Domination Inc. (30 page)

‘Who do you think?' Warren replied. ‘I told her she was going to have to frig herself in front of the two of us, and she responds like the slut she is. How wet do you reckon her cunt is?'

‘Oh, I think our fingers would come away soaked,' Joe replied.

Laurel squirmed in her seat. For so long she had fantasised about her two friends treating her in this fashion, and at last it seemed as though her wish was about to be granted.

‘Show us your pussy, Laurel,' Warren ordered.

As if in a dream, she unfastened the belt of the dressing gown, and let the garment fall open completely. Her knees were tight together, and she slowly parted them until both men had a perfect view of her sex, with its cap of red-gold curls. Her hand found its target unerringly, snaking between her thighs to settle on the moist cleft between them. Joe was right; she was soaking wet, her excitement fuelled by the thought of what she was about to do. The fingers of her right hand continued to toy with her hardened teats as her left rubbed at her clit in the familiar pattern which was guaranteed to bring her to a swift climax.

Her breathing grew more ragged, and she threw her head back as she felt the tension growing within her. Her pelvis arched forward and her legs splayed more widely, offering her sex to the two men who sat before her, spellbound by her performance. Her middle finger skimmed across the opening of her vagina, slipping inside to fetch out more of the moisture that pooled there, to anoint her pleasure bud. She was so close to coming that she squealed in outright frustration when she felt Warren catch hold of her wrists, pulling her to her feet.

‘That's quite enough of that,' he said. ‘I told you to play with yourself, I didn't tell you to come.'

‘But I need to,' Laurel whimpered. ‘Please, Warren...'

‘Not yet, darling,' he told her. ‘Joe, give me a hand, would you?'

Joe took the dressing gown cord and swiftly bound Laurel's crossed wrists in front of her. She groaned, needing something to quench the fire which still burned low down in her belly, and sensing that her two friends were about to provide it.

Her suspicion was confirmed when Warren forced her down onto the floor so that she was resting on her elbows and knees, her full breasts hanging down. His hand in the small of her back pushed her lower, so that her hyper-sensitive nipples brushed against the pile of the carpet and her rump was raised prominently in the air. She heard a noise behind her, and turned her head to see Joe pulling his belt free of the loops in his dark trousers.

‘No,' she wailed, remembering how Clive Lawson had used the leather strap on her buttocks earlier in the day. And yet, even as she recalled the pain, her arousal sparked again. This was different; this was Joe, the man she loved, and the one she could now dare to believe loved her, who was about to punish her. And he would do it aided and abetted by Warren, who knew better than anyone how to reach the submissive heart of her sexuality. Almost unaware of what she was doing, she lifted her backside higher, offering it to Joe.

‘Ask for it, Laurel,' Joe said. ‘Ask me to beat you.'

In a voice which did not sound like her own, she replied, ‘Please, I want you to punish me. You and Warren. Punish me, and then fuck me.'

‘And if we want to fuck your mouth, or your arse?' Warren asked.

Laurel's initial reply was a feral groan, at the thought of Warren sliding his cock into the untried depths of her anus. Finally, she recovered enough to say, ‘If you want them, they're yours. Do whatever you want to me.'

‘Very well, I'm going to give you six strokes, and then Warren will give you another six,' Joe told Laurel. ‘After each one you have to thank us, or we go back to the beginning and start again. Is that understood?'

Laurel nodded, mentally readying herself for what Joe was about to do. The next thing she heard was the leather belt whistling through the air, before it landed on her backside in an explosion of pain. Conscious of Cindy sleeping in the next room, she bit back her cry of anguish, and muttered, ‘One, thank you, Master.'

She knew Joe had not asked for that last refinement, but it was the natural thing to say, and she meant it. Joe's only reply was another crack of the belt on her backside, lower than the first. Fires of pain that had fallen dormant from her earlier chastisement now reawakened, and she wondered how she was going to get through this ordeal without miscounting, or earning an extension to the number of strokes in some other fashion.

Stroke after stroke fell, each one pushing her forward slightly so that her nipples scraped against the carpet. Joe was placing them so that a new area of flesh was covered every time, patterning her backside with thick, throbbing stripes. The fifth caught the fleshy crease between her bottom and her thighs, causing her to sob openly, and when the sixth caught the meat of her upper thighs she knew she would be begging for mercy before Warren had finished his half-dozen.

He gave her a brief respite before taking over, and when he unfastened her wrists she almost believed she would be allowed to forego the rest of the punishment. Instead, he ordered her to go and stand holding on to the mantelpiece, in front of the fireplace which was only for show.

His ingenuity was greater than Joe's, for in this position her whole body was available to him. Like Joe, he concentrated on her backside at first, piling pain upon pain as the belt fell on skin which had already been belted. Still she had not lost count, and still she continued to offer her grateful thanks after every stroke.

When only two remained she thought she had escaped the worst, but Warren had a particular refinement in mind. The belt curled around her upper body; not hard, but landing on her right breast with sufficient sting to make her loosen her grip on the mantelpiece and stuff the fleshy part of her thumb into her mouth to stifle her howl of anguish.

Eventually she recovered her composure enough to say, ‘Eleven, thank you, Master.'

‘You did say we could do whatever we wanted, sweetheart,' Warren reminded her.

She nodded her head, miserably, and waited for the last stroke, knowing where it was bound to fall. This time it was her left breast which suffered, the end of the belt flicking against her jutting nipple. It was a pain like nothing she had known, and as she thanked Warren she could not prevent herself breaking down in tears.

Immediately he took her in his arms. ‘There, there, sweetheart,' he soothed, his fingers brushing the tears from her cheeks. ‘It's over now. You took it all, and we're proud of you.'

She raised her head, and did her best to smile at him. The mixture of pride and desire in his eyes caused something within her to melt, and suddenly they were kissing, her pent-up passion finally breaking free from the barriers she had raised against it.

She was aware of rustling behind her and the sound of a zip coming down, and then Joe was behind her, his hands cupping her breasts and his strong erection pressing into the cleft between her sore buttocks.

Delirious with lust, Laurel helped Warren to scramble free of his clothes, and soon the three of them were a mass of limbs and hot wet mouths. Hands fondled flesh, and no one could tell where one body ended and another began. Joe's lips caressed Laurel's nipples, while Warren's hand delved between her legs, the pad of his thumb circling her clit. She wanted to feel both of them inside her; Warren's cock buried in her soft fleshy sheath while Joe breached one of her long-held taboos and penetrated her rectum, the two men separated from each other as they moved by only the thinnest of membranes.

‘So, Laurel, is this where we stop being just friends and become lovers?' Joe asked, his voice soft in her ear.

‘Yes. Oh, I should have let this happen a long time ago,' Laurel replied, the words becoming increasingly difficult to form as Warren led her insistently towards her long-denied climax.

‘Some things will have to change, you know,' Joe said. ‘I want us to move in together, for a start.'

‘What, all three of us?' Warren asked. ‘Isn't it going to get a bit crowded?'

‘No, you idiot. I meant me and Laurel,' Joe retorted. ‘If we're going to do this, I want us to do it properly.'

‘I have no problem with that,' Laurel told him, feeling his finger begin to push against the rim of her puckered anal hole at the same time as Warren's fingers slipped into the wet clasp of her vagina.

‘And there'll have to be some alterations at work,' Joe continued. ‘I'm not going to let you wear knickers in the office any more, Laurel, and both Warren and I will have the right to check at any time to see if you're complying with that order. If not—' He pulled her hard onto his groin, her recently-abused buttocks grinding painfully against his crisp pubic hair to illustrate what would be in store if she disobeyed.

Joe's thumbs were stretching her cheeks apart, enabling the head of his cock to nudge at the entrance to her anus. Warren was moving, too, positioning his glans so it was almost slipping into her eagerly waiting sex. Both men were waiting for her answer.

‘I'll do it,' she replied, ‘on the condition that you never, ever recruit another member of staff without my say-so.'

‘You've got yourself a deal,' Joe replied.

As she felt the two men penetrate her simultaneously, Laurel gave a cry of sheer joy. The agency was saved from Roger's scheming, for the time being at least, and she and Joe were about to place their relationship on the footing where it should, in truth, have been a long time ago. Before her orgasm finally claimed her she had enough time to register Warren's hopeful question.

‘So, would now be a good time to ask about a pay rise?'