by Mark Henry
Any time. Well, not any time.
Humiliation blazed on her cheeks as Chantal continued to stare. Still, Hilary kept her mouth shut, when she wasn't gasping from the pleasure shuddering through her loins. Her arms shook, weary from the position, still crucified to the headboard and weakening by the second.
“S-stop,” she stuttered and wriggled her ass a bit to clue Jack in. “I'm going to smother you in a second.”
He loosened his grip on her thighs.
But Chantal, seemingly aware of her surprise simply nodded, waved inconsequently and not so much stepping aside as drifting away, the darkness reclaiming her, leaving them alone.
Realizing she'd been holding her breath, Hilary lowered herself again, letting Jack take her as he was, but he was seemingly done. He lifted her off him, twisting himself between her legs until he was sitting on his heels, facing her and she was lowering herself again, fitting her sex around his cock and riding, feeling that familiar girth fill her so completely that she couldn't conceive of a time when she wouldn't want it.
Hilary forced herself to take him deep, until she was tight against Jack's lap. Their arms clamped around each other, her tits pressed against him and his face looking up at her with a pained wanton expression that she couldn't resist kissing away, when she turned her head to the side, she heard him whisper.
“I'm going to fuck you in the ass, now. And then you're going to fuck me.” He punctuated the statement with powerful thrusting, lifting her nearly all the way off his dick before propelling her downward hard. Hilary gasped and bit at her lips. She found herself nodding and moments later, she was on her stomach and Jack's dick was in the curve of her ass crack, sliding between her cheeks, the veins of his thick member threatening deeper pleasures.
“Open me up a bit first,” she begged.
Jack was on it, licking at her again, fucking her tight bud with his tongue, leaving her sopping wet. One stinging finger, then two. Twisting. Scissoring her, loosening her. He began lightly and she was glad for it, the pain giving way to something else, an odd sensation, a pressure that radiated through her. But then Jack was withdrawing and she could feel him positioning, nestling in to her, squeezing her thighs together with his knees.
Hilary gripped the edge of the mattress as his fat cock head entered her; just the tip was enough to wind her. She choked for air as he pushed in deeper and deeper until she thought she couldn't take another inch and then he slammed in all the way and Hilary screamed from the near pain of it. Jack withdrew as quickly as he'd filled her and then the rhythm began and Jack was atop her, clutching her as he thrust into her submitting ass, his hot breath on the back of her neck, his arms laced under her armpits, muscles pressing into her shoulder as he braced against her, fucking her deep, hard.
Panting, Hilary struggled to breathe under the weight of him and the power of his thrusts, the pain, the torturous pleasure of his cock.
“Don't stop,” she cried out, but couldn't quite believe she'd said it. The words had come from some primal place within her, a deep chasm of florid need.
Then Jack was whispering something.
Jack slipped his hands beneath her and rolled the both of them over until she lay atop him, pegged deeply by the full length and breadth of his sex.
By the time she translated his words into any sort of sense, “We have a visitor,” Hilary startled as another pair of hands found her, smooth, silken fingertips caressing her arms, her shoulders. Chantal hovered over them, a wry smile, a sinister eyebrow, a look of something akin to lust in the woman's dark eyes.
Hilary hadn’t noticed the dildo and harness dangling from Chantal’s other hand when she was outside, but now as the woman slipped out of her dress, folding it neatly over the arm of the bedside chair, Hilary watched as Chantal inserted its bulbed end into her own cleanly shaved vagina, gasping as it filled her, and affixing the belts around her and tightening vigorously.
“These contraptions are so impractical,” she joked. “Don’t you think?”
The dildo jutted from her crotch, thick and black and glistening with fists of lube she jacked onto it, swirling her palm over the head, even as she winked at Hilary like a douche in a bar, readying his best line. The action was crude, the expression disgusting but as she watched, enthralled, Hilary became aware that, at some point, Jack had stopped actively fucking her and she had started riding him, forcing his cock deeper and deeper into her ass and chewing at her lips as she watched Chantal approach, her fake cock bobbing and swaying with the sexy lilt of her hips.
Chantal tweaked her own swollen nipples, kneaded her beautiful breasts, not large but full, chest tapering to a flat stomach and small waist. Hilary couldn't take her eyes off the woman and she'd be seeing a lot more of her from the looks of things. Chantal climbed onto the bed, kicking both Hilary and Jack's knees apart until she kneeled between then, grinning saucily.
“I'm happy to help you with your fantasy, Jack.”
“Jack?” Hilary hadn't been aware that their fantasies lined up quite so specifically.
She hadn't considered another woman fucking her, as Chantal certainly intended to. She'd fantasized about another man in their bed. She never thought Jack would be receptive, and that fantasy had been long ago, replaced by fantasies of other things.
Chocolate chip muffins.
Live executions of troublesome employees.
Leaving the marriage.
Chantal gripped the dildo tight to her, her face registering a sharp wince as the knob inside her shifted. She drew the thick head of the thing up from the space beneath Hilary's pussy, up and between the folds, shaking it, Chantal fucking her twat. Jack fucking her ass. Come everywhere.
“It’s a beautiful thing,” she heard Chantal whisper.
Chantal's weight on her, her very presence looming, had a strange effect on Hilary. If you had told Hilary she'd be getting off on having Chantal looming over her, she'd have said you were crazy.
But there she was, Chantal's breasts pressed to hers, nipples catching deliciously as their breathing slipped in and out of sync.
“Oh my God,” Jack breathed into Hilary's ear, his thrusting stilled. “Look at her face.”
Hilary thought Jack had come, his cock twitched inside her and the soft moan leaking from him usually heralded the kind of calm only a great orgasm can bring...or a shitty one for that matter, though Hilary didn't think there was such a thing except, once, when she was a teenager, her second boyfriend Ricky—he preferred Rick, she refused to give-in on that one—was nailing her in her childhood bedroom, the door cracked and the smell of homemade sourdough wafting up through the house along with a familiar tune hummed by her stay-at-home mom.
Rick was quiet, he'd promised he would be, but that didn't stop Hilary from grinding onto his prick, taking it as deep as it would go, which, granted wasn't that deep, but his fat cock head didn't need to rub up inside too far to hit her g-spot, strum a rhythm so pleasurable she couldn't help but cry out. That's when she heard the footsteps on the stair and Ricky flooding inside her, her own orgasm two, three stokes away from the point of no return. And then her mother's hand was on the door and it was swinging. Hilary came as she rolled off her boyfriend and onto the carpet, curling up as the pleasure shuddered through her. She backed herself up under the bed.
That had been a pretty shitty experience, but the orgasm? Amazing.
Chantal's face didn't register any effort. The woman was positively placid as she directed the dildo into Hilary's cunt, dipping it in slowly, an inch at first and then withdrawing completely. Hilary, her breath caught in her throat, arched her back and tricked her pelvis forward, coming nearly all the way off Jack's hard cock to take the odd protuberance deep inside her. Hilary's goal had been to bump the hilt, to effect a subtle reverberation, to shift the bulb inside the woman's twat. But Chantal was quick, bucking backwards with a grin.
Controlling the interaction expertly.
She smiled broadly and threw her head back in uproario
us laughter, even as she drove the black cock deep inside Hilary. “You like that, don't you,” she hissed.
Hilary had been meaning to say the same thing, so she merely sneered in return, chewing at her lips as she drove herself back against Jack, feeling his thick member rock back and forth, struggling with Chantal's.
A soft membrane their only separation.
The sensation was bliss, but it was Hilary's desire to turn the tables on Chantal that drove her to fuck the woman back, to match her thrusts, to clutch at her in such a way that if an outsider—and there was a great possibility that there was one or five—would note that the women appeared to be wrestling, arms grappling, teeth bared. Hilary nipped at Chantal's breasts and the woman's face registered surprise for the first time. Hilary threw her head back beside Jack's and whispered, “Roll us. Put her underneath. Now.”
Hilary threw her arms around Chantal and Jack did the same, wrapping them both in his muscled arms. Chantal gasped as they pivoted onto her. Hilary drove her pelvis forward as Chantal's back hit the mattress, taking the whole of the dildo inside of her and clenching around it. She shifted backward and heard a wet pop, even as Chantal cried out with pleasure.
The woman's eyes shot back to Hilary's and she choked, “Jesus, yes. Do it,” just as Hilary was thrusting forward, pushing the bulb brusquely inside Chantal's wanting sex.
“Fuck!” Chantal screamed, the word stretching out infinitely.
Hilary did just that, bringing the woman to a shuddering orgasm in several violent thrusts, the whole time gritting her teeth and bearing down on the dildo, determined to control the woman, to dominate her. And when it was clear Chantal was hers completely, she released the strap on and rose, the black tool slipping out easily.
Hilary pushed jack off her; he fell on his back next to Chantal's flushed form. His cock stood up long and rigid and his need expressed as a pout. Hilary took him inside her, riding him, pushing away his hands as he attempted to caress her breasts. She was focused on Chantal. The woman stared—glowered was a better word—her lips parted in shock and the dildo still twitching from the leather triangle in the cleft of her pubis.
The straps wet with their sex.
Hilary beamed with pride as she fucked Jack and with each stroke her eyes grew wild with a phantasm of pleasure. She moaned loudly, losing herself in the abandon of the act. Plunging herself down upon him, deeper and deeper. She wanted the whole of him, and reached back between them, fondling the soft skin of his scrotum, cradling his balls and then, taking him as far down as she could, slipped one of his balls gently inside her, one, then the other. Jack gasped, surprise flushing red across his cheeks. He tossed an embarrassed glance at Chantal, who raised an eyebrow and cocked her head oddly.
If she was being judgmental, it didn't matter to Hilary.
The sensation of having all of Jack's sex organs within her thrilled like his cock alone couldn't, she was filled. And as she gyrated gently about him, the orgasms exploded through her body and she screamed, her voice echoing as the pleasure radiated through her, pulsing, shocking her breath still in her chest, stopping her heart for a single beautiful moment before ticking back into shuddering ecstasy.
And then it was too much, she rose off of him, his semen drizzling out of her as Hilary tossed herself back against the padded headboard and panted into recovery.
“That was quite amazing,” Chantal said, gathering her robe around her.
“No fucking shit,” Jack panted, his dick still hard and glistening with their enthusiasm.
Hilary nodded. “Now, Chantal, if you wouldn't mind taking that contraption and getting the fuck out of our room. I'd like to fuck my husband again.”
Chantal shrugged, but her blush gave away the shock she felt at being ordered around like this. Still, who the hell was she? Hilary had used her like she was an extension for the strap-on and not the other way around. Her satisfaction was nearly total in its complexity. As the woman exited their room, not venturing a single sideways glance back at them, Hilary fell back onto Jack, kissing him deeply and whimpering for him to take her softly, make her come and come and come.
10
Later—it must have been three or four in the morning as the darkness still had a hold over the courtyard—Hilary slipped her hand across the sheet, seeking her husband and turned up nothing but a handful of fabric.
“Jack?” she called, suspecting that he was quietly taking a piss in the suite's bathroom—emphasis on the quietly, as the silence couldn't have been more total if they'd been in deep space.
She sat bolt upright and looked out the undraped window at the balustrade and the empty gap of the courtyard beyond.
“Where the hell are you?” she whispered.
Hilary swung her legs off the bed and twisted on the bedside lamp, scanning for a note, something to indicate where Jack had gone. She didn't understand. He'd been spent. More so than she'd ever seen, so exhausted he'd nearly passed out with come still beading at the opening of his cock.
She'd have to go out there. Leave the room and find him.
Hilary felt a stitch in her chest, a skipping of her heart at the prospect. But she wrapped the robe around her and stepped out onto the balcony, nonetheless.
The hall was silent and the last of the revelers had clearly turned in for the evening, drugged out, worn and spent and, more than likely, chafed and dreaming of genital salves. She passed the first few rooms without incident, nothing stirred inside the shadowed cells, nor did any sounds issue from the main or staff floors, but something did catch her eye.
A flickering.
From the depths of the caged entrance.
As though a candle burned somewhere in its inky blackness.
Hilary padded down the stair, stopping at the mezzanine and crouching to scan the courtyard floor for signs of life, preferably not of the red-eyed variety. She thought back to her dream and the argument and wondered what it all meant. Did dreams ever mean anything beyond rehashing the minutiae of our days? Stress tossed in a blender and poured out in muted colors, bizarre acts and weird snippets of dialogue?
This is the wrong meat.
Whatever it was, Hilary had to agree, it was wrong. So wrong.
Seeing no one, she slipped further down the stair until her foot padded softly onto the cool marble of the courtyard. She pressed forward, one tentative step after the next and then stopped dead. Voices. Whispering. The sound was no doubt issuing from within the flickering hole in the center of the space. Hilary glanced up at the perfect square of night sky, stars glittering brighter than any she’d seen in the city, clear, vibrant, somehow alive.
The further she walked toward the center of the room, the more she noticed the stars’ reflection on the glass interior walls, a galaxy repeated all around her. Bright orbs.
Eyes staring at her, waiting.
Her hand reached forward, steadying on the cage, its door hanging open. She listened, not daring to take the first step down into the Balustrade.
“When will you make the transfer?” the voice was clearer this time, recognizable. Ludovic's deep timbre.
“Soon,” Chantal responded. “My time is nearly done here, my only regret that I will never see you again, or you either, Jack.”
Hilary's breath caught in her chest. Jack. She scoured her thoughts of the last few days, searching for some meaning to his presence down there. His sneaking around the courtyard certainly made sense in this light. But what was his connection to Chantal, to Ludovic, to Balustrade?
“My time has just begun,” Jack continued. “And Hilary's.”
Her knees were growing weak.
“She is just as you and Dr. Madrigal described,” Chantal said.
“More so,” Ludovic added.
“Her dominance is innate, her presence rivals mine.” Chantal's heels clicked across stone, the sound stitching through Hilary's heart, one palpitation, then another. “She'll make a consummate sentinel, they'll respect her, yield to her...possibly even more than m
e.”
“Give yourself some credit, Chantal. You have been their goddess—they're both afraid of you and desirous. You instill it in them. You've been magnificent. But it is Hilary's turn and she will provide the controls, necessary.”
“Yes,” Chantal agreed.
“Yes.” Jack parroted.
This is the wrong meat.
No.
Hilary had no intention of being anyone's goddess, and she certainly wouldn't be replacing Chantal. That was not going to happen. Whatever they were talking about. Whatever Jack had betrayed her over, discussing her like a product he'd delivered, Hilary wasn't having any of it. Who were these people? What was this place? She wasn't any closer to understanding it and she didn’t want to be.
Unable to listen to another word, the fear of this unknown turn shuddering through her, she ran. Hilary covered the distance between the balustrade and the exit corridor in frigid slaps. She thought back to their arrival.
The keys left in the car. It had been right there in the directions.
She hoped they still were and that the front door to this place was unlocked. That more than even access to the car. She could, at the very least run, across the desert, to the zealots.
They'd help her, they'd been offering in those shouts and curses. Or that's how she'd need to interpret it to keep going. Sometimes a little trick of the mind was enough to keep your feet moving.
She reached for the door and pulled it toward her, shocked that it gave on the first pull; she swung it open and bolted into the darkness. Remembering that the car was to the right amidst the tumble of other Mercedes.
Hilary stopped still. The darkness washing over her like ink.
Nothing, there was nothing there.
“No!” she cried out.
They were on the right when they parked, it'd be on the left now. Hilary pivoted and ran toward the opposite corner of the cube. But when she arrived, her fears were founded.
