Triad

by Simone Leigh

  I love hearing you like that....

  .... She can’t last much longer....

  .... And neither can I....

  “Ask nicely.” I stand and with a sigh of relief, unzip my pants. Michael’s ahead of me, already kicking his jeans into a corner.

  “Please, Master. Please. Let me come.”

  She’s all but out of control. She would be out of control if she were not tied. Her body twists and shifts. Her pussy is wide and open, streaming juices, her thighs wet, the sheets below her soaked.

  And still, we make her wait.

  After a long pause, “What do you think Michael? Do we let her come yet?”

  He shakes his head.... “Not yet. I think we can do another round or two....” Stripped now, his shaft pulses like a metronome...

  You had her only a few hours ago...?

  He bends to kiss her lips. “I’m enjoying watching this, Charlotte.... You look fantastic. I want to watch you quiver a bit longer yet. Then, I’m going to put my cock in your mouth, and, whatever you don’t swallow, you’re going to get over your face and tits. And I think that James would like you really liquid, for when he has his mouth wrapped around your cunt when you do come.... When we let you come....”

  Already I have my mouth over her entrance, lapping up her escaping honey, sucking at her for more, licking through her molten cunt and folds. Fumbling a little to get it the right way around while I have my mouth planted over her, I reinsert the vibe. Michael’s back on her clit, sliding the slippery thing between finger and thumb.

  She’s screaming now. Her body arched and spasming, hips bucking and jerking out of all control....

  And she’s going to Come....

  We don’t try to stop it this time. Instead, we keep up our assault on her senses....

  And for a second, two seconds, she hovers, vibrating....

  .... and the storm breaks....

  Shrieking into orgasm, her cries ricochet around the room.... She goes suddenly quiet, apparently having trouble getting enough breath to keep it up. Then inhaling deeply she screams again.

  Michael and I stand, watching her. He shakes his head as he watches her, mouth twitching in amusement....

  His cock too.... though perhaps not from amusement...

  As her body relaxes only slightly, Michael waves me in with a slight bow and an ‘After you’ gesture...

  He’s already had one shot at her....

  I drop between her thighs. Quickly, I snatch at the blindfold, pulling it free to leave her blinking at me. Grasping her ankles, I push her back on herself. Her knees bent back against her chest, she’s completely open to me and I drive in, deep into her heated core, my balls banging against her.

  For all her awkward position, pinned under me, she flexes to meet me, to take me. I think she’s out of orgasm, but still she yells and screams and laughs with me as we take our wild ride together. She’s open; deeply and completely and deliciously open. Still, she stretches and flexes around me as I thrust, her melting, pulsing flesh enveloping mine as I fuck her, as hard as I can, no holds barred.

  My climax comes suddenly, violently. With a pulse of the heart that bangs through flesh and bone and blood, making my finger-tips tingle and my vision go dark at the edges, I detonate into her, giving my all in an explosive surge.

  Ah.... fuckkk....

  Rolling and grinding against her, my hips rotating almost trying to screw myself into her, I give her one last burst and then with a gasp of relief, withdraw and drop to the side of her to stare upwards, seeing stars.

  Christ.... not sure how many like that I could handle...

  Trying to unscramble my brain, I’m vaguely aware that Michael is on her now, face-fucking her....

  Hope he’s careful with her....

  .... he always is....

  From my sideways view, I see his cock entering and re-entering her gaping mouth. She can’t do anything. She’s simply a receptacle, but as I scrape myself from the ceiling I realise that, immobilised or not, she’s giving him what she knows he wants. Her eyes are wide, fixed on him as he face-fucks her....

  .... he is controlling himself. Despite the urgency of his movements, he’s got a hand around his shaft, stopping himself from going too deep. With a groan, he shudders and presses in, his groin pressed against his hand, and his hand against her lips. He shudders and tremors, then at the last moment pulls free to spurt his last over her face and neck.

  Then he drops to hands and knees over her, chest heaving, his cock drizzling into her hair

  “Jeez....”

  “I’ll second that....” I say.

  “If that’s what a few weeks’ enforced abstinence gives,” he mutters, “then perhaps it’s worth it.”

  “Um... Guys.” Charlotte’s voice is plaintive. “Any chance....?”

  Michael and I both burst into laughter. “Sorry, Charlotte,” he says, untying her from the bedhead, “We’re forgetting ourselves aren’t we.”

  I snag robes and towels from the wall, passing them around. As Charlotte wipes trailing ropes of cum from her face, “Um, Michael, Master, are we able to have a bath or a shower here?”

  He cracks a smile. “I was joking about the tin bath....”

  Tin bath...?

  “.... Yes, we can use the hotel facilities.” he continues, then turns serious. “In fact, sensibly, we need to set ourselves up in one of the rooms there over Christmas, at least for everyday purposes. We can come here when we want to be cosy by the fire, or if we want some privacy.”

  He looks anxious....

  .... always worrying about her....

  He kisses her, then wipes away a little cum from her face that she’d missed. “You do like it here?”

  .... and worrying about what she thinks of Him....

  “Stop worrying. I love it here.” Her face softens. She traces her fingers over his lips, his cheekbones. “We’re going to be so happy.”

  And you understand that, don’t you, Green-Eyes....

  .... time to step in....

  .... stop things turning too serious....

  “Yes, we are,” I say. “By the way, did I mention that we have visitors tomorrow?”

  She brightens again. “No, who?”

  “Richard and Beth wanted to have a look at the place. Um, I think they’re as intrigued as much by our living arrangements, as by the house itself, but anyway, they’ll be dropping by tomorrow morning to have a look around.”

  “Great!” Michael claps his hands together. “Our first guests.”

  *****

  Thirteen Years Ago

  It’s late. In the road, there is the raucous sound of drunks leaving or being thrown from the bars.

  One by one, lights wink out from the windows of takeaways and restaurants and bit by bit, late-night diners and revellers vanish from the street.

  To the rear of the restaurants and cafes, there is clanging and clattering from the kitchens which gradually dies down. Eventually, this turns to the rattle of closing shutters and the snap of bolts being drawn into place.

  As all falls dark and silent, a figure emerges. Standing silently, looking right and left before moving far from the shadows, she makes her way to the rear of one of the restaurants.

  Showing every sign of knowing where she is, familiar with the route and the lack of gates or bars, she lifts the lid from one trash can after another, glancing over the contents with a practised eye, before reaching in to pull out a waxed carton. She opens it, briefly inspects the contents, sniffs, then closes the lid and vanishes once more into the dark.

  *****

  Two uniformed figures stroll down the street. They always walk in pairs around here. The road is quiet. In the wee small hours, there is little traffic and the sound of their footsteps echoes down the badly lit street.

  Both figures carry torches; long-handled, rubber-bodied and made for heavy use. The beams are long and bright and as they pass alley entrances, each points a beam down into the dark, hovers a moment, the
n moves on, resuming the patrol.

  A cat dashes in front of them, a one-eared battle-scarred street tom. As it passes through the torch beams it squalls and high-tails down the next alley entrance. There’s a crash and a clang.

  “What was that?”

  “It’ll be that cat.”

  “It sounded a bit big for a cat.”

  “Mmm... C’mon.”

  The pair aim the lights down into the gloom where the beams shine brightly through the mist before being swallowed by it.

  ‘There’s something down there.”

  The beams move, scanning, briefly flashing over something pale which moves and vanishes.

  “There!”

  The two move forward as a pair and there is a sudden clatter, a chaos of noise and a figure dashes towards them, dodging and diving, trying to get past.

  But the alley is narrow, and the two police officers are both large men. As the slender figure tries to squeeze past, one grabs, catching a thin wrist.

  And now, in the torchlight can be seen a mop of red hair. “No! Let me go!” the voice screeches.

  “Oh, God. Not you again.”

  “You know her?”

  “Oh, yes. We’ve met before haven’t we, Jennifer? How many times is this now? Three? Four?” Jennifer struggles and writhes. “Get on the radio. Tell them to send a car. We need to get this one back where she belongs.”

  “No!” There is desperation in the voice. “No!” Abruptly, she jolts forward and her captor yells and curses as she breaks free of his grip.

  “Little bitch bit me. Get after her!”

  *****

  “Mr Jenkins, I know you have your hands full with this one, but keep a better lock on her would you, please. I’m getting tired of picking her up. And I don’t want another of these either.” The police officer holds up a hand, two fingers thickly bandaged.

  “Of course, officer. I’m sorry we’ve put you to so much trouble.” He sweeps back thin blond hair where is it drifting down from a comb-over. “Where did you find her this time?”

  “In an alley, down by the docks, going through trash cans.”

  “Is that right? Thank you, officer. We’ll take it from here. We’ll do our best to ensure you’re not troubled again.”

  The door clangs closed, and the top bolts are drawn. A heavy key turns and then vanishes into a pocket.

  “Eating trash, Jennifer? That’s a nasty habit. Still, if that’s what you enjoy we can arrange it....” A hand comes down hard, across her face, knocking the slight figure to the floor. Another hand on her collar hauls her up, stands her straight and then a fist knocks her down again.

  She breathes heavily, but other than that doesn’t make a sound.

  “Put her in the cellar for a few days. And she only gets what comes out of the bins.”

  *****

  “She's not eaten while she was in there.”

  “Picky about her food?”

  “Er, no Mr Klempner. It seems her jaw is fractured.”

  “Really? And how did that happen?”

  “I disciplined her before she went in.”

  “Disciplined? Don't you understand a simple instruction? Not to touch her face? You've broken her fucking jaw. How am I supposed to get proper value for them if you leave them scarred?”

  “My apologies, sir. It won't happen again.”

  “See that it fucking doesn't. Now get the doctor on her. Get it seen to. I want them obedient, not damaged.”

  *****

  James

  It is after all the depths of winter. It hasn’t snowed yet, but the weather is freezing, and more than that, wet and freezing. Half the site is covered in mud and the earth-movers have had to stop work because the ground is saturated. Water that can’t run away simply sits in ice-edged puddles and everything is filthy with mud.

  Michael is more or less living in rubber boots, and when I’m at home I join him. When I leave for my work in the City each morning, I step between puddles to try to arrive with my suit looking respectable.

  Charlotte deals with the frigid conditions by simply piling on extra layers of clothes until her face turns pink. I’m not sure just how many layers she’s wearing but were I to ask her to undress for me it could be a lengthy process.... The steel-capped work boots she uses for site visits aren’t man-for-the-job for this level of mud and so she is also wearing rubber boots. Vastly too large on her, look about five sizes too big....

  .... Michael’s?

  Lord knows how many pairs of socks she’s wearing to keep them on her feet.

  Richard’s Limo pulls up, dumping iced mud to one side of the track that will one day be the drive to our home. Just now it is a quag and Ross, chauffeuring, pulls up then backs up again a few feet, the wheels spinning a bit as he does so, to allow the passengers out without finding themselves half-way to the knees in freezing muck. As it is, the car is going to need hosing down.

  A door at the back opens and Richard steps out, stares at the ground, then places his feet carefully as he walks around to open the door for Beth.

  Beth also steps out, revealing that she is wearing spiked heels, a fine silk about-the-town dress with an attractive floral pattern, and is elaborately made-up. She gazes at the swamp around her, her mouth forming a small ‘o’ as she picks her way through.

  Astonishingly, she manages to look graceful in doing it.

  Michael, standing next to me in his waterproof boots, two thick winter shirts and a heavy under-vest showing at the neck, shakes his head. Tucking thumbs into his front pockets, he sighs. “Oh, God. Look at the state of her. You did warn them that we’re living on a building site, didn’t you?”

  Oh, Beth....

  I cluck. “I did, yes. but some people don’t take a hint.” I step forward, hand outstretched. “Beth, Richard. Lovely to see you. Do come in.”

  Charlotte doesn’t look happy. I’m not sure why....

  I thought you liked both Beth and Richard...?

  Richard takes my hand to shake. “Good morning, James.” He looks a bit shell-shocked as he takes in the surroundings. “I think perhaps we should have dressed differently.”

  “Well, you’re both here now. Why don’t you have a look around and I’ll go get the kettle on.”

  Michael takes over, conducting the best tour he can for people who have arrived dressed more for a theatre performance or a night at the opera than for touring a reasonable imitation of the Somme.

  If she takes a wrong step, those heels will take her straight down....

  Charlotte still looks glum, heaving a sigh as she watches the three. She’s wearing fingerless gloves and a vast roll neck sweater which is certainly keeping her warm but which I am also fairly sure belongs to Michael. It would comfortably accommodate another Charlotte.

  “Something wrong?”

  She looks sort-of-at-me, then away again. “She’s such a lady, isn’t she? So elegant. I always feel clumsy around her. She’s always well dressed. She dances beautifully. She never looks less than perfect. I just wish I was a bit more like her.”

  I suck in my cheeks. It’s funny to me, but not to her.

  You think I want a Barbie doll?

  “More like her? Charlotte, you are matchless just as you are.”

  She smiles at me, but the smile is a bit wan, made more so by her nose which is bright red in the cold, close to matching her hair.

  How do I explain to my emerald-eyed wild-child that Beth, for all her beauty, her polished manners and her elegant ways, holds not a fraction of the attraction for me that she does?

  Beth’s a true sub....

  You’re a sub when it suits you to be....

  .... and only for me....

  My flame-haired mermaid has already proved she is a survivor. Could Beth have done the same?

  I wrap an arm around her shoulder. “If I wanted someone like Beth, I would be with someone like Beth.”

  “But she’s so beautiful.” she protests. She looks close to tears.


  Can it really bother her so much?

  “You’re beautiful too. And not just on the outside. The things I want from you, Charlotte, all come from the inside, and no amount of expensive clothes or nail polish can replace that.”

  She looks doubtful but sucks her lower lip and nods.

  “And don’t suck your lips. They’ll get chapped and split in this weather.”

  *****

  The kitchen is permanently warm. The old blacked-up range is kept burning twenty-four-seven and right now is heating the kettle.

  Charlotte has relaxed a bit and is sitting next to me. The seating consists of a motley selection of what were restaurant chairs from the old hotel. Given that is being refurbished too, this is as good a place as any for some of the furniture.

  The kettle starts to sing and Michael, in mid-conversation with Richard, reaches for it without thinking, then snatching his hand back, swears and sucks his fingers before nodding an apology at Beth for his language.

  He doesn’t apologise to Charlotte....

  .... But then she’s quite capable of speaking like that herself....

  .... Wonder where she picked up her ‘stress vocabulary’....

  I toss him a rag, which I realise belatedly is one of his old tee-shirts that has seen better days. Wrapping it around the handle, he uses it to pick up the kettle and pour into the tea-pot.

  Beth is looking a bit glazed and hasn’t contributed much to the conversation but suddenly peers forward. “Charlotte, whatever happened to your hands?”

  Ah.... fuck....

  .... Just when I was getting her settled....

  The problem is of course, that Beth has a point. Charlotte has hands like a navvy....

  Wonder if she’s using barrier cream when she’s on the machines and in the labs...?

  .... must nag her on that....

  Charlotte looks away, her hands winding circles around each other. “Um, I was in a foundry for a couple of days.” She sounds upset. “Then we were in a metal and ore processing plant, drawing tungsten bar down into wire. They use graphite as a lubricant. It gets everywhere....”

  Beth sounds polite but startled. “Everywhere?”