Highly Strung (Food Of Love 1) - Page 34

Lydia breathed in sharply, seeing herself sitting on the edge of the bed, looking apprehensive.

Milan put an arm around her stomach, hugging her back against him.

“You look so scared, milácku,” he crooned, kissing her hair.

“I was,” she whispered.

On the film, Evgeny’s voice rang out from just outside shot.

“Are you wet yet?”

Lydia-on-film looked disgusted and clicked her tongue. “Is that how you seduce people, Evgeny? Porn dialogue?”

“Oh, oh, oh, excuse me!” Evgeny swooped into shot, pulling Lydia to her feet and dancing lightfootedly around the floor with her. “Is that what you want? Seduction?”

She laughed as he whirled her around, a high, giddy sound.

“Evgeny!”

Out of breath and pink-faced, they span to a halt, then Evgeny bent to take a kiss and the camera caught their mouths crashing together and their tongues battling forward, while Evgeny’s hands explored the length and breadth of Lydia’s body.

In the hotel room, Lydia began to feel her body drift out of her control, her nipples stiffening and her pussy melting in anticipation of those hands on her again, plus two more.

Milan, attuned to her racing pulse and flushing cheek, unbuttoned her shirt and slid his hand inside, his lips dabbing at her neck and shoulders.

“Put your hand on her leg,” he told Evgeny, who obeyed, clapping his palm on her stocking-clad knee and rubbing it, tickling the sensitive skin underneath.

On the film, the kissing couple had tumbled backwards on to the bed and were rolling around, limbs entwined, hair everywhere.

Evgeny had managed to straddle her, ruthlessly divesting her of her striped, long-sleeved T-shirt, then her jeans. In socks and underwear, she wriggled beneath him in a pretence of reluctance, but he leant forward and pinned her by her upper arms, diving back into a kiss that ended much farther down her body than it started.

Her bra was next to go, leaving her breasts vulnerable to the voracious hands and teeth of the Belarusian, who took full advantage of them. While Evgeny-on-film nipped and lapped, Evgeny-in-reality inched Lydia’s skirt upwards. The nylon of the stockings felt humid and clingy now, and her knickers were soaked. Milan was unabashedly fondling her breasts inside their bra cups, whispering in her ear about what a filthy, fuckable little slut she was and how she was going

to get the seeing-to of her life that night. Lydia moaned as Evgeny reached her stocking top and his fingers hit bare thigh.

On the film, Lydia was naked. Evgeny had unbuckled his belt with a matador flourish and flung it across the room. He growled and pushed Lydia’s legs wide apart, then began to eat her out with the single-minded determination of a wild animal while she uttered broken sounds and hid her face from the camera with a forearm.

“How did that feel?” Milan’s voice was silk in her ears, taking her mind off the pinching in her nipples. “Evgeny’s tongue on your clit?”

“He was rough and greedy.” She sighed. Evgeny’s fingers were inside her knickers now, dabbling in the juices they found there. “Like a ravenous wolf.”

Both men chuckled at the image.

“Looks like he’s getting a feast,” said Milan. He eased Lydia’s shirt off and unhooked her bra, then reached down for the zipper of her skirt. Evgeny took over, shifting it down over her thighs while Milan bit and sucked at the base of Lydia’s neck, ravaging the soft skin there.

Once Lydia was down to hold-up stockings and knickers, Evgeny returned his hand to the wetness beneath the silky material, but this time his fingers were joined by another set.

Lydia lifted her bottom from the bed and moaned as the two men fingered her ruthlessly, covering every part of her slick, sensitive sex while she ground against them. The film blurred and distorted, though she vaguely knew that, in it, Evgeny was fucking her now, his taut muscled arse rising and falling with gathering speed while the camera watched indifferently.

In reality, the champagne glasses lay abandoned on the floor while Lydia lay back and spread herself, at the mercy of her two lovers, one of whom—she didn’t know which—wrenched down her knickers and pulled her thighs wider. She arched her knees and stared at the whirling ceiling, wishing it was mirrored like Milan’s so she could gaze up at the decadent tableau they must make.

Fingers were everywhere, between her lips, flicking at her clit, pushing up inside her cunt, stroking her skin and pulling her bum cheeks apart. One of them had a hand on her breasts, kneading and pinching them while the hard work went on below.

“We’re going to make you come and come, and come again tonight,” said Milan, and his words came out in savage puffs of warmth on her clit, his hair brushing her thighs. “You’re going to lose count.”

She heard herself cry out in orgasmic rapture on the laptop, and her real voice joined the recorded version while she bucked and kicked against the force of her climax, spending on two sets of hands, feeling two sets of male breath laugh against her pussy.

“You’re definitely ready,” said Milan. “We’ve trained you well. Okay.” He switched off the video recording. “Now to the real business. Come down, milácku, come down, that’s right.” He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead until her breathing regulated.

Tags: Justine Elyot Food Of Love Erotic
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