“I see . . .” I mumbled, not sure if I did.
“One thing I’d like to see . . .” His voice was hoarse. He ran a finger down the collar of my blouse and into my cleavage. He slipped one finger inside, pulling the blouse open, looking at the shadow between my breasts. His other hand lifted mine and led it to his groin, where his cock was already hard inside his jeans.
“What. . .?” I wanted to know. The blood was rushing in my ears; the magazine in my hand fell to the floor.
“I’d like to watch him going down on you.” His eyes were filled with lust. I groaned, my hips beginning to shift as I rocked back and forth on the hard kitchen stool, my sex hungry for action. He leaned forward and kissed me, his tongue plunging into my mouth. My fingers fumbled with his fly buttons, and then I was bringing his heavy cock out and stroking it with my whole hand. He pushed me back, over the breakfast bar. He was going to fuck me, right there and then, and I was ready; sweet Jesus was I ready. I hoisted my skirt up around my hips. He dragged my knickers off and pushed my thighs apart with rough, demanding movements. He stroked my inflamed clit, growling when he saw the juices dribbling from my blushing slit. Then he fucked me while I perched on the kitchen stool, pivoting on its hard surface with everything on display.
“Get your tits out,” he whispered as he thrust his cock deep inside me, his body crouched over me. I pulled my blouse open, my hands shaking as they shoved my breasts together, kneading them and tweaking the nipples, sending vibrant shivers through my core. I was whimpering, jamming myself down on his thrusting cock as hard as I could. Tom watched with hungry eyes as my hands crushed my breasts. I suddenly remembered Richard blushing when I had caught him looking at me over his monitor, just the other day. Was he aroused then? Had his cock gotten hard as he thought about me and Tom? He had glanced away, furtively, his color high. Dear God, the man had been thinking about us doing this; maybe even thinking about doing this with us. He had told Tom his dark secret, and Tom was now rutting in me like a wild man. I was on fire. I whimpered, my hands suddenly clutching at Tom’s shoulders. I was about to come. I had never come so bloody fast in my entire life.
“You look very beautiful, Suzie,” Richard said. My fingers fidgeted with my neckline, nervously. “I always thought you looked like Audrey Hepburn with your hair up like that.” He smiled; he seemed quite calm now, and he was leading the situation even though he was going to be the slave. We were nervous, but then we were the novices; presumably he had done this many times before. I glanced at Tom. He had chatted happily about work while we made our way through several glasses of wine, until now – until Richard had moved the conversation on to a personal note. Now Tom had grown silent and watchful.
“Thank you,” I replied, swigging another mouthful of wine. Both men were staring at me; the sexual tension had risen dramatically. “It’s the little black dress,” I added, with a smile. That morning I had told myself that I wasn’t dressed any differently; I always wore stockings, garters and high heels to the office. The little black dress underneath my jacket was the new addition. It was very soft and clingy, and now that I had abandoned the jacket I felt good in it. Besides, what does one wear when one is about to take on a sex slave?
“You want to know what I’ve got in the briefcase, don’t you?” He’d seen me looking at his black leather briefcase when we left the office that evening, the three of us headed to Tom’s and my place for drinks. Yes, I had been curious. I nodded. “I like to wear a mask,” he said. “I’ve brought it with me and I’d like you to put it on for me.”
My sex twitched. The combination of power and deviance he had suggested in that simple comment hit my libido like a narcotic entering the bloodstream.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I replied, as nonchalantly as I could manage.
Richard stood up, taking off his immaculate suit jacket as he did so, and placing it over the arm of the sofa. He picked up the briefcase and carried it over to the breakfast bar, where he set it down, flicked the combination lock and opened it. Tom and I both watched with bated breath. Richard undid his tie, rolling it slowly and tucking it into a section in the top of the briefcase. Then he lifted something out of the case and turned back to us, leaving the briefcase sitting open on the breakfast bar. As he walked back to me, I stood up.
“It’s perfectly safe,” he said, allaying any concerns we might have in advance. “It was handmade, for me.” He passed the soft, black leather mask into my hand. I turned it, feeling it with my fingers. It was cool to the touch and incredibly soft, molded, with laces down the back and breathing holes for the nose, a closed zip over the mouth. A powerful jolt went through me when I realized that there were no eye holes; Richard would not be able to see what we were doing once he had the mask on. My eyes flitted quickly to Tom and I saw that he had noticed that too. Richard undid his shirt, revealing well-muscled shoulders and torso. He dropped it on the sofa and stood in his black pants, looking from one to the other of us, for our consent.
“Turn around, and I’ll put it on.” Even as I heard my own voice another wave of empowerment roared over me. Richard smiled slightly and inclined his head.
Tom suddenly stood up. “I think you should take that dress off, first,” he instructed. The mask dangled from my hand. Richard’s eyelids fell as he looked at the floor, hanging his head, but I could see that he was smiling to himself. The atmosphere positively hummed with sexual tension. Tom’s instruction had completed the dynamics of the triangle. This was it; the scene was set for action.
I put the mask down on the coffee table and pulled the soft jersey dress up and over my head.
“You can take one look at her, before she puts your mask on.” Tom’s eyes glittered. Richard’s head moved as he looked back over to my stiletto-heeled shoes, up to my stockings and the scrap of fine French lace barely covering my crotch, then up and on to the matching balconette bra that confined my breasts. I knew I looked statuesque and glamorous in this, my most expensive underwear, and I could see that he approved.
“Thank you,” he said, his gaze sinking to the floor again. Before he turned his back he passed something else into Tom’s hands. It was a set of intricately carved manacles. As Tom looked down at the object, Richard turned his back, bent his head and put his wrists behind his back – awaiting both the mask and the manacles. Not only would he not be able to see, he wouldn’t be able to touch. Tom looked at me, his eyebrows lifting, a wicked smile teasing the corners of his mouth.
Tom came forward and enclosed Richard’s strong wrists in the manacles. Then it was my turn to take action and I moved over, heart pounding, and began to ease the mask over his head. It pulled easily into place and I gently tightened the laces, gauging my way until the mask was molded tight and secure over his face. When the knot was done Richard slowly descended to the floor and squatted down on his knees, eyes unseeing, his head cocked, as if awaiting instructions.
We circled him, taking in the look of this creature, as he had now become, kneeling between us in the center of our personal space. I had prepared the room well, with the furniture pushed back and subdued lighting. He knelt between us with his masked head lifted up and back, his strong arms manacled behind him, his cock a discernible hard outline in his pants. With Tom towering over him, Richard presented an image I would never forget.
Tom nodded at me, pushed an armchair forward and indicated that I sit down.
“Do you remember what I said?” He kissed me, then pulled my knickers down the length of my legs and up, over my heels, stroking my ankles as he did so. I nodded. “Good.” He smiled – it was devastating, wicked – and then he grabbed our slave around the back of the neck and urged him forward. “Your mistress is one horny bitch. I want you to go down on her, and make sure you do the job properly. I’ll be watching.” With that, he unzipped the mouth on the mask and slowly lowered Richard’s head into the heat between my thighs.
I couldn’t believe this was happening – Tom was so dominant, so strong and commanding. I
was getting wetter by the second. I couldn’t look down at the man between my thighs; I felt a sudden rush of embarrassment and strangeness as he crouched there, unseeing and yet so sexual. My eyes followed Tom as he moved away. He was looking into the briefcase that had been left open on the breakfast bar. What was in the briefcase? I wondered, again. Then I felt the surface of the mask, cold against my thighs as Richard moved his head along them, feeling his way toward the hot niche at their juncture. The tip of his tongue stuck out and I felt its blissful touch in the sticky, cloying heat of my slit. He used his tongue like a digit, exploring the territory of my sex, before he began mouthing me, his tongue lapping against my swollen lips and over the jutting flesh of my clit. It felt so good; my embarrassment was quickly replaced by something else: sheer rampant lust. I tried to stay calm and take my time; I had to resist the urge to gyrate on the edge of the seat and push myself into his obedient face.
After a moment I became aware of Tom’s presence again and looked up, gasping for breath. He had stripped off his shirt, his leanly muscled chest bared for my eager eyes. I purred; he blew me a kiss, and then grinned.
“Stop now.” At the sound of the order Richard’s head lifted, cocking to one side again. “I’ve found some of your other toys and I intend to use them. Do you understand?” Richard nodded. My fingers clutched at my clit, replacing the tongue, keeping myself on the edge while I tried to see what Tom was holding in his hands.
He pocketed a shiny blue condom packet, and gestured at Richard with a stiff leather cock harness. Tom looked dangerous now. He always had a certain edginess about him during sex, but I’d never seen him quite this intense before.
“You really are a deviant one, aren’t you?” He gave a deep chuckle. Richard hung his head in shame. “Oh, but there’s no need to be so embarrassed, we can both see you’ve got a stiffy, Richard.” With that he crouched down on the floor and grabbed at Richard’s belt. He opened the buckle, the button and zipper in the blink of eye and, yes, Richard did have a stiffy – a major stiffy.
“You are a bad boy, and did you get hard when you had a taste of Suzie?” Richard nodded. “Right, I’m going to have to take care of this. No one said you were allowed to get a hard-on did they?” He pulled Richard forward so he was kneeling straight up, his pants falling down around his knees. He wasn’t wearing underwear and my eyes roved over him in appreciation. Tom pushed Richard’s head to one side and bent down, his hand measuring the other man’s cock in a hard vigorous fist. God, what a sight! I shot two fingers inside my slit, probing myself while I watched Tom handle Richard’s cock.
With some effort, he pushed the cock harness over Richard’s erection and secured it with the stud fastener around his balls. He was almost entirely covered. I could just see his balls squeezed up inside the circles of leather, and the very head of his cock pushing out of its containment. The harness was extremely tight and I could see the effect it was having on Richard, his whole body growing more rigid by the second, as if he was being gripped in a hard heavy hand, his blood-filled cock bursting for release.
“Get back to work on Suzie, right now.” Tom pushed him back between my thighs. By then I was on the very edge of the chair, my legs spread wide to get more of him. Tom walked behind him and pulled the condom out of his pocket, turning it over in his hands. He looked at me; his green eyes glittered like gemstones. His eyebrows lifted imperceptibly and his mouth was fixed in a devilish smile. He wanted my approval. I whimpered, my head barely nodding, but I really wanted to see him doing it. Tom opened his fly and got out his rock-hard cock. He pumped it in his hands for a moment, his eyes on mine. This was one of my favorite sights; I couldn’t get enough of seeing him with his hands on his cock, and he knew it. He looked down at my chest, growling. I followed his gaze and saw that my nut-hard nipples were jutting up from the edges of my bra, my breasts oozing out of the restraining fabric.
Tom eased the condom on and then knelt down behind Richard. When Richard felt his legs being pushed apart his mouth stopped moving and clamped over my sex. His body was rigid between us, his buttocks on display to Tom, his face pushing in against my sex, his muscled arms bound tightly behind his back. If I rolled my head to one side I could see his harnessed cock.
He remained quite still, his tongue in my hole, when Tom began to probe him from behind. Tom’s face contorted and I felt Richard’s head thrust in against me as he was entered from behind. My hips were moving fast on the chair, moving my desperate sex flesh up and down against the leather mask, his mouth and the rough edges of the zipper. I couldn’t help it, I was gone on this.
Richard’s cock looked fit to burst. Tom pulled out and ploughed in deeper, his teeth bared with effort and restraint. He must have hit the spot, because Richard’s body tensed and arched, his tongue going soft and limp against my clit. I glanced down and saw his cock riding high and tight in its harness, then it spurted up under his arched body, which was convulsing.
“You made him come,” I cried accusingly, but with delight, and a dark laugh choked in my throat. Tom grinned at me and then jammed into him hard again.
“Suck her good, Richard; I want Suzie to come next.”
Our obedient slave began to tongue me again. I gasped my pleasure aloud for Tom – Tom, my gorgeous lover, watching me. It was just like our sessions of mutual masturbation, but with Richard’s darkest secret filling the void between us; tonight he was the gap across which we watched each other’s deepest pleasures rising up and taking us over.
Tom’s lean body was taut, his hands gripping on to Richard’s hips, the sinuous muscles in his arms turning to rope. His eyes were locked on mine, urging me on as he sent Richard’s tongue lashing my clit again and again with each deep thrust. I began to buck, wildly out of control, shock waves going right through the core of my body and under the skin of my scalp as wave after wave of relief flooded over me, and then Tom threw back his head, roaring his release as his hips jerked repeatedly and he shot his load.
Tom sat across the breakfast bar from me. He sipped the rich black Colombian coffee I had made us, his fingertips running against mine as he eyed me over his cup. He smiled as he put the cup down and lifted my fingers to his lips.
“You looked incredible,” he whispered, kissing my fingertips. It was an extremely intimate moment; he was looking at me with possessiveness and something akin to awe.
“So did you,” I replied and I meant it; I was overwhelmed by my lover. Richard had long since left us, but the images he had given us of each other would be with us for a very long time.
“Do you think we’ll ever see him again?”
“Maybe,” he replied. “Maybe not. Would it bother you if we did?”
I gave it some thought. I pictured us casually speaking to him in the office, the way we used to, but this time the three of us would be looking at each other and knowing what had gone on. The idea of it made my pulse quicken again.
“No, not in the least.” I liked the idea. I smiled at Tom. Not only had we seen each other anew, but Tom and I had become part of Richard’s secret, part of Richard’s darkest secret.
Mileage
Tom Piccirilli
I. Me And Pepito
My agent Monty Stobbs wanted me to make a pitch to one of the new twenty-something mega-producers in Hollywood. I’d moved out to LA expressly for the purpose of meeting the mover and shaker industry kids, even if they did have razor-wire moussed hair, wore steel toed boots, and rode Harleys to lunch meetings. It seemed unduly aggressive to me but I made the effort to get over it.
The only trouble now was that this particular kid was back in Manhattan, staying at a five-star hotel about thirty-four blocks from my old apartment.
“He’s there setting up an urban drama for next season,” Monty told me. “One of them witty Mafia shows, with the goofy hitman who cracks wise while he’s digging graves behind Kennedy Airport. The teenage son of the mayor falls in love with a goombah’s daughter. The mayor’s trying to put her father in
jail, the big boss puts a contract out on hizzoner. There’s even dancing. The teens do this big number outside Lincoln Center.”
“Are their names Tony and Maria?” I asked.
Monty didn’t get it. He frowned at me without catching the drift and said, “I thought you didn’t read the trades.”
“Christ.”
“Anyway, in a week he flies off to Sicily to set up some of the Italian location shoots. You’ve got to catch him before then. But I can’t afford a plane ticket right now. I don’t see any turnaround until the Zypho units hit the video store next month. I’m tapped but I can front you bus fare. Otherwise, it comes out of your pocket.”
“Monty, it was about this time last year that you were promising me a penthouse apartment on Sunset and my own private masseuse by Christmas.”
“I can rub some Passionate Midnight grape-flavored lotion into your shoulders if you want. I think I have a quarter bottle left on my night stand from when that dancer Betty the Ta-Ta Queen was here last month.”
Just thinking about Betty brought a deranged expression to his face.
He saw the look in my eyes and decided not to pursue that course of the conversation.
“Consider it a tour of America,” Monty said. “You’ll be like Steinbeck. James Agee. Kerouac. All them road guys. You relax and look at the countryside. It’ll inspire you. You’ll have half the great American novel by the time you pull into Port Authority.”
I didn’t have quite have the energy to tell Monty that we were in the age of eight-lane interstates and telescopic, high-powered road rage. I didn’t really have the energy to tell Monty anything lately.
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