Chapter 32
Alex
Silence fell for a moment. Gowry’s hand had stilled on his rigid erection. Porter’s expression was unreadable.
I knew they understood. That seemed to make the humiliation truly exquisite: I had asked for a thing that men understood—something they proposed, or simply commanded, not something a girl asked for.
My pulse hammered. “Please, sir,” I said again, more urgently. “I want to try taking you both. Please.”
Gowry’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Porter’s expression changed almost imperceptibly, with a sharpened concentration that made my body tighten all over.
“You’re asking for double penetration,” he said.
The explicitness of hearing it named made me nearly whimper. “Yes, sir.”
“You’ve never done it.”
“No, sir.” I swallowed. “But I… I want…” My voice broke on the nakedness of the truth. “I want more. Please.”
Gowry gave a low, thoughtful sound that might have been amusement or interest or both. “Ambitious, isn’t she.”
“She is,” Porter said.
I knelt there between them, naked except for the red lace, caned, used, and asking for more…
as if I had no remaining pretense of being anything but Porter’s naughty fuck toy, to be shared as he saw fit, and I needed.
The remains of the self-respecting young woman who had come to this office two weeks ago, in search of some shameful advantage over a powerful senator noted that I should feel mortified about that.
Instead I could feel how it had made me even wetter, down there where my need to serve flamed like a fiery brand.
Porter stepped closer. His fingers came under my chin and tipped my face up to his. “Look at me.”
I did.
“Do you know what you’re asking for?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me.”
I could barely get air into my lungs. “I’m asking to be fucked by both of you,” I whispered. “At the same time.”
His eyes held mine. “Where?”
I trembled. “In my mouth and… and… in… in my… my cunt.” I bit my lip and found myself unable to suppress the tiny whine that vibrated in my nose. I spoke again, unable to stop the shameful words from emerging. “Or… or in my… my ass, if you… if you choose, sir.”
A dark heat moved through his gaze at that. My whole body answered.
Gowry had come a little nearer, too, still pumping his hardness in his hand. I could feel him there, not touching me yet, looming. “You’ve made quite a creature of her, Bradford.”
“Yes,” Porter said softly, still looking at me. “I think so.”
Then his hand left my chin and moved to the back of my neck, firm and possessive.
“Stand up,” he said. “Slowly. Let’s see how serious you are.”
I obeyed though my knees felt weak and my bottom still ached in six narrow, vivid lines. Porter’s hand remained at the back of my neck while I rose, and the simple steadiness of it made me feel led, guided.
Gowry stepped aside to let me up, but he didn’t move very far away, just a foot or two. I could feel the heat of his body and the deliberate attention of his gaze on the red lace, on my bare thighs, on the little shiver that went through me when I straightened fully.
Porter guided me across the room. There was a low table in front of the seating area, polished dark wood, broad enough to hold me but not by much.
“Hands and knees,” he said.
A sound of embarrassment escaped me before I could stop it. The office seemed suddenly too elegant, too official, too full of dark leather and male power for what he was telling me to do. I drew back a little, but my sponsor urged me forward, towards the tabletop.
I obeyed.
The wood pressed hard beneath my palms and knees.
“Arch that back, you little slut,” Porter said, his tone sharp—maybe sharper, and hungrier, than he had intended.
To bend my back lifted my ass, presented my smooth, waxed pussy. I displayed the striped flesh of my bottom, and underneath that the tender cleft, the pink lips. I felt like an exhibit. A lesson aid. A girl who had asked for such indecency that she deserved to be displayed while it was considered.
Porter stood beside me for a moment in silence. I heard that dry note in his voice that somehow made everything more humiliating.
“I think a girl who asks for two cocks,” he said, “should be given rather special attention.”
Heat flashed through me so hard that I almost sagged onto my elbows.
Gowry let out a low sound of agreement. “Hard to argue with that.”
Porter’s hand moved over my back, then down to my hip, then to the soft underside of one breast in the red lace. “Senator,” he said, “if you’d like to assist me in preparing her body, I imagine Alex would be grateful.”
I thought I might actually combust. My body… to be prepared… the subject of collaboration. My body: something they could work on together before using.
“Yes,” Gowry said. “I’d like that.”
Porter’s fingers tightened a little on my hip. “Close your eyes.”
I did.
The darkness made everything feel larger. The room became touch, breath, and helpless anticipation. I felt hands on me—too many to sort properly, though I kept trying; it even felt like there were more than four, impossible though I knew that to be.
One man touched my shoulders and throat while another smoothed his palms down my sides.
Fingers skimmed over the cups of my bra, over my ribs, over my waist. One hand cupped a breast through the lace and thumbed my nipple until it tightened painfully.
Another spread over one buttock and then the other, tracing the cane marks with a pressure that made me gasp.
I did not know whose hands were where anymore.
That represented an essential part of the experience, one Porter had obviously intended when he had told me to close my eyes.
My body became a shared field of sensation, and because I could not see, I could not assign ownership or prepare for the next touch.
Fingers slid into my hair, gathered it, let it fall.
A mouth brushed my shoulder. A hand moved between my thighs and simply rested there over my sex for one suspended second, making me whimper into the darkness behind my eyelids.
“So responsive,” one of them murmured. I couldn’t even tell which.
I had begun to breathe too fast. The blood seemed to have gone hot all through me.
Every touch intensified the next one. A palm glided over my belly while another hand stroked down the inner line of my thigh and opened me a little wider at the knees.
Fingers traced the cleft of my bottom, not entering, only letting me feel how exposed I was from every angle.
Then a thumb found my clit through a smear of my own wetness and circled once, lightly.
I cried out.
“Stay still,” Porter said, in that sharp voice that always, always made me clench.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
The hands continued. One man held my hips very steady while another cupped my chin from below and tilted my face up, as if to inspect what the arousal looked like on me.
Fingers slipped under the red lace at my breast and pinched my nipple directly now, not cruelly, but enough to make me jerk.
Then a hand spread me between my legs, and I felt two fingers run slowly through my folds.
I made the most humiliating sound.
“Christ,” Gowry said softly, and I heard in it not tenderness but appreciation.
The fingers that had found my pussy gathered my wetness and moved with terrible deliberateness.
They stroked through me again, then further back and further up, to the tighter place…
the little bud Porter had made his own. I went rigid at once.
A fingertip worked there, slickening the little ring with what my own body had produced from all this shame and need.
The realization of that—that I was being prepared for anal use with my own arousal—sent such a violent pulse through me that I thought for one dizzy instant I might simply lose consciousness and float away.
Instead I stayed there, panting over the coffee table with my eyes shut while one of them worked my pussy and then my anus and then my pussy again, making a single continuity out of those places in a way that felt depraved beyond language.
“There,” Porter said quietly near my ear. “That’s better.”
Then, further away and louder, to the man with whom he had decided to share me.
“The anus is mine, but to celebrate this legislative achievement, please accept a loan of the cunt.”
“Oh, God,” I whimpered. I thought I might burst into flames from the wave of mortification and need that swept through me.
A hand remained on my lower back, keeping me arched. Another spread over the back of my neck. Then I felt the blunt head of a cock at the entrance to my vagina, pressed there from behind.
My eyes flew open.
“Keep them open now, slut,” Porter said.
Before I could answer, Gowry pushed into the aching sheath of my pussy.
I cried out. My body had been so wound, so prepared, so inflamed by everything they had done with their hands that the intrusion felt enormous and immediate and shockingly good.
He filled me in one heavy thrust that made the table shift under my knees.
At the same instant Porter stepped in front of me and put his hand under my jaw.
“Mouth,” he said.
I opened at once.
His cock pressed onto my tongue and then entered.
The shame of it, the speed of it, the fact that I had gone in a few seconds from being touched and evaluated to being properly, brutally occupied at both ends of the same axis of submission, with one man in my pussy and the other in my face, nearly blasted my mind apart.
Gowry began to fuck me first, measured and deep, from behind.
Each thrust moved me forward onto Porter’s cock.
Porter took my mouth with a quicker rhythm, one hand in my hair, the other behind his back.
I could do nothing but receive them both.
My body rocked between them. My hands slipped a little on the polished wood.
I heard wet sounds, little choked noises from my own throat, the faint creak of wood.