That last question was from Richard.
‘Oh God,’ was Lucy’s fervent reply.
As she worked Rob’s thick tool inside her, she imagined, for the hundredth time, the scene Richard had suggested. It had been on her mind ever since she met them – servicing them both, a good little whore with two masters.
She ground down, pushing her bum right out, wanting it in Richard’s face, or rubbing the lens of his camera. Rob’s finger felt much bigger than it really was in her tight back passage. He jabbed it back and forth in rhythm with his cock.
‘How does she look?’ asked Rob, panting heavily now.
‘Like a dirty slut,’ said Richard. ‘Loving it.’
She had succeeded in getting the position she needed to bring on that first sweet tickle on the path to orgasm. She recognised it so well now, and she had the timing of it down to a fine art. She would need to ask permission in five … four … oh, it felt good …
‘Please, sir, may I come?’
Rob rammed his finger hard up her arse.
‘What do you think, Richard?’
Oh, please don’t delay permission! Please!
‘Does she deserve it?’ pondered Richard.
Yes, I bloody do!
She held herself still, unbearably poised on that fatal brink.
‘She’s worked hard,’ Rob admitted. ‘Her pussy’ll be sore if she works much harder. And we don’t want that, do we? We’ve got lots and lots more plans for her pussy.’
‘That’s true,’ said Richard. ‘We don’t want to wear it out too soon.’
Through the red cloud of sexual frustration warping all her thoughts, it occurred to Lucy that Rob and Richard worked well together. They seemed to pick up on each other’s cues without effort, harmonising their domination of her. Was this a good thing or did it bode very ill indeed for her? She couldn’t quite decide.
‘All right, toots,’ said Rob at last. ‘You can come.’
No sooner did he speak the words than the first flood overwhelmed her, falling away in spasmodic echoes until her climax had been fully wrung out of her.
Looking at Richard’s photographs afterwards was an interesting experience. She hadn’t realised how she writhed, her back twisting like a snake at the moment of orgasm. She looked as if she might wrench her spine.
But for now, object achieved, she had to oblige Rob. He didn’t need much work, his pelvis jerking upwards, slamming into her until she felt she might break.
He went at it a little too hard and the stool tilted backwards.
Lucy, with Rob attached, fell back into Richard’s waiting arms.
Rob came in a mess of limbs and confusion on the hearthrug, on top of Lucy.
‘Are you OK?’ asked Richard, half-laughing, as they tried to disengage.
‘We’ll live,’ gasped Rob, pulling out and reaching for the tissues.
Lucy lay in heavy-lidded languor in Richard’s lap, letting Rob dab at the mess he had made of her.
‘Pour us some more wine, Lucy. We all need a little break before Rob hands you over.’
The perfect decadence of sipping at spicy red wine, splendidly naked, between her two lovers, pleased Lucy. She yawned and leant against Rob while he discussed the economic recovery with Richard. Sometimes she summoned her escaping wits to make a contributory point but, more often, it was nicer to half-drowse in the shelter of Rob’s arms.
‘Anyway,’ said Richard, stretching his arm over to the table to put down his glass, in a manner that struck Lucy as a statement of intent. ‘We’ve banished the national debt and made our five-year forecasts. Now I think there’s the matter of an outstanding punishment.’