Part One

The words appeared on the screen with no greeting, no apology, just the message.

“At training. Need you. Come now!” 

Then there was the address of the gym.

Alison stood in the kitchen with her hands still damp, the tea towel bunched in her fist. Oh God, he must be hurt, she thought. She felt a thrill that he needed her, a thrill that he had reached out to her. Not Laura, her!

Behind her, the tap dripped into the washing-up bowl. From the hall came the sights and sounds of a Tuesday morning in the vicarage: the clock ticking, the post on the mat, her husband’s study door not quite shut. She read the message again. Then, making up her mind, she quickly dried her hands.

She grabbed her coat, told Timothy she was going to see Laura and left without a twinge of guilt. She texted Laura to cover for her, but didn't explain that Tyson had messaged her from his gym. She would keep that secret!

The Alison of six months earlier would not have recognised this Alison. The obedient slut running excitedly when Tyson called!

Tyson had redesigned her step by step, but she loved it. 

She loved the way he never asked. He ordered, stating what he wanted, and then simply expected her to comply. The vicar’s wife. The woman who baked for the fete and sat in the third pew, smiling at parishioners. Tyson treated her the way she had always needed to be treated. She just never knew.

What had Laura said? “I just like fucking him.” That was it. It was the same for her. The sex was amazing, better than she had ever thought it could be, and each step a new adventure, and now in this unequal partnership he needed her!

The gym was in a part of town she never visited. Terraced houses, shuttered shops, a row of dented cars, most abandoned. She parked two streets away and walked with her collar up, telling herself that no one from the congregation came down here even at eleven in the morning. There was no risk of being seen, but being mugged? That was a different question. That was part of why she was walking faster, not slower but mainly she wanted to get to him. Her pulse was already up when she reached the side entrance. She texted “here,” and the door immediately buzzed.

Inside, it smelled of rubber, liniment, and men. The corridor was narrow. A radio played somewhere behind a partition. She followed the sound of voices into the main room and stopped.

Tyson stood in the ring in a grey hoodie, unwrapping his hands and laughing at something one of the others had said. Three men stood beside him, all boxers. All of them looked at her when she came in, and their faces broke into smiles. Tyson looked last, and only long enough to make it clear he had been expecting her exactly like this: flushed, hurried, excited and nervous.

“There she is,” he said.

Alison stood just inside the doorway with her coat still on. “I thought you might be hurt!”

“Never better,” he replied with a shrug, dismissing her words without a thought. “I wanted my guys to meet you.” He ducked through the ropes and dropped to the floor. “And here you are.”

She glanced at the others as they approached; one circled around the back of her. 

“This is a test,” she said, quietly. “Another test.”

“Oh, I think we are past tests,” he said, crossing the room to her and peeling her out of her coat.

Underneath was a plain, light-blue “vicar’s-wife” dress. She had come out too quickly when Tyson called. She had expected to be playing nursemaid, not, well, not an obedient slut. She wished she had put on nicer underwear.

That thought sent heat pulsing through her body.

“Say hello,” Tyson said. He had walked away with her coat, then had turned.

She swallowed. “Hello!”

The men smiled at her awkwardness. One of the sparring partners said, “All right, love,” with a familiarity that made her stomach tighten. The enclosed space did the rest. The three of them had now encircled her.

One lifted her head by gently placing his hand under her chin, and when her eyes met his, he smiled.

“You really are beautiful,” he said. Tyson withdrew further to a seat and sat down, presumably to watch.

She could feel herself shaking. Her cheeks, her hands, but most of all her insides. She had known the moment she saw them in the ring that Tyson had brought her here to be enjoyed. The hand under her chin was still there, warm, rough, and the man’s compliment shot through her like a hot needle. She didn’t know what to say. Another man put his hands on her shoulders as he came up behind her, gently holding her in place.

She wondered if the man in front of her could read her mind.

He put a hand on her cheek.

“You know what you're here for, right?” he said.

“We’ve heard all about you, Mrs Townsend,” the man said. “Tyson's told us you’re a good girl, very good when you’re told what to do.” Alison paused, trying to find her voice.

“I think so,” Alison managed, knowing her voice was too small, too empty of anything but nerves and a growing, deep-seated want.

“And you're okay with it?” the man behind her added, massaging her shoulders.

Alison let her head tip backwards, just a fraction, into the hands on her shoulders. The man’s touch was careful, more like fitting her than holding her down. The pressure through the fabric at her collarbones reassured her. Her breath felt thin. The men were good-looking, all of them. She saw it now, up close, their faces handsome and clean-shaven. The one in front, the man who had called her “beautiful,” let his thumb stroke along her cheek.

“Yeah,” she said, finally. “I’m okay with it.” She tried to keep her voice calm as though she could take it or leave it, but the want had won, and she wanted them all so badly.

Part Two

The man behind her lifted her dress up, exposing her thighs and simple white panties. The man in front gently placed two fingers between her legs.

“You're wet, baby,” he said, and as though to confirm it, when the man removed his hand, the man standing behind her placed his there.

“Fuck,” was all he said.

He moved his fingers slowly, as if he were reading her through the cotton. His touch was so good. 

She thought of the binoculars, and how she’d got damp knickers watching Tyson in his garden. Except now she wasn’t in the safety of her own bedroom, hiding behind a curtain and watching with a racing heart. Now she was in a gym, flanked by three boxers and her dress was already bunched at her hips.

“Kiss me, baby,” the man in front of her said.

Her whole body clenched in anticipation, hands trembling at her sides. He had not even said his name. They hadn’t introduced themselves, and they didn't need to. She was not here for names.

She kissed him, letting her lips part with a soft, involuntary sound.

Then, as he broke the kiss, he pushed his hand inside her knickers as the other man yanked her dress over her head.

The third man, who had only watched till now, stepped forward, and his hand slipped inside her bra, the simple white bra that matched her panties, but she barely noticed.

The man in front was now stroking her clit. For a moment, he paused, holding her panties open with the other hand; he made her wet the fingers he had been using with her mouth before sliding them back inside. The way he stroked her clit made her legs buckle.

“Does that feel nice, baby?” the man in front said.

Before she could answer, the man behind her reached down and swiftly lowered her knickers. Heat swarmed over her chest and crept up her neck, making her scalp fizz and her vision blur at the edges. She tasted liniment on the man’s fingers, the faint tang of sweat, and underneath it all, her own arousal as he drew slow, lazy circles that made her knees continue to give out. The three men closed around her. Her mind flickered, desperate to hide behind shame or anger, but the want was too strong now. The man behind her, his hands on her hips, hissed a slow, appreciative breath through his teeth.

“Kneel,” said the third man, and with a rustle, the three men began to pull down their boxing shorts.

Alison’s knees met the thin matting, gritty with years of sweat and chalk, and she felt hands guide her into a kneeling position. She watched as three cocks emerged in front of her face. She was made to stroke and suck the two cocks in front of her. The man from behind unclipped her bra.

She lost track of whose hands moved her where, whose dick was in her mouth and whose waited in her hand, but there was always a hand on her shoulder, a palm on the back of her neck, a strong grip around her wrist to make sure she was doing it right. The men moved in sync, passing her mouth and hands between them. If she gagged or gasped, they ignored it. If she groaned, they pulled her closer, using her the way Tyson had. She could not keep up with them, but she did her best, and the joy of pleasing them, of knowing Tyson was watching, made her work even harder. She let herself enjoy the roughness of it, the lack of ceremony, the push of hands on the back of her skull.

“That's it, Alison,” Tyson said, speaking for the first time. “Have a little taste, then move around the circle.”

She tried to focus on technique, on what Tyson had told her, on what she remembered from the birthday with Laura. But there was too much. The sound, the light, the pressure from above, the hands squeezing her arms or the sides of her head. Her throat was already sore, but the praise came in muttered encouragements and small, approving noises, and the thrill of that made her wetter.

“That’s so good,” the man in front said, and his thumb flicked her cheek, making her look up. “Are you ready to be fucked?”

She nodded, or tried to; the hand on her cheek made it difficult, so she just opened her mouth. The men responded anyway.

The man from the front leaned down and lifted her into his arms as though she weighed nothing. The bra fell from her shoulders as she rose, so she was completely naked now. She was transported on his shoulder.

The men lowered her gently onto a table. It might have been put there specially for her. The man who had been in front of her lifted her leg onto his shoulder and guided his dick towards her entrance.

“My turn first, baby,” he grinned. He momentarily teased her, stroking his cock over her entrance, coating it in her juices, and then he slipped easily inside her. “Fuck that’s so good,” he added. “So fucking tight, baby.”

As he entered her, the table under Alison’s tailbone rattled softly from the pressure. The cold, slippery top stuck to her back, and the overhead light stung her eyes, turning everything stark white. He was thick, not Tyson-thick, but enough to stretch her and make her gasp. The man from behind pushed his cock into her mouth, and without being asked, she grabbed the third man’s cock and began to stroke it.

It was very hard to focus on sucking and stroking when she was being fucked so well. She really just wanted to lie back and let them do the work, but she did her best to concentrate. It felt so good.

“Oh god, yes,” she gasped, the words torn from her as the man inside her thrust deeper. “Fuck me, please.” Her voice broke into a ragged moan as the cock in her mouth pressed toward her throat. She pulled back just enough to pant, “Oh that's so good,” then cried out sharply as the man between her legs shifted his angle, hitting a place that made her back arch off the table. Her hand tightened around the third man’s length, stroking in time with the rhythm being fucked into her. “Yes, like that, harder!”

Then the third man, who had had little involvement till now, scooped her up and carried her to a long sofa. He laid her on her side, moving behind her and wrapping his huge, strong arms around her. He began to fuck her; no one, not even Tyson, had fucked her so fast or held her so tight. It felt oddly safe. His cock moved in and out so fast it took her breath away. For a moment she lay there and let the pleasure of it all wash over her. Then Tyson, naked now, came and sat by her head, and she had his huge cock to suck too.

There was not a moment to breathe. The third man’s cock was fucking her so well, his speed as he moved inside her both shocking and relentless. The sofa’s leather stuck to her side as she slipped across the surface, cold and sweat-slick, and his hips slapped ruthlessly against her. He drew her leg up and held it in the air. Tyson fed her his huge cock, filling her mouth so deep that her vision swam.

“Eyes on me,” Tyson said.

Alison tried, but when the third man’s hand stroked her clit as he fucked her, it was too much, and she came so hard, the sound of it tearing out of her before she could stop it, a long broken wail around Tyson’s cock in her mouth that rose and kept going. 

“Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God.” The words came out mangled, half-swallowed, wet and desperate as his hips drove into her and the man’s fingers worked her clit in tight circles. “Don’t stop, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her thighs shook against him, her whole body pulling tight like a bowstring and then releasing in waves that made her sob. “Yes! Yes! I’m coming! I’m coming!” Her hand scrabbled to hold the sofa cushions, nails digging into the leather, and she heard herself babbling, half-delirious, filthy praise and helpless cries all mixed together. “So good! So good! Give it to me! Give it all to me!” The third man grunted and buried himself, her back arching off the sofa as the orgasm rolled through her again and again.

As the orgasm broke over her, the man fucking her withdrew, and Tyson moved between her legs. His cock, so much larger than the others, felt familiar, and her legs rose automatically to ease his entry. The moment he was ball-deep, he was lifting her into the air, and she clung to his neck for support. He bounced her up and down on that huge pole of his.

Alison produced a broken litany of profanity and praise. A raw, unfiltered stream of consciousness given voice. “Oh god! Yes! Right there, don’t stop, Tyson, fuck me just like this!” The words were gasped between thrusts, half-moaned, half-sobbed. “Your cock feels so good, so deep, I can’t get enough!” She was babbling, lost to any sense of decorum, any memory of the woman she was outside this room.

“You like me and my boys fucking you?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, I—” Her head wrenched back, hair flailing, and she could see the three men standing off to the side, cocks thick and glistening, their faces blank with awe or maybe hunger, or maybe just the animal focus of men in a pack. “Fuck, I love it. I love it. Please—harder, Tyson, please—”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, lifting her higher, and his cock slammed up, filling her so deep it felt like she would break apart. Her arms strained around his neck; her thighs burned, slick with sweat. She was soaked, clinging to him and shaking.

“Give her back,” the third man said, reaching out to take her.

He grabbed her by the hip and locked his arm just beneath her ribs, lifting her from Tyson’s arms as if she were weightless. Her body had gone to jelly, every muscle useless except the ones that clenched wildly around the man’s cock as he angled her down onto him. The air left her lungs in a gasp, and her legs flailed for purchase, but the man had her, arms braced tight, and he sank her down until she was flush against his thighs. She could feel the heat of his skin, the coiled power of his body, and the eyes of everyone in the room on where they joined.

“Tell me what you want,” he said.

“I want you to fuck me!” she heard herself say. “Fast like before.”

He didn’t make her wait. He moved with a speed that shocked her, bouncing her up and down, driving her breath from her lungs. He made no show of tenderness, just fucked her as she asked. She heard herself beg—“Yes, yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop”—but she didn’t care, not with the way he used her, the merciless, stamina, his hands clamped around her thighs, shaking her loose from any last illusion of control.

Then she was passed to another, the one who had called her beautiful. This time, though, he held her in the air with her back to him, presenting her to everyone else as he lifted her up and down on his dick, and she could only support herself with one hand around his neck. The others stood and watched as she was fucked.

It went on for hours, or maybe a minute, or maybe forever. She had no sense of time at all, just the endless repetition, the dizzy, strobing intensity of it.

“You like that?” asked Tyson.

“God, yes,” Alison choked out, the words fighting their way through the raw, overworked mess of her throat. “I love it, I love being used by you.”

“That’s what I fucking love to hear,” Tyson said, voice loud in the charged air. Then, as she came once more. Tyson held out his arms, and she fell into them, but he dropped her straight to her knees; all four men closed around her, and she knew her job was to make each one come. Her hands and mouth worked frantically, tasting, stroking, moving back and forth.

The first man grunted, and his cock pulsed and covered her face with a blast of cum, hot and thick. She moved to the next, jacking him with both hands as she licked at the dribble of the first, and then he came too, exploding over her face. The third man took her head in both hands and held her steady for his turn, as she frantically stroked his dick, and lastly Tyson completed the job of painting her in cum.

A man reached down and hauled her up by the elbow. The cum had sealed her left eye shut; she peeled it open with two fingers and wiped the rest off with the back of her hand, then licked it clean from her knuckles without being asked. The second man laughed at that. The third handed her a towel from somewhere.

“Here,” he said, “Diego, by the way,” he said, tapping his own chest. “You were incredible.”

“Lennox,” the second said.

“Tommy.” The third nodded at her.

They each shook her hand.

She took a breath and said, “Alison.” It was all too surreal, and she had to laugh.

The shower is through there,” Tyson said. Alison gathered up her things and found herself showering with all four men, but one by one they exited till she was alone. After a while, she went to exit too, but as she stepped out, she gasped.

There stood Jake; he was in a suit, but he was quickly removing his jacket and tie.

“Back in the shower, vicar’s wife,” he said, pointing. “You have forgotten your boy, Jake."

She wanted to say no, to tell Jake that she was spent, that she’d just been used by four men at once, that she had nothing left. Instead, she heard her own voice come out as a shaky “Okay,” and she stepped back in.

“You’ve been having fun without me?” Jake said as he stepped into the shower, very naked and very erect.

What had Laura said? “I just like fucking him.” That wasn’t it. Alison just liked fucking; who it was did not matter anymore.

The End