by Iris Astres
She, of course, was more like kindling—a blaze that soon became a cold, exhausted pile of ash. Somehow they managed to use the difference in temperament as dual erotic triggers that always kept things interesting between them. But now she was worn-out. All the hot male determination around her just made her feel like crawling off somewhere and curling up into a ball.
She gave her husband a pleading look.
“You’ll change your mind,” he said and looked at his accomplices.
“I’m in no hurry.” Raj used the stairs to leave the pool. His skin was even more enticing with the glint of water sluicing over it. He slicked back his dark hair and opened a concealed cupboard in the wall, extracting a thick drying mat.
Malcolm joined his partner on the wide expanse of marble floor and helped him spread the crisscrossed fabric in the center of the room. The two Bods were unapologetically splendid in their nudity. Watching them do anything was a good show.
Amin too was stunning in the flesh—a little less refined, but broad and tan and powerful. He went in turn to the steps and reached his hand out for her. She let him help her from the pool. Soon the four of them were lying like a pride of jungle cats across the spongy fabric. The mat drew heat from the floor while it absorbed the moisture from their bodies.
Solange nestled comfortably between her two insatiable aliens while Amin settled at his usual distance. He looked to her like some great ancient architect who let his slaves to do all the heavy lifting. She turned to Malcolm, noting that his splintered, blue-glass eyes still made her heartbeat quicken. Did that effect ever wear off?
“How many times do you come in a day?” she asked.
“Between one and three is usual. Sometimes it’s significantly more.”
“Sometimes not at all?”
Malcolm shook his head.
“And if I come again, will you really be happier than you are now?”
“Yes,” he said. No hesitation, which annoyed her slightly.
Solange leaned backward into Raj’s waiting arms. “That doesn’t make much sense,” she grumbled.
“It makes perfect sense.” The voice behind her clearly disagreed. “Passion always means excess. The two go hand in hand. But tell me something,” Raj said with a change in tone. “What in all the world do you like most?”
Her gaze went to her husband. “I like waking up next to Amin.” That was true. It was the greatest pleasure she could think of. Her husband slept very little. His mind was almost never still, so when she opened her eyes and found him lying prone and unaware beside her, it was wonderful. Like having a great kingdom at her feet.
She turned to find Raj staring at her in that blackboard way he had, poring over her like he was working out a rambling equation. “Did I hear you say you don’t believe your husband when he says he loves you?”
Solange gave a little choking laugh at that. The Bods had proven they were keen observers. She’d only alluded to the great “I Love You” war, but Raj had caught it anyway. “I might believe it if he said it,” Solange answered. “But Amin is allergic to,” she paused, getting the idiotic wording right, “empty words and hackneyed phrases.”
“That’s true,” said Amin, calmly lowering into his trench for the familiar battle. “I’ve never said ‘I love you’ to my wife. In fact, I’ve left no clues at all about my feelings for her. There’s no way she could even guess what’s in my heart.”
Solange shook her head and lay flat on her back. She could guess. Of course she could guess. Minus the bullheadedness, Amin was a first-rate husband. He gave her everything she wanted, including constant access to his thoughts and company, which was by far her greatest treasure. And there were other clues, of course. For example, when men threatened her, he shoved pens in their eyes until they died. And he hired Bods to entertain her while he brooded. There were lots of signposts to the way he felt about her. As if that changed the fact that his “I Love You” thing was utterly moronic.
Raj let go of her. Apparently he’d finished his equation. She watched him sit up, noting that he had that look about him—the “clever fucker with a thousand clever ways to fuck” look that she’d come to know. She braced herself. Raj moved away, ignoring her.
She watched him reposition himself next to her husband. The Bod appeared to silently confer with him. Lazily the two of them turned to her with a look of frank appraisal. Then, while she watched, Raj lowered over Amin. Her husband lifted slightly, welcoming the man’s embrace. Their lips met, and with slow and easy movements the two men began to kiss.
Solange gasped and jackknifed into a seated position so she could get a better look. It was the strangest, most electrifying thing she’d ever seen. Raj’s long, elegant torso hovered inches from her husband’s massive chest. He tilted his head sideways. Their lips brushed back and forth. It was a sweetheart kiss. Shockingly romantic, the tenderness as lewd as anything Solange had ever seen.
Amin took Raj’s weight on top of him, chest against chest. The kiss grew hotter, less restrained. Their two tongues traded territory, back and forth. Openmouthed so she could see.
Solange couldn’t take it in. Murder was one thing, but this was sheer insanity. Amin kissed the Bod with the same focus he brought to a business deal. His hard, masterful body took the other man’s attention into due consideration. There was a cool gleam in his eyes. A smile on his lips. His amusement was for her, no doubt.
Solange knew she was gaping, but she didn’t care. They were kissing now as if they didn’t mean to stop. Her husband rolled into the dominant position, licking into the Bod’s mouth. Solange gasped again. There were tingles up and down her arms. Her nipples were gathering; her breathing had grown shallow. And she wanted very suddenly and very desperately to fuck.
Malcolm reached around her, stroking her along her upper thigh. She startled at the unexpected touch. For a moment she’d forgotten where she was.
The men at her feet stopped embracing. Amin rolled onto his back. Hands lazily stacked under his head, he studied her. Raj sat up. She crawled into his lap without permission and put her mouth on his, looking for her husband’s taste. The thought excited her as much as anything she could remember. She had to break away to catch her breath. Amin wrapped his large hand around her upper arm, pulling her toward him. She straddled him and lowered her face hungrily over his mouth. She was mad with lust now. Straightening, she reached for Raj again. She licked at him, then Amin, tasting one man, then the other, like a flower working out its own cross-pollination.
“I want to fuck,” she said. The last word left her throat in a constricted huff of air. She turned her head, including Malcolm. “Let’s fuck.”
In answer he drew her against him. He worked a hand between her thighs while his mouth glued itself to hers. She wriggled on his fingers, hungry for the stimulation.
“Fuck me,” she said to all of them. “I want to come.”
“A reasonable request.” Raj stood, his shoulders squared with purpose. He took both her hands and got her on her feet. Behind her, Amin too was rising, surveying whatever Raj meant to propose.
Another panel in the wall revealed a tiny lever. Raj lowered it and a set of straps descended from the ceiling. They were broad, canvas straps. White, like the rest of the room. Solange had never seen anything like the strips of fabric, but she was quick to understand the purpose. It was a sort of swing—a soft but sturdy means for her to have the three of them at once.
Malcolm rose, helping Raj to gauge the proper height. He motioned Solange to the center of the room and helped her perch on the wide canvas band. She steadied herself by wrapping her arms around a higher band that acted as a sort of backrest. Raj waved Amin forward, using the lever to lift Solange until her pussy was level with her husband’s straining cock.
Amin’s eyes were sharp; his mouth was slack. He looked like a beast about to bite. Solange took in the muscles bunching under his skin, the taut curve of his prick. He was hot the way that she was hot. And she was as hot as a fla
me-licking fire. Desire had her senses seizing up again. No sight, no sound, no taste that wasn’t cock and tongue and fucking in and out.
Amin spread her legs. She let him examine her, knowing she was soaked and swollen. His palms felt hot. His nostrils flared when he exhaled. He slid two fingers into her and groaned, head bowing into her neck.
She heard the wordless rumble in his throat that meant he’d hit his sexual stride. The sound of his arousal vibrated against her cheek. His jaw was set, and there was something mindless in the way his fingers pumped inside her. He drew them out and up, circling her clit. When she nodded, Amin wrapped his hands around her thighs and opened her a little more.
Even in this hazy, aroused state he entered with great care. Minutes later he was only halfway in. And she was caught in limbo. Suspended in the air. There was nothing but words to make him finish, so she used them. “Oh God, Amin,” Solange rasped. “You have to fuck me. Now. Deeper. Work your cock into me all the way.” He groaned again and drew her farther forward, still keeping a steely grip on her thighs so she couldn’t hurry him. It was pure torture how he inched his way along. But when she had him planted to the root in her wet pussy, the triumph of it made her want to crow.
“Tell me it’s good,” Solange commanded. “I want to hear you say it’s good.”
Amin leaned away to look at her. His strong features seemed blurred behind a thick sexual fog. Solange knew the look. She loved the look.
“In my mind,” he said. “I fuck you constantly. Like this.” His hips thrust forward hard.
She swayed back on the swing.
Raj stayed the movement from behind. Malcolm joined them at her side. Solange was aware of a strange energy inside both Bods. Something had them on the edge as well. Malcolm’s interest shifted from what had to be a look of rapture on her face to Amin’s thick cock moving in and out of her.
Raj stepped close enough for her to feel his warm skin on her back. He ran his fingers over the curve of her ass. Then he made use of the swing, moving her back and forth on Amin’s cock—varying and lengthening the strokes.
Sex was an odd current. It dipped, and then it surged. Instability made things that much better. Solange felt her appetite for fucking inch into the red.
Behind her, Raj bent to the floor. The black jar. She remembered it. The smear of its thick lubrication. Her mouth opened on a protest. Raj was big. Amin was bigger. Too much cock for her to take at once. Even crazy with arousal, she knew better than to let them do that to her.
“You can take me,” said the silky voice behind her. Solange stiffened. He’d just read her mind. Or read body—whatever let him know what she was thinking. It was weird, but it was also useful. And it meant he wouldn’t hurt her. With every breath he’d know just what to do. She relaxed while his fingers got her ready for him.
With Amin lost to passion and Raj intent on what he did, Solange turned to Malcolm, and the force field of his deep blue gaze drew her to him heart and soul. “I want to make you happy,” she said, sounding drunk and slurry.
He bent his head and licked her lips. “Then let me fill your mouth with cock.”
That made her laugh, and laughter made her pussy close down on her husband’s prick. Amin worked his way past the resistance.
Solange wrapped her fingers around Malcolm. He was the smallest of the giants, which meant that he was very big. Beyond that, his smooth prick was lovely—a dark, creamy brown with one swerving vein that pulsed under the tip.
She tried to dip sideways and take him in her mouth. The canvas straps squeaked and swayed. The men who sandwiched her stood still.
“Why don’t you let me bring my cock to you?” said Malcolm.
He went back to the closet, emerging with a sort of stepladder. He unfolded it, kneeling on the cushioned upper ledge, his feet hooked underneath a lower bar. Solange found herself facing his cock. “You think of everything here.”
“We only think of one thing,” Raj corrected. He was advancing into her minutely every time her husband’s cock withdrew. His penetration deepened with each fresh move forward, and the sensation was so acute it had her giddy—strung tight as a fiddler’s highest note.
She turned to Malcolm’s cock, feeling a warm and fluid tenderness for him that needed an outlet. She wrapped her lips around him, licked along the nerve ends just below the head, and felt him respond. He threaded his fingers through her hair, his actions hungry, almost harsh. But that was good. She loved a bit of desperation in a man. It made her purr, and the vibration made him fill her mouth a fraction more.
Raj grabbed her hips and moved her between Amin’s cock and his own. Each backward movement brought the Bod deeper inside her. The dual penetration tightened every nerve. She tipped her head back, releasing Malcolm from her mouth, and drew enough breath to moan with pleasure. Raj’s fingers rose to the tips of her breasts, which he gently plucked.
“Amin.” Her husband was completely lost to pleasure. At the sound of his name, he roused himself to look at her. The hunger in his eyes looked bottomless. The raw emotion added kerosene to her already burning body. Amin’s mouth closed over hers; his tongue licked hungrily between her lips. Raj pushed from behind until her husband’s cock rammed in so deep Solange thought she could taste it like the sting of some exotic fruit exploding on her tongue.
She turned with purpose back to Malcolm’s cock. His hands went back into her hair. He liked to control her, to force himself into her mouth. And that was fine with her. In fact, she liked to let herself be used. Silently she willed a rush of pleasure into him. Malcolm would come first, she decided. She’d make him come, and with the taste of his sperm in her throat, she’d finish too and take her husband with her.
Raj, she somehow knew, would make up his own mind about his climax. He was definitely the alien among them. Fucking, having fucked, about to fuck—what difference would that make to Raj? If there was such a thing as a vampiric fuck magician, he’d be it.
Amin, she knew, could stay in this fugue state for hours. He’d just flex and release his muscles until sweat and heat made both their bodies slide against each other. When he was gasping and his mind was gone, he wouldn’t stop. Sometimes she dreamed it went on forever.
She focused on Malcolm while the two cocks seesawed inside her. Her mouth was warm and wet and open for him. She scratched her nails along his ass and looked into his eyes. You’re coming first. She told her body to convey that message, and hedged her bets by sucking on him like she meant it.
The pleasure reached an agonizing point and stopped. She felt saturated by it. Heavy, like a soaked pile of logs refusing to ignite. She withdrew her head from Malcolm’s cock and breathed. Raj moved closer, and she knew what he would do. He worked more of his cock into her ass. Amin didn’t withdraw. She was full to the brim, each nerve exposed and pulsing.
Amin saw her mouth was free and kissed her. His movements were heavy with lust. She remembered the strange sight of him kissing the Bod. It made her pussy tighten sharply.
She turned to Malcolm. Those eyes. They still did funny things to her. “Come in my mouth,” she said.
His cock was wet and teary. Hard as a hot brick. He was ready to give her what she wanted, and she wanted it like nothing else. Solange used her mouth and both her hands. Her feet were off the ground; she couldn’t feel the ropes around her. She no longer knew or cared what force was keeping her from falling in a tangle on the floor. She fondled Malcolm’s balls, tightened her lips, and fluttered her tongue. The back of her throat brushed his cockhead when she swallowed.
She risked a glance at him again. Those eyes of his were blazing blue and staring down at her from the raw edge. His cock began to stretch and breathe inside her mouth. A jet of semen tickled her soft palate. Then there was much more for her to swallow down.
Malcolm filled her mouth with cum. She felt his tension, his release. His cock slid from her lips. The last drops of cum splattered her chest.
Her own body had lost control. A wall
of pleasure mounted up in her. She hoped she could keep her head above it and keep breathing—not collapse. She gave a gurgling shriek at the onset of orgasm. Her pussy tried to close around a brutal first contraction, but there was too much cock in her. The walls of her vagina couldn’t move. Her inner muscles beat around the iron-hard invasion. The rapid flutter pitched orgasm higher than expected. Higher. Much too high. After the rapid, airless flutter, Solange fell so far it frightened her. Both her arms grasped at the air while she absorbed the shock of too much cock and too much pleasure.
Amin growled into her neck. One of his palms was wrapped under her thigh and he was forcing her legs open while his cock spasmed inside her. It hurt, and it was very good. She pulled him closer, moaning as she rubbed her lips against his shoulder.
Raj reached a hand around her waist. His fingers found the drops of sperm above her breast. He smeared it down over her nipple. His cock was planted deep inside her ass, and when Amin began withdrawing from her, Raj started fucking. Deep, strong strokes made her moan at the last sparks of pleasure firing along her nerves. She felt his teeth at the top of her spine, then the sound of satisfaction on its way to triumph. Raj yanked his cock from her. His semen spilled over her back in long, thick rivulets. Solange felt the milky liquid travel over her still-trembling flesh until, drip by drip, it formed a pool beneath her on the tile floor.
Chapter Eight
“Good-bye.” She didn’t like the word. Even when the separation was agreed on from the start, it made her sad to let go of the Bods.
They’d bathed again and dressed. Raj and Malcolm were standing as they had when they’d first entered—unmussed and unhurried, polite and pleasantly engaged. As though nothing at all had happened. And that made her sad too.
“You’ll see them again.”
“I won’t.” Solange turned to her husband. “Bods never see anyone twice. That’s a rule.”
Amin’s black eyes narrowed on a blink. He didn’t care for being contradicted. He also didn’t care for no. Somewhere along the line, he’d gotten the idea that he could hammer reality into submission. Most of the time he could, but when others were involved, it wasn’t always nice to try. And she’d been right in what she’d said. Bods never slept with the same woman twice. Something to do with “clarity of purpose,” which meant she supposed they had to keep their clients from imagining themselves in love.
