The Playboy's Proposition (21 page)

When the man spoke, I thought he sounded familiar. A voice I
had heard recently. I couldn’t place it.

The two men paid me no mind, as if I were another piece of
furniture in the room. Michael showed off his big television, and then the pool
table. Finally, they made their way around to me, stopping directly in front of
me.

Michael said, “And here is, by far, the most attractive
piece in the room. You remember Nonnie, don’t you?”

So I had met him before. The other man made a murmuring
sound of assent.

Michael said, “You may greet our guest, Sweet. Say hello.”

I tried to remember exactly what I had been told to do. I
said, “Hello, Sir, and welcome to my master’s home.”

As smoothly as I could, I stretched out my arms and leaned
forward, prostrating myself on the carpet before the man. I felt a little silly
doing this formal stuff, but quickly tamped down on that emotion.

Silence. I waited. Then I felt him touch my shoulder, giving
me the sign Michael had told me to expect. I rose back up into my kneeling
position.

The man said, “Look at me, girl.”

I did. He was tall. Very tall. Dirty blonde hair, long,
cinched back in a ponytail. A narrow and angular face, a hungry look in his
eyes.

It was Kamun.

I shuddered. My stomach dropped. Kamun, the composer of evil
music, the sneaky stroker of bare legs.

Hell.

His gaze roamed down over my breasts and between my legs,
“You weren’t wearing much more than this the last time I saw you.”

Michael chuckled. I dropped my eyes back to the floor,
unable to bear Kamun’s stare any longer.

Then Michael led Kamun away, toward the sofa, telling me to
fetch them a couple of beers from the bar.

I tried to keep my hands steady while I pulled the
long-necked bottles of beer from the ice cooler. The bottle opener slipped a
few times when I tried to pry off the lids. I searched for calm inside myself.

The two men sat down on opposite ends of the sofa. I went to
the far end first, kneeling in front of Kamun and holding out the bottle of
beer to him. He ignored me for a minute or so, speaking to Michael, making me wait.
I patiently waited until he finally took the beer.

I went to the other end of the sofa and offered Michael the
other beer. He took it right away, said thank you, then sent me back to the bar
to get their snacks.

While I was heating up the cheese dip in the small microwave
oven, Michael turned on the TV and he and Kamun discussed the upcoming game.
Too soon, I had the snack tray ready for them, just some tortilla chips with
cheese dip, salsa and guacamole, arranged in a circular dish about the circumference
of a large pizza.

I took it to the sofa and tried to be unobtrusive when I sat
the big dish on the cushions between the two men. Then it was back to the bar
for some napkins, which I laid on the side tables next to each of the men.

All the while, I ignored the fact that I was very, very
naked. In front of Kamun. Who I really, really didn’t like.

I thought my tasks finished and was planning on going to my
assigned waiting post when Michael called me over to him.

He picked up the round tray of snacks and said, “Lie down,
on your back, between us. Arms at your sides. Put your head against my leg.”

My legs trembled, but I obeyed, bending my knees so I wasn’t
touching Kamun, afraid of what parts of me I was showing him in the process of
taking my position.

Michael would have none of it, and told me to put my feet in
Kamun’s lap.

No choice then. When would I quit thinking I had a choice?

I did as I was told, and no sooner had my feet touched his
blue jeans, than Kamun wrapped a hand around one of my ankles. His fingers were
cold, very cold. I shivered.

Michael put the tray down on my stomach and told me to hold
it steady, not to let it fall, or else, he said, “there would be
repercussions.”

There was no way I would let that tray drop, and I held on
to the rim with a death grip.

Kamun stroked the underside of my calf and said, “Your girl
has good legs. Tiny ankles. Nice feet.”

Michael said, “Thought you’d like that.”

Kamun began to squeeze one of my feet. “I do like it.”

As for me, I didn’t like it one bit. I took steadying
breaths. Be calm. Imagine it’s Michael touching you.

And then Michael did touch me. He ran a thumb over one of my
nipples. I shuddered.

Kamun said, “And you always were a tit man.”

Michael replied, “I like everything, but I admit that I
think Nonnie has a particularly fine pair of tits.”

He twisted both of my nipples until they tightened hard,
then he was apparently distracted by the ball game starting and both he and
Kamun turned their attentions to the game.

I shut my eyes, letting the sounds coming from the
television wash over me, tried to turn Kamun’s touch into Michael’s.

As time passed, I relaxed more and more, began to enjoy the
sensations. Michael’s touches were unpredictable in number and duration.
Sometimes he would rub my breasts until I was nearly panting, then other times
simply brush the back of his hand over a nipple and be gone again.

Kamun was more steady, idly fondling my feet and toes,
fingers trailing up my leg to my thigh then back down again.

Kamun largely ignored the snacks sitting on my stomach while
Michael delighted in scooping too much cheese dip onto his chip and letting the
warm cheese dribble onto my naked chest before he popped the chip into his
mouth. He’d wipe me clean with his fingers, then stick them in my mouth,
telling me to lick him clean.

I don’t know when the shift occurred, when the scene changed
from embarrassment and forbearance into sensuality. Their hands on me, so many
hands, rubbing me, teasing me. I wasn’t thinking about not liking Kamun, not
anymore. I only thought about the pleasing rough texture of his fingertips when
he stroked the tender flesh behind my knee, the titillation of how near he
sometimes came to my pussy, but how he never actually touched me there.

And Michael. Mmm. He ran salty fingers over my lips and
squeezed my hard nipples until I moaned.

It was a sensory feast. Kamun firmly ran a thumbnail all the
way up my instep, and I flinched, nearly upsetting the snack tray. Michael
chuckled. Then he reached for some salsa, and scooping some into a chip, held
it over my mouth and let the hot sauce drip onto my lips.

He warned, “No licking. Leave it there.”

Then he added more sauce to the chip and dripped more of the
spicy stuff onto my sensitive lips. He ate the chip then returned to tormenting
my nipples.

I felt the heat building on my lips, the peppers in the
sauce doing their work. I whimpered. Michael only smiled and squeezed my
breast. I whimpered louder as the heat grew more intense. Michael ignored me.

Finally, I begged, “Please, Master.”

He relented and told me I could lick off the sauce. I did,
quickly, but that didn’t make the heat stop, of course, just kept the flame
burning on my lips from getting any bigger.

Michael ran a thumb over my super-sensitized lips, his eyes
half-lidded and sexy.

I writhed gently under the two men’s caresses, finding it
increasingly difficult to keep the tray balanced on my stomach. It was
maddening, this intense arousal that I couldn’t do anything about.

My lips were still tingling when Michael picked up the
remote control and said to Kamun, “I could use a break from the game. How about
you?”

Kamun grunted. I had long since been able to feel Kamun’s
erection under the back of my calves. There was no question about what they
were planning to do with this break.

And I was totally okay with that. Wanted it. Needed it.
Their touches had completely converted me to their way of thinking. A thrill of
anticipation rippled through me.

Michael pushed some buttons on the remote, pausing the game
and switching the audio to music ... what I immediately recognized as Kamun’s
music, all dark, and heavy bass notes. It reminded me of the hood. I shuddered.

Michael took the tray off my stomach and told me to put it
back on the bar. I did as he asked, then returned to stand in front of the two
men. Ready for him. Ready, really, for them both.

I thought that I really might be a slut. An hour before, I
didn’t even like one of these men.

I mentally shrugged. Whatever.

Michael rose and stepped behind me. He put his arms around
me, one hand wrapping around my neck, the other pressing into my lower belly.

He said in my ear, “I’d like you to dance for my guest. Will
you do that?”

Oh God. I said, “I’ll try, Master.”

He said, “Good. I’ll help you.”

He pressed his hips against my backside, and using the hand
on my stomach to hold me in place, began moving my hips in time with the music,
a slow, sensuous roll.

His other hand moved up to my jaw and turned my head to the
side, pushed back, so he could kiss me. He claimed my still-stinging lips and
slowly slid his tongue into my mouth.

I flattened my palms against his lean, driving hips.

We moved with the music. His hand dropped down from my jaw,
over my neck again, then onto my breasts where he kneaded and squeezed me with
his strong fingers. His other hand dropped lower, too, moving from my stomach,
to my mound, then sinking a finger between my labia, finding the wetness within
me.

I groaned into my master’s mouth and opened wider for him,
his tongue invading me with more force, mirroring the increasing pressure of
his hand on my breasts, and his fingers sliding between my legs.

I felt every inch of him, felt it inside me, down low,
between my legs. I wanted him there. I wanted release already. Thought I’d been
made to wait long enough.

I couldn’t see him, but I never forgot that Kamun was
watching. In truth, though earlier I hadn’t thought it could be possible, his
presence on the couch, knowing he was watching, increased my arousal a
hundredfold.

I was turned on, and knew Michael was, too, his breath
ragged, his dick pressed hard against my ass and lower back, his heart thumping
behind me. He hadn’t forgotten Kamun, either.

Michael began walking us forward, toward Kamun. By this
time, I was panting, and ready to do whatever he wanted, so when Michael turned
me around and told me to sit on Kamun’s lap, I didn’t hesitate to obey.

Michael said, “Give him a lap dance he won’t forget, Sweet.”

I had no idea how to do a lap dance, beyond what I had seen
on television, but I was willing to give it a try. I straddled Kamun’s lap,
facing Michael, my back to Kamun. Kamun grabbed my hips and immediately began
to grind my ass around on his crotch.

Michael reached out and spread my knees farther apart, then
ordered me to arch my back and to clasp my hands behind my head. I obeyed.

Looked like I wasn’t going to have to know much about lap
dances after all. These two men were taking care of that problem for me.

Kamun jeans were scratchy against my bare ass. He pushed his
hips up while he shoved me down and around. He leaned forward and lightly bit
me on my shoulder. At the same time, Michael reached out and swatted one of my
breasts.

I gasped, closed my eyes and gave myself over to them. Kamun
bit and Michael slapped. Not too hard, but not gentle either. Enough to make me
wince, but not enough to scare me, little spikes of intensity that shot
straight to my clitoris.

It didn’t last for long. Michael stuck his hand between my
legs and shoved two fingers inside me. I gasped. I was so wet. So ready.
Michael growled and grabbed me by the arm, yanking me off Kamun’s lap.

Michael rapidly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pulling
his cock out, then sat down on the couch beside Kamun.

Michael looked at my crotch and said, “Straddle me. Sit on
my cock. Take it all.”

I scrambled to obey, climbing forward onto his lap, raising
up so he could guide his dick inside me. As soon as the head of his cock
entered me, Michael’s hands clamped onto my hips and drove me down onto him. I
cried out.

It was good. So good. I grabbed his shoulders and rode him
as he commanded, hard and deliberate. I looked at him, thrilling at the way he
watched his dick sliding in and out of me. I looked over at Kamun. He was
watching my pussy, too, watching Michael’s cock fill me.

Kamun pulled out his own dick. It was rock hard, not as
thick as Michael’s, nor as long, but I itched for it anyway. It curved to one
side. He stroked himself while he watched Michael fuck me.

And Michael fucked me. Hard. Deliberate. Up. Slam down. Up.
Slam down. I sighed on every up, grunted on every down.

Michael looked over at Kamun and smiled, seeing the way
Kamun was stroking himself fast and hard. Michael grabbed my arm by the wrist,
looked into my eyes as he guided my hand over to Kamun’s cock.

Michael said in a low, commanding tone, “Pleasure him.”

I held his gaze and closed my fingers around Kamun’s dick.
“Yes, Master.”

Michael slammed me down even harder than before. Kamun’s
large hand closed around my own small hand, and began guiding the pressure and
speed of my stroke.

Michael watched me stroke Kamun, his eyes half closed, his
breathing harder than ever.

He caught my eye and said, “Rub yourself until you come.”

I could most definitely obey that order. I released my hold
on his shoulder and reached between my legs. I would have thought that
maintaining balance while being fucked, giving a hand job, rubbing my own clit,
all at the same time, would have been more difficult to accomplish than it
actually was. But it was surprisingly easy, and this was mainly because both of
the men were doing most of the work for me.

Michael held me steady, his hands tight around my waist now,
keeping me balanced while he guided me up and down his shaft. Kamun had covered
my hand with his, and was in complete control of what was happening there, as
if my hand were not my own.