broken so severely that Derwin would forever bear its mark.
The vicar held his Bible in both hands, trying to hide behind it not just spiritually, but also physically. Radburn hesitated at seeing the Bible, but only for an eye-blink moment. Then he sent a crashing left fist into Vicar Wilson’s solar plexus, and as the breath exited the man’s lungs in a great rush, a ham-sized right fist to his chin brought with it blessed unconsciousness.
“I’m a man of the law,” Francis Nichols announced haughtily. “Touch me, and you’ll spend the rest of your days in court.”
Afterward, Agatha would wonder whether it was his condescending attitude that prompted Dirk and Radburn to react so swiftly. Radburn swung a right fist to the man’s stomach while Dirk swung a left to his chin. Their fists connected simultaneously, and the slender barrister did a cartwheel as his limp body catapulted backward.
Agatha was shocked at the speed with which Dirk and Radburn beat up the three men, but she was still Agatha Smythe, in her own house, and she was certain she held the winning cards. As the men rushed to Faye and untied her, Agatha said with haughty contempt, “So you’ve been fucking these two, eh, Faye? Well, you’ll never fuck them again—because from this moment forward, you’re married to my Derwin, and you’ll do what your husband tells you!”
Annie, who had run all the way to The Club to tell Radburn and Dirk what Agatha was doing with Faye, came rushing into the sunroom, holding tightly to little Lisbet’s hand.
Dirk stepped up to Agatha and said in a low voice, “I ought to kill you for what you’ve done.”
