by Ruby Laska
“Then you have five seconds,” he said, “or I shall begin taking volunteers.”
She looked wildly from one man to the next. Old ones, decrepit ones, men missing teeth, men who looked like they hadn’t showered or shaved in ages. In the very corner of the room, sitting at a table by himself with a half-empty pitcher of beer, was a man of about forty with his hair cut short, his face clean-shaven, a plain T-shirt and jeans that, though worn, were clean. His boots looked like he’d walked a thousand miles in them. His arms looked like he’d done it while carrying thousand-pound weights.
“Him,” she said desperately. “Over there.”
“All right. Stay here.”
Chelsea was still wondering where he thought she would go as he went to speak to the man. They had a brief exchange, the man looking over at her before nodding and pushing back his chair. Ricardo dropped coins into the jukebox, and they both walked over to her.
Ricardo signaled the bartender as the first pounding bars of the song came on. “Another for the house,” he ordered. Then he took a seat on the nearest barstool. “Darling, this is Daniel,” he said. “He’s on leave from the Army. Perhaps, mi corazon, you could show him how you value his service to this magnificent country by dancing for him.”
Daniel stood in front of her, his expression veiled, his mouth set in a grim line. He looked neither threatening nor all that happy. What Ricardo had said to convince him, she had no idea.
The music pounded, the beat reaching through the floor and into her body. Was this some private joke, this stranger’s way of mocking her? A spark of irritation spurred Chelsea to stand straighter, to look disdainfully down her nose.
Daniel was actually fairly good looking, and if she’d met him in other circumstances, she probably would have found him downright attractive. The effect was heightened by his lazy, amused confidence. He didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by Ricardo or by her. In fact, he didn’t seem all that interested.
Chelsea’s nipples swelled against the silky fabric of the dress as she contemplated making Daniel pay attention. What would it take, she wondered, to wipe that smug look off his face? It wasn’t the need, the hunger that Ricardo’s touch gave her, but an entirely new sensation—a desire to play the game, to engage in a match of courage, to see which of them would blink first.
It damn well wasn’t going to be her.
She locked eyes on Daniel and began to circle her hips in time to the music. She matched each pulse of the bass line with her body, and as she grew comfortable with the rhythm, she added sinuous motions with her arms.
Chelsea had never gone to nightclubs with girlfriends—hell, she’d never had that kind of girlfriend. But there had once been a time when she danced.
When she’d run away from home, she had been taken in by two kindly salon owners in Chinatown, who allowed her to stay in the back room and gave her a job. They also acted as surrogate fathers, and after dinner they sometimes turned the radio up loud in the living room. Chelsea closed her eyes and let the music flow through her and found a tiny pocket of joy, spinning and whirling in the little apartment above the salon.
Now, in the center of the disgusting bar, she did not close her eyes—she kept them locked on Daniel’s—but she let the music flow through her and relinquished control of her body to the rhythm. As she shimmied and rocked her hips, moving ever closer to him, she occasionally spun so that she could see Ricardo watching her. And Ricardo was watching very closely, a satisfied smile on his face.
Daniel’s composure began to slip when she was only a foot or two away from him. She moved her shoulders suggestively, moving sylph-like around him, tossing her hair and running her hands up and down her body. When the song ended, she bowed deeply, turning away from him so he had a magnificent view of her ass. She could feel her skirt riding up high on her hips and her breasts falling against the dress. When she stood up again, she was breathing heavily, her hair cascading around her shoulders—and Ricardo was standing directly in front of her.
“Very good, my pet,” he said. “You make me proud.” Then he grasped her gently by the shoulders and turned her toward Daniel. She was close enough to Ricardo that her buttocks pressed against his groin, and she could feel his arousal pressing against her cleft. Her body clenched with need and it was all she could do to stop herself from rubbing against him…and then she realized that she had not, in fact, stopped herself. The dance had only heightened her need, and her swollen pussy longed to be touched, used, fucked.
Through her needful haze, she watched Daniel shift awkwardly, and she allowed her gaze to travel down over the few dark hairs peeking out of his shirt, his muscular chest, the worn fabric of his jeans—and the stunning outline of a rock-hard, enormous cock straining against it. She looked back up at his face in time to see him lick his lips nervously.
“Did she please you, my friend?” Ricardo asked calmly.
You could have heard a pin drop in the room. Chelsea was vaguely aware of the men leaning forward for a better view, the bartender snapping a photo with her phone, a photo that had little chance of turning out in the smoky haze and inadequate lighting.
“Yeah,” he choked out.
“Then I invite you to show her.”
Chelsea felt Ricardo’s hand move to her shoulder. He caressed her neck before sliding the thin shoulder strap slowly down, past her shoulder, down her arm, as it fell away from her skin. The silk grazed her nipple, sending maddening flights of sensation through her, and she pressed her ass harder against Ricardo. Was he really going to allow this stranger to look at her—to touch her?
Her cunt ached at the thought. Hot moisture pooled and dampened her inner thighs as the other strap slid down. The dress settled around her hips, her breasts bared and exposed. Ricardo slid his hands down her arms and grasped her hands. His grip was light, but she knew that if she resisted it no longer would be.
Unless she used the word. Magnolia…all she would need to do was say it and Ricardo would take her away from here. Never mind the invitation he’d issued to the stranger; it would be revoked swiftly and finally.
Humiliation colored her face and forced her to drop her gaze and impelled her to run, to escape. But at the same time, the attention of every man—and one woman—in the bar heightened her arousal. The two impulses battled inside her: flee—or take it further.
She could not fight the raging need inside her. A moan escaped her as she leaned back against Ricardo, pushing her shoulders back to better display her breasts.
Daniel closed the distance between them and ran his thumb under her breast, tracing the heavy curve of its underside. His touch was tentative and he watched not her but Ricardo, a question in his expression, a request for permission. She felt Ricardo nod, and his fingers traced the same path with more confidence.
“Your woman is beautiful,” he said. He grasped her nipple lightly between finger and thumb and rolled it expertly. He was no novice with women; as his confidence grew, so did the deftness of his touch. “May I?”
“Do as you like. She needs to be used rather hard, poor little creature. You’ll be doing her a favor.”
Could anyone else detect the heat in his voice? The stranger must find him detached, almost indifferent—but Chelsea caught the faint lowering in tone, the quickening of his breath. And most of all, the stirring of his cock against her ass.
Offering her to the stranger had aroused Ricardo as well, and that was something she couldn’t contemplate right now. She had no mental capacity to tease apart the complex strands that knit their sexual bond; it was all focused on getting what her body was demanding.
Daniel pinched the nipple harder and Chelsea cried out and bucked her hips. Daniel lowered his head to her other breast and ran his tongue over her pebbled nipple, his hot, moist tongue lapping once, twice before he stood to gauge her reaction.
“She likes you,” Ricardo said, and Chelsea realized he would do the speaking for both of them. She was not to talk, not to guide the play.
The transaction was between the men alone and she would do as they decided. Knowing she controlled none of it—unless she chose to end it—drove her mad with need. Her mind filled with a melee of images: Daniel kneeling over her while she took Ricardo in her mouth; Ricardo pounding her from behind while she sucked Daniel’s balls, Daniel’s cock in her hand while—
His mouth was on her nipple again and this time he was not tentative. He swirled his tongue around the areola and sucked harder, his teeth grazing the nub. All the while his fingers worked the other nipple, stippling expertly with his fingers, rubbing and twisting until there was nothing but sensation. She was dimly aware of voices, men cheering and calling for more.
She was on display for all of them, not just Daniel—but most of all Ricardo. This was his show and it was abundantly clear that he was enjoying it. His hands cupped her ass and then slid up to the dress bunched at her waist. Being touched by two men was unlike any sexual experience Chelsea had ever imagined, and when his fingers grasped the fabric and pushed it upward, she lifted her arms overhead.
Daniel stepped back to allow Ricardo to pull the dress all the way off—and then she was naked, save for her high heels and the collar that encircled her neck. Without Ricardo standing behind her, she wouldn’t have been able to continue standing; her legs were like jelly and her entire body vibrated with arousal.
For a moment, she thought about what she was doing—naked in a bar full of very questionable men, practically begging to be publicly fucked. It didn’t add up to any concept of herself that Chelsea had ever had, and some short-circuit must have occurred in her brain because the hesitation dissolved and she was reduced to trembling, dripping lust.
Ricardo slid one hand around her, splaying his strong fingers on her stomach, then sliding them leisurely down to cover her mound. Daniel’s face was only inches from hers, and his own hand was on his cock, massaging it through his fabric. A thin sheen of perspiration lined his face. His lips were parted, his eyes glazed, but he didn’t back down, didn’t look intimidated.
Ricardo ran his fingers up and down her pussy and then opened her gently, separating her lips, slicking her moisture all over her inner thighs.
“She was born this way,” he said conversationally. “Her care is a tremendous responsibility. She needs to climax like other people need to breathe. Go ahead, give her some relief. You may not kiss her, however, because she loves only me.”
He spoke quietly, so no one but Daniel and she could hear over the chorus of cheering and lewd catcalls. Several of the men had left their barstools to come form a ring around them. Had she been alone with them, Chelsea would have been terrified. But with Ricardo there, she felt—
As if to test her sense of security, one of the men stumbled forward. “I’ll fuck her if you don’t want to do the job,” he said. “Lemme at her.”
Ricardo’s hand shot out so fast there was no way the man could have seen it coming, but his head cracked against a table on the way down and he hit the floor like a sack of grain, out cold. “Get him out of here,” Ricardo said coldly, not bothering to look at the crowd—and instantly the oaf was dragged away by two of the others.
Daniel quirked one eyebrow up, gazing at her intently. “It’s my honor to help,” he said, and she knew he was speaking to both of them…and then his hand was on her where Ricardo’s had been.
CHAPTER EIGHT
His touch was different than Ricardo’s, the shape of his hand unfamiliar. For a moment he merely explored, gently limning the edges of her lips, tracing a finger up to her swollen clit and circling it. His fingers were rougher than Ricardo’s, and the calluses abraded her skin in an unfamiliar way. Chelsea rocked against him, learning his touch as he teased her.
Then, without warning, he slid his finger inside her, and she cried out with guttural satisfaction. He stroked, his finger moving in and out, watching her intently the whole time.
“She likes two fingers, or three if you don’t mind,” Ricardo said mildly. His arms supported her, one kneading her ass, one holding her against him.
“It’s no trouble,” Daniel said, his voice throaty and breathless, and he jammed two more fingers inside her. Her juices rushed out, spilling over his hand, and he laughed quietly…and resumed fucking her, his thumb gently circling her clit.
Chelsea rode his hand, no longer mindful of the crowd, only of her desperate need and the orgasm that was building inside her. There was no question of holding it back; it was like an enormous wave approaching off the coast of her body, thundering, dangerous, and approaching with a force greater than her will.
Daniel increased the pressure with his thumb, nimbly stroking and circling and teasing while he forced himself more deeply. His fingers plunged and stroked, and she rocked her hips harder against him, begging with her body for more, more, more until the wave crested deep inside her, a gate opened, sensation bursting through. She threw her head back and Ricardo was there to hold her while the tension inside her erupted in a scream, a smashing kaleidoscope of pleasure. She felt the wellspring inside her release and she squirted against Daniel’s hand, wave after wave that drenched his fingers, until finally she drifted to a shivering finish and he slid his fingers gently out of her, laughing quietly.
“She’s incredible,” she heard him say, and she knew he was speaking to Ricardo, thanking him for the use of his property. The thought gave her one last shuddering surge of pleasure as she sagged against Ricardo. He kissed her neck, her hair, murmuring in Spanish.
“My turn,” a rough voice demanded, much too close, and Chelsea’s eyes flew open in alarm.
A man in a filthy tank top was unbuckling his belt, standing only a couple feet away. In his other fist was a wad of bills that he threw on the table.
This time it was Daniel who punched him. It took only one blow and seemed to require almost no effort from his powerful fist. The man went flying against a chair, landing on his ass, moaning and clutching his jaw. But several other men had formed a line, and Chelsea realized with horror that they all meant to take a turn with her. Magnolia, magnolia, she thought desperately—but how was Ricardo—and possibly Daniel—to hold off all of them if they decided to fight?
There was a bang and a breaking of glass. Chelsea whipped her head around to see that a pitcher on a nearby table had been reduced to a pile of glittering shards. But who had shot it?
“Don’t worry, querida,” Ricardo murmured against her. “She has been well compensated.”
The bartender was calmly pointing a small black gun, moving it slowly across the crowd. Several of the men cringed; all of them stepped back.
“You have two choices,” she called out. “Show some respect, especially up here in my tip jar. Or get your sorry asses out of here.”
There were a few murmured apologies and the men returned to their chairs and barstools. No one left, but they peeled off bills and dropped them into the beer pitcher the bartender had set out.
Ricardo settled Chelsea against his chest, supporting her with his arms and murmuring against her hair. “You did well, mi niñita.” One hand moved languidly up to her breast and his thumb barely brushed against her nipple. She jerked as if electrified, the nerve endings throughout her body on high alert. “And now we must think of a way for you to thank our new friend.”
Daniel held up his hands. “Hey, no thanks are needed. Believe me, the pleasure was all mine. Hell, I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming this whole thing anyway.”
“But you were not dreaming this, my friend,” Ricardo said. His caresses were becoming more insistent, teasing and flicking at her nipples, which were once again hard and aching with need. “I assure you my little whore is very real. As are her needs. Some of which you have just dispatched, and I’m sure she is grateful…but you see, as I mentioned already, she needs to be used. Unless she is properly disciplined, she becomes very restless. Really, it’s a kindness.” His hand left her nipple for only a fraction of a second before slashing through the air. He slapped her tender
flesh, open palmed, and a series of aftershocks seized her. She struggled against him, trying both to free herself and to lean into his touch.
The man she loved was offering her up to a stranger as though she was an object, as easily as he might loan another man a book or a tool. Granted, she hadn’t objected when he’d invited the other man to pleasure her. But now he was inviting him to do whatever he wanted with her.
And she wanted it.
As she watched Daniel watching her, she read both the doubt and the desire in his eyes. As he stroked his cock straining against his pants, his muscles rippled with the motion. Chelsea could imagine those arms pinning her to a wall, wrapped around her throat, turning her over a table…and with each flitting possibility she felt herself moving through the languid post-orgasmic calm into arousal again. Her thighs clenched as Ricardo moved his groin against her, rubbing her with his own hard-on. The combination—the cock in front of her and the one pressed against her ass—drove her need higher.
What would it be like…
Daniel’s breath had grown labored, his eyes glazed. His lips were slightly parted as he stroked harder. Somewhere in the back of the crowd a man muttered, “Fuck her,” just loud enough to be heard. But the chant was picked up when it became clear that neither Ricardo nor Daniel was going to stop it. The words became a rhythmic swell, a drumbeat for the complicated ensemble—man, woman, stranger—and the urges that drove them.
“I need to know she wants it,” Daniel finally said, looking not at her but at Ricardo standing behind her.
“Putita?” Ricardo said. His tone was even, cultured, calm—completely at odds with the words he used. “The gentleman wants to hear you say it. Tell him how much you love to suck cock. Tell him you want him down your throat. Tell him how you wish he’d fuck your face and dump his whole hot load in you.”
Chelsea’s face burned with need and her hesitation ebbed until it was almost entirely gone. Why was she waiting? Daniel loosened his buckle and freed his cock, and it was magnificent—wide and beautifully shaped, the head slick with pre-cum, his balls already tight and high. She could imagine tonguing the shaft, tasting him, then taking him between her lips, sliding…
