A voice rasped at her ear. 'Remember last year, Maddie? Remember what went up here?' A thumb pushed gently at the ring, not forcefully enough to penetrate, just enough to make Maddie squirm. She could hardly believe in retrospect that she had let Phil do that. That it had gone in. That it had not been . . . unpleasant, although she had decided after the event that it would probably never be repeated. But now, with Phil's thumb planted at her back door and Damian's fingers plugging her pussy, she began to recall its illicit appeal, the tricks he had used to dissolve her resistance, and she began to push back, moaning uncontrollably.
'Oh, Maddie, you're on fire tonight,' crooned Phil. 'So hot. Isn't she, Damo?'
Damian, freeing Maddie's lips, put his own to her other ear. 'Hot as,' he said reverently. 'So fucking wet.'
'How hard is he, Mads?' asked Phil, resting his upright cock between the bottom cheeks he was still holding open. 'As hard as this?'
Maddie grasped Damian's shaft and gasped, 'Yes, hard.'
'Well, seeing as you're dripping on to the carpet, it's probably time we stepped up a gear then, Maddie, hmm?'
No reply was necessary, Maddie having crumpled backwards into Phil's arms. Damian went to sit on one of the beds, his legs splayed diagonally, providing a haven for Maddie to kneel in.
'Would you like to taste him?' Phil asked her.
'Yes,' said Maddie, hypnotised at the sight. She crept forward and approached the object of her appetites on her knees, guiding herself into the harbour of Damian's thighs and looking up at him shyly. 'Would that be OK?'
'I should think so,' Damian managed to say, and before the words were even out, Maddie was doubled over, licking the tip of his cock, which was long like its owner, swirling her tongue around its circumference, preparing to ease it into her warm, dark mouth. Her mouth slipped over the bulbous head and glided down his length; she pressed her fingers into the root and began to suck.
Phil took advantage of her absorption in Damian to swarm up behind her, lift her by the hips and plunge, suddenly and without warning, into her slippery sheath. She emitted a garbled yelp and almost bit Damian's precious manhood, but he clutched at her hair, urging her to continue, and she settled into a rhythm, plunging down with each thrust of Phil inside her and sucking up with each jerk back. She felt like a piston or some piece of machinery from a film about the Industrial Revolution, and the efficiency of their interaction pleased her unaccountably. A well-oiled machine, pushing back, lunging forward, hissing, sucking, her body the vital component connecting the powerhouses at each end. She maintained the pressure as tightly as she could, feeling Damian bump and thump at the roof of her mouth while Phil widened her narrow tunnel relentlessly, digging his trench further and further, filling her, drilling her until she felt the stirrings of her end. She began to pump frantically at Damian, sucking demoniacally until she wrung victory from him, swallowing and lapping at his seed before allowing herself to give way to her own climax. Phil came last, snorting and trumpeting, toppling his conference conquest over into Damian's lap, where she lay, her cheek nestling against his softening cock, waiting for Phil to pull out of her.
'Bloody hell,' said Phil, unsnapping his condom and aiming it accurately at the wastepaper basket. 'We've never gone that far before.' He grinned at Damian. 'Taking turns was one thing, but this was a whole new world. What did you think, Maddie?'
Maddie smiled gently, enjoying Damian's lazy fidgeting with her hair. 'Mmm,' she said.
That night they pushed the single beds together and shared the makeshift double, Maddie sleeping between her two beautiful boys while the camera, still on its tripod, watched over them till morning.
Damian was first to wake the next day; finding himself unexpectedly beside an attractive woman, he did what came naturally and leant over to lick a nipple while one hand wandered down beneath the sheets. Maddie stirred, turning her warm body towards his and muttered something incoherent before her lashes fluttered open. It took a few seconds for her sleepy eyes to focus on the head of thick black hair bobbing beneath her chin, but she registered the coiling wetness around her nipple and a gentle pressure on her clitoris. If this was a dream, she thought, it was a good one . . . and then last night came back to her. She glanced over at Phil, who slept on, then rooted one hand in Damian's hair, wrapped the other around his rampant cock and whispered, 'Good morning.'
Damian gave her nipple a final delicate lick then looked up at her, grinning lazily. 'It is now,' he whispered back. 'Waking up to a gorgeous body like yours. Makes me want to do bad things to you.'
'Go on and do them then,' said Maddie with a lascivious wink. 'The badder the better.'
Damian chuckled softly, keeping his fingers firm against Maddie's clit. 'How do you get this wet in your sleep?' he asked. 'Were you dreaming about me?'
'Mmm,' yawned Maddie. 'I prefer the reality though.'
Damian reached over to the bedside table for the condom packet. 'You asked for it,' he said, tearing off a foil corner with his teeth. 'You're going to get it. Lie flat and spread those legs, woman.'
Maddie was happy to comply, wriggling joyously into position, watching Damian sheathe his lengthy cock in rubber and thinking what an interesting photograph that would make. Then he plunged down on to knees and elbows and crawled over her, dropping savage little kisses at random intervals, on her knees, her hip, her ribcage, until he was lined up, lip to lip, shoulder to shoulder, his hands braced beneath her thigh tops so that the tip of the shaft nudged her opening. Maddie took two handfuls of buttock, urging him forward, needing her intimate space filled quickly. She tingled with pleasure as he broke through, burrowing into her darkness, enjoying the feeling of fullness, even the mild chafing that reminded her of last night's excesses. This was no hammer-and-tongs pounding though; Damian was considerate of his sleeping friend and he screwed Maddie slowly and teasingly, edging up to the hilt then keeping himself there, rocking a little so as to keep Maddie's nerve endings interested, using every ounce of self-discipline in his reserve to control the pace. She began to knead impatiently at his tight arse, trying to speed his rhythm, but he would not be moved. Gradually he pulled back, a tiny jerking motion at a time, laughing quietly at her little yelps of encouragement, before gliding back down the passage. He repeated this move for long, languid minutes, varying the action above the waist with smoochy kisses on Maddie's lips, neck, breasts, behind her ears. His fingers drifted to and fro around her clitoris and lower lips, never quite lingering long enough to let her find satisfaction so that she had to try and suck his cock up inside her as hard as she could.
It was about fifteen minutes into this slow and stately sarabande that Phil woke up. Maddie, who had been concentrating on lifting her hips high enough to wrap her legs around Damian's upper back so that she could thrust herself upwards on to his cock, did not realise she had an audience until he coughed and said, 'Thought you'd start without me, did you?'
'Uh . . . sorry,' she gasped.
'Don't mind me. I'll just lie here and enjoy the view.'
Maddie, highly conscious of being watched, pushed once more against Damian's bottom cheeks. In this position, Phil would be able to see Damian's root sawing back and forth, in and out; he could see how full and wet her pussy was, and her enlarged clitoris begging for touch.
'No need to keep the noise down now,' grunted Damian, and he began to speed up, plunging down with increasing force while Maddie rocked upwards to meet his thrust.
'Nothing like a good hard fuck to start the day, is there?' said Phil conversationally, propped up on an elbow. 'Or so I'm told.'
'You'll . . . get . . . your . . . turn,' Damian ground out between hard strokes, his face contorting with the nearness of climax.
'You bet I will,' said Phil. 'One way or another. What do you say, Maddie? Once Damian has had you, will you be able to take another hard cock up there? I reckon yes.'
'Yes!' exclaimed Maddie, turned on beyond endurance, wanting at that wild moment to have the pair of them tak
e turns on her until sunset, or her body melted, whichever might transpire first. Phil began to stroke his erection in preparation, sensing that his chance might come quite soon, if Damian's increasingly unhinged muttering and Maddie's frantic head-tossing were any indication.
Seconds later, the pair were thrashing around and howling fit to wake the entire landing. Damian held himself still, panting loudly for a minute or so, then he rolled off, kissed Maddie hard on the lips and began to unravel his rubber.
Maddie lay, a little spent but still ready for more, smiling lopsidedly at Phil, who had reached out an arm and was tugging her towards him.
'Damian did all the work there,' he said, manipulating her up and over his hips so that she straddled him. 'I'm feeling lazy though. Take me for a ride, love.'
Smiling wickedly, Maddie leant down and lightly bit one of his nipples.
'My little pony,' she whispered, taking hold of his cock and using its tip to circle her slightly sore quim. The red rush of pain she experienced on pushing herself on to it soon abated and she sat down, all the way down, and sighed with satisfaction, crushing her knees into his side as if he really were a horse, bobbing up and down in the saddle until she found her seat. She sat proud, spine straight, chin up, experimenting with all the different ways she could make Phil's cock point and stretch her before beginning the ride at a slow trot. By the time she hit cantering pace, now arched down over Phil, hands on his shoulders, while he fondled her bum cheeks, she had forgotten that Damian even existed. She was near that spot, that angle she needed; she only needed to go a little further, a little faster and then she would be there. She spurred herself on, working hard, using her abdominal muscles to their fullest extent. Now they were headed to the final furlong; she was sweating and so was he; her pussy was beginning to sting and feel raw but the fierce heat that had built up alongside made it more than bearable. She was going to have him, going to take him, going to milk him for all he was worth, oh yes, she put her head down and charged for the finish line and Phil got there with her, exultant in victory, galloping into the breach with yells and screams and a strange clicking sound and a flash of light. Maddie, flattened and exhausted, gathered her breath and peered foggily behind her, where Damian stood proudly beside her camera and tripod.
'I think I've worked it out!' he said in triumph. 'It's good kit, this, isn't it?'
The last two days of the conference are all one merged memory for Maddie now. A memory of heat and steam and dark hair and blond and four arms around her and two cocks inside her. It would seem too insubstantial to be real, if only she didn't have the photographs to prove it.
The Manager #1
In four years, he has looked at me - really looked at me, I mean - about half a dozen times. His attention is as rarely captured as a butterfly in winter, and accordingly highly prized, and it is impossible to predict just what will lure his eye in your direction. Short skirts don't do the trick, and neither do high heels or anything conventionally regarded as sexy. I have pouted my lipglossed smackers a million times, batted my spider lashes, leant forward so the cleavage hits him at optimum angle - all to a reception of bland indifference.
In my first year of working here, I tried to use my body to reel him in. I was looking as streamlined as I ever will, thanks to free membership of the basement gym and health club, and it pleased me to flaunt my newly discovered curves and planes at every opportunity.
My crush on Christopher Chase aka Mr Chase aka Sir had gripped me around the throat very quickly and was still squeezing the breath out of my body three months later. I could not spend longer than a minute in his office without thinking how very large his desk was - the perfect size to lie on top of - and yet also the perfect height to bend over. How clever. Surely he must have chosen it intentionally? Or was it even designed to his specifications? Then his voice would break into the musings:
'Did you even process that, Sophie? The Emir of Oriental Araby? And the Oscar-nominated actress? Expected this afternoon?'
'Oh . . . yes, Sir. It's all in hand.' Just like I wish I was. In your pale and elegant hand. And so my reverie would continue until he dismissed me with a tight lip and creased brow.
Soon enough my infatuation started to interfere with my extracurricular amusements in the bar. There I would be, whispering wanton words into some suit's ear, when Chase would cross the floor and I would forget what I'd been saying and stare after him, stunned, chest burning as if I'd just run a cross-country race.
'Go on. You were saying? You're going to lick my balls until the skin is tight enough to burst . . . then what?'
'Oh . . .' I'd say, abruptly disconnected. 'I dunno. Can't remember. Listen, can you get me another drink?'
Then I would either make an excuse and go home to think about Chase, with the aid of various battery-operated mental aids, or, if Suit of the Day was fanciable enough, I would take him upstairs and use him as a stand-in. Poor chaps – they never realised that it was Chase's mouth on my neck, Chase's hand slipping inside my knickers, Chase's cock pounding me into the headboard. They were usually amused by my orgasmic gasps of 'Oh, Sir, yes, Sir, please, Sir' though. It gave them some food for future fantasy, at least, so I don't feel too guilty about it.
At work, my outfits became progressively less professional. As my body tautened, the clothes tightened, the skirts shortened, the heels heightened, until one day, as I bent over the Reception desk in a black scrap that was little more than a bandeau, Chase passed behind me and snapped, 'Do you think that suitable workwear, Sophie? Cover up.'
Oh, the mortification. Then again, perhaps it was grounds for hope. After all, he noticed me, did he not? Even if the attention was negative, it was attention. Perhaps if I wore the skirt again, he would call me in for an oral warning. Mmm, I could give him an oral warning . . . But on balance, it did not seem worth the risk. Nobody had deliberately flouted one of Chase's orders and got away with it so far; in fact, there had been a veritable bloodbath in the kitchens, with most of the staff replaced in his second week of office.
So I sobered up, threw out my hookerwear and tried to slay him with my understated style, but he remained impervious, in a sexy kind of way, until I formulated my desperate Christmas plan.
I had signed up to work Christmas Day – triple time and I've never liked turkey anyway – knowing that Chase was going to host an evening drinks party for those of us who made it through the festivities intact. This was exciting on a number of levels: it provided further evidence that Chase was a single man, to go with the lack of wedding ring and desk photographs; it furnished my first opportunity to socialise with him; and there was even an outside chance that I might be able to herd him under some mistletoe and share a seasonal snog.
So when eleven o'clock came, after a long day of watching people in paper hats make merry while I brooded behind the desk, I gathered up my bag of tricks and prepared for an appointment with the full-length mirror in the staff toilets.
My hair was still looking good after a session with Suze, the hotel hairdresser, but the rest of me needed rejuvenation. The unforgiving glare of the bathroom lighting showed every blemish and enlarged pore; my eyes were tired and my skirt suit crumpled. I required nothing less than transformation, caterpillar to butterfly style.
Skin primed, brows plucked, hair sprayed, eyebags concealed, lashes lengthened, lips lushened, cheekbones highlighted, I was ready to prepare for my secret weapon; the biggest gun in the night's seduction arsenal. Off came the low-heeled courts, the flesh-tone stockings, the sensible beige skirt and the cream angora sweater until I stood, made-up to kill, in just my bra and knickers.
I glanced at the door. I did not think it likely that anybody else would use this particular loo; it was too out of the way for the kitchen staff and the maids in the basement. I was probably safe.
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