Demons Within [For Love of Authority] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More)

by Rhiannon Ayers

  Tatum blanketed Allen’s back, making him feel small and protected, as Sidri wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Why are you sorry, baby?” Tatum asked, his voice rumbling through Allen’s chest and straight to his dick.

  Allen whimpered, licked his lips.

  “I came too fast,” he gasped out. “Over too quick.”

  To his utter shock, both of his lovers immediately laughed. Tatum wrapped one arm around Allen’s chest, holding him up while keeping their combined weight from crushing the woman beneath them. His hard, hot lips were pressed to Allen’s ear.

  “Over? Not hardly,” Tatum rumbled, a chuckle in his voice.

  Sidri echoed it. “The best thing about having two cocks in bed? Nothing is ever over until both of them are completely spent.”

  Allen shook his head, unable to understand for a moment.

  Then Tatum started to move.

  A grunt shot out of Allen’s mouth at the first, hard inward thrust. Then he understood. He was being fucked. Didn’t matter if his own cock was still hard. Tatum could fuck him all night long if he wanted, and Allen could only lie there and let himself be used like a living, breathing sex toy. And with Sidri’s silky wet sheath wrapped around his cock, he could get hard and come as often as Tatum allowed him to, with no say in the matter whatsoever.

  And with that single, blissful realization, Allen hit subspace.

  How had he lived without this? Without this utter, mind-freeing bliss? Cradled between the two of them, listening to them praise him, feeling how much they wanted him and only him…It was addictive. Intoxicating. To be so wanted. So desired. To let them slake their lust with his body, because he was the only one they wanted, the only one they needed, the only one who could give them what they desired more than anything else in the world.

  His submission.

  Allen gave it to them. Heart, mind, body, and soul. He was theirs, in every way possible.

  Tatum’s strokes in his ass grew harder, deeper still. Allen was panting now, almost crying with the force of emotion running through him. And through the haze of sexual bliss, through the miasma of endless pleasure, he heard both of them chanting in his ear.

  “You’re ours. We love you. You belong to us. Ours. Ours. Ours. Ours.”

  “Yours,” Allen whispered brokenly, right before another sob of pure ecstasy poured from his throat. Then he lost the ability to form words entirely.

  Tatum rode him. Hard. Allen cried out as the motion drove his hips downward, forcing Sidri’s sheath to stroke his cock endlessly. Tatum’s shaft hit his sweet spot over and over again, his thrusts so fucking long and so fucking deep Allen never, never wanted it to end.

  It went on forever. He lost track of the number of times he came, lost his voice somewhere along the way with the force of his endless cries. Tatum and Sidri ignored it, continued using his body to pleasure themselves. Tatum was holding Allen up now, powering in and out of his ass like a jackhammer, while Sidri lifted her hips repeatedly to slide herself up and down Allen’s aching cock. His entire being was one giant tornado of pure sexual indulgence, giving them everything they asked, wishing he could give them so much more. And while he panted, begged, pleaded for them to own him, use him, they gave him everything they had.

  Finally, Tatum’s thrusts grew erratic. Sidri’s breathing wavered, her body shaking beneath Allen’s. Both of them clamped hands around his hips, waist, neck, and shoulders, holding him perfectly still while they shook and moaned. And then finally, finally, at long last, Allen felt the proof of their desire.

  Tatum clenched both hands around Allen’s hips, clamped his teeth into Allen’s shoulder, and buried himself balls-deep. Allen felt the pulsing of his cock deep inside as the big man clung to him, shaking with the force of his powerful orgasm. Allen was beyond coming himself by then, so lost in a sea of endless bliss he could do nothing but mumble incoherent praise, telling Tatum how much he loved the hot waves of semen shooting inside him, how much he loved feeling the big man lose control of himself.

  Sidri followed a breath later, her cunt squeezing him like a vise while she screamed the rafters down around them. Allen praised her too, fucking loving how wet and silky she got, how her gorgeous tits shook and jiggled with the force of her release.

  Afterward, his lovers soothed and petted him, praising him endlessly while Tatum cleaned them all up. When they finally collapsed in exhaustion, it was with Allen right in the middle, curled around Sidri the same way he’d woken earlier, but this time having Tatum wrapped around his back like a living blanket.

  And, for the first time in his adult life, Allen had no nightmares.

  Chapter 17

  After nearly two weeks of constant, mind-blowing orgasms, you’d think he wouldn’t have anything left to give.

  Fortunately, nothing could be further from the truth.

  He reclined in the hot tub, sighing with bliss. Tatum sat on the bench next to him, one long arm outstretched to form a pillow for Allen’s head. Sidri tended the grill on the other side of the deck—she’d taken one look at his surprised expression and informed him in no uncertain terms that if he made one comment about women being unable to grill, she’d lop his balls off, season them, and serve them to him with mango chutney.

  Damn, the woman had a way with words.

  Snickering quietly, Allen let the hot water soak his aches away. So much vigorous physical activity had made him realize he wasn’t as in-shape as he’d thought. Muscles he didn’t even know he had ached right now. But all he had to do was remember why those muscles ached in the first place, and the arousal would start humming through his body yet again.

  They were insatiable, his lovers. So creative, so inventive with their sexual prowess. Allen had been fucked in every position possible, and a few he hadn’t even known existed. And yet, no matter how many times they fucked him each day, he still wanted more. All either one of them had to do was look at him that certain way, and he got hard as rock.

  They wanted him. Desperately. And he fucking loved it.

  And they were teaching him things, about a lot more than just sexual gratification. About submission and Dominance. About his own natural, soul-deep needs. Before being with the two of them, he’d never even realized something profound was missing from his sex life. Hadn’t known there was something out there, so all-encompassing, that could take him to heights of pleasure he hadn’t known existed.

  With their help, he was learning how to be free.

  Allen closed his eyes, thinking back to that very first night, when Sidri was explaining the differences between Dominance and submission. She was right, as always, in her assessment—submission could and did take many, many forms. He’d researched it one night while his lovers slept. Some of the things he’d found, some of the images he’d seen, scared him to the bone. But when he’d guiltily confessed his illicit internet searches to Sidri the next day, she’d put him at ease immediately.

  “Remember what I said, baby, about surface imagery. Yes, there are a lot of scary things out there, and a lot of things that aren’t psychologically healthy. But there’s a difference between not understanding something because the words don’t make sense and not understanding something because the concept itself doesn’t make sense to you.”

  “Help me understand,” Allen pleaded. Some of the images he’d found really unsettled him.

  “Every sub is different,” she said, running her fingers through his hair gently, her smile full of understanding. “Being submissive doesn’t mean you have to find all forms of Dominance arousing. So, if you find something that doesn’t appeal to you, it’s probably because that particular form of submission doesn’t apply to you.”

  He’d pondered that for a long moment while she petted him gently. Neither one of them, it seemed, could get enough of touching him. It was like his body was a magnet, drawing them in, helpless to deny the attraction between them. It made him feel desirable, wanted, cherished. Important to them in a way he’d never felt important
to anyone before. It made his chest tight whenever he thought about it.

  He cleared his throat. “Okay, I can accept that. But what about…those photos I found? How can that be, you know, okay?”

  Fearlessly, she pulled up one of the images in question—a woman, bound and gagged, her arms yanked around behind her back and tied together from elbow to wrist, completely immobilized. She knelt on a hard concrete floor, her knees bloody, with her ankles chained to giant metal cleats so she couldn’t close her legs. Tears streaked down her face, her mouth pulled open painfully wide by the huge ball gag shoved halfway down her throat.

  When Allen looked at that picture, all he saw was pain.

  “I don’t understand how someone could do that,” he said with a shiver. “Why someone would want to do that to someone else.”

  “That’s because this form of submission isn’t a part of who you are,” Sidri said seriously. “Remember what I said about extremes used for visual representation? I imagine this particular photo was staged, solely for shock value. It’s hard, gritty, highlighting the quote-unquote ‘bad things’ about forcing someone to submit to your will.

  “That said, there are those who do enjoy pain as a means for bringing ultimate pleasure. Someone who enjoyed pain might look at this and see a sub completely controlled, completely able to let go, because her Dom has chosen to give her everything she needs— restraint, pain, total control. I, personally, do not see the appeal, and I don’t blame you for not seeing it, either. But, I will admit, there are those who do find this harsher side of D/s to be sexually stimulating. While I don’t understand it, I also don’t condemn it—and neither should you. It’s their choice to make.” She kissed him gently, met his gaze, her expression serious. “Believe me, baby, Tatum and I don’t understand this kind of thing either. Physical and emotional abuse have no place in our bedroom.”

  She’d then brought up a few websites, things that showcased the true meaning of D/s. And the photos on those sites…Allen shivered. Works of art, not just depictions of pornography. Like the one showing a man on his knees, naked, with his hands behind his back, holding his own wrists. He wasn’t bound, wasn’t forced—and it was more than obvious he wanted to be there. A woman stood before him, dressed in a white lace teddy and thigh-high stockings, looking down at her worshipper with obvious approval. She had a hand beneath his chin, her thumb caressing his jaw even as she forced him to look up at her. It was crystal clear, just from the proud set of her shoulders, the arrogant set to her chin, that she was in control. And the man on his knees at her feet was practically vibrating with desire.

  That one called to him, touched something deep inside. He wanted to be that man, wanted to be on his knees, worshipping Sidri with everything he was.

  She explained everything, including that there was another side to it, called BD/sM—Bondage, Domination, submission, & Masochism—the darker side, what most people thought of as S&M. Sidri told him the photos he’d found, the things he’d so unwittingly stumbled on, were actually from that world, and nowhere near anything she and Tatum wanted from him. Pain, she said, had no part in either of their psyches. And while there were people who enjoyed both giving and receiving pain, people who enjoyed such things because they were an integral part of their sexual beings, it didn’t mean that Allen needed to start enjoying it, too.

  “The boundaries are yours to set, yours to build,” she assured him quietly. “If you come across something you don’t understand, something like those photos, it’s because those things aren’t right for you, aren’t part of what you need. There’s no shame in exploring or asking questions. Just know that the choices are, ultimately, all yours. And if you don’t enjoy it, we will never, ever ask it of you.”

  And so, with their help, he was beginning to explore those boundaries, beginning to figure out what he truly needed—the boundaries he could cross and the ones that were set in stone. It was bizarre, really, when you thought about it. Submission, by definition, should have meant he was giving up all his choices, giving up the right to decide for himself. But the reality was the exact opposite.

  He had to choose, every single time they came together. On the surface, they were the ones in control during their sexual encounters, the ones driving all the action. But the moment, the nanosecond, Allen chose to say no, they immediately stopped everything, no questions asked.

  It awed him. Floored him. Turned his universe on its ear. They might be the sexual Dominants—but he was the one in control. He was the one with all the power.

  And the more he came to understand about himself, his wants and needs, the more things from his past began to make sense to him. Why he’d always wished his lovers would make the first move. Why he’d always felt unsure, always wished his lovers would tell him when he was doing the right thing. Not because he wasn’t good in bed—he was damn good, thank you very much—but because at the most basic level of his psyche, he needed that affirmation, that confirmation from his lovers’ lips so he could let go and enjoy the experience. If he let himself get caught up in the mechanics of things, the whens and whys and wherefores, he couldn’t enjoy himself, couldn’t get lost in the simple act of giving and receiving pleasure.

  It was a heady revelation.

  Fortunately for him, Allen’s lovers were eminently patient. And deliciously inventive. Some of the sexual encounters they’d had made Allen so hot, he’d been afraid he might explode from sheer sexual bliss. And not just because the sex was great.

  Like the first time he had sex with Tatum, alone.

  It was the morning after their first night as a true threesome. Allen had woken to the sound of the bedroom door being shut, to the feel of Tatum’s big hand caressing his back. He blinked sleepily, wondering what time it was. When he realized Sidri was no longer in bed with them, he yawned, stretched, and turned to face Tatum with a questioning look.

  Tatum gifted him with a soft smile. “She went to go get some goodies for the game tonight,” he rumbled in that sexy-as-fuck baritone voice. “Popcorn and wings and soda. And she went to get breakfast.”

  Allen frowned slightly. “She didn’t have to do that,” he said, his voice thick with gravel. Apparently his vocal gymnastics the night before had left him hoarse. “I can cook. I can make breakfast.”

  Tatum smiled, moving closer. He lay on his side, chin propped on one elbow. Allen had been lying on his stomach, his arms shoved under a pillow, body stretched out and pinging with delicious little aches and pains, courtesy of last night. Tatum’s huge, hot palm wandered up and down Allen’s back, over his tattoo, sometimes brushing the tops of his buttocks. Allen’s morning wood was already starting to take notice.

  “Sid was right,” Tatum said with a little grin. At Allen’s frown, he laughed. “You are too fucking cute when you’re sleepy and rumpled. Did we tire you out, baby?” The last was said in a deep, vibrating purr.

  Allen closed his eyes, shivered from head to toe. He would never, ever forget the events of the last two days. Even if Sidri and Tatum abandoned him, even if they discarded him like a used tissue, he would love them forever for what they’d gifted him.

  The freedom to be who he was. To accept himself, body, heart, and soul.

  Throat tight, Allen shook his head. Tatum rumbled again, bringing the furnace heat of his body even closer. His hand drifted over Allen’s glutes, squeezing gently. Allen groaned, his cock going rock-hard. Tatum started kissing his neck, nibbling across his shoulders with little growls and licks that had Allen panting uncontrollably.

  “Wait,” he gasped out, mind already spinning with arousal.

  Tatum immediately stopped. Allen opened his eyes to find the big man regarding him seriously, his face carefully blank. Fuck, he thinks I’m rejecting him.

  “Are you sure this is okay?” Allen asked. When Tatum’s expression didn’t change, he spoke quickly. “Being alone, I mean. Is it okay to…play…when Sidri isn’t with us? The last thing I want to do is hurt her.”

  Tatum’s
expression immediately softened. He leaned forward and kissed the point of Allen’s shoulder, then met his eyes with a soft smile. “Sidri will be fine, baby. She left specifically so I could spend some time with you. Alone. In bed. Does that sound like she’d be upset if we played without her?” His smile grew decidedly predatory.

  Allen groaned, earning a laugh. “No, I guess not,” he mumbled.

  Tatum draped his weight across Allen’s back, his erection digging into his left flank. “Good,” he whispered, nipping Allen’s earlobe. “Because I’m really, really, not hungry for food right now.”

  All Allen could do was moan.

  Tatum bit and licked and sucked his way down Allen’s back, tracing the outlines of the angel and the demon, somehow letting Allen know he accepted both of them—the good and the evil in his soul. He parted Allen’s cheeks, introducing him to the wonders of rimming, earning a hard shudder and a gasp. Then he sat up, wrapped both hands around Allen’s waist, and flipped him over as if he weighed no more than a feather.

  Shaking, Allen took two fistfuls of sheets. Tatum knelt between his splayed thighs, holding him down with effortless power, and took Allen’s cock down his throat in one long gulp. Allen shouted, writhing uncontrollably. Fuck, that mouth, that tongue. Tatum swallowed around his cockhead, humming his pleasure the entire time, obviously loving having a dick in his mouth. He sucked and licked and scraped him with his teeth, sending lines of lightning through Allen’s whole body. Tatum’s fingers massaged his perineum, his balls, his anus, with such expert skill, Allen wondered if the top of his head would blow off.

  Tatum pulled off him with a satisfied pop, licking and sucking his way back up his body while Allen shuddered. He brought his lips in for a hard kiss, and whispered, “I can taste Sidri on your cock. That’s so fucking sexy.”

  Allen whimpered, reeling. Tatum let loose another of those sexy rumbles as he pushed himself up, a little smirk on his gorgeous face. He grabbed a pillow, positioned it in the middle of the bed next to Allen’s left hip, then manhandled Allen back onto his stomach, but with his pelvis now elevated. Allen groaned, digging his fingers into the sheets, his wrists crossed and his forehead resting on his arms. Tatum leaned away for a moment, then covered Allen from head to toe with a living wall of hard male muscle.