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Subjugation of a Siren (Pt 2) - The Office Party

The adventure continues
Minidevilette© 2012

“I’m having a quiet affair at work.” Grant said.

“I’ll bet you are,” I answered sarcastically.

“Behave,” he admonished. “I’d like you to play hostess for me.”

It had been five days since he had demonstrated to me just how ineffectual my defiance was in the face of his determination and I had relived that afternoon over and over in my mind as I waited to be with him again.

“Nothing major, just a small business thing at the office on Thursday evening. Few drinks and a lot of boring shop talk,” he explained.

“And what would this ‘playing hostess’ involve?” I flatly refused to ask him why he wasn’t conducting this little tête-à-tête at his home with his no doubt very appropriate wife doing the honours.

“Not much,” he replied. “Just general stuff really. Maybe take their jackets, offer drinks. Keep conversation going if I’m talking to someone privately.”

I smiled wryly. “So basically you’d like me to be a charming ornament.”

“Pretty much,” he chuckled. “An intelligent and knowledgeable ornament, though.”

“You’re a rogue. Flattery will get you everywhere,” I confided.

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” he promised darkly. “Will you do it?”

“Okay, what time? Are we doing the black tie thing or is it just casual?”

“The guys will probably come straight from work but you knock yourself out. You know how much I like old school glamour. Have I told you you’re amazing?”

“That’s what they all say but they never ring,” I quipped.

So that was how I found myself being dropped off in front of his building at ten to eight on the appointed night, a simple black shift dress with a string of pearls hanging down my back under a vintage Dior coat. Each step I took caused the knot in the rope of sea gems to lightly bounce against the small of my back and I felt sophisticated and elegant. I’d also used the occasion as an excuse to splurge on a divine pair of twenties T shoes I’d been eyeing off for weeks.

I approached his office, excitement and apprehension blending in the pit of my stomach as images flashed through my mind of my last time I’d walked up this hallway. I stood quietly in the doorway and remembered him pinning beneath his body on the surface of that desk, breaking down my rebellion piece by piece until I’d been impelled to plead for him to fill me.

He was in shirt sleeves, the desk lamp throwing his face into a mosaic of light and dark as it cast shadows over his cheekbones. His attention was trained on the computer monitor, weight braced on one arm as he fiddled with the mouse, the smoky sound of Diana Krall advising a former lover to cry her a river, weaving through the air softly.

His focus was so complete he had yet to detect my arrival and I lounged in the doorway silently, watching him, letting an erotic rush of power wash through me as I thought of how I had to ability to divert that diligent attention from the most important things in his life.

His slightly olive complexion was emphasised by the mellow lighting, in stark contrast to the crisp whiteness of his collar and I shivered as I visualised biting into the skin between it and his hairline. I think I could have stood there for hours, enthralled by his controlled efficiency but as I glanced at my watch I realised that his colleagues’ arrival was imminent and I was here tonight to fulfil a role, not be a lustful voyeur.

As I strolled into the room he looked up, closed down whatever he was reviewing on the computer and rounded the desk. As we met, he spun me around and I was pulled back against his chest as he ran his hands down to my wrists and then back up again to help me off with my coat, casually draping the cashmere over the same wooden surface I had myself been draped over.

“Let me look at you,” he purred and I pirouetted playfully in front of him, bestowing my best coquette’s expression upon him as I did. He captured my face in his large warm palms and gazed at my upturned face warmly. “You look stunning,” he complimented, pressing a kiss on the pulse points on either side of my throat. “Very Marion Davies.”

I arched my neck, inviting him to do more to my exposed throat than just kiss it but he stepped away from me, briefly running through his expectations of how the next few hours should go. I soothed my disappointed vanity with the silent promise of breaching his defences later that night and paid attention to the information conveyed by his deep voice.

As I glanced around the office, I noticed the minor changes that had been made since my previous visit in deference to this evening. The surface of the credenza was now spotless, the organised chaos of paperwork that had been stacked there hidden away to facilitate a range of decanters, accompanying glassware and deliciously fiddly-looking canapés as well as a silver sphere, about the size of a baseball, on a stand. It had an opening in it much like a moneybox and I thought to myself that it was a very refined method of concealing otherwise unsightly used toothpicks and such.

Further afield, the bookcases, those beautifully imposing bastions of stored knowledge, were as before, the only difference in their outlook being a small chaise lounge positioned at a slight angle from their base. Gone were the utilitarian, if comfortable, client’s seating, replaced by a foursome of deep-sided leather club chairs that had been arranged into the remaining space in a relaxed elliptical formation and, combined with the dulcet softness of bluesy jazz and diffused lighting, the entire effect was that of an informal but very masculine space that one may imagine would have been found in the men’s clubs of the past.

Lured by the rich looking nap of blue velvet covering the chaise lounge, I wandered over to it while he poured himself a drink and sat primly on its edge, crossing my legs. The cushioning was surprisingly plush and I leaned back with a small sigh, stretching my arm along the raised end as I listened to the clink of crystal from across the room. All too soon voices sounded dimly from down the hallway and I rose, quickly running my fingers over my bobbed hair as I moved to stand near my lover, positioning myself a discreet distance from him. Cloaking myself in what I hoped was an aura that oozed congenial companion as opposed to screaming illicit sexpot, I took one final calming breath and was ready to greet his guests.

Three men entered the doorway, the tallest closing it behind him as they all made general greetings to their host. It was obvious that all of the men were familiar with each other and the quick round of back and forth banter marked them as friends to some degree as well as associates. Although their eyes flicked over me, they waited to be formally introduced before looking at me fully, at which point we; Dave, Mike and John as well as myself, all voiced the appropriate polite banalities that are inspired by initial meetings before I offered to take their suit jackets.

Over the next two hours I thanked the powers that be for all the time I had wasted in my younger days obsessively researching any trivial subject that had caught my attention.

I imagined myself gowned in the persona of cultured socialite and excelled at being a charming, slightly flirtatious general companion and it appeared that the masculine contingent were appreciative of my wry wit and quiet charisma. Between their numerous trips back and forth to the mini bar and quiet conference with their host, I discussed with my adulterous paramour’s visitors such topics as history, social media, classic vehicles, politics, religion, world economics and the deplorable lack of respect in the youth of today. Conversation flowed easily and I found myself delighted in the company in which I found myself, each of them displaying varied views, approaches and humours to certain situations.

I watched my amorous rogue surreptitiously in this time, loathe to give away our true relationship to these men by look or gesture but unable to ignore him just the same. I noticed he was very concentrated on his guests when they approached the drinks station and assumed, as a conscientious host, he was monitoring the rate of alcohol consumption. Personally I had been amazed at the men’s apparent level of sobriety given the frequency with which they made the trip and as I watched his eyes narrow as Dave broke away from the group again, I decided that perhaps he was worried I was being slightly lax in my hospitality duties. I excused myself from John’s presence to check on the supply of refreshments and noted the fluid levels in the decanters depleted but not to the extent I had expected and felt no urgency to replenish them as a distinct air of ‘wrapping up’ was overtaking the social atmosphere.

The canapés had been completely devoured much earlier so I found it a passing oddity to watch Dave drop something into the ornamental sphere before I was distracted by a satirical remark made by Mike, who had appeared at my elbow and cajoled me into an amusing exchange of words with him.

We were joined by the credenza by John and Grant, where the latter invited his male counterparts to take a seat in preparation to discuss the final order of business for the evening. I waited for them to move away before addressing him quietly.

“If you guys have got something important to go over, I can disappear if you like.”

“No, its fine,” he assured as he reached for the silver sphere. “Just go settle on the chaise for a while.” He looked at me from under amused brows as he uncapped the object in his hand and tipped out a virtual tickertape parade of paper in red, blue and yellow. “I’m sure your feet are killing you,” he observed as he began sorting the paper into primary coloured piles.

I laughed as I ruefully cursed the dual polarities of fashionable foot ware and I realised that he may not have been staring at me all night but he had been keeping an eye on me.

“I thought that was for toothpicks,” I mused, smothering a yawn and when I received no response from him other than a small smile, I poured myself a drink and wandered over to the chaise as he’d suggested. Placing the glass on top of a conveniently placed lateral file, I lay back, eyes closed, a secret smile on my lips, and let the murmur of male voices wash over me as Mr Sinatra flew me to the moon. I was languidly relaxed as I meditated lazily on all the places on my body that would benefit from some attention from my beastly lover.

I must have momentarily slipped into the arms of Morpheus because the next thing I knew my eyes unhurriedly opened to discover Grant’s face poised over mine as he softly repeated my name. “Louise, wake up.”

He was holding my hand gently in his. It was the first time he had touched me since my arrival and I automatically bestowed a dazzling smile on him, instinctively closing the distance between our lips. His response was immediate and possessive, his tongue sweeping into my mouth to plunder its depths and claim my sighs. It wasn’t until he broke away, biting my lower lip, that I heard the sudden collective intake of breath and became aware with devastating clarity of the colossal error I had just made.

My eyes flew around the room, confirming the evidence of my ears as they landed on the trio of men seated in enfolding leather, before shooting back to the man standing over me with abject horror.

“Oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry,” I whispered fervently. “I thought we were alone, I thought they were gone,”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he replied. “Just relax,” he soothed.

But I was frantic, whispered words tripping from me with no coherence. “I thought, well obviously I didn’t think but I thought, oh fuck, I think I’m going to pass out, quick, shoot me, I’m so sorry,” I finished, burying my face in my hands and wishing I could take back the last five minutes.

He took my hand in his again and lifted my chin until I was looking squarely into his face. I blinked rapidly when he gave me a very chaste kiss and wondered how he could be sporting a small smile when he was now in imminent danger of a lifetime of bitterness and spousal support.

“Just relax and trust me,” he said quietly. “You do trust me, don’t you?” I nodded at him dumbly, faint-heartedly willing to hand the entire situation over to him so I didn’t have to deal with it. The thought of being busted by his wife hadn’t bothered me; after all I didn’t know her and being a woman I knew I had a very adroit arsenal capable of dealing with anything another woman could throw at me.

But these were his peers, people he worked and socialised with; people I had just socialised with and whose company I had enjoyed. They respected him, knew him as one part of a stable couple and were likely to take a very dim view of his character now that they’d been presented with glaring evidence of his infidelity.

I glanced over at our captivated audience and avoided all three sets of eyes. “What about them?” I muttered intensely. “You can bet your arse they’ll tell their significant others about it and then your wife’s going to find out. What then?”

Grant tugged gently on my hand, urging me to rise from the chaise. “Stop panicking,” he assured. He handed me my drink and wrapped my nerveless fingers around the glass. I swallowed the fire, wincing as it trailed down my chest to burn in my churning stomach.

“I can’t believe you’re so calm about this,” I gritted through the queasiness that the alcohol had triggered.

“And I can’t believe you’ve suddenly developed a conscience,” he shot back with amusement.

I glared at him mutinously. “This is not fucking funny. How do you know you can trust them?”

“Believe me,” he answered darkly, taking my empty glass, “by the time tonight’s over no one in this room will be telling anyone anything.”

“That’s because I’ll have been forced to murder you all,” I shot back cynically.

His laughter rolled through the room and he kissed my knuckles as he led me across the room.

I studied the face of each man as we approached, searching for the shock or disgust I was convinced they must be feeling but although their posture’s seemed rigid, the most prevalent expression appeared to be nervousness. I wondered wildly if they thought the man by my side was going to try and silence them a la Cosa Nostra style and swallowed the hysterical giggle that bubbled up my throat.

We came to a halt within the curve of chairs and as I stood on edge beside him, Grant addressed his friends as if they hadn’t just seen him crawl down my throat. “Right, onto the last order of business for tonight.” He paused, surveying the three statues seated before us, allowing the tension in their rigid bodies to build until I thought my own would shatter under the pressure filling the room.

Finally he smiled, placed my hand in Mike’s and, over the explosive release of held breath from the other two men, I dimly heard him speak. “Congratulations.”

Mike’s face split wide open in triumph as Dave slapped him on the shoulder and John good naturedly cursed him as a lucky bastard. The whole time I stood, looking uncomprehendingly at my small hand in Mike’s, my usually agile mind a complete blank as I tried to process the significance of it all.

Mike’s voice cut through the fog of my mind, his incredulous tones filtering through the buzzing that was building in my ears. “Me? For real?”

“Fair and square,” was his answer.

As the current possessor of my hand celebrated his apparent good fortune I turned toward his benefactor in stupefaction. Blinking owlishly and with a creeping sense of doom settling in the base of my spine I regarded him warily. “Grant,” I asked in a guarded voice. “What have you done?”

He looked back at me intently. “I haven’t done anything,” he enunciated carefully. “Mike, however, just won you in a silent auction.”

“Silent auction.” I repeated quietly.

“Yes. All those bits of paper? They were bids, of a sort, and Mike is the highest bidder.”

The revelation was like receiving a full body dose of Lignocaine closely followed by a truck load of holy hypoxia, Batman. I stared at him, a montage of the night flicking through my brain on fast forward. All those trips back and forth to the drink cabinet, seeing Dave drop something into that innocent looking sphere, Grant sorting through that paper, the significance of the three separate colours now clear as day to me.

My vision swam as my knees literally started a slow crumple under the twin assaults of shock and oxygen deprivation and I thought detachedly that if there was ever a good time to pull a Jane Austin and faint on the wall to wall carpeting, it was now.

As I desperately sent a breathe, dammit, breathe message to my lazy lungs outrage, that ever reliable bulkhead of survival kicked in and I locked my knees before I fell in an undignified heap.

Narrowing my gaze at Grant, I exploded. “The hell you did.”

He just looked down at me from his lofty height. I tried to whip my hand out of Mike’s but he gripped my fingers, determined not to relinquish his prize so easily.

I turned an evil look on him, growling with suppressed fury. “Let. Go. Of. My. Hand.”

He glanced at Grant for confirmation but reluctantly opened his fingers when he realised he wasn’t going to get any support from that quarter.

“This,” I pronounced to the room at large, “is bullshit. And I’m going home. Now.”

Chin lifted in injured dignity I moved to collect my coat but Grant’s hand was a blur as he gripped my upper arm to stop me and I knew the amount of pressure he was applying was going to leave marks. “You are not going anywhere.”

Agitation overrode caution and I lashed out, swinging wildly, the echoing crack of my hand connecting with Grant’s cheek, the resulting gasp from the other men, the satisfying sting that settled in my palm, all did much towards restoring my ego.

He imprisoned my other arm, dragging me up on my toes against him and the fury and excitement I saw in his eyes sent a bolt of terrified apprehension through me. In a cruel parody of my breathless desire he mocked, “Fuck me. I’ll do anything if you’ll just fuck me hard.”

The truth of the trap I’d blithely walked into washed over me and he smiled as he watched the realisation become manifest on my face. “I think this qualifies as ‘anything’.”

“No,” I whispered in denial. “Why would you do this?”

“Why? Let me refresh your mind. Less than a week ago you blew me under a table in a packed restaurant. Then, when I dragged you back here and threatened to hand you over to the guys who I was with, who incidentally you just spent the evening very nicely entertaining, you completely went to pieces. It was probably the most intense orgasm of your life.” He shook me stiffly as I stared up at him. “Don’t shake your head at me. You loved it.”

He was absolutely right. I had. The thought of being fucked on that table by three complete strangers had been a shockingly erotic image that had thrown me straight over the Orgasm cliff and was going trying to fire up my system again. “That was just - ”

“Don’t you dare deny it,” he snarled. “You wanted it. You wanted it then and you want it now. You want to know what it feels like, don’t you?” I whimpered as I stared up into his eyes, unable to look away, hypnotised by his intensity and the power of his words. I now knew why fauna became road kill statistics.

I was acutely aware of the vested interest our audience had in watching this drama unfold before them in living colour and I squirmed in his grip with burgeoning lust and embarrassment.

“Please. Don’t do this, Grant,” I whispered desperately but he kept talking, his voice washing over me. Words. So many words, all working their way into my skin; burrowing in, slipping into my bloodstream, racing triumphantly around tripping the switches on my erogenous zones with delicious electric tingles that inexorably nullified my attempts to block him out.

“I know you’re turned on,” he confided raggedly in my ear. “I can smell you. It will be so good,” he coaxed, “like nothing you’ve ever done before and I’ll be right here making sure he treats you right.”

“You want him to do this in front of you?” I was stunned. I’d thought he was going to let Mike take me somewhere, the power trip coming from his knowledge that he’d engineered me into the arms of another man. But to know he intended to watch his friend have me filled me with such illicit heat that I moaned helplessly.

“Oh god yeah,” he breathed. “I want to see the look on your face when he takes you. I want to watch you struggle to separate that overly logical fucking mind of yours from the whore’s body it thinks it rules. And lose. I want to hear you panting and screaming as you come and then fuck you until you forget what he gave you and can only think of me.”

I swayed in his hold, rubbing my breasts against his chest, my eyes shut as everything he described stamped itself into the back of my retinas and the traitorous evidence of my desire flooded between my legs.

“You need it, so just give in.” He eased me back onto my feet, waiting for me to raise my head to look at him.

“What have you traded me for?” I asked, the fire in me rising again. “Money? Stocks and shares? A lucrative case?”

“It doesn’t matter what the currency was, it’s done and you now belong to Mike, who has won the right to treat you as he pleases for the next two hours.”

Taking a fortifying breath, appalled by the forbidden excitement that ricocheted through me at the thought of what I was about to do, I met his eyes. “I hope it was worth it,” I whispered at him insubordinately, “because I think it’s entirely possible that I hate you.”

“Oh, it’ll be worth it. And I don’t care if you do hate me right this second, just as long as you obey me.” His face betrayed no expression as he waited and I knew he’d stand there and wait all night if he had to. He would no longer push me. In order for his domination over me to be complete I had to go to Mike under my own steam.

The man of the moment was still standing where he’d been when all this melodrama began and I moved to stand in front of him. He held out his hand imperiously and I slowly lifted my own, placing it with a mutinous glare into the warmth of his palm, his fingers closing over mine like the slamming of a door I knew I’d never go back through again.

I heard the grand producer of this scene moving behind me, the sound of linen on leather as he made himself comfortable in the remaining chair but I ignored him as I looked into Mike’s face, whose body language heralded the resurgence of his previous anticipation and triumph.

I swallowed shakily, pride helping me regain my poise. “I am yours to command,” I pronounced clearly. “How would you have me serve you?”

I heard the under bidder’s groans at my question but continued to watch Mike, whose eyes were in immediate danger of popping out of his skull as he grasped the reality of the situation I sincerely hoped he’d pawned a kidney, a least, for.

“Jesus, you’re a dream come true,” he breathed as he ran his thumb over my lips. His palm slid lower, over my jaw and across my shoulder, chasing shivers as it went, his forefinger tracing the strap of my dress before flicking it off my shoulder.

I gasped as my stomach quivered and felt my nipples harden painfully as his other hand played with the remaining strap before dislodging it in the same manner. My hands flew automatically to capture the silk as it answered the inevitable call of gravity but when Mike slowly shook his head I lowered them, partially relieved when the dress didn’t fall to pool at my feet but instead hung, tremulously supported by the naked swells of my breasts.

“Let it fall,” he said and I reluctantly dipped and rolled one shoulder, the movement making my breast sway, the fabric sliding, gathering momentum as it drifted to the floor under its own weight. Unveiled, I stood in the circle created by their legs, a living, breathing study in eroticism, wearing nothing but a string of pearls and a pair of shoes.

As all four men drank in the sight of my nudity, I experienced a flash of heat as I considered the picture I must represent. I had never before understood the attraction of exhibitionism but if my accelerated heart rate and erratic breathing were anything to go by I’d soon be gleefully adding it to my growing list of daring do’s, a fine companion for the semi-public blowjob I recently administered.

My attention was brought starkly to the situation at hand as Mike pounced on me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and crowded me until I bent back in his hold, grabbing his shoulders for support. He spread one hand between my shoulder blades and captured the heavy swell of my breast in the other, lifting it’s weight to knead it roughly. He was not as tall as the others and did not have to bend over as far in order to latch his lips onto my nipple, pulling it into his mouth to suck on it strongly between disbelieving moans before releasing it to greedily lave his tongue over as much of the surrounding skin as possible, then sucking hungrily at the aching peak again.

The suddenness of his attack shocked me. I’d had some half formed idea that he would maybe be a little hesitant to begin with but I was seriously disabused of the thought when he buried his face in the crook of my neck, biting on the soft skin there as his hands cupped my arse, kneading and separating the soft globes as he rubbed his erection against my stomach.

I heard the aroused breathing of the other males in the room and felt the slide into decadence begin. Lust started to hammer through me and I dug my nails into the shoulders I gripped, mindlessly lifting one foot to hook around his calf, pressing my partially exposed core on the fine cotton of his pants. His movements caused them to rub against my swollen nub and I felt my eyes roll as I hissed at the sweetness of it.

His hands skimmed up my back and he cradled my jaw, his lips fusing to mine, swallowing my moans, tongue delving in.

“Your mouth’s so hot,” he panted raggedly, diving into it again. “Oh man, I gotta have all that heat on my cock.” He urged me down onto the floor and in the limited space I felt Grant’s legs brush against my back.

Tearing open his pants frantically to release his stiffness, gripping it in one hand and my cheeks in the other Mike forced himself past my lips to thrust deep into my mouth, the force of his entry rocking me back slightly and Grant’s soft warm hands supported my neck until I’d recovered my equilibrium. I felt him wrap the string of pearls through his hands and was at once both comforted and further aroused by the tangible link between us as I performed this debauched act before them all.

Mike’s deep groan was pulled from the very depths of his soul and as I found his rhythm I endeavoured to add to it, wrapping my hands around his arse to afford myself better control, letting him thrust just that little bit deeper each time, creating suction on him as he drew out.

I was revelling in my position as live porn star, all thoughts of reluctance and being manipulated thrown out the window, my main worry now being a fear of gagging in front of everyone when he came. I felt his time was rapidly approaching, his thrusts becoming wilder, his groans of pleasure more hoarse and I briefly considered pulling back at the critical moment and milking him onto my face or breasts, making a real show of it.

Instead his hands fisted my hair, his hips grinding to a shuddering halt, shaking with the force of the control he was exerting over himself as he willed himself to stop. As his cock twitched in my mouth, he whispered over and over, “I don’t want to come yet. I don’t want to come yet.” the phrase a both a mantra and a prayer for self-discipline.

He withdrew from my mouth, saliva coating his cock in a glossy sheen as he stood looking down at me. I couldn’t keep still as he regarded me, my thighs clenching as I fidgeted, the buckles of my shoes biting into my skin where I sat on them. He seemed rapidly to come to a decision, reaching for the buttons on his shirt as he instructed me to lean back and open my legs.

“Bring your legs around the front,” he ordered, quickly reducing himself to a state of nakedness. “Put your arms over Grant’s legs to hold yourself up and spread them wide so I can see everything.” I did as he asked, watching Dave and John look on in awe as my thighs parted to reveal my slick, swollen treasures. Mike was on his knees in a heartbeat and I whimpered with anticipation as I imagined his thickness pushing past my entrance to thrust into me heavily.

I dug my nails into Grant’s calves as my head dropped back on my neck, eyes squeezed shut in exquisite preparation of that magical first thrust. I was vaguely aware of Mike’s hands sliding under my arse and I braced myself for his invasion, my undulating hips silently urging him on.

I felt him then but instead of the blunt nudge I had expected, I was subjected to the hot sweep of his tongue, tracing from the bottom of my slit to the peeking clitoris and a low burst of sound tore from my throat. I rolled my head in order to reassure myself that what I felt was really what I had thought and nearly came on his face when I saw his head between my legs, his shoulders filling the space between my parted thighs.

What followed was nothing less than a concentrated assault as Mike voraciously devoured my cunt with a thoroughness that bordered on the compulsive.

Each time I came close to exploding he would stop until I had calmed fractionally before ravishing my flesh again. After this had occurred four or five times I began to take note of other things happening to my body.

My breasts were full and aching, the tips a vibrant pink and my thighs were shot through with fine tremors as if I was suffering from a mild palsy. My fingers hurt from the pressure of my hold on my supporter’s legs and I registered the other men in the room in various stages of pleasuring themselves as they watched their friend in action.

But more interesting than any of this were Grant’s hands, which were gathering up more of my necklace at the approach of each thwarted climax until the cool pearls were flush against my neck and as Mike’s tongue fucking gathered in intensity so did the pressure on my neck until a thread of fear began to underlay the pleasure.

Each lick Mike bestowed was matched by another pearl disappearing into the strong grip of my erstwhile lover until the back of my head was pressed into his groin and I was staring up into his eyes. As he pressed and Mike licked I felt fear unite with my excitement and my level of ecstasy heightened until I felt tears slide down my face.

I began to think that between them they would hold me on the sharp edge of delirium forever, unable to reach the blinding plateau that preceded the free fall into climax.

Grant, that darling reprobate who knew me better than I did myself, seemed to know what I needed though. He looked straight into my eyes and, applying one final amount of pressure, mouthed “Mine” at me and I flew apart.

My body stiffened, head kicking back even further. My fingers dug into strong muscle and my shoulders strained, thrusting my breasts forward into empty air. Mike’s shoulders were captured in the vice of my thighs as I thrashed against his face, riding the wave until he managed to pull free, leaving me limp and sobbing in the cradle of my beast’s thighs, uncaring at this point about what may be done to me from here.

But Mike had other ideas and he manhandled me onto my hands and knees before the man who owned my body and pushed my head down until it touched the carpet. Pressing his knees against the inside of mine he spread my legs wider with his and positioned himself at my entrance, easing just the tip of his blunt head into my seeking wetness.

Gripping my elbows he braced himself with them, pulling back on them as he thrust forcefully into me, my chest parallel to the floor as I was held, suspended and unable to move, under his punishing tempo. His furious pace hindered my ability to breathe evenly and I felt the heavy sway of my breasts as he slammed into my saturated cunt, the slapping of his stomach on my upturned arse accompanied by the grunts of the other spectators.

“Who owns you?” he shouted at me. When I didn’t answer he grabbed my hair and reefed my body upright, splaying his hand against my stomach so he could hold me still while he continued to pump up into me. “Who?” he repeated.

“Grant does,” I wailed.

“Wrong answer,” he growled and I cried out in pain as he bore down on the top of my shoulder and bit hard. “Who owns you?” he asked again, filling his hand with my breast and twisting the nipple with such exquisite cruelty that I couldn’t speak through the punch of agonising pleasure. “You’d better answer me now, you faithless slut.”

I looked at Grant, sitting as still as a stone, fully dressed and seemingly composed, his eyes trained on me as he waited for me to answer. I knew what Mike wanted me to say but, even knowing it was all part of the game, I felt a bitter betrayal well up inside me and I understood that I had never really surrendered to Mike until this moment. In my heart I had belonged to Grant the entire time but now, for the submission to be complete, I had to acknowledge who held true ownership over me.

“You do,” I said and dropped my eyes in defeat.

“Fucking right I do. Put your hands behind your head,” he ordered. I did and he slipped his arms under mine, curling up to clasp them behind my neck and then pulling back. My body curved out like a bow quivering on the point of the archer’s release and he began to thrust up into my body, driving himself hard, his breath sawing in and out of his mouth leaving none left over for further speech.

My back screamed at the angle I was held in even while my muscles clenched his pounding cock in ecstasy and I heard a high wailing fill the room before I realised it was coming from me. It was quickly overshadowed by his roar as he suddenly liberated me, withdrawing as I fell to the carpet, freeing his hands to pump up and down his engorged member until it spewed ropes of hot come on my lower back.

I lay on my stomach on the floor alternately panting and sobbing dryly as he held himself over me, his fists, planted next to my shoulders, holding him up. He ducked his head to place an open-mouthed kiss on my shoulder and I looked around my hair at him confusion.

He smiled at me tiredly and winked. “You… are something else,” he said quietly as he reached for his shirt and used it to remove his evidence from my skin. He looked at me from under his brows and pointed by jerking his chin. “Go to him. I release you.” And with that he staggered away to collapse in his chair.

I rose up on my arms and hesitantly tracked my gaze up until I could see Grant, sitting quietly, his hands curled over the ends of the armrests of his chair. He’d just witnessed me screaming in orgasm as I was mercilessly used by one of his friends and I began to shake as doubts started spinning through my head. As neither of us moved I became convinced that the gossamer fine connection that drew us together had just been severed, casting adrift that sublime something that we shared.

Well I’d survived before him and I would again and I felt that irrepressible spirit within me kindle again, kicking up my chin and causing me to raise a questioning eyebrow at him insolently.

As if it was the sign from me he was looking for he turned his hands palm up and shot me a grin as he beckoned me to him, the fingers of both hands fluttering like upright wings in his palms and just like a bird I flew to him, at home in the warmth of his arms.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © (c) Minidevilette Memories 2011

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