Two Men and a Lady

by Cricket Starr, Lynn LaFleur, Michele R. Bardsley

  Sarah smiled, grasping the cold metal in her fist. Sleep was not her friend, and hadn’t been for the last year, but she would try. For Ben, and to honor his gift to her, she would try.

  Room 30 was on the third floor. Actually, Room 30 was the third floor. Sarah closed the door behind her and wandered around the simple but beautiful suite. The floor was the same weather-beaten blue-tinted wood that made up the inside and outside of the house.

  To the left, there was a teeny kitchenette with a mini-fridge, microwave, and coffeepot. Next to the single counter was the dining area. The small round table and two chairs made from the familiar blue wood sat on top of a yellow rag carpet. On the table, cheese, crackers and fruit were arranged on a plain white plate. A bottle of merlot chilled in a bucket, or she could choose the tea service that included packets of her favorite flavored tea. On the other side of the kitchen was the bathroom. She glanced inside and was delighted to discover a stand-up glass shower and a huge tub with jets. A long marble counter held the sink and a basketful of complimentary lotions, shampoos, conditioners and more. She’d have to go through that later. The decoration reflected the blues and yellows of the main room.

  She turned and wandered to the right, pausing to take it all in. The large sitting area had a couch, two wingbacks—pear-green in color—and the same kind of oblong table she’d noticed in the lobby. Two yellow throws draped the couch, which faced two huge French doors that opened onto a deck. She crossed to the windows, peered outside, and smiled. The deck overlooked the quiet, surging ocean. In its rectangular space she saw only a comfy chaise lounge and a single table perfect for one glass of wine and one paperback.

  Sighing in contentment, she moved from the windows and looked at the one section of the room she’d saved for last. The distressed yellow dresser sat in its own nook. On the far wall, huge bookshelves stuffed with books marched nearly the entire length. Her gaze bounced to the nightstand that matched the color and design of the dresser. On it sat a slender lamp shaped like an opening flower.

  Finally Sarah allowed her gaze to rest on the four-poster bed. It was made from deep, rich wood, the same color and texture as the coffee table. Curtains of gauzy white drifted from the ceiling and surrounded the bed—a blushing bride hiding behind her veil. The material offered thin protection from prying eyes. Sarah inhaled a deep breath and dipped inside, and found herself in a plush heaven of thick comforters, endless pillows, and the promise of sleep most divine.

  After the rape, she and Ben had moved from their house—from the house they had spent years scraping and saving for—and into the guesthouse owned by Ben’s boss. She was protected there. The house was far enough away from the mansion to offer privacy, but close enough to be included in the bi-hourly patrols by Security and their mean-ass dogs. The tiny house had a state-of-the-art alarm system and three guns stored in easy-to-get locations. She knew how to fire a gun now. Guns used to scare her. Their ugliness, their weight, their noise…she used to hate everything about them, but no longer.

  She couldn’t sleep in their new bed, either, and spent restless nights on the couch. Ben slept in a sleeping bag on the floor rather than seek the comfort of bed without her. He had sold the other bed—the one where…no, best not to think about it. He had sold all of their furniture. He had tried, in every way possible, to disconnect her from old memories so that she could rebuild her life.

  “Quit my job, cut my hair, learned self-defense.” Nothing fixed the hole inside her. She was empty, a shell of her former self, and helpless to do anything about it.

  Sarah crawled into the huge bed, settled against the pillows, and waited for the usual terror to snake through her. Oh God, to sleep in a bed again. To make love to Ben again.

  Fifteen minutes passed, then half an hour. She realized she felt more at peace in this bed, at this resort, on this island than she’d felt at any time in the past year. Giddy with the prospect of sleeping in a real bed, she scooted off, got rid of all her clothes, cracked open the French doors, and jumped on the soft bedding, rolling on it and, God help her, giggling.

  Soon, Sarah lay on her bed naked, and luxuriated in the warm breeze blowing in through the open windows. The gentle wind felt like fingers caressing her skin. She stretched, lifted her breasts as if to an invisible lover and sighed when her nipples puckered, aching to be touched, to be kissed.

  Safe.

  Her eyes drifted shut.

  Hands on her breasts, cupping and molding. Lips on her throat, trailing to the dimple at its base, a soft kiss to mark the place. Tongue trailing a hot, wet line down to the juncture of her thighs.

  Safe.

  The tender weight of man on top of her, lifting her arms over her head, while another grabbed her wrists and pulled her long hair. The one between her legs grabbing and pushing, ugly laughter echoing as he forced open her legs and ripped off her panties. The hair-pulling jerk leaning down to bite her breast…no! No! No!

  SAFE!

  The terrifying images disappeared.

  Sarah floated…rising and moving as if carried by an ocean swell…in this dream, she lay upon yards and yards of white material, warm and cozy, in a place lit by candles. The coverlet she lay upon was softer than a cloud. “Safe,” she murmured.

  Her body felt flushed and needy. She stretched, the material beneath her nude body stroking her sensitized flesh like tiny fingers. Oh yes. It had been too long since she’d felt the hot, insistent need for touch, for sex. Heat filled her and her pussy grew wet as aching need crept through her.

  She rolled onto her stomach and rubbed her puckered nipples against the wonderful cloth. Tiny lightning strikes zapped her all the way to her cunt. It pulsed, greedy for its pleasure, and grew wetter still. Her legs spread and her hips pumped, but swiping her clit against the comforter wasn’t doing much.

  “Ben…”

  Sarah wanted satisfaction, but feared turning her fantasy into one that included a man. To her sorrow, not even imagining having sex with Ben helped her find satisfaction. The few times she’d allowed him oral sex, she had orgasmed, but somehow it lacked the joy she used to feel when she made love to her husband.

  She turned onto her back, tears in her eyes, and clenched her fists.

  “Sarah.” A man with long brown hair, brown eyes, and a long, rangy, very naked body appeared next to her.

  Her breath stalled. Her heart flipped. Her horrified gaze was drawn down, down, down, until she saw his…smiley face boxers.

  She couldn’t help but grin at the ridiculous underwear. The fear pounding through her faded, just a little.

  “My name is Dunley.”

  “You own this place?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” His smile was tender. “No fear, Sarah. You are safe.”

  “Am I… I thought I was…dreaming. Or-or fantasizing.”

  “You are.”

  Her fear dissolved completely and a strange sense of contentment surrounded her. She felt…wonderfully…drugged.

  “May I kiss you?”

  Memories flickered, stealing through her lethargy. “Ben.”

  “Ben loves you. He wants you like I want you.” Dunley stretched beside her so close she felt the heat of his body, but he didn’t touch her. “One kiss, sweet Sarah.” He bent to her ear and whispered, “This is a fantasy. Your fantasy. You can have anyone you want and do anything you want.”

  The idea fluttered in her mind then took root. A dream. In a dream, nothing was forbidden and nothing was real.

  “One kiss,” she offered.

  His lips were warm and tasted like cinnamon sugar. His fingers hovered above her hip, not touching, but waiting, wanting. His tongue parted her lips and dipped inside. Heat exploded inside her stomach, spiraling down to her pussy. Her heart stalled then tha-thumped in a staccato rhythm that stole her breath.

  “Please…”

  Dunley withdrew and looked at her, his left eyebrow quirked. “Please what?”

  “I-I don’t know.” Her gaze traveled dow
n his firm body to the boxers and she knew, without a doubt, a delicious cock waited inside those silly shorts. She could see the way the material tented. His penis was hard and ready and she wondered how it would feel plunging into her wet heat.

  Would it hurt? Would it tear her apart like the last penis had ripped at her? Bruising her tissues, making her bleed, oh but that was nothing, nothing compared to the battering of her anus when punishing her vagina hadn’t been enough for the sick bastard.

  Tears filled her eyes and her throat stung. She swallowed the unrelenting knot of sorrow as self-anger vibrated through her. She couldn’t release herself from the past and move into the future with a light heart and a new hope. Why? Goddamn it, why?

  “Sarah.”

  Her gaze sought Dunley’s and in those chocolate depths, she saw desire, tenderness, and an offer of pleasure without pain.

  “It’s just a dream. Just a lovely dream that will bring you joy.” Dunley dared to sweep two fingers across her cheek and down her neck. Two fingers became one as he stroked around her areola, circling and circling until the tip of his finger brushed her nipple.

  “I want to taste you,” he whispered. “Is that okay? One small taste.”

  Her nipple was a hard, aching point. She looked down at his circling finger and drew in a sharp breath. Ben. She hadn’t let him touch her the way this dream man touched her. He deserved to be in her bed, the recipient of her desire, her love.

  “Don’t worry, Sarah. Ben will be yours again. And you will be his.” Dunley lowered his head to her chest until his mouth was a kiss away from her nipple. He blew on it, and the swoosh of air tightened the peak even more.

  “Taste it,” she offered in a trembling voice.

  His lips closed over the nipple. He suckled, his warm, wet tongue swirling against the sensitive flesh. A low moan rose from her throat as hot desire jabbed at her. Her hands wound into his soft hair and she pressed him closer, encouraging his gentle assault. “More,” she said hoarsely. “Other one. Now.”

  Dunley obliged. He cupped her other breast and used his tongue to worship it. God, it felt good to have someone play with her breasts, suck and cajole her nipples into response. Her cunt felt slick and ready, its occasional pulse an invitation.

  He lifted his head and looked at her. “You taste as sweet and fresh as a peach.” His gaze flicked at the valley between her breasts and traveled to her navel before he again looked up at her. “I want to taste more of you. Please, Sarah.”

  Her heart thundered, a mixture of fear and sexual frenzy zipping down her spine. She wanted to feel his lips on her skin, the flick of his tongue on the pearls of sweat formed by her longing. All she could do was nod.

  His lips pressed against her quivering stomach muscles and his tongue stroked a long, slow line to her navel. He encircled it then flicked inside it, making her giggle nervously. Ashamed at her schoolgirl reaction, she fisted her hands, but failed to stop squirming as the blissful sensations poured over her.

  Sarah felt submerged in desire, hot and needy, and she wanted…she wanted to feel his penis slide into her, to show her how to like it again, how to come again with a dick pumping into her. No more pain. No more fear. Just ecstasy…

  Her pussy convulsed, trembled. Oh yes. She wanted it again. Desired the pounding of flesh on flesh, to feel her slick, willing cunt joyfully penetrated by a thick cock, oh heavens…the smell and taste and feel of a man giving and taking pleasure. For the first time since—since forever, the idea of getting fucked didn’t equate to rape.

  It meant only rapture.

  Dunley’s hands coasted to her hips, his mouth following an invisible trail to the edge of her pussy. Oh God. He was so close to her clit. Just a few strokes of his tongue…maybe a slow suckling there, a nip of his teeth…

  But he paused, and after a moment, she looked down to see why he waited.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Sarah. I want to be inside you. I want to feel you around me, taking me, moving with me. I want to give you pleasure.” His gaze flickered with yearning. “Do you want my mouth? Or do you want my cock?”

  Chapter Three

  Your cock trembled on her lips, but Sarah felt frozen. If anyone’s cock deserved pleasure from fucking her, it was Ben’s. Dear, sweet, loving, patient Ben. Dream or fantasy, it didn’t feel right to allow Dunley privileges denied to her husband.

  “You shouldn’t feel guilty, Sarah. I’m here to help you and to help him. Let me.”

  “How is…how does having sex with you, help me or Ben?”

  “I’ll show you.” He rolled onto his back and wiggled off the boxers. His cock was just as beautiful as she had assumed. Circumcised, long, thick at the head, purple veins evidence of its straining hardness. She allowed herself the idea of feeling it slide inside her. Her breath hitched.

  “This is a dream, remember?”

  “It doesn’t feel like one.”

  Another wave of strange contentment enveloped her. She relaxed, her eyes drooping, her body stretching as lust reasserted its hold on her.

  “Get on top of me,” said Dunley. “Take as much of my dick inside you as you want. Ride it the way you want. You’re in control, Sarah.”

  Control. Power. Violence.

  Wasn’t that what every counselor she’d ever spoken to said time and again? Rape isn’t about sex, Sarah. It’s about control and power over another person. It’s an act of violence, as vicious and horrible as murder. That’s exactly how she felt, too, as if she’d been murdered, but her soulless body still walked around, unaware it was dead.

  “Sarah?”

  The drugged, happy feeling faded as familiar terror clawed at her. Her body shook with cold fear as she crawled on top of Dunley, her knees planted on either side of his thighs. She settled onto him, a few inches below his ball sac, and swallowed the knot of dread threatening to choke her.

  “Why don’t we pretend to have sex?” His voice was light, his body relaxed under her tense one, and his gaze filled with a tender desire that bespoke patience.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Stay where you are. Right there. And move like my cock is inside you, pleasuring you.”

  Unsure about this tactic, but relieved—and yes, disappointed—that she wasn’t going to have his cock yet, she rose on her knees and hesitantly moved back and forth, as if she were riding him.

  “I feel silly.” Her gaze found his, and she smiled.

  “Close your eyes. Pretend your hands are my hands. Pretend my cock is inside you and that your juicy cunt is plunging up and down on it.”

  She watched him wrap his hand around his shaft and stroke it. Seeing his strong hand pumping his hard cock made her pulse jump. It was sexy and beautiful to see him pleasure himself while watching her pretend. She licked her lips and allowed her eyes to drift closed. Slowly she moved her hips as her hands crept from her hips to her breasts.

  He cups them, his fingers massaging the nipples, gently twisting…

  Sarah increased her pace as she played with her tits, moaning as pleasure tumbled through her, spikes of joy radiating to her wet pussy.

  His cock slides inside her. It doesn’t hurt. It fills her slowly, it feels really good…

  Her hips pumped hard now, memories of how she rode Ben this way, of how he grabbed her buttocks and thrust inside her, offering such wonderful, wonderful bliss. He loved to suck her nipples, too. Would watch her eyes go blind as she orgasmed, her pulsations so strong his penis would slip out. She’d rub her come on his thick shaft, her sensitive clit reaching for another orgasm…

  One hand played with her nipples, trading off the pleasuring of each, while her other hand slid down to her primed pussy and rubbed the needy clit.

  She fucks his cock, her movements frantic, the bliss rising…

  She slipped one finger into her slick pussy, then two, and finger-fucked her own cunt while her palm massaged her clitoris. Dunley’s moans made her tingle, made the edge of orgasm bloom into fierce joy.


  She screamed as she came, her eyes opening so she could watch Dunley. He pleasured his cock with hard, fast strokes, his gaze steady on hers. Sweat dribbled down his neck, his eyes glazed with passion. Then he arched, his thighs tensed under her buttocks, and, as he groaned, seed shot from his cock onto his stomach.

  Sarah trembled with her release, and with the knowledge she was one step closer to freeing herself from the demons that chained her to the past.

  Suddenly exhausted, her eyes closed and she pitched forward.

  She landed on the soft comfort of her bedding, already asleep, the fantasy of Dunley’s lovemaking fading into the bright landscape of new dreams.

  * * * * *

  Annie entered the sterile room of her only daughter, Titania, and smiled with a cheer she did not feel. The old Titania would’ve hated this room with its unrelenting yellow and carefully placed pictures of flowers and rainbows. “Life is not rainbows, Mother,” she would say with a look of humorous disdain.

  “No, it’s not rainbows, is it, baby?” She stroked the dark hair away from Ti’s lovely, pale cheek and felt her heart break as the child she loved more than her next breath stared out the window, not seeing the rolling green lawn or blue-sky day.

  Annie was too tired to chatter today. Usually she brushed then braided Ti’s hair and filled the silence with small talk about everything—the weather, her job, the antics of their pets, any mundane, trivial thing that popped into her head. She sat next to her daughter and took her pale, cool hand.

  “I’m letting Dunley go. He has my forgiveness and when he fulfills one last task, I will send him to the Light.” She pressed Ti’s hand to her cheek and closed her eyes. “You must forgive him, too. And Miranda. Let them go, baby. Let them go and come back to me.” Tears fell, sliding between her daughter’s too-still fingers. Annie took shuddering breaths, trying not to give in to the sorrow.

  Ti’s hand curved to cup Annie’s cheek. Her eyes flew open and she found Titania looking at her, the vacant gaze shadowed with sadness.

  “Titania?”

  Annie’s watched Ti’s eyelids lower in one slow blink. Her head tilted, her eyes blinking fast now, then she stretched her arms above her head and yawned. It was like watching someone wake up after a good night’s sleep. Annie kept still, holding her breath, afraid that a word or action would interfere with this unfolding miracle.