by Nia Farrell
The front part of the cabin is open-concept. The living room flows into the dining room and the kitchen that we remodeled to suit our needs and vintage tastes. Nico and I both cook. We both clean. I will admit, he’s better at laundry, but there’s never been a problem with division of labors. When I have to work, he covers, and vice versa.
By the time I’ve transferred our food to the fridge, I’m warm enough to shed my shawl. I hang it next to J.T.’s jacket.
The guys are relaxing on the couch. The button placket of J.T.’s wool-blend Henley is opened to reveal a triangular patch of hair-dusted skin. I’ve always admired the play of light on Nico’s perfectly carved, scrumptiously naked chest, but right now I’m celebrating their tactile differences.
“Come here.” J.T.’s voice is commanding. Soft but firm, deeply resonant and so very different from Nico’s fluid tones.
Gliding over to the brown leather sofa where the men are seated, I kneel beside the heavy oak coffee table. I have a basic understanding of submissive behavior but I’ll need to learn what J.T. expects from me. I don’t know if he’s a natural or a trained Dominant. There may be a big learning curve for all of us.
“Grace,” he rumbles. “I need you to bring me your e-reader and your laptop hooked up to the internet. Once you’ve done that, you are going to take a nice, hot, relaxing bath. Cleanse your body. Clear your mind. You will come back here exactly one hour from now. Meanwhile, Nico and I have things to discuss, baby girl.”
I hurry to my room, snag my reader from my bedside table, and turn on my computer. Neither is password protected, so if something happens, he’ll have no problem opening them back up. Rather than find his request intrusive, I am comforted that he is making an effort to learn what I like, from my choice of literature to my bookmarks and browsing history.
My reader is laden with classical literature, contemporary erotica, and dark romance, lots of BDSM and heavy on MMF ménages. My internet search engine is another matter. I’m taking a free online course on Dante’s Inferno and have been researching Japanese rope bondage and vibrators. Not that my electric massager doesn’t do the trick, but I’ve been looking for something battery operated that throbs and is waterproof.
It’s scheduled to arrive Tuesday.
I hurry back to the living room and place my electronics on the coffee table in front of J.T. He tells me, “Bathe,” and I go straight to the guest bathroom that I use, leaving Nico sole possessor of the master en-suite. I turn the taps and flip the drain stopper, filling the tub within an inch of the overflow. Looping the length of my hair, I clip it on top of my head, step into the steaming warmth, and sink down to my shoulders. Forty minutes later, I emerge clean, fully shaved, and wondering if I should bother with clothes. I quickly settle for a see-through white blouse with a sweetheart neck, a button front, and a hem that hits just below the cheeks of my ass.
I’m wearing it and nothing else when I kneel in front of J.T. and fix my gaze on his boots.
“On time is good,” he says. His verbal reward for my behavior makes my pussy wet. I clench my legs and try to not think of him between them.
“Nico and I have been talking. And looking at your browser history. You’ve managed to surprise us both, baby girl. But you’ve been keeping secrets from Nico. That,” he says, “is not good.”
His voice is colored with displeasure. “I can overlook some things, but not secrets. And not this.”
Crap. I know where this is going. I knew the blouse was a mistake. Or was it? The way my body is responding to the promise of punishment, maybe I want to be disciplined. Maybe it’s something we both need.
“You do understand what you’ve done?” J.T. continues, the gruffness in his voice roughly stroking my skin like a black jaguar’s tongue. “You came back dressed, without permission. What were you thinking, baby girl? Covering yourself, hiding yourself from us?”
Fuck.
J.T. tsks and shakes his head. “You’ve been naughty. Very naughty. And naughty girls get punished, don’t they, Nico?”
I look up. J.T. is smiling darkly, and Nico is stoic enough to be stereotypical. Both of them have massive erections pushing against their flies and straining their zippers.
Reality sets in with a vengeance.
I tell myself that they’ll be careful. They’ll make sure I’m ready. They’ll ease me into this, maybe one at a time, at least to start.
“I’m going to spank you,” J.T. says. “Get that ass of yours rosy red and hold you down while Nico takes you. We cut cards for you, baby girl. King of fucking hearts over a nine of clubs. You’ll get my nine in your mouth once Nico gets going.”
Oh god oh god oh god.
I’m so wet, I’m leaving puddles now. I know it. When J.T. orders me across his lap, I wonder wildly if I should warn him. Will he be pissed if I ruin his leather pants?
Deciding to say nothing, I step around and drape myself across steel-corded thighs with my bare hiney towards Nico. Yeah, I’m thoughtful like that. The hem of my shirt rides up, exposing my freshly shaved pussy and the curve of my bottom. J.T. runs his hand over it, exploring the terrain before the first stinging blow marks his territory. I bite my lip, refusing to cry, but damn that hurt. He rubs the ache, then spanks me again, alternating soothing strokes with punitive strikes until I’m shaking with tears and snot’s dripping from my nose.
Real attractive, Grace.
The men don’t seem to care. There are three hands on my bottom now, admiring J.T.’s work. The newly-formed mutual admiration society decides to adjourn to the master bedroom for the next portion of the program. Nico wraps his fingers around my biceps and pulls me up, allowing J.T. to rise and lead the way. I follow like a sacrificial lamb, a willing sacrifice this time, comforted by the feel of Nico’s hand splayed across the small of my back, urging me forward.
He’ll be my first.
I don’t know how I should feel about that. Both of them wanted it, I suppose, otherwise, J.T. would have just called dibs rather than have Nico fetch a deck of cards. I’ve been trying to get Nico inside me for months. As blatant as I’ve been, there should be no room for shyness now, but I’m blushing like a bride when Nico stops me just inside the bedroom door. He unbuttons the offending blouse and slips it from my shoulders, leaving me totally naked. His breath hisses when he sees the tight nubs of my nipples. He leans down to kiss me, letting me finally feel the lips that have already claimed me in my dreams.
Sweet baby Jesus.
I’ve never been kissed like this. Damn it all. We have wasted so much time. We met in May. I’ve lived with him since July. Seeing him stripped down in summer and baring all that red skin still inspires capture fantasies.
I melt into Nico, lost in sensation, tasting him, feeling him, smelling the musk of his arousal. Reaching up, I bury the fingers of one hand in his long black hair and touch him with the other, discovering just what it is that I’ve been missing. He is… stunning. Magnificent. Bone and sinew and carved slabs of muscle-clad in malleable copper.
He puts a hand on my low back and hauls me up against his erection, letting me feel the strength of his desire. He wants me. He’s going to take me. It’s all I can do to fucking breathe.
J.T. sits on the edge of the mattress to pull off his boots. His shirt, pants, socks, and black silk boxers follow. Gloriously nude, he climbs to the head of the bed, scoots to the center, and motions for me to come.
I move with deliberation, obeying his summons. Still, I take enough time to notice the religious medal that he wears on a tarnished chain around his neck before letting my gaze drift downward.
He has a magnificent body. I admire the expanse of hair-dusted chest, the trim waist, and the tempting V that frames his rampant manhood.
Fuck. Me.
When he said nine, he wasn’t joking.
J.T. has me lie down, positioning me with my head between his spread thighs and my arms raised. He grabs and holds my wrists. His erection dips precariously, a drop of pre-cum glist
ening in the slit of its swollen tip.
“Fuck, girl,” he growls. “Nico, look at her, man. She’s fucking perfect. I can’t believe you didn’t tap this already. Six months, you held back. Are you some kind of fucking saint?”
My eyes meet Nico’s, and I nearly smile. Nico is a shaman. It’s not something he advertises, but the man has his own set of spiritual gifts. Right now I’m admiring his physical endowments. Nico is standing at the foot of the bed, blessedly nude, fisting himself while he savors the sight of me being restrained by another man.
His cock is only slightly smaller than J.T.’s. There’s no way I can tell Anna. She’s going to hate me as it is.
“Legs wide, baby girl.” At the same time J.T. leans forward to grate in my ear, he reaches his free hand to pull and twist my nipple, hard enough to steal my breath and send a lightning bolt that makes my pussy spurt and spasm.
I’d turn away, but J.T. won’t let me. He orders me to look at Nico and to keep my eyes on him. He makes me spread myself. I watch Nico come between my legs and settle himself between my dancer’s thighs. He once joked that they could crack walnuts, but he’s not laughing now.
Nico taps my clit with his cock and slides it downstream. Wetting himself with my juices, he parts my swollen folds and nudges inside.
Shit. Fuck. Damn, this is gonna hurt.
I pant, fighting panic. Shallow breaths hiss between clenched teeth, mine and Nico’s. He flexes his hips and pushes against me, into me, tearing tender flesh.
“Dear. God. Bless it.”
He freezes and holds himself suspended above me on trembling arms, looking at me, the concern on his face not quite masking the sheer physical pleasure that he’s experiencing.
At least this will be good for one of us.
“You’re doing fine, baby girl.” J.T. settles back, his weight shifting on the bed as he reaches for my breasts with his free hand. He’s not as dark as Nico, but the contrast of our three skin tones is deliciously taboo. “Love these tits,” he growls. “Fuck. I could bite and suck these all night long. Sometime soon, we’re going to put on a movie or find a game on T.V. We’ll lay you out on the coffee table and munch on you for hours, me and Nico. Neck, breasts, nipples, toes, pussy… until there’s not an inch of you we haven’t tasted.”
“Fuck.” I’m on the verge of coming, just thinking about it. Oh, yeah. That’s it. Eat me….
“Grace.” Nico’s whisper pulls me from my fantasy. “Sweetheart, I need to move.”
He does. I know he does. It’s taking every bit of control he has to not drive himself into me.
Some odd part of my brain likens this to piercing an ear. Surely one quick, clean stab is better than a long, slow, torturous slide. It’s weird, but the thought makes me a little pissed, like he should know better. Why doesn’t he just stick it in and get it over with? He’s trying to be careful but gentleness isn’t what I need.
“Fuck me. Fuck me,” I tell him, then bite his chest.
“Christ.”
Above my head, J.T. chuckles. My breath is stolen when, unfettered, Nico lunges forward, pushing as deep into me as my silently screaming body will let him.
Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.
Be careful what you wish for, Grace.
He ignores my whimper and gathers himself for one more go, slamming into me until he’s seated to the root and his balls slap my taint. Nico holds himself tightly to me, grinding his groin against me, pressing my clit until pleasure begins to take the edge off the pain. He starts to move. The small pumps of his hips increase until the length of him is pistoning in and out of me and I’m moving with him, against him, rising up to meet his thrusts.
“On your knees,” J.T. orders him. Nico grabs my hips, levers my pelvis, and—oh god—starts jackhammering into me. The change in angle lets him hit a magic button inside, and he starts ripping orgasms from me, one after another. While I’m dying in the throes of the second one, J.T. shifts his position, moving to one side. He lets go of my wrists and fists my hair. Positioning my head just where he wants it, he smothers my post-orgasmic moans with his dick.
“Take it,” he orders, tightening his hold. I tongue the rim and open wide as he rocks his hips and begins fucking my face to the rhythm that Nico sets. I’m on sensory overload from the dual stimulation, the feel of these two men taking pleasure from this body.
They’re both fit enough to go all night, but at some point, Nico takes mercy on me. His movements grow sharper, edged with desperation. There’s a break in his rhythm, a labor in his breath, harsh in my ear as he puts his head by J.T.’s groin and he tongues the cock that I’m sucking.
Holy. Fuck.
Nico’s hips crash into mine one more time. Streams of hot cum flood my womb and then my mouth. I swallow the spurts, seeking to please. They’ve made this as good for me as they could and I strive to do the same, fondling J.T.’s sac as he empties the last drop of himself down my throat, smoothing a hand across Nico’s chest where I bit him and teasing the hard brown knots of his nipples. He shudders like a magnificent beast and pulls free of my pussy, kissing my cheek when he sees me wince.
“It’s okay,” I reassure him. “I mean, wow. Wow. Who knew?”
Both guys chuckle their delight in stereo. “Let’s get you cleaned up, baby girl. Nico, a warm washcloth for our Grace, please?”
J.T. stretches out beside me and pulls me against him, kissing the top of my head and cradling me in his arms. I want to turn, check him for tattoos, and thread my fingers through the black hairs on his chest, but I’m too fucking sore and too damned tired to move.
“Was that okay?” I ask J.T., tuning myself to feel his reaction while listening to his response. What I’m really asking is, are you okay? I’m wondering what he thought of Nico at the last, having both our mouths give him pleasure. I assume that’s one of the things that they discussed while I bathed, but I don’t know. Their guides refused to let me in on that conversation.
“Fuck, yeah.” The sexy rumble of his voice registers four points on my pussy’s Richter scale. He kisses my crown. I kiss his hand. His nails are rough, in need of attention. Mental note to self: see if he’ll let me pamper him with a manicure and pedicure like I do for Nico.
J.T. is playing with my hair when Nico returns with two washcloths and a hand towel. J.T. wraps a swarthy hand around my white thigh and lifts, parting my legs for Nico to clean the mess he made. Cum leaks from my cunt, and there are streaks of blood on my thighs. Virgin no more, thank fuck.
It’s three in the morning before we settle down to sleep, with me in the middle of the bed, surrounded by my men. Around five, I come awake abruptly, desperately missing J.T.’s warmth. My panic wakes Nico, who murmurs not to worry. “He’s here,” he says, “but he won’t sleep with us. He can’t. Not yet.”
Saying nothing, I snuggle against Nico, aligning our heart chakras. Not having J.T. share the connection saddens me, but now I know that it’s a milestone to be achieved. One day, he’ll be able to do it. Someday, he’ll be able to stay with us through the night, but only when he’s healed enough.
Whatever it takes, however long it takes doesn’t matter. He’s here. Everything else will surely follow.
Chapter Four
The smell of frying bacon is the best fucking alarm clock in the world. I stir to the scent of it, drifting from the kitchen where J.T. and Nico are making Sunday breakfast. They bring it in on a tray with scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and orange juice. They’re dressed alike, in sweatpants and T-shirts from the stash that I’ve been known to raid.
J.T. sits me up and plumps pillows behind me.
Nico sets the tray across my lap.
I ignore the soreness below and bless them with a smile. “Good morning to you, too,” I tell them, reaching for a thick slice of non-kosher heaven. The Mennonite farmer down the road has a small butcher shop that he and his wife run on the side, mostly processing deer, beef cattle, chickens, and hogs. They make the best bacon and sausage to be had in
this part of the country.
J.T. allows me one piece, then sits on the bed and feeds me. I have prescient flashes of myself on the floor, at his feet, with Nico seated close by. Dominant, submissive, switch. Yeah, that feels like us.
J.T. makes small talk, including both me and Nico in the conversation. He never alludes to his withdrawal, never explains why the covers aren’t messed on his side of the bed. It’s not that he’s avoiding it. He’s focused primarily on me, what I’m thinking, how I’m doing, probably judging how up I am for more play.
“I need a bath,” I tell them, deliciously full and feeling a radiance only slightly dimmed by morning mouth. “I want to soak out some of the soreness. If you think you guys can go easy on me, maybe you can teach me what you like. I just have to be able to go to work Monday.”
“That’s my girl,” J.T. laughs, settling nicely into the relationship dynamics, considering the timeframe. “Are you sure we can’t talk you into a shower?”
The one in the en-suite is big enough for a party and earned brownie points for our realtor.
“Maybe later,” I tell him, making no promises. I don’t know if I can walk straight, as saddle sore as I am.
J.T. hands Nico the tray. Scooping me up like fucking Richard Gere, he carries me into the next room and sits me on the closed commode while he runs water in the soaker tub. “What do you need me to bring you, Grace?” he asks, knowing this hasn’t been my space. Nico’s a shower guy, so all his products are in there, while mine are in the guest bathroom.
“Shampoo. Conditioner. Luffa. Body wash.” I have several bottles to choose from, depending on my mood, but I’d rather learn what J.T. likes. “Surprise me,” I tell him. “Oh, and please bring the green detangling comb hanging in the tub, for my hair.”
