Seven Scarlet Tales (15 page)

‘Good point. But for the future, since there are two of us—’

‘Yes, for the future. Ride it, Lucy. Get that bum out, get down low.’

The stool was beginning to jolt around on its legs. Vaguely, Lucy hoped she wasn’t going to break it.

The pressure was building and it told in her expression: she knew because Rob’s smile was getting broader and wickeder by the second, his eyes shining bright.

She had to let go of her breasts and grip the front of the stool so as not to tip over.

‘Sorry, sir,’ she grunted as they began to swing in rhythm with her lunges. Her clit, fat and juicy as Rob had said it was, mashed into the velvet, the sensation of it getting stronger and stronger until she felt it taking over the whole of her lower body.

She bumped up and down, wailing out her orgasm. Rob’s hand shot out and held her by the chin, stopping her from withdrawing eye contact at the crucial moment. She always tried, always failed. She had to come with his keen eye upon her, his crooked smile of triumph twisted across his face.

It always made her want to cry, once the shudders of pleasure had died away.

Rob knew this, and he always knelt down and kissed her, wrapped his arms around her, reassuring her that he didn’t think she was a freak, or if he did, she was no more so than he was. His eyes upon her gave her the strongest sense of being owned that she ever felt – much more than a whipping or a fucking in bondage or anything. That sense of utter emotional nakedness was what being owned was, to Lucy.

‘OK,’ he said softly, pulling her up from the stool. ‘I think I want one of those.’

He unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans and pants to his knees, looking rigidly away from Richard, then he
sat down on the stool, his erection pointing up at Lucy in accusation.
You did this.

‘Climb on board,’ he said, pulling her on to his lap.

She straddled his thighs and lowered herself down, holding his shoulders for steadiness. She lined her pussy up with the rounded head of his cock.

She thought of Richard, standing behind her with his camera. He would be able to see Rob’s cock disappear all the way inside her with its almost insulting ease.

‘Mmm, take it in,’ murmured Rob. ‘Spread your legs good and wide so Richard can see.’

Flash, flash.

Lucy pictured it; her pale bum bent towards the lens, thighs parted, thick stalk planted halfway up her.

‘She’s tight, isn’t she?’ said Richard.

‘Mm, always so fucking tight,’ agreed Rob. ‘That’s it. Suck me in. You want all of this, don’t you? You love a big, thick cock stretching you.’

‘Filthy,’ breathed Richard, snapping away again.

Rob’s hands grabbed Lucy’s bum cheeks and spread them apart. This made his cock glide in even more easily, and caused her little pucker to twitch.

‘Show the man your arsehole, Lucy. We’ve all seen it. We’ve all fucked it. Haven’t we?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’ve heard how much Richard likes to use it. Well, I bet he’ll get his go soon. Don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ wailed Lucy, finding the widespread condition of her arse wildly arousing. Now she was dirty, and shameful, and utterly submissive. She had no purpose in life other than to be used and owned by these men. She was the dirt beneath their boots. Whatever they demanded of her, she must obey.

‘I can’t wait,’ said Richard dryly.

Flash, flash.

‘In the meantime …’ said Rob. He dipped a finger in Lucy’s juices, rubbing her clit for a cruelly brief moment, then he returned it behind her, into the furrow still exposed by one hand on her left bottom cheek, and pushed against the hole.

She made a tiny, barely there squeak of protest.

‘What? Not in front of Richard? Don’t you want him to see how much you like having your arse fingered while I’m fucking your pussy? I’m sure he knows already.’

‘I do,’ said Richard, helpfully.

Flash, flash as the finger slid in and the bouncing increased in vigour.

‘You like it with a butt plug in, don’t you, Luce?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You like to have both holes filled, don’t you?’

‘Mmm.’

‘What if you could have a different cock in each?’

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.’

Lucy groaned and tried to burrow into Rob, but he withdrew his arm and moved away from her down the sofa, shooting her a look of stern disapproval.

The formal handover was in progress.

‘Stand up, Lucy.’

Richard had straightened his back and clasped his hands in his lap. He was the epitome of businesslike. Lucy knew there was no use appealing to Rob and it would be unfair to try him anyway. She wasn’t here to play the two off against each other. She was here to try and create a third way.

She got to her feet and stood in front of Richard, her eyes downcast, head hanging a little.

‘Remind me of the little problem we need to address, Lucy.’

‘I spoke without being asked, sir.’

‘That’s right, you did. More than once. I wonder how I can drive this lesson home. What do you think, Lucy?’

‘Me, sir?’

‘Yes, you. What sort of punishment works for you?’

She hung her head still lower. She hated when he made her admit this.

‘Lucy,’ he prompted gently. ‘You know what helps you with your behaviour, don’t you? What’s most effective?’

‘Spanking, sir,’ she whispered.

‘Speak up. I don’t think our friend caught that.’

‘A spanking, sir,’ she said, fighting to keep rebellion from her tone.

‘Yes. We’ve found, haven’t we, through a hard process of trial and error, that the one thing guaranteed to improve your behaviour is a sound spanking. Lessons don’t seem to go in through your ears, so we’ve resorted to delivering them through your bottom. That’s the kind of girl you are, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘A sore bottom works wonders, doesn’t it?’

She gritted her teeth. He loved to prolong the embarrassment. He could keep this up all night if he really wanted to.
She had to maintain her meek tone, but it wasn’t easy, especially with Rob, lounging on the corner of the sofa, grinning from ear to ear.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Have you noticed that, Rob?’ asked Richard politely.

‘Yes, I have. She needs plenty of them, too.’

‘Quite right. The more spankings she gets, the better she behaves.’

He waved a hand at the implements, which had been awaiting their moment with such patience.

‘How shall we choose, Lucy?’

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘Which of those is the worst?’

‘It depends. Depends on how hard they are used, how many strokes. Lots of things.’

‘Well, now, it’s Friday night. We’re here until Sunday evening. Perhaps we shouldn’t go in too hard too soon. What do you think, Rob?’

He inclined his head. ‘Don’t want her stretchered off the pitch before full-time,’ he said, which made Lucy laugh a lot because Rob hated football, so it was the most unexpected metaphor for him to use.

‘Something’s amusing you?’ said Richard severely. ‘Or is it relief that you aren’t going to get your full just desserts quite yet?’

‘No, sir, nothing, sir.’

‘Really? Because I’d be very relieved if I were you. I’d be thanking my lucky stars, and my lucky masters.’

‘Thank you, sir. And sir.’

‘I think, in that case, I’m going to use the belt this time. Fetch.’

He snapped his fingers.

Lucy knew this was the signal for her to drop to her knees and crawl. She made her way over to where the strap lay and spent some fruitless moments trying to get it between her teeth without using her fingers.

‘No hands,’ reminded Richard when she was tempted to just nudge the thing into an easier position.

She huffed and tried again, succeeding at last in getting the thick leather between her teeth, biting down on the shine. God, it smelled good.

She scurried back to Richard, sat back on her heels and offered her gift to him. He took it from her mouth and thanked her.

‘Now, you need to pick that stool back up and bend over it, with your palms flat on the seat.’

The stool was having a rough evening, it seemed. First masturbated over, then shagged on, and now it would be the venue of an incident of corporal punishment. Lucy wondered if it had often been so ill-used.

She put her hands down on the threadbare fabric. Luckily it didn’t seem to have any traces of its earlier employment on it but, when she bent lower, she could smell sex, a potent mix of her and Rob. Well, perhaps that would help her through the ordeal to come: a little reminder of pleasures past and, hopefully, future.

‘Legs absolutely straight, slightly apart. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.’

She arranged herself into Richard’s preferred posture, wanting to snap back that she couldn’t be expected to remember every detail of both her lovers’ tastes. Rob nearly always had her over his knee; it was Richard who liked the more formal presentations.

She heard the sofa creak and watched him get out of it
through upside-down eyes. She could only see his legs now, pacing behind her, and the long dangle of the strap from his hand. He’d need to put some distance between them to get a decent swing. She shuddered, her thighs suddenly trembly.

From the corner of her eye she saw Rob sit forward, perching on the edge of the sofa.

‘How many strokes?’ asked Richard.

Was he asking her?

No, it transpired he had addressed the question to Rob.

‘How many would I give? Well, that would depend on a lot of things. I think you’re the best judge, to be honest. I sometimes use my belt on her, but it’s hard and fast when I do and I don’t count. I just stop when I think she’s had enough.’

‘I see. Has she ever safeworded with you?’

‘No. With you?’

‘Yes, a couple of times.’

‘You’ve taken her a bit further than me, then. You’ll know her limits.’

Richard seemed gratified by this, as if it made him the senior dom. He who spanked hardest won at life, apparently. Lucy wasn’t sure she agreed with this philosophy, but it had its merits.

She pushed her bottom out, the way he always insisted she did and waited, eyes shut, lungs prepared for some serious breath control.

‘Don’t you do a warm up first?’ asked Rob.

Lucy exhaled heavily. If they were going to chat about it all night, they could at least let her out of this demanding position. Her muscles were tense and beginning to wobble already.

‘Sometimes,’ said Richard. ‘With a heavier implement I usually would. The cane? Maybe, maybe not. Sometimes you
want her to feel the full impact, no holds barred. Sometimes you just want a bit of sensation play. But this strap is probably OK to use without one. It’s not the worst weapon in the armoury by a long chalk.’