by Roxy Harte
I lick the tip of his cock, rimming his piss hole. I hold his gaze, taking my tongue in a slow slide down around his cut head. With the tip of his dick wet with my saliva, he holds his shaft in his hand and circles my mouth, spreading my spit around my lips like he is applying lipstick.
He leans back his head and sighs.
I give a fast flickering lick on the ridge that runs along the backside and am rewarded with a moan, but soft lick and tease tickles isn’t what he needs and we both know it.
Using the folded length of belt, I slap his hard shaft. Hard, harder, until I get the “Holy fuck,” response I’m after. He coughs, grunts, laughs, and then begs, “Again.”
I slap him hard enough to make him yelp, then swallow his shaft, taking him deep.
Holding him tight and deep, not gagging, I don’t release him. I keep him tightly sucked where I want him, not giving him any wriggle room, and start wailing on his backside with the belt.
With his dick trapped in a cage of teeth and tongue and muscle, he is helpless against the belting I give his ass and thighs.
“Oh! Ahh. Oh, fuck.”
I slap him harder.
“Holy fuck.”
He moans and his fingers twine into my hair, pulling tight. I bite, a teasing bite, and his grip tightens. I run my hands down the leather warmed flesh of his ass and thighs. I flick his balls, making him jerk and cry out.
“Fyre.” He growls my name softly.
Grabbing his thighs, I pull him deeper into my mouth and throat. Setting up a rhythm, I loosen my mouth enough to take him in and out smoothly, quickly. I feel the tension building in his thighs, he’s close to coming when I pull away and his moan is one of disappointment. It is my turn to laugh. “You didn’t think I’d let you come that easily.”
I force him back and we wrestle for dominance. This is it. One of us has to yield and he’s in just enough of a mood to not want to. I’m ornery enough to want to make him really fight for the prize, counting on one hand how many times I’ve allowed him to ass fuck me.
I don’t expect the solid punch to my jaw.
He rolls me over, looping the belt around my neck and jerking my head back with it. He growls, then grunts with the exertion it takes to hold me. I never said I was going to make it an easy win. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Lift your ass.”
He pulls the belt tighter. I could get free, but I don’t want to, not this time. I’m not sure what’s going on in Garrett’s head, but tonight he needs to be top dog and I’m man enough to let him. I lift my ass, taking the full thrust of him. He jerks on me like a jackrabbit in rut. He tries to slow the pace, to force down his own need, his own desires, but I don’t let him, knowing he’s close, very close. I push back against him, squeezing his dick with my anal muscles.
“Holy fucking God, Fyre. Holy fuck.”
I collapse onto my chest, him falling against my back. We both lay there breathing hard, and I am surprised when he rolls off to lay beside me. I wrap around him, holding him with both arms and legs. Continuing our interrupted conversation, I whisper against his ear, “I wish I could stay tonight. And by the way, they will be our sons.”
Still out of breath, he chuckles and I feel like we are going to be all right.
“I think we will disagree much on the raising of boys, Thomas. I won’t allow them to participate in organized sports.”
I hold him tight. “Oh, there will be sports. Football, baseball, soccer, basketball, archery, ninjutsu—”
“Only if you agree to ballet and music lessons, piano and violin.”
I cuff his head. “Admit it’s going to be interesting.”
I loosen my hold so that I can roll up on an elbow and look down on him. It’s been a long time since I’ve just looked at him. I run my hand over the flat plane of his stomach and note just how pale his skin is to mine. When our gazes touch, he looks concerned. He says, “You might as well say what’s on your mind. I promise I’m calmer now.”
“Why are you neglecting her?”
The defensive shield he throws between us is a thick, touchable tension. Perhaps I should have sugarcoated it.
“Have you thought I’m doing the work of three men here?”
“You always do the work of three men,” I argue.
“Well, now I’m doing even more, covering your shifts and George’s.”
I sit up, suddenly angry that he is really going to blame work. “Hire more people.”
He doesn’t sit up. He rolls onto his side, putting his back to me. “I don’t want to hurt the babies.”
“What?”
“We’re not playing, we’re not having sex. She may have mentioned that.”
I would not betray her if she had confided such to me. “It is fairly obvious your relationship is strained.”
“If she would miscarry on my watch, the ménage would be destroyed. Neither of you could trust me again because both of you would look at me like I’d done it on purpose.”
His admission leaves me stunned. “Do you want her to miscarry?”
He stands and starts pulling on clothes. “Of course not! I just want to play—hard, harder than I’ve ever wanted to play—and I can’t do that with her, not now, and it leaves me wondering why I’m so filled with this need if not because I secretly long for the worst to happen.”
Standing, I catch him mid-pace, holding his shoulders, and make him meet my gaze. I am met with a guilty look and feel he is more distressed that she carries my children in her womb than he would ever let on. “I know you don’t want any harm to come to her or the babies. So what is this really about?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t control her anymore. She’s willful, disobedient.”
I smirk. “Kitten has always required a strong hand.”
“Moreso now.”
I grasp the back of his neck and pull him into me, almost surprised when he doesn’t resist. For a moment I just hold his face to my shoulder. “I told my brother that I share Celia because it is in her best interest to do so, and although that statement is truth, it is also a lie. She equally shares me with you and you with me because she knows we love each other even though the two of us rarely say so. Do you understand how much I’ve wished I could have you in my life as it was those first few weeks?”
I feel his sob against my shoulder. “It hurts too much. I don’t ever want to feel as broken as I felt following Tony’s death.”
“And so you would cheat both Celia and I the full measure of your love?”
“No,” he whispers, and we both hear the lie.
“I want all you have to offer, but Celia deserves it.”
“I know.”
“I’m not a greedy man, Gar. The babies will be as much yours as mine.”
“And what if I turn out like my father?”
Therein lies the crux of the matter. “You will not ignore your sons.”
He rears away, glaring. “Won’t I? How can you say that knowing I give every ounce of energy I have to Lewd Larry’s? After saying I neglect Kitten. I neglect you.”
“Sell the club.”
He looks shocked by the suggestion. I shrug. We both end up getting dressed. I don’t like his silence. Garrett rarely has a lack of words. I am comforted when he stops me from leaving the office. Wrapping his hand in my hair, he pulls me forward to offer me his lips. “Be there for us, Thomas, that’s all I ask. The rest will work itself out.”
I kiss him, promising, “That’s the plan,” and hoping I can make it so.
“O cruel Jove, and thou, Fortune adverse…Fy on your might and werkes so diverse! Thus cowardly ye shul me never winne.”
Geoffrey Chaucer, Troilus and Criseyde Book IV
Chapter 28
Garrett
I know Thomas doesn’t make promises lightly. So when he answers me saying, “That’s my plan,” I don’t press him. He’s a secret agent, working undercover, I doubt he could have promised me more than he has, but it sure would have been nice to hear him say ‘I will
be there.’ I worry about the times he’s away, knowing he is probably facing unimaginable danger. That fact was made even more real the night I operated on his brother. His tattoo will never be the same.
Thomas is scarred. I’ve never asked, but the quarter-sized scars that mar his perfect physique were bullet-made and he’s riddled with them. I fear he won’t come back to us, because if there wasn’t danger to worry about he’d already have returned to us. I don’t say these things to Kitten. She’s too fragile to hear my fears, or maybe I just can’t bear to voice my darkest worries aloud.
Walking beside him back to the play room, I accept the fact that I love him and something rips a little inside me. I’ve said the words before, I’ve even believed I felt the emotion, but I’ve never allowed him or Kitten to completely fill the empty place in my heart left by Tony. I think that may be changing. I think my desperation of late hasn’t been because I feel he is taking over Celia, but because I’m so fearful of losing him.
If he doesn’t come back, it will more than destroy the ménage, it will break whatever Kitten and I ever shared. I can’t imagine what would be left of her if he broke her heart by not returning to us. She looks at him with dreamy adoration as he removes each of the needles. He looks at her with an equal intensity.
I’m glad there’s no mirror because I would hate to see that I really am invisible.
She is still caged between pipe.
I think about being in this room with Dean and realize the reason I enjoy bringing him here again and again is because I don’t feel invisible. He makes me feel invincible. He makes me feel God-like and that is heady stuff.
I once felt that way with Kitten, when it was just the two of us.
Moving to stand behind her, I bend forward, resting my chin on her shoulder. I try not to look at Thomas, but our eyes meet and it is his simple nod that lets me know that I am here. I’m part of this. His eyes burn through me, and I realize finally that he is looking at me with as much need as he looks at her. Just that makes me feel confident.
I kiss the back of Kitten’s neck and rub my fingers lightly over her face. “Enjoying the endorphin rush, pet?”
“Yes, Master.”
She is still looking at Thomas, watching him remove each needle. Over her shoulder I too can watch the process. The needle slides, he wipes away the pinprick of blood that follows.
I rub my hands down her back, enjoying the quick reveal of gooseflesh.
Her scent is heavy in the air, the earthy fragrance of warm, needy pussy. I squat completely behind her, knowing as I reach between the raised dais of pipe supporting her thighs and ass, I will find her wet.
I slide my fingers between her labia, not surprised by the slickness I draw away. She gasps. Another needle slides free, Thomas wipes away the fresh blood, I sink two fingers deep. Her pussy contracts around the invasion as I rub my thumb over her clit.
“Oh!”
I leave a short trail of kisses down her spine, while her body adjusts to the presence of my fingers inside. “Relax.”
I spread my fingers wide inside, a little light pressure opening her vagina—just enough for her to feel me moving inside her. Thomas keeps going about the business of removing his needle design. It is almost as if he is so focused on his task that he is oblivious to what I am doing, but that would be a lie. He knows what I’m doing, he knows exactly what I’m doing.
I thumb her clit, finding so much wetness. It is like a Slip ’n Slide, she is so wet. The feeling is magical, and I can only imagine she feels the same. Her hip muscles contract and I know it is because she wants to move against me, wants to press into my thumb, wants to establish a rhythm she can control, but that isn’t happening. She is trapped by steel and not going anywhere.
Oh, the frustration of bondage. The pleasure. The agony. She is caught like a fly in a web, except her struggles are even more insignificant.
“Do you like that, Kitten?”
“Meow.”
“No? Really?” I say sarcastically. “I can stop…if you want me to.”
Her meow this time sounds desperate and I keep rubbing her clit. I push my fingers deeper, rolling them, thrusting them, finding all of her happy spots. I can tell because she is softly keening.
I want to fuck her, but worry there will be a repeat of my shriveling dick. More than wanting to fuck her, I want to top her.
“Quiet!” I say, and my voice echoes through the room. “Or do I need to gag you?”
She comes. Hard. The liquid evidence sliding around my fingers, hand and wrist. She is shuddering, gasping, and I am left surprised by the suddenness of her orgasm.
I withdraw and pinch her ass cheek. “Did I give you permission to come?”
She is crying when I stand to tower over her. She looks up at me with a mixture of pleasure and misery. “No, Master.”
“Indeed you didn’t.” I see Thomas is removing the last needle. I know he isn’t staying. I also know he will want to have some time alone with her. I lean forward and kiss her softly. “Next time. Don’t. Come. Without. Permission.”
“Yes, Master.”
I leave them alone to finish the scene, telling myself it will be for the best if they have some time alone together, but I am kicking myself for going even before I get to my office. I imagine him holding her as she falls apart. The scene is so vivid I can feel the wetness of her tears as he kisses them away. I imagine the sweetness he whispers to her to calm her, promises and words of love. He is a harsh master, he’s taken me to the edge and back again, and so I know from personal experience how intense the man is…but he is also tender. I have never met anyone more tender and compassionate when wrapped in the special intimacy following a scene.
And all I’ve been of late to Kitten is abrupt. I need to remember to tell her happy Valentine’s Day, but imagine that it is already well past midnight. Damn. At least we shared a scene together as a ménage. We still have that.
“…an angry skipper makes an unhappy crew…”
Rudyard Kipling, Captains Courageous
Chapter 29
Kitten
I’ve barely seen Master, to the point of being ridiculous. I know it’s paranoid but in the week since our scene with Thomas on Valentine’s Day, I feel like he’s been avoiding me. If I felt things couldn’t get any worse a month ago, I was wrong.
“Where are you?” I am so not impressed, I can’t even begin to express my emotions as I leave a voicemail for Garrett. Again. I’ve been at the doctor’s office for an hour. Alone. After Master insisting so vehemently I go to all of my scheduled appointments, even though he knows how I felt after the last one. I certainly don’t want to be here alone. The doctor hates me; I can feel it. He might advertise that he is community-friendly, but I have my doubts.
I’ve obviously gained weight though the doctor’s scales don’t reflect it. My belly is getting big. The entire time he is measuring me, he is frowning. “Twenty weeks. You are halfway to term. How have you been feeling?”
I shrug, making a joke. “Like a pregnant woman?”
He doesn’t laugh. The direction of his glance tells me why even before he accuses, “These bruises have been made since your last appointment.”
“My partner took every safety precaution.” I don’t say my other partner. I’m not sure he’s ready to know that I am in a relationship with two men.
“I was hoping Garrett would heed my advice,” he interrupts. I am left opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish as he demands, “Would you be so selfish as to endanger your babies?” He looks at me like a specimen under a microscope. “Is your relationship consensual? Because if you are in an abusive relationship—”
Shocked by his tone, I insist, “I’m not abused.”
His look is challenging, not comforting as he might have been trying for when he assures me, “If you feel you or your babies are in danger, there are people who can help you.”
I laugh at him. “We are both talking about Garrett Lawrence, eminent Dom
inant in this part of the world, right? You do realize he gives ‘Safe, Sane, and Consensual’ lectures all over the country? He wouldn’t harm me or my babies.”
He looks at me pointedly, and I am immediately intimidated. “Then I expect him to respect my advice. No bondage or impact play for the remainder of this pregnancy. If you cannot address this issue with him, I will gladly do so for you.”
I don’t argue with him. I’m too afraid to. There is a voice screaming loudly in my brain, asking, “Or what?” not sarcastically, but fearfully. I do not want anyone looking at my relationship with my two men too closely. Is that irrational? Are all of my fears based around my fundamentalist religion upbringing? There are so many what if’s…
The most horrifying being: what if some authority decided we were unfit to raise our children because of our lifestyle? I leave feeling more frustrated than I’ve ever been. Driving back to the office, I receive a text: Where are you?
“I could ask the same,” I mutter to myself, turning on the radio.
The music drowns out my ringing phone. I know it will be Garrett since I didn’t reply to his text. I debate not answering, but do. I don’t even get out an appropriate, ‘Hello,’ before he is demanding in my ear, “You’re late. I need you at the club. Now.”
“Late? I—”
The call ends and I look at my phone’s face, not believing he might have hung up. Irritated, I head to the club and my irritation turns to fury when the receptionist directs me to the conference room where Garrett and Morgana are interviewing job applicants.
Seeing I have arrived, he meets me in the hallway. “Where have you been?”
“I was at our doctor appointment.”
It is obvious by his expression, he forgot. He takes my face between his hands. “I am so sorry. This is why this has to be done today. I can’t do the work of three men. I’m neglecting you.” One of his hands drops to my swelled abdomen. “I’m neglecting them.”
He looks thoroughly remorseful, but I’m still irritated. I don’t bring up the client he saw right before my appointment. I remind myself that he was just a client, not important. I do need to vent about Dr. Moran. I’m scared and worried.
