by Joey W. Hill
At Sam's uncertain look, Flo shook her head. "Let me put it this way. Can you live with it staying how it is? The three of you just 'friends' who are fantasizing about one another but not doing anything about it?"
"No," Sam said resolutely. "Hell no. I'm done with that."
Flo pinched her arm. "All right, then. Go home tonight and give him that additional push."
"Isn't trying to manipulate him wrong? I thought you just said Doms can't be pushed into anything."
"They can't, and if I felt you were trying to manipulate him in the wrong way, I'd be the first to suggest you need to pull back. But Geoff seems like a big boy who can figure out what's driving you. And in your situation, it might help Geoff to know just how much his submissive wants and needs what he has to offer." She lifted a shoulder. "If he's pretty close to being ready and you yank his chain the right way, you'll get a response for sure. Like you did this weekend."
Sam remembered how he put her over his lap so decisively, pulling her pajama bottoms out of his way, his palm clapping against her tender flesh. She shuddered a little, a smile playing on her lips. Flo gave her a knowing look.
"Should we take a poll from that homeless guy over there about whether or not you should go home and try to get Geoff to slap that ass again?"
Sam pushed at her playfully. "Stop it. You're terrible."
"And you're blushing. It's adorable."
"Shut up."
Flo linked arms with her again. "I know I'm giving you some conflicting messages, but I trust your judgment. You're a smart woman, Sam, and you have a loving heart. I can also tell these two guys think the world of you, so no matter what happens, I know you'll watch out for one another. But on that note, I am going to say one thing to you that's really important, okay?"
Florence brought her to a halt, faced her, her expression now serious. "If Geoff's as new to this as you are, it's all the more important that you communicate with him. I believe he'd cut off his arm before ever hurting you, so if you go down a road where you're uncomfortable or afraid, you talk to him. A good Dom wants to know if what he's doing is mutually pleasurable. Nothing pisses us off like a sub enduring the wrong kind of pain or, worse, risking harm because they're afraid speaking up or using a safe word will make us end the session altogether."
"But at this point, I am afraid of that."
"I know. That's why I'm telling you. If you want to be his submissive, then you trust him to know the right call to make if something doesn't feel right. All right? You nod or say yes to me, young lady."
Sam tried to laugh, but Flo's expression was the one she had when dealing with her own submissives. Sam couldn't help but squirm. While she didn't respond to Flo as a Mistress, she felt the weight of Flo's friendship and concern behind that mien. "Yes. I'll try. I really will."
Flo scrutinized her for an intent moment, then nodded once. "In the words of Yoda, 'Do. Or do not. There is no try.' Else I'll kick your ass myself."
***
Once Sam arrived home, she found herself at loose ends with her restless thoughts. Since she worked from eight to three and Geoff worked from eight to nightfall most days, she was home well before him.
Usually she changed into her yoga clothes and headed to the Y for an afternoon class, but not today. She ate a peanut butter rice cake in the kitchen while she thought about the past weekend and Flo's words. When she headed down the hall, intending to change into jeans and a T-shirt, she hesitated at her doorway and instead turned toward Geoff's room.
She stood on the threshold for a few minutes, prevaricating. They mostly respected one another's privacy. Since they took turns doing laundry, it was perfectly acceptable for her to come into either man's room to put away clothes. Because of that, she knew Chris wore roomy flannel or plaid cotton boxers, mostly in blues, browns and greens. Geoff wore brief shorts in dark colors.
Every once in a while, Chris would slouch through the kitchen in his flannel boxers to get his coffee, his thick brown hair tousled and the wall of his muscled chest and abs greeting her as she turned from the counter where she'd be making her own breakfast. He'd normally touch her face or shoulder, give her hair a playful pull before he grunted pleasantly, picked up the coffee and headed back down the hallway. She'd be treated to an equally appealing rear view of the shifting muscles in his back as he lifted the coffee to his lips.
That image would stay on her mind most of the day. The same way it would when Geoff would breeze through in the morning in his slacks, his dress shirt still open, a look that never failed to make her want to curl her fists in both sides of the shirt and put her open mouth on his flesh to taste and bite. Chris was pleasing male fur and bunched muscle. Geoff had tight, hard pectorals and a stomach ridged with lean muscle. His long-fingered hands as he set up his coffee fascinated her.
She moved to his bed now, running her fingertips over the tan-and-white comforter. What would it be like to share his bed? She imagined herself in his arms like she'd been yesterday. She imagined Chris there, too, the two men sandwiching her between them as the three of them dreamed the night away. Sometime during the night, someone's hand would start moving, caressing. Lips would find another mouth, and they'd all be twined together another way.
Standing in the hushed coolness of Geoff's bedroom, she could see it vividly. Her eyes closed, body swaying at the thought of so much sensual input. Their hands all over one another, chuckles and small gasps as they figured out how to move together. Heat building, her body getting slick, ready for either or both of them. She wanted to be taken over by their strength, their demands on her and each other.
It was just her in the house right now, no one to see. Not giving herself much time to think about it, she went into her room and retrieved her vibrator from the nightstand drawer. It had a quiet motor, but when she used it at night, when the men were home, she muffled it beneath a pillow between her legs, self-conscious about them hearing her, particularly Chris on the other side of the wall. But usually she used it at a late-afternoon time like this, when she had the house to herself.
Ever since she'd decided she wanted to take their relationship to the next level, masturbating had practically become a daily ritual, her body on a constant needy hum. Taking Geoff and Chris to Naughty Bits had only made it worse.
She also always did it in her own room, but not today. She retrieved a pillow from Chris's mattress, and returned to Geoff's bed. Slipping out of her heels, she stretched out on the king-sized expanse. She wasn't in here much when he was sleeping, but she remembered he slept in the middle, the sign of a man who'd never shared a bed. She adjusted herself there, inhaling his scent. She still had on her office attire; a pale yellow blouse tucked into a knee-length brown plaid skirt, thigh-high stockings beneath the skirt. Opening several buttons of her blouse, she closed her eyes as she slipped her hand inside of it, fingers tracing the curve of her breast. He'd do it like that. Start with light touches, slowly undressing her, teasing her, taking his time.
She imagined strong hands curling around her ankles, slowly spreading her legs. Chris, standing at the end of the bed, would be watching as Geoff reclined on one hip beside her, his fingertips playing over her quivering breasts.
"Please . . ." she whispered.
Geoff's eyes would get that spark, his mouth setting in a thin line that told her he wanted to make her suffer, beg. He wanted her so hot a single touch would catapult her to screaming orgasm. Only then would he thrust into her, filling her as her pussy convulsed on his length, as her hips lifted off the bed to take him deeper. When he was done, he would shift off of her, grip her jaw, begin kissing her with deep, tongue-swirling, teeth-nipping kisses. She'd moan into his mouth as Chris's hands left her ankles. He'd settle between her thighs, brace himself over her, because he was going to take her next, both men spilling their seed into her, making her theirs.
She was theirs. Florence was right. That decision had been made long ago. She also thought she understood a little better what Flo had been tr
ying to explain. There was a difference between trying to push a Dom around and making him understand that she was here, she was his, she was eagerly waiting on his desires. She wanted the lead dog of their pack to snap his self-imposed tether. Doing things that would convince him it was time to do that might straddle the line between begging and demanding, but Flo had hinted that the proper blend would have the desired results for all of them.
Plus, yanking at him scared and thrilled her. Scared her because it could go bad, thrilled her because she sensed that he could be a little bit dangerous when pushed too far. The way he'd taken command and spanked her seemed like the tip of a very large iceberg.
She ran the vibrator over the crotch panel of her panties. She'd set it on a rhythm that went from low to high and back to low again. The pattern engorged her clit to near orgasm, then pulled her back from that edge. If she used that one first, instead of the instant gratification of the maximum setting, her orgasm was more satisfying. A rolling, building wave that carried her to shore gasping, heart thundering and body trembling. Denial could build sensation and need to an incredible height, so that the fall was that much more thrilling. She bet sex with Geoff would be like diving off a skyscraper. He'd liked her being helpless, dependent on him setting the pace. She'd seen it, felt it. Reveled in it.
Pinching her nipple, she swallowed a moan as the rhythm of the vibrator brought her hips off the bed, seeking that final step, but no . . . it receded again. She visualized Geoff holding it, watching her intently as she became more frantic, as she moistened her lips, held his gaze. He'd be wearing nothing but his shorts, the size of his erection against the stretched cotton making the need between her legs an insistent, pounding throb even beneath the vibration.
She rolled her nipple between her fingers, feeling the pressure of Chris's mouth. Geoff would tell Chris to suckle her while he held the vibrator between her legs. Chris's fingers would tangle in her hair as he kissed her throat, her sternum. As his heated mouth closed over one aching peak, Geoff would delve his own hand into Chris's thick dark hair and tug on it, adding to the movement and pressure of Chris's mouth upon her. His grip would slip over Chris's shoulder, conveying his need to touch and possess both of them.
She could see Chris lifting his head and meeting Geoff's eyes. Chris's own gaze would be glowing with fire, the heat of lust, all his gentle power transformed into something else. "Make her come, Geoff," he'd growl. "I want to hear her come."
"There will be a price," her Master would say. "You come for us next."
A flash went through her mind, Chris's large body stretched out naked on Geoff's bed, Geoff leaning over him, kissing Chris as thoroughly and with as much demand as he'd kissed Sam. While he did that, he'd reach down, find her hand and close it around Chris's stiff cock, guiding her to stroke that shaft as Geoff merely kissed him, his hand drifting back up to pinch a nipple, grip Chris's throat and tighten. Chris would close his hand over Geoff's wrist, but Geoff would turn the grip over, tangle fingers palm to palm. He'd push Chris's hand back to the bed as Geoff shifted halfway over him, his chest against Chris's, holding him there as Sam brought him to climax.
Come up here, Sam. Come be with us.
Geoff would bring her up beside them, guide her to kiss Chris as Geoff held both of them, Chris's arms tangled around them as well. Their bodies would strain against one another, and she'd know they'd take one another in every possible way before dawn, and still not be sated.
Sam arched off the bed as she found the button on the vibrator that took it to maximum rhythm, her body ready to channel all that pressure into an explosive climax. She gripped Chris's pillow, covering her face and chest with it. As she inhaled his scent along with Geoff's all around her, the cotton slid against her face and breasts, exposed by the lace bra. Geoff's mattress gave beneath her as her hips rose, fell.
"Yes . . . yes . . . please . . ." She went over the edge begging to give them anything they wanted from her. She just needed to be taken, overwhelmed, loved so completely by them that she'd never want anything more.
As the climax ebbed away, that vague sense of shame that always seemed to accompany the self-indulgence of an electronic climax dug its claws into her. This time it brought an extra twinge, since she'd done it on Geoff's bed and screamed her release into Chris's pillow. She'd put a towel beneath herself, so she wasn't worried about the honey trickling down her labia and between her thighs, but a part of her wished she hadn't used a towel, that she'd put Chris's pillow between her legs instead, so her scent could be on their bedding.
Now she was being fanciful. Men weren't German shepherds, able to separate the scent of a woman's arousal from that of laundry detergent and their own bodies. Still, she wondered if either of them would subconsciously recognize it and have erotic dreams about her like she was having about them.
Once she recovered her breath, she reluctantly left Geoff's bed, straightening the comforter. Going into the bathroom she and Chris shared, she cleaned the vibrator and tucked it away in her bedroom. That should hold her for about half an hour.
Rolling her eyes at herself, she changed into her yoga clothes. She wasn't going to hang around here for the next couple of hours losing her mind. Yoga would center her. She hoped.
She picked up the grocery list on the way out the door. She'd hit Whole Foods and Harris Teeter on her way home. Life went on, no matter her hormones, or the stubbornness of one particular Type A, sexy-as-hell lawyer.
***
When she returned, she saw Geoff's car in the driveway. Her stomach made a little leap. Since he was home at a reasonable hour, they might be able to talk about this weekend . . . or not talk at all, in the right kind of way. If he didn't have work to do tonight.
He was sitting at the table with his laptop, but she didn't take that as a bad sign. He tended to check on details when he first arrived home, even if he wasn't planning to work through the evening. However, his dark-cloud expression wasn't encouraging.
"Hey," she said, putting the groceries down on the counter. "I'd ask how your day was, but . . ."
He shot her a look full of irritation. "Sarah's son was having an I'm winning an award for being totally mediocre ceremony today, probably the fifth one this year. But of course she couldn't miss it, for fear she'd permanently damage the little mutant's self-esteem. So she took care of the senior partners' stuff and blew mine off. She didn't assign it to another admin, and I didn't know until I was heading out the door. I have about three things to review tonight, and now I have to type up my brief, because it has to be ready first thing in the morning, and we all know I'm a crappy typist."
He paused for a breath, glaring. Sam tried not to smile, but he targeted the twitch of her lips in an instant. "Don't you dare snicker."
"I can't help it. 'Little mutant'? It's safe to say they're not putting you in charge of HR policy anytime soon."
"No, we couldn't have that. People actually doing their jobs instead of personal bullshit on the company's dime. Being deathly sick or having a close relative die, like a mother or spouse, are the only acceptable reasons to not have your ass at your job. And attending the funeral is only permitted if you had a documented, proven close relationship with said mother or spouse. Stop laughing."
"I will. Let me just imagine something to compose myself. Um . . . mucus, pus. Starving children in Africa."
His lips gave a telltale quiver. "I'm going to beat you," he said.
Promise? She barely managed to bite back the word, but his expression reflected something less definable and more intriguing than work-related annoyance, suggesting it had shown on her face.
Clearing her throat, she turned her attention to putting away the groceries. "I'm pretty open tonight. I'll type up your brief while you review the other stuff, and then maybe you'll have some time to relax." Please, God.
"I'm not asking you to do my work, Sam. You've already put in a full day."
"You're not asking. I'm volunteering. Let me just go get changed and I'
ll get started."
She went down the hallway to strip off her yoga clothes and clean up, smiling a little as she heard him muttering to himself, still venting. Nothing bugged Geoff like unprofessionalism, but his sarcastic wit made his rants as entertaining as stand-up.
Professionalism . . . She stopped in the middle of pulling out jeans and a T-shirt. If the three things he had to review weren't that long, and she typed up his brief fast enough, it wouldn't take until bedtime. Why not give him a little push, or yank, whatever, as part of his work? Nothing was likely to get his attention faster.
She went to her closet. As she made her decision, her cheeks heated and anticipation curled in her belly. Did she dare?
A few minutes later, she tapped back up the hallway. Geoff had already started to read one of his files, but he'd placed his recorder and the earbuds by her laptop on its portable computer table, so he'd quickly reconciled himself to her help. Typical man. She hid a smile.
The sound of her shoes was enough to have him lifting his head. A tiny ripple of panic, a quaking in her lower extremities, had her wondering if she was about to act like a complete fool, making things awkward for them both, but that all depended on how she played this, didn't it? Madison, the Naughty Bits proprietress, had talked to her about role-playing, about how much fun that could be, and both men had perked up when Sam had considered a naughty version of a schoolgirl uniform. She hadn't bought it, but the interest had definitely been there.
The stilettos she was wearing gave her hips a sultry sway as she moved from the hallway to the kitchen. The extremely short black microskirt was one she hadn't worn since college, when she'd gone out to dance clubs with friends, and even then she usually put a pair of tights beneath it for modesty. She hadn't done that tonight. She hadn't put anything under it at all.
