by Violet Blue
“And where are your panties?” Mitchell’s tone was that of the weary headmaster confronting a recalcitrant pupil, the tone that always let me know some kind of punishment was on the cards.
“In my handbag—Sir.” I fought the urge to cover my crotch with my hands, knowing both men would be enjoying the sight of my pink mound, covered only by a thin strip of hair.
“And what kind of slut walks the streets without her panties on?” he continued.
“This kind, Sir.” The kind that does it because you love it, I wanted to add. The kind who’ll make some wild suggestion to a guy she’s only seen twice about joining her and her lover for a threesome. The kind who hasn’t been fully bared yet and is desperate to be.
As if sensing my unspoken need, Lee flicked open the front catch of my bra and let my breasts fall free of the cups. Almost before I knew it, he’d caught hold of my wrists and used the bra to tie them together behind my back. Though not in my plans, or Mitchell’s as far as I knew, the impromptu bondage only served to make me wetter, more anxious for fulfillment.
Lee pushed me onto the bed. I landed facedown, my nose only inches away from Mitchell’s terry-covered crotch. With a grin, he pulled the folds of toweling away, and I gazed on the fat bulk of his erect cock, the foreskin peeled away to reveal the tender core within. My mouth watered in response to the sight and smell of him.
“Suck me,” he ordered, “and do a good job, or it’ll be the worse for your ass.”
Crawling into position wasn’t easy, my movements hampered as they were by my bound wrists. But I got myself settled over Mitchell’s dick, and ran my tongue over the head, just the quickest of flicks, to lap up the juice that welled from its tip.
“Not good enough, slut.” Mitchell slapped my ass, with a crisp, upward stroke that stung only a little. In my eyeline, I saw movement; heard the rustling of clothing being removed. I’d wanted to watch Lee undress, but the two men had contrived to deny me that treat. Who’d set this whole thing up? I wondered, as I took more of Mitchell’s length in my mouth. Who was in charge here?
Not me, that became all too clear, as I felt Lee’s hands on my asscheeks, pulling them wide apart. Helpless to prevent myself being spread for his gaze, I could only imagine how I looked to him. He’d be able to see everything, even the dark, wrinkled star of my asshole. This was what I’d wanted, to be open and available for both men to use. And now I had Mitchell’s cock in my mouth, leaking its salty juices as I sucked him, and Lee’s hand probing between my legs, tracing the length of my crease.
“So how wet are you?” I heard him murmur, echoing the words I’d used at the Charmont. “Enough for two fingers, or three?”
My only answer was a moan around Mitchell’s bulging cockhead as Lee began to open me up. I kept on trying to give Mitchell the best blow job I could, but the feeling of first one, then a second finger sliding into me proved a serious distraction. Every time I faltered in my task, Mitchell’s response was to swat my ass hard. Combined with the feeling of Lee working a third digit into my stretched, slippery hole, it was making it impossible for me to retain any shred of control.
“And the answer is three,” Lee growled in my ear. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”
The fingers were withdrawn, as if he’d proved his point. Deprived of that almost painful, desperately necessary fullness, I grumbled my disappointment around my mouthful of Mitchell. In response, Lee’s long index finger pressed at the entrance to my ass. With an indecent lack of resistance, the tight ring opened up to let him in.
“Oh, yes, that’s it,” Lee said, almost as if he couldn’t believe I’d offered up my most intimate places to him so easily. What—who—had he given up to be here with us now? A takeaway pizza in front of the TV? A night out with the lads? A date with some girl who had no idea what she’d been turned down in favor of? I didn’t know; cared even less. Here I was, skewered on Mitchell’s shaft at one end, Lee’s finger at the other, obediently sucking cock like the good little submissive I was.
“Wait till you have your cock up there,” Mitchell said, conducting a conversation with Lee over my head, discussing me as if I wasn’t even in the room. I marveled at how even he kept his voice, given that my tongue was feathering over the head of his dick. “You won’t believe how tight she is.”
“I can’t fucking wait, mate….”
They were discussing the niceties of where the condoms and lube were kept, but I’d tuned them out, focused only on the task of bringing Mitchell to his peak with my mouth. Without my hands free to caress his balls and wank his shaft with the short, fast strokes that always propelled him over the edge, I had to work twice as hard with my lips and tongue. He had to appreciate the effort I was putting in, but his only reaction was those sharp spanks to my ass, designed to spur me on to suck harder. And when his hips began to jerk and I knew he had to be close, he just gripped my hair in his fist and pulled my head off his cock.
“Not yet,” he said. “I don’t want to come till your ass is plugged full of his cock.”
Guiding me by my hair, he encouraged me to look over my shoulder. I got my first sight of Lee’s naked body. Lean and honey-tanned, with just enough muscle where it counted, and a long cock, already sheathed in taut black latex, rising from a nest of crisp, dark curls. Quite a lot to take in such a small hole, but I was ready for the challenge.
Mitchell unfastened my wrists from their makeshift bondage, knowing I’d need free use of my limbs for what was about to come, then held me steady as Lee clambered back on the bed, homing in on my upraised rump. I’d never been so conscious of my body: the heavy, downward drag of my breasts; the pulse beating in my clit; my nerves taut and expectant as I felt Lee’s cockhead butt at the entrance to my ass. Bigger than any toy I’d ever been plugged with, thicker than Mitchell’s so-familiar shaft, his dick pressed home slowly, relentlessly. I couldn’t focus on anything but the sensation of being stretched almost to the point of pain, even though my lover’s cock still bobbed in front of my pleasure-glazed eyes. Only when Lee stopped moving did I bend and take Mitchell into my mouth once more.
And for a moment I stayed like that, frozen so any onlooker could admire the submissive tableau I presented, filled at both ends. I’d been dreaming of this moment since Lee had agreed to my outrageous proposal, and now that it had happened I almost didn’t know how to react.
Mitchell’s cock twitched between my lips, reminding me how close he’d been before he’d called a halt to my oral ministrations. Lee’s calloused hands grasped my buttocks, his thumb stroking the soft flesh absentmindedly. That faint motion roused me from the erotic torpor that gripped me, and I began to suck Mitchell again as Lee ground his hips against my ass.
At first, our movements were clumsy, out of sync, like a machine whose gears didn’t quite mesh. Lee’s thrusts pushed me hard onto Mitchell’s length, and my teeth grazed his tender skin with a force that made him wince. I did my best to mumble an apology around his length. This wasn’t going to work, not in the smooth, well-oiled way it always had in my fantasies, and I was on the verge of relinquishing my hold on Mitchell’s dick and admitting defeat. But somehow, we managed to fall into the right rhythm, and my fears melted like ice in the summer sun. Two into one would go, it seemed.
Hot, salty cock in my mouth. Hard, thrusting cock in my ass. My own fingers free to reach between my thighs and rub at my clit with frantic motions. Lee’s throaty grunts, Mitchell’s moaning assertion that he was about to come. Too much sensation, too much pleasure.
Mitchell bucked beneath me, forcing even more of himself into my mouth. Lee never stopped thrusting, not for a moment, and I found myself drooling helplessly around the thickness of Mitchell’s shaft, eyes tearing up, as he pumped his seed down my throat.
“She’s all yours now,” he muttered, slumping back against the pillows. Lee didn’t reply, just kept plowing into me with long, relentless strokes. My eyes met Mitchell’s, and what I saw there made me glow with love for him. Sa
tisfaction, pride and admiration at the sight I presented to him, asshole stretched wide around another man’s cock. I’d given myself to a stranger, but he was the one reaping the rewards.
“Nearly there now, nearly there,” Lee chanted like a mantra, the words gradually dissolving into incoherence as the need to come engulfed him. Hard as I tried to time my orgasm to his, excitement propelled me on and I came first, losing the battle to keep staring into Mitchell’s eyes as I did. My muscles clenched tight around Lee’s dick and that did it for him; cursing and groaning, he came deep in my ass, the condom catching every drop.
Mitchell caught me as I fell forward, holding me tight and whispering his gratitude into my ear. “If this is how you’re going to surprise me from now on, bring it on.”
Lee was lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d done.
“There’s wine chilling on the dresser,” Mitchell told him. “Help yourself. And there’s cheese and crackers, too. I thought we might all need to keep our strength up.”
I smiled to myself. Trust him to think of the practicalities, like drinks and snacks, while I’d been busy concentrating on kinkier matters. But that was why we made such a great team.
In our own way, we’d both been working to this moment since Lee had opened that hotel-room door. The first time, we’d intrigued him. The second, we’d convinced him. The third, we’d had him. Things came in threes, after all. And as Mitchell’s fingers stroked over my clit, reawaking sensations that had barely had time to die away, I was pretty sure that before the evening had finished, I would be one of them.
THE CAKE
Ingrid Luna
He’ll be here soon. The kitchen is growing warm, the mingling vanilla and sugar fill it up with a comforting smell. He loves the smell of vanilla, he has told me. I don’t know why. Probably reminds him of his mother or something, I’m sure, as per usual. I crack the oven door carefully and peek inside. The cake is rising gorgeously, a soft golden pillow of moist sweetness. I have a momentary worry that it won’t be perfect, but I calm myself quickly. It will be delicious. I’m a damn good baker. Slowly, I insert a toothpick into the heart of it. It comes out cleanly with just a few crumbs clinging. I lick them off.
“Done!” I exclaim happily, and can’t resist a little victory dance there in the kitchen. The cake goes onto the smooth wooden cutting board to cool, and I go into the bedroom to change.
Off comes the battered Slayer shirt I live in when I’m not expecting company. I kick my jeans into a pile in the corner and strip off my ratty black underwear. I start the shower and rifle through my closet while the water heats up. The housedress perhaps? No, I wore that last time he visited. The halter dress with the large circle skirt isn’t quite right. I remember he said something about an aversion to seersucker. Finally, I find the lavender silk dress I snapped up at my favorite vintage shop last month. I had completely forgotten about it, and it hung dejected on its velvet hanger.
“Let’s see what he thinks of you,” I coo, twirling it around in front of me.
Fifteen minutes later I stand in front of my full-length mirror, admiring my transformation. My usually messy mane tamed into red fox curls coiled gently above the smooth white skin of my forehead, the lavender dress clinging to every curve of my admittedly ample bust before nipping in dramatically at the waist and then exploding in a full skirt just below my knees. I have a pretty marvelous hourglass shape naturally, but today it seems almost cruel, really, thanks to the corset I have struggled into. I am all dangerous racetrack curves. I balance the effect of all of this with a pale lip and nude stockings. He likes me to be a tad subtle. A subdued, accidental sexiness.
I pout into the mirror, practicing wholesome and coy. It’s a challenge for me, to be honest.
Back in the kitchen, the cake is ready to be iced. Softened butter works its magic with sugar and a little cream. I’m going to make a butterscotch icing. It’s my favorite. The rest of the ingredients go into the mixing bowl where the beaters work away at them—that magical kitchen alchemy I love. Soon the frosting is standing up in fluffy peaks and I spoon it out onto my cake in great creamy globs, smoothing it expertly with a broad knife. It’s immaculate, my cake. Homey and simple but exquisitely executed. Of course. That’s one of the reasons he keeps coming back.
By the time he arrives, I am perfumed and the kitchen is spotlessly clean. A gin gimlet perspires gently in my hand, soft jazz is twinkling softly through the house and the cake is resting on white china on the sturdy kitchen table.
“Darling!” I exclaim, looping my arms around his neck and kissing him gently on the cheek. “You’re back! I’m so happy to see you!”
“Hello, lovely,” he says, and takes my shoulders in his hands, turning me around gently. “You look perfect. How beautiful. Is this a new dress?”
I manage a tiny shy smile, averting my eyes. “Yes. Do you like it? It isn’t…too tight?” I run my hands over my narrow rib cage, his eyes following their movement. For a moment, there is nothing but pure lust in his eyes. He coughs slightly and looks a little embarrassed.
“It smells wonderful in here!”
“Oh yes! I nearly forgot! I made you a cake! Here, my dear, let me take your jacket.”
As I pull it off of his large shoulders, I can’t help but admire him. I’ve never asked his exact age, but I imagine him to be in his early fifties. He is nicely muscled, though, and everything about him implies that this is a man who takes care of himself and is used to getting his way. His shoes are always the finest leather, his suits obviously bespoke. I have never seen a stray hair, a wrinkle.
He rolls up his sleeves, exposing a watch that probably cost twice what my car did, and a hairy, muscular forearm.
“Shall we then?”
He takes my arm and leads me into the kitchen.
“Oh, you’ve truly outdone yourself, Charlotte. This is a thing of beauty for sure,” he says, eyeing the cake like a goldsmith, as he sits at the simple wooden chair I have pulled out for him. I lean over his shoulder so that he can get a noseful of my perfume, and breathe into his ear, “I made it especially for you. I slaved away all afternoon and do you know what I was thinking about, the whole time?”
“I can guess.”
“Well, go on then,” I say, smiling sweetly.
“Actually, on second thought. Maybe you should show me. Are you ready, my turtle dove?”
“If you like.”
He offers me his hand and I take it delicately. One dainty step up after another and then I am perched on the table in front of him. I can feel him admiring the aristocratic turn of my ankle, the lovely hue of my tasteful heel.
“Remove your tie,” I instruct him.
I make a noose at each end, slide the rich fabric over one wrist and then the other, tying the ends securely to the chair arms. He can’t move his hands an inch. I have him exactly where I want him.
The cake sits smugly between my shoes as I ruck my skirt up to my waist and unsnap the crotch of my apricot silk panties. I tuck them up into my garter, send him a shy little wink and slowly squat down until the lips of my shaved pussy are nearly touching the flawless frosting. I’m not turned on yet. There is just the faintest tingle in my belly, but he is captivated. He moves closer toward me, getting an eyeful as I ease ever closer to the buttercream.
Then, I simply sit.
The frosting engulfs my pussy and ass. I feel it gushing up under my skirt, coating my inner lips. The crack of my ass is speckled with frosting. My clit is coated with butterscotch and chunks of still-warm cake are trying to work their way inside me. I grind down on it, using my fingers to spread it over my mound, massaging frosting into the pale soft skin at the top of my thighs. I run a finger through the ruined cake and spread it across my labia, then bring the finger to my mouth.
“Mmmmmmm…” I breathe, tasting the perfect combination of frosting, moist cake and pussy. I hold out my finger to him. “Would you like to try it?�
�� He can’t speak. I watch as this powerful, elegant man becomes as weak as a kitten with desire. I want to giggle. I feel a rush of heat between my legs. He nods, opening his mouth just a little, leaning toward the morsel I offer.
“Uh-uh.” Pop goes the finger into my mouth. “No cake for you. You’ve been a very bad boy.”
He whimpers slightly, neck still craned toward me, his tongue slightly between his teeth. He looks ridiculous. He shakes his head slightly.
“No?” I raise a sculpted eyebrow at him. “No? You’ve been a good boy? I don’t think so. You’ve been thinking all kinds of naughty, terrible things. Haven’t you?”
He shakes his head, stronger this time.
This is starting to get fun. I continue, “You want me to believe you are a good boy, worthy of this delicious confection? You want me to let you have some?”
I grab a handful of cake from between my legs.
“You disgusting, weak little pervert. You terrible, naughty thing. You speck of a man.”
His cock is growing hard, I can see the shape of it clearly outlined through the fine fabric of his slacks.
I hold the cake an inch from his trembling lips and then snatch it back.
“I don’t think you really want it,” I scold, and drop the chunk of cake onto the floor.
“Oh I do! I do want it! I need it! Please, please let me have some! I’ll be good! Just a taste!” he whines. He’s practically weeping.
I slide my legs over his shoulders, balancing myself on the edge of the table with one hand, and grab the back of his head.
“You make me want to puke,” I snarl. My pussy is a foot away from him. He can hardly contain himself as he eyes my rosy snatch through the buttercream. “You are the most vile, pathetic creature. You aren’t worthy of one bite of this cake I made. But you know what? I’m going to let you have a little taste because I am feeling very very generous today.”
