Thrill Seeker

by Kristina Lloyd

  When I was on all fours, Baxter pushed my head to the mattress so my butt was in the air. I heard the squelch of lube. My heart thumped. I knew what was coming.

  ‘She likes it up her arse,’ he snarled. ‘Don’t you, you nasty little slapper?’

  I whimpered, embarrassed and immeasurably horny. Evidently, Baxter had reached his limit for toning down his dirty-talking dom-self. He whacked a generous splodge of lube into the split of my buttocks and rubbed, efficient and brisk. Liam and I had never done this. Arse-play was too crude and intense for the dynamic we had. To know he watched as Baxter initiated the act made me awkward and shy. And yet I loved the implication I had no choice but to suffer because Baxter was lord and master.

  Baxter nudged at my crinkled pit with one finger, locating my opening rather than penetrating me.

  ‘Ah, ah,’ I bleated, instinctively tensing.

  ‘Here we go,’ he said in a breezy sing-song. ‘Straight in there.’ He eased two fingers inside me, combating my resistance with greasy, inexorable pressure. With a begrudging pinch, my slippery band of muscle dilated to take him. He drove in knuckle-deep, his other hand keeping my head to the mattress. I wailed as he began gliding in and out, his rhythm quickly rising until he was pumping with voracious strokes.

  Above me, he panted as he pounded, growling out ragged fragments of filth. ‘That’s what she likes … hard in the arse … forced to take it … don’t you, huh?’

  My awareness of Liam’s non-involvement intensified both my shame and arousal. What was he thinking? Flashes of wishing he were elsewhere battled against my love of being made to endure humiliation at Baxter’s hands. Heat flooded my face. I couldn’t look up from the futon, my cheek squashed against the bed sheet, Liam’s pale, bony knees visible in my peripheral vision. Shimmering beads of light accompanied a series of hard explosions outside. My narrow hole became pliant and greedy around Baxter’s fingers. More, I wanted so much more. I wanted to devour and be devoured.

  Baxter pulled out of me. I offered no objection as he jerked me into a kneeling position. Desire dizzied me, the swollen openings between my legs a blur of sensation. Leaning across the futon, Baxter flipped the lid off the floral hat box where I keep my toys. Liam knelt at a distance, his cock in his fist, while Baxter rummaged in the box.

  I recognised his mood. He was firing on all cylinders, ready to get rough and nasty. Sure enough, he tossed onto the futon a handful of wooden clothes pegs and a frayed, slender length of hemp. The rope we’d used before; the pegs I’d bought after our split, having read about DIY bondage tips online. No one had used them on me yet. How typical of Baxter to choose cheap basics rather than anything I’d spent my hard-earned cash on.

  ‘And here’s another thing she likes,’ he said. ‘Hurting.’

  He knelt before me, his cock ramrod stiff, its tip marbled with a livid, blood-blue flush. I stroked his length then clasped his thick waist, caught between wanting to be done to and wanting to touch and take. Baxter held one of my nipples and, without ceremony, fastened a peg onto my tip. I hissed at the first bite of pain, then again as he fixed a second peg to my other nipple. He glanced at my face as he worked, methodically adding more pegs to my breasts. Nips of pain merged into each other, channels of sensation forking and connecting. Soon, my breasts were transformed into strange, spiky flowers.

  ‘You good?’ asked Baxter.

  I nodded, trying to go with the pain not against it.

  Baxter dropped to his belly, as if he were wriggling into a pothole, then examined me between my legs. I swayed, molten with need. He split me, clipping a peg to my labia. He pressed open another peg. I held my breath, my inflamed tissues throbbing as a second pair of jaws took hold. I gasped, resting a hand on Baxter’s head, wanting an anchor. Another nip then another. Woozy with lust, I gazed down at the slab of Baxter’s back, at the track of faint stretch marks in the hollow, and at his high, rounded buttocks, furred with dark hair. He was so beautiful to me, so perfect.

  When he’d finished, he knelt up. ‘Now keep still,’ he said. He doubled the length of hemp then doubled it again to make a hoop of two coarse strands. Lightly, he flicked the rope at my belly, his touch a warning or a test. He repeated the gesture a couple of times, striping my skin with soft swishes. Then he drew his arm across his body as if launching a backhand stroke. With a jerk of his wrist, he cracked the rope at my waist. I yelped. The pain detonated, worse than I’d expected.

  Baxter chuckled, turning to address Liam. ‘See, she loves it. Didn’t I tell you?’

  Again, he struck me, swiping my thighs and belly. He moved behind me, making the mattress bounce, and began swatting my buttocks. Heat burst on my skin, my cheeks becoming tender as he thrashed, catching the edge of my flesh with fierce, evil stings. I tried to keep in position, kneeling up and absorbing the blows, but the task grew too difficult. My body became raw with sensitivity. I cursed, cowered and flinched as he whipped me. Occasionally, I was reminded of the pegs fixed to my breasts and labia but for the most part, unless movement knocked them, I was oblivious to their grip.

  ‘How about this?’ said Baxter. ‘You ready?’ He paused then lashed the backs of my knees. I swear, I nearly hit the roof. Tears stung my eyes and it was all I could do to stop myself from thumping him in retaliation.

  Liam spat on his palm and began working himself faster, his freckled biceps flexing. A firework exploded, briefly pouring pink light onto his slender, milk-white muscularity. Baxter glanced at him. ‘I might need some room, laddie. Could you?’

  Liam edged back, still pumping his cock, while I braced myself for whatever sweet cruelty Baxter had in store. Baxter smirked, twirling the doubled hoop of rope onto his open hand.

  ‘This is gonna hurt,’ he said. ‘But if you want to get fucked, you’ve got to take it.’ He continued tapping his hand with the rope. ‘Do you want to get fucked?’

  I held his gaze, wanting to fall into the depths of his long-lashed, black-brown eyes. I nodded.

  ‘Do you want to make me proud?’ he continued. ‘You want to show me what a brave lassie you are?’

  Again, I nodded. I’d never thought of it that way before. But yes, in that moment, I wanted to prove I would take the pain for Baxter because I adored him. In return, I wanted the glow of his adoration even though I already knew he adored me. If he hadn’t done, he wouldn’t have asked me to take pain for him in the first place.

  A wicked smile spread across Baxter’s face. He raised the doubled loop of rope and brought it slicing down on my peg-clipped breasts. The pincers clattered against each other, some snapping off, others tugging at my flesh. I howled as returning blood surged into the numbed patches, one freed nipple throbbing with searing hot pain.

  In that instant, I decided I sodding well hated Baxter, and all who sailed in him.

  Baxter looked at me, gauging my response. I glared at him, tears brimming. Seconds later, with even greater ferocity, he brought the hemp loop crashing down on my tits. I yelled again, the rope catching the bared, tender patches of skin, more pegs pinging off.

  ‘You fucking, fucking bastard,’ I cried.

  ‘Damn right I am,’ said Baxter, grinning with pride.

  He reached between my legs and waggled the dangling pegs, making pain ripple. A tear spilled down my cheek. I didn’t know if this were one of the terrible and beautiful things he’d imagined doing to me, or if, ever resourceful, he’d invented this method of torture when his fingers had found rope and pegs. Either way, it was a far cry from Den’s elaborate stage sets and protracted headfuck.

  ‘You ready?’ asked Baxter but he didn’t wait for my reply. With a series of tugs, he snatched the pegs from my swollen lower lips, one, two, three, four.

  I gasped, panting to stay calm, the pain less than I’d feared.

  ‘Look at her,’ said Baxter to Liam. ‘Taking it all because she’s gagging for a piece of dick. So, have we got some dick for her? Let’s see, shall we? Bend over, you little beauty. Show us your arse.
’

  I did as told, the remaining pegs on my tits making my flesh hang and sway like bizarre udders. Baxter sheathed his cock and moved behind me. ‘Oh, the nights I’ve dreamed of plugging this greedy arsehole again.’

  He parted my buttocks, slathered more lube along my crease then skewered a couple of fingers into my passage, opening me with the cool, slick gel. I whimpered until he withdrew.

  ‘Hold yourself wide for me,’ he said, his voice groggy and low.

  I tipped forward, turning to rest on my head and one shoulder, then I reached back with both hands to pull my buttocks apart. From the corner of my eye, I saw Baxter lubing up his cock. Further back, Liam knelt, still slowly wanking. I winced to think of Liam watching as I shamelessly offered up my arsehole, the pouched little dent no doubt glinting lasciviously in the oiled crack of my cheeks.

  Baxter edged closer. His hard, fat end nosed at my entrance. Oh God, I could hardly believe this was happening, that I had him again. I groaned as he pressed into my narrowness, my body tightening with the impulse to lock him out. I willed myself to relax, knowing it would hurt less if I did. Baxter grunted with effortful pleasure, his cries deepening as the ring of my hole widened to take him. I wailed as he pushed, his progress eased by the lube until he was lodged deep. He paused.

  ‘Oh, fuck, yes,’ he whispered. ‘I’m home. I am home.’

  In my rear, he was solid and dense, my stretched passage nipping around him. Slowly, he withdrew. My body clung to him, my muscles still tight. He knocked my hands away from my cheeks and plunged back. Gripping my hips, he began hammering at me, the two of us grunting and huffing. With every stroke, my arse grew softer until we were fused in a hot, slippery mess at the juncture of our darkly intimate fuck.

  Behind us, Liam watched, still jerking his cock but clearly uncertain of his role. I reached out, beckoning him closer, calling for him between gasps of pleasure. On his knees, he shuffled forward. I took him in my fist, clumsily working him as Baxter’s relentless thrusts buffeted me.

  ‘Stick your dick in her mouth,’ rasped Baxter.

  ‘Yes,’ I gasped, and I opened wide.

  Liam didn’t waste a second. He drove into me, making me cough and splutter as he knocked deep. With uncharacteristic roughness, he bunched my hair in his fists and began drawing my head down his shaft, exploiting the jolts from Baxter’s pounding to establish a rhythm where I was see-sawing between the two men. When Baxter hooked his arm beneath me to find my clit, my nearness coiled.

  My cries of pleasure were distorted, cock-muffled wails. Baxter shaped his fingers into a vee, rubbing my clit on either side before fretting the taut, tender bud with a fast, focused touch. I came hard, clawing the duvet and pleading for respite. No one took a blind bit of notice.

  ‘Here.’ Baxter tossed a condom onto the mattress. ‘You OK about fucking her cunt while I keep doing her arse?’

  Liam withdrew from my mouth and grabbed the wrapper. ‘Oh man, yes!’ He bit off a strip of foil while Baxter slowed. Carefully, Baxter moved us into a new position, doing his best to keep inside me. But we were too slippery and his cock fell out of me. ‘OK. Again. Backwards,’ he said.

  He lay back on the bed and I reverse-straddled his hips, thigh muscles pulling in my struggle to span the breadth of his body. The feel of his bulk beneath me was almost too much to believe. I’d never dared dream this might happen. I was convinced he’d gone for good, leaving me with memories, emptiness and a fissure in my heart that could never fully mend. Now, in contrast to that, he was in my bed, so brutally, beautifully physical, so present and alive.

  I lowered myself onto his jutting cock, sinking to the root of him and re-filling my arse with his girth. Baxter held me steady, easing me towards his chest while Liam positioned himself between Baxter’s knees, shuffling closer. He aimed his tip at my entrance, fumbling briefly for access before sliding into my wetness.

  ‘Oh man,’ said Liam. ‘She’s so tight.’

  I wailed, the barrier between both my orifices seeming to melt. I hooked an arm around Liam’s neck, clinging to him for balance. Baxter’s hands were on my shoulder blades, supporting and guiding me. After a rocky start, I was rising and falling on their double penetration, my holes fuller than they’d ever been. I was so crammed with sensation, I didn’t think I had the capacity for more. But when Liam knocked a peg off my nipple, agony and ecstasy chased around my body. I cried out, lost.

  ‘Sorry,’ gasped Liam.

  ‘More,’ I said. ‘All of them.’

  After a nervous pause, Liam unclipped the remaining pegs. The fire in my breasts merged with the heat consuming the lower half of my body. Someone touched my clit and I came again, gasping, incoherent, wrecked.

  ‘Oh man, I’m gonna come,’ said Liam.

  ‘Yes,’ said Baxter with an exultant growl.

  I slammed down harder and Liam came, stuttering out a twisted roar. He withdrew quickly, leaving Baxter in the driving seat, so to speak. Moments later, Baxter snatched himself free. He snapped off his rubber, moving with frenzied urgency.

  ‘On your knees,’ he barked. ‘I’m gonna explode all over your face.’

  I scrambled to obey as Baxter stood on the futon, rising above me, tall and magnificent, wanking furiously. I opened my mouth, aching to taste his come after so long without. He uttered grunts of desperate need then, with roar that sounded like the darkness made audible, like tar and coalmines and black, bitter secrets, he came, scattering pearls on my face and splashing salt on my tongue.

  He stood, legs apart, panting for breath. The hairs on his upper thighs were damp with sweat. I smeared his stickiness into my mouth, wanting to consume him. With a dramatic grunt, Baxter fell to his knees, his weight slamming into the mattress. He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, and dragged me close. He kissed me hard, tasting himself on my tongue before he flung himself onto the bed, laughing again. ‘Ah, hen,’ he said. ‘I’m a broken man. What have you done to me?’

  Liam laughed as well. ‘I can’t feel my knees,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t feel my anything,’ I added.

  The three of us lay in a tangle of sticky, sweaty recuperation, the fireworks outside banging like mortar bombs and dripping colour into the room.

  ‘I think Saltbourne’s being shelled,’ said Baxter. ‘About fucking time and all.’

  After a while, he poured us a round of whiskies and Liam skinned up. We talked with lazy companionability, the noises fading outside as the hour grew late. Rory came to join us, seeking comfort after the fireworks. On cautious white paws, she crept into the room, tail swaying warily. On the floor lay the brown leather bridle, its rich lustre and brass attachments gleaming in the colour-smudged dimness. Curious, Rory nuzzled at the tangle of straps, flinching from each tiny touch.

  ‘Look,’ said Baxter. ‘Even the fucking cat’s a pervert.’

  We laughed, beyond happy. I wasn’t sure about the harness. I’d need to disassociate the object from Den to be comfortable wearing it. Liam said he’d help. I was surprised he’d taken the bridle from the theatre. Later, he’d said he couldn’t bear the thought of his work being sold to such a tosser. Ever principled, Liam said he’d refund Den the money. Better still, he was going to remove the strap embossed with NIL and replace with a plain piece of leather, help make the piece mine again. After all, it was designed for me. A shame to let that go to waste.

  Outside, a late, lonely firework exploded. Liam sat up with a stoned version of decisiveness. ‘I’m going to head off,’ he said. ‘I think you two have a lot of catching up to do.’

  ‘Aye, we certainly have.’ Baxter beamed at me, brushing a wisp of hair from my face.

  Rory wandered off as Liam dressed. ‘You mind if I leave my crowbar here?’ he said. ‘Don’t fancy walking home with that.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘And will you lock the door when you leave? My keys are on top of the telly.’

  ‘No worries,’ Liam replied, and I knew that he, like me, was remembering the
night of the storm. I hadn’t yet told him it was Den who’d broken in but I would do soon, although I suspected he knew already.

  When he was dressed, Liam knelt on the futon to print a goodbye peck on my lips. He gave Baxter a stiff smile, holding out a polite hand.

  Baxter, unfazed by the contrast of his own nudity against Liam’s propriety, dragged his new friend into a manly hug, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Excellent night,’ said Baxter. ‘Excellent to have met you, laddie.’

  We listened to Liam’s footsteps on the stairs, heard the lock click then my keys clatter on the doormat as Liam posted them through the letterbox.

  I said, ‘I’m not giving him up for you.’

  ‘I’m no asking you to,’ Baxter replied. ‘Although the other fella can take a hike.’

  ‘Yeah, I think he’ll have got that message.’

  For a moment or two, we let the silence of the house settle around us as it had done on so many nights in the past. Nothing stirred outside, the sky beyond the window black and peaceful. Baxter and I were the only people in the world.

  I swirled a hand over his torso, fingers drifting through his crisp, dark chest hair. ‘Now what?’ I asked.

  Baxter rolled onto his side, propping himself on his elbow. He gazed at me, tracing a finger across my lips, smiling.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I’m going to fuck the lights out of you.’

  A heartbeat passed, a gentle pause, then he sprang up. I squealed as he straddled my hips, pinning me beneath his glorious thighs. He raised my wrists, gripping tight, and shoved my arms against the pillows. His hair tumbled over his forehead, his grin triumphant.

  I squirmed beneath him, laughing hard. ‘Try,’ I said.

  And he did and he does, over and over. And I burn more brightly than ever.