by Nia Farrell
We start with some bondage, stripping her down to her silk and lace underthings and trussing her with rope after rope of pearls. A few dozen high resolution digital photographs later, and we’re seeing just how strong the strands are as we position Grace across the armless chair, getting her ready to take both of us, Nico in her pussy, me in her mouth, just like the first time we made love.
There’s a pillow under her breasts, because of the baby bump, to even the playing field. Grace’s hands are bound in front of her, allowing her to brace herself with her forearms and keep weight off those sensitive breasts of hers. Other than the ropes of pearls and her Claddagh collar, she’s as naked as Eve before the fall.
Nico finishes stripping, nudges her legs wider, and kneels between them, burying his face in her pussy, fucking her with fingers and tongue. I fist myself, watching.
Goddamn.
I cup my balls and juggle them, imagining them in Grace’s mouth, but that will wait another minute or two or five or ten. Swear to God, I’ll never get tired of seeing the two of them together, red man and white woman, in love and in lust with each other. It’s just so fucking hot.
Nico licks and sucks her to her first orgasm of the evening. I think our record is eight. We hope to set a new one before the night is through. She moans. Gasps. Whimpers her pleasure. Bucks against him when she crests, then melts onto the pillow in post-orgasmic bliss. Nico rocks back on his heels. His face shines, wet with her juices. His dark chocolate eyes are hooded, his nostrils flared, full of the scent of her arousal, but the smile on his face when he licks his lips is for me alone.
Fuck.
His smile flattens when he sees the lust flair in my eyes; his lips part, shaped with the promise of things to come. Two steps more and I fist his hair. With the long black length around my hand to control him, I kiss him. Hard. Deep.
Tasting the two of them.
Mine.
“Cocktease,” I growl. Grabbing his nuts in the vise of my fingers, I give them a not-so-gentle twist. “Jesus, Nico. See what you do to me?”
Nine inches, hard as steel, the deep purple head glistening with pre-cum. I want to shove it down his throat. Bury it in his ass. Later, I tell myself. Right now it’s Grace’s turn.
“Fuck her,” I order. I don’t have to tell him twice. He wets his crown on the seam of her slit, parts the folds, and pushes inside. He hisses. Grace mewls. I watch him forge in, deep, deeper, pushing, stretching, insistent. Her body obeys, stretching to accommodate his length until he’s buried inside her to the root.
Finally.
Now that he’s got her primed for pumping, I plant a knee by one of her shoulders and tease her lips with my cock, painting them with pre-cum. “Open wide, baby girl,” I croon. “Just like the first time. Nico in that tight pussy of yours. Your sweet mouth on me.”
We know it’s not exactly the same. The first time we made love, we shared a bed. Grace was on her back, with her head between my thighs and my hands manacling her wrists when Nico popped her cherry. Once the pain had morphed into pleasure, I had her open wide and introduced her to fellatio. As blow jobs go, it was a valiant first effort and hot as fuck, my gaze caroming between Grace and Nico, watching her trying to take my length into her mouth while I watched Nico take her. She licked and sucked my cock like her favorite lollipop. Then, at the end, Nico practically climbed up her body, dipped his head, and tongued my shaft.
Holy fuck.
Just the memory makes my balls draw up tight. It’s too soon to shoot my load. I’m going to have to dial things back a bit. I envision a kata, one martial arts move flowing into the next and the next. Breathe. Again. Control. I have it. I can maintain it. I fist Grace’s hair and pump into her mouth in short, lazy strokes, welcoming her warmth with every snap of Nico’s hips. He grabs her waist in a bruising grip and holds on tight, picking up the pace until he’s pounding into her, flesh slapping against flesh. The air is thick with the scents of sex and sweat and jasmine. Grace’s fair skin will have bruises tomorrow, and she’ll love every one of them.
She moans, the sound vibrating my length as she orgasms. Two down, seven to go. I nod to Nico, giving him the signal that it’s time to switch.
“Enough,” I tell Grace, releasing my grip on her hair. A section falls forward. I sweep it away from her face and pull my cock from her mouth. “I want you on the bed. On your back. Hands above your head and legs spread for me. I’m going to bury myself in this pussy and you’re going to use this mouth to show Nico what you’ve learned.”
Which is a lot. It’s rare to find someone who can handle all of me. The first time Grace tried to deep throat my cock, she couldn’t control her gag reflex. I asked Nico if he could show her how it was done. He said yes. Then (and just now), my cock grew a quarter inch just thinking about it. I’d never done anything sexually with a man before I met Nico, but he and Grace were a package deal.
I met Grace in November at a New Age fair where my cousin Elena was vending her jewelry. It started out as a shitty weather day. The gray clouds threatened rain, but they drizzled instead, off and on all morning. By noon, though, the front had moved through. It was just warm enough to ride my bike, and I wasn’t about to pass on a chance that might not come again until spring.
I had promised to bring Elena some lunch. Most places ban outside food and drink, so I was sneaking it in under my leather jacket, working my way through the crowd, looking for Elena’s booth. There was Native American flute music playing in the background. I started down a second aisle and saw this gorgeous red head, listening to the music with her eyes closed. She was…captivating. Almost otherworldly. Pale freckled skin and ginger hair, the hint of curves under the soft flowing dress that she wore.
The sign on her booth read:
Gifts of Grace. Psychic Medium.
Spirit Communication. Psychometry. Angel messages.
Akashic Record Readings. Past/Present/Future.
I shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold.
What the fuck?
I stood there, wondering how I could be so attracted to her when I hadn’t even seen her fucking eyes. As if hearing my thoughts, she goddamn looked straight at me. Her eyes were brilliant green, the color of emeralds. Beautiful. Knowing. Interested. So it wasn’t just me, feeling it.
Elena could wait.
I don’t ask a lot from God, but I did then. Five minutes. Just five minutes to get her full name, address, cell phone – anything to keep us connected. I would have talked to her then, except someone beat me to the punch, sliding into the seat across from her, ruining the moment. She looked at me with disappointment that she quickly masked, turning her full attention to the young man at her table.
From the pile of small bills that he peeled off to pay her, he was going to be there a while.
I took Elena her lunch, checked back, and kept on checking – from a distance, so I didn’t disturb her – but she was never free. From the line that formed, I could see that she was good at what she did. More than one client left in tears, but nearly every person gave her a hug and thanked her.
And she glowed.
Fucking glowed.
Which intrigued me all the more. No way was I going to leave without meeting her, even if I had to stay until the end of the show to do it. Which is exactly what happened. I waited until her last client left and asked if she’d meet me for dinner.
We settled on Jerry’s, a nearby sports bar with good food and an earthy crowd, less yuppy, more biker, lots of leather and tats. You could have knocked me over when I saw that she wasn’t alone, but I sucked it up and went for it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know? He could have been a cousin or her gay friend or something.
It turned out that Nico White shared a house with Grace. They were friends. Okay. I was exploring my attraction to Grace, with the slide of a single finger into her tight, wet pussy, when Nico dropped the bomb that she was a virgin. No shit. When he talked about the two of us sharing her, I looked at Grace and saw th
at she was more than okay with the idea.
They didn’t have to ask me twice.
Back at their lakehouse, I had Grace take a bath while Nico and I talked. Learning that he was bisexual didn’t surprise me; with his looks, I imagined he got hit on all the time by men and women. He was comfortable with his sexuality. A mouth is a mouth. An ass is an ass. He liked rough sex.
Goddamn if he wasn’t checking my boxes.
I liked oral.
I liked anal.
And I loved rough sex.
Still do.
Except Grace is pregnant and I’m probably more careful than I need to be, holding back until she begs me to give it to her harder. I can cut loose on Nico, and he’ll love every second of it. So will Grace, since she loves to watch – her personal show, as good as any pay-per-view.
I position Grace just the way I want her, pearl-bound wrists stretched above her head, thighs wide. Kneeling between them, I bend over her, supporting myself on one outstretched arm while I run a Wartenberg wheel over her sensitive breasts. Gooseflesh erupts like crystals in one of her Pleiadian healing fields, dotting her flesh. I blow on her pebbled nipple, lick the tip, then suck it into my mouth, taking savage delight in the way that she moans and writhes beneath me, her breath quickening when I add fingers to the mix, fucking her pussy with my hand until she climaxes for a third time.
Nico sits by Grace’s head, watching, waiting for permission to join in. His eight-inch cock is carved copper, straight as an arrow, with ropy veins and hairless balls. Unable to resist, I lean forward and nuzzle them, breathing in his familiar scent just before I tongue them.
“Shit,” he croons, letting go of his dick to give me open access to his manhood.
“Fuck.” Grace draws out the single word into two syllables when I enter her in a single, fluid thrust.
“You heard her, Nico. Open wide, baby girl. Nico’s got something for you.” And fuck if it’s not hot as hell, watching those pink lips wrapped around his length, cheeks hollowing as she blows him.
I kneel up. Grasping Grace’s hips, I have her wrap her legs around me and dive back in. The change in angle lets me hit her G-spot and rips a fourth orgasm from her. This time, though, she puts a hand on her belly, rubbing it, holding it protectively.
I try not to panic.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” “Are you alright, baby girl?”
Nico and I ask at the same time. Grace smiles dreamily. “Yeah. Only a twinge, I think.”
Just in case, I gently move her over, far enough for Nico to lie down beside her while I take that fine ass of his. I slicken his crack with lube, coat my length, and hand Grace the bottle while I tease his pucker with my tip.
Nico pushes against me, begging me to fill that tight, hungry hole.
I press forward, until my glans has slipped past the first ring of muscle. Push deeper yet, invading Nico by increments until he’s taken all nine inches of me and I’m buried to the balls inside of him. Fisting his long, black hair, I pull his head so that his mouth turns up and kiss him as roughly as I’m going to fuck him.
I cut loose and ride him like a frat boy on spring break. Grace fingers herself, playing with her clit, plucking at her nipples, keeping herself on the edge without going over. I pick up the pace. The clinging warmth of his walls feels so fucking good, I don’t know how much longer I can hold back.
My climax starts at the base of my spine, making my balls draw up tight, causing a break in my rhythm. I pound into him, every forward motion tinged with desperation, my movements increasingly erratic, until…yes…! I bury myself inside his ass and unload, shooting my seed as deep as it can go.
“Now, baby girl,” I grate out when I see how close Grace is to her own orgasm. Two more strokes, and she rubs herself off, shuddering with the force of her release.
Chapter Eight
Before the night’s done, I’ve taken every orifice of Grace’s and Nico’s, and both my lovers are more than ready to sleep. Grace has me put in a wakeup call for five am – says she wants to allow enough time to bathe, and by “bathe,” she means hot water/out-of-body meditation and soaking until her skin prunes. Nico warned me early on that bathing was like a sacred ritual for her, and I can fucking believe it. I put in the call, turn off the bedside lamp, and roll back in bed, where Grace lies exhausted but supremely happy between Nico and me.
“We love you, chica,” I whisper, kissing her forehead. “Now get some sleep, both of you. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
“You have no idea,” she says, making me wonder just what the fuck else she picked up in Sir Piers’s office besides origami.
Nico’s eyes meet mine over her head but he says nothing.
“You’ll see,” she whispers, yawning around the words.
Yes, we will. I’m okay with not knowing the details, as long as Grace is comfortable with what she knows – or senses – is coming.
***
The wakeup call comes too fucking early, four AM Central Time. Nico stirs but goes back to sleep when Grace asks us for the privacy she needs for whatever the hell she’ll be doing. Cleansing, clearing, healing work, channeling, past life recall, karmic release work – shit, the list is long and the work seems fucking endless. No wonder she needs an hour or two. If I did that crap, I’d be neck-deep for days.
Room service delivers a gourmet breakfast. Once we’ve finished eating, and ablutions and teeth brushing are done, it’s time to get ready.
Our outfits are hanging in the closet.
The Domme wardrobe mistress showed us how to help Grace get into her mid-nineteenth century work dress and underpinnings. Stockings and garters first, then high-top laced shoes. Split crotch pantaloons, chemise, pregnancy corset, corset cover, a couple of petticoats (one plain, one corded). Finally, her skirt and blouse. Nico braids her hair and ties it with a ribbon. I put clear sunscreen on our wife, not trusting that her bonnet will stay in place once the raid begins.
I dress as a Cavalry captain, in a wool patrol uniform that’s an exact reproduction from the time period we’re portraying. I’ll be the only one of us wearing a firearm, but my cartridge box is as empty as the holstered pistol I’ve been issued along with my saber and sheath. Nico is the one who takes both our breaths away, as he layers in buckskins and the accoutrements that transform him into an Indian scout. Goddamn. I can see now, we’re going to have to have costume nights at home, maybe invest in a teepee or build a lodge big enough for the three of us to play in while the baby sleeps in his cradleboard.
Fuck, yeah.
Because this is a scene, Grace has safe words and hand signs to slow or stop the play. She’s also got a secret code that will let us know she’s good with whatever’s going on. You can bet I’m looking for it when they take Grace away, headed for a Conestoga wagon somewhere on a stretch of grass-lined valley, soon to be set upon by a band of Sioux warriors.
Nico and I are taken out in an off-road vehicle to where our horses are picketed. After meeting the others who’ll ride to the rescue, Sir Piers directs Nico and me to return to the truck, where a laptop hooked up to Wi-Fi shows a split screen with four cameras running. They’re all focused on the wagon as it comes into view. Next thing I know, the raiding party is riding like hell, war cries splitting the air as they swoop down on the disabled wagon, one wheel off, its horses hobbled.
“For the safety,” Sir Piers explains, “of those being taken.”
Those. As in plural.
I don’t bother hiding the surprise on my face. The Dom smiles like a cat in a creamery. “Your wife, it seems, likes to watch. The other couple will ensure she gets to live a full capture experience, albeit vicariously. The other woman – ah, there” – he points to the upper right screen – “has rape fantasies, and her husband has a cuckold fetish. He’ll be forced to watch his wife being taken by their captors. Of course, depending on what signals he sends, he may get taken himself, but one or both, your wife will see everything, hmm?”
Fuck. The timeframe ma
kes sense now. Up to two hours of multiple partner sex for the busty blonde, while her husband watches it all. Of the four cameras rolling, one is focused on the blonde, one on her husband, one behind Grace (shooting over the top of her now-bare head, showing us what she’s seeing), and one on Grace. At first I can only look at her face as she’s being held, copper arms banding her chest, while she struggles futilely against her captor. She stills when five fingers latch onto her breast and flex. Nico puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.
“She’s good,” he says. “Look.”
Against the folds of her skirt, her fingers form “I love you” in sign language. Not that it calms me down much. Two hours can’t come fast enough if that son of a bitch keeps it up.
I wish the camera would pan up, or out, just enough to show me who has her. Not that it matters. They’re supposed to abandon their captives when they see us coming and take off.
As if in answer to an unspoken prayer, the camera on Grace pans up and I see a face from my past, one that used to fuel my dreams of being a cage fight champion, only I could never manage to win against him. Eight years later and I’d still know that face anywhere. Fucking Savage Joe Greene, “meaner than mean.” And the son of a bitch has hold of our wife’s tits.
He smiles at the camera and buries his face in her hair as he fists it. “What the fuck?” I nail Piers with a look that should be lethal.
“Think of it as a bonus,” he says smoothly. “You’ll challenge him to get her back. You’ll need to release any tension that’s building. Fighting him will let you do it. Get the win. Get the girl. While the rest of the rescue party starts round two with the other couple, the both of you will take your woman to the cabin in the next valley over and claim your prize.”
Any fight with Savage Joe Greene will have to be fast. Clean and decisive. Nail him before he nails me. If I can’t…if Grace has to watch me fight, really fight….
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I keep myself in shape, but it pisses me off, not knowing what I’ll be facing. Pisses me more to see Savage Joe’s hands on our wife and know he’s teasing her just to taunt me. When I gave permission for her to be touched above the waist, through her clothing, I didn’t expect two fucking hours of fondling that it looks like we’re going to have to sit and fucking watch.
