chair, spread your legs and let Trix lick you out. Oh, but first, make out together, by all means.’
Trixie and O curl into each other and fall to smooching. Trixie is like an overenthusiastic puppy, wrapping her thigh around O’s delicate waist, snuffling and biting as the kiss gets more serious.
Hard flesh dents my bare bottom. Dimitri is enjoying the show.
Their hands are everywhere, Trixie’s blood-red vamp nails, O’s square-cut French manicured ones, patting bottoms, grazing thighs, squeezing breasts.
O falls backwards onto the chair, toppling Trixie in her wake. Trixie collapses onto her knees between O’s thighs and kisses them ravenously.
‘I can’t see your cunt, O,’ says Mal, and she widens her legs to oblige the audience. ‘Trixie, spread her lips. Get your head out of the way – we want to see.’
I watch the three men remove their cocks from their trousers and wrap them around with eager fists while Trixie sets to work. She overacts atrociously like a person in a bad porn movie, but I can’t take my eyes off O, who seems like the still centre of the room, drawing and absorbing attention, making a flicker of the eyelid count twenty times more than Trixie’s stagey moans.
When she comes, she simply puts her hands on Trixie’s head and leans forwards, shutting her eyes, exhaling with such control that you imagine she’d blow a great series of smoke rings. She must have practised this skill of the silent orgasm – I just don’t know how that’s done.
‘Gorgeous,’ says one of the handlers. He turns to his companion. ‘Who’s having Trix first – me or you?’
Trixie sits back on her heels, looks directly over at us and licks her lips, pulling a face of exaggerated sultriness. I roll my eyes, then look at Dimitri, who seems … I don’t know. I don’t think he’s terribly impressed anyway.
The handler who spoke gets up and hauls Trixie to her feet, but not for long. Quick as a flash, she is bent over the end of the bed, thong ripped down and cock inserted. I cringe a little, hoping she is at least ready. The handler goes to it with frightening speed, crushing her into the wooden bed frame.
I turn my attention away from the blur of motion to where O stands between Mal and the other handler. Mal has a bendy kind of whip thing that he draws on O’s stomach with, making swirly shapes while the handler holds her arms flat against her sides from behind.
What Mal is doing is undoubtedly interesting, but the thing I can’t take my eyes from is O’s face. She is present and yet absent. When Mal flicks the whip over her breasts and then down between her thighs, I wince, but she doesn’t. She half shuts her eyes and sighs out a breath. Her lips are full and her cheeks flushed, but there’s something so odd about her. She is in a state of rapture, I think, on a different plane of consciousness.
The handler puts his hand between her legs, rubbing between her labia while Mal continues to whip her breasts, raising welts on the tender flesh. I watch fascinated, even though breast whipping is probably never going to be my thing. Perhaps, I think, it isn’t her thing either, but the way she looks at Mal makes me think that she will do anything for him, no matter what. Is this the way your dom is meant to make you feel? Would I do this for Dimitri?
The handler pushes her to her knees and bends her head over Mal’s cock. She sucks it as if it is a holy relic, worshipping it. The handler scrambles down behind her, parts her arse cheeks and then pushes his cock into her cunt.
She sucks and fucks while Trixie and her man, long since spent, watch and make coarse remarks. While O’s body bends and flexes to the will of the two men who control it, I wonder if I’ll ever be such a perfect sub. Dimitri is uncomfortably hard underneath me. It occurs to me that he’ll need to deal with that before he goes to work. Could we just leave, mid-orgy, and find some bolthole for a quickie?
‘Come and
Trixie and O curl into each other and fall to smooching. Trixie is like an overenthusiastic puppy, wrapping her thigh around O’s delicate waist, snuffling and biting as the kiss gets more serious.
Hard flesh dents my bare bottom. Dimitri is enjoying the show.
Their hands are everywhere, Trixie’s blood-red vamp nails, O’s square-cut French manicured ones, patting bottoms, grazing thighs, squeezing breasts.
O falls backwards onto the chair, toppling Trixie in her wake. Trixie collapses onto her knees between O’s thighs and kisses them ravenously.
‘I can’t see your cunt, O,’ says Mal, and she widens her legs to oblige the audience. ‘Trixie, spread her lips. Get your head out of the way – we want to see.’
I watch the three men remove their cocks from their trousers and wrap them around with eager fists while Trixie sets to work. She overacts atrociously like a person in a bad porn movie, but I can’t take my eyes off O, who seems like the still centre of the room, drawing and absorbing attention, making a flicker of the eyelid count twenty times more than Trixie’s stagey moans.
When she comes, she simply puts her hands on Trixie’s head and leans forwards, shutting her eyes, exhaling with such control that you imagine she’d blow a great series of smoke rings. She must have practised this skill of the silent orgasm – I just don’t know how that’s done.
‘Gorgeous,’ says one of the handlers. He turns to his companion. ‘Who’s having Trix first – me or you?’
Trixie sits back on her heels, looks directly over at us and licks her lips, pulling a face of exaggerated sultriness. I roll my eyes, then look at Dimitri, who seems … I don’t know. I don’t think he’s terribly impressed anyway.
The handler who spoke gets up and hauls Trixie to her feet, but not for long. Quick as a flash, she is bent over the end of the bed, thong ripped down and cock inserted. I cringe a little, hoping she is at least ready. The handler goes to it with frightening speed, crushing her into the wooden bed frame.
I turn my attention away from the blur of motion to where O stands between Mal and the other handler. Mal has a bendy kind of whip thing that he draws on O’s stomach with, making swirly shapes while the handler holds her arms flat against her sides from behind.
What Mal is doing is undoubtedly interesting, but the thing I can’t take my eyes from is O’s face. She is present and yet absent. When Mal flicks the whip over her breasts and then down between her thighs, I wince, but she doesn’t. She half shuts her eyes and sighs out a breath. Her lips are full and her cheeks flushed, but there’s something so odd about her. She is in a state of rapture, I think, on a different plane of consciousness.
The handler puts his hand between her legs, rubbing between her labia while Mal continues to whip her breasts, raising welts on the tender flesh. I watch fascinated, even though breast whipping is probably never going to be my thing. Perhaps, I think, it isn’t her thing either, but the way she looks at Mal makes me think that she will do anything for him, no matter what. Is this the way your dom is meant to make you feel? Would I do this for Dimitri?
The handler pushes her to her knees and bends her head over Mal’s cock. She sucks it as if it is a holy relic, worshipping it. The handler scrambles down behind her, parts her arse cheeks and then pushes his cock into her cunt.
She sucks and fucks while Trixie and her man, long since spent, watch and make coarse remarks. While O’s body bends and flexes to the will of the two men who control it, I wonder if I’ll ever be such a perfect sub. Dimitri is uncomfortably hard underneath me. It occurs to me that he’ll need to deal with that before he goes to work. Could we just leave, mid-orgy, and find some bolthole for a quickie?
‘Come and
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