Chapter 32 #3
It rolled on, breaking again before the first wave had finished, and then again.
The second and third orgasms seemed to catch on to one another, making each of them longer, brighter, more unbearable than the last. Gowry swore under his breath.
Porter tightened his arm around my waist and kept me exactly where I was while my body jerked and clenched and shook.
“That’s it,” he said near my ear, and his voice had roughened now. “Take it. Come on our cocks.”
Our cocks. I came again, just from those two words it felt like, and after that I no longer seemed to be properly in the room.
I remained upright. I heard sounds. I felt things.
But some part of me had gone very far away, very suddenly, to the cold, clear place from which I could observe the rest. From there I could see the scene as if from some impossible height: a red-haired girl in a red bra, flushed and striped and spread over a powerful man’s lap, while another powerful man fucked her from the front in a senator’s office.
I saw the girl’s mouth open on helpless cries.
I saw the way her body seized around both men every time another climax tore through her.
I saw how small she looked. How thoroughly used.
How completely she had become what they said she was.
And from that outer place I understood, with a calm more devastating than panic, that the girl was me. I floated there while my body kept coming.
I was dimly aware of tears on my face, and I was also dimly aware that neither man had withdrawn.
They continued to use me through it. Gowry’s strokes had become less measured now, more openly driven by the pleasure of my body’s response.
Porter still moved with more control, but I could feel urgency building in him too, in the heavier rise of his hips, the firmer pressure of his fingers, the way his breath touched the damp hair at my temple.
“She keeps doing it,” Gowry said, sounding almost impressed. “Christ.”
“Of course she does,” Porter replied, and there was pride in it now, unmistakable and somehow almost as humiliating as the rest. “She asked for this.”
I had. That fact glowed in the cold space where I hovered, undeniable and lewd.
No one had put the words in my mouth. No one had imagined this for me before I did.
I had come here and offered up my own degradation as if some part of me had always understood that being used this way would reveal me to myself more completely than any decency ever had.
That was when Gowry came.
I knew it first from the change in his face, the tightening there, the concentration turning inward, then from the way his hands clamped harder on my hips and his thrusts grew deep and final.
He gave a low rough groan, drove into me, and held there, and I felt the hot pulsing fullness of him in my cunt.
The sensation of being filled that way while Porter still occupied my ass and held my exhausted body in place sent one last involuntary spasm through me. I whimpered.
Gowry stayed buried for a moment, breathing hard, looking down at me as if to commit the sight to memory. I think he said something, perhaps to Porter, perhaps about me, but I couldn’t catch it fully through the ringing in my ears and the strange floating stillness in my mind.
Then he withdrew. The emptiness in my pussy felt shocking. Cold almost, though of course it wasn’t cold at all. My body clenched pointlessly after him. I watched that happen from very far away too, with detached embarrassment for the poor greedy creature I evidently was.
Porter did not let me sink. His arm tightened around my middle.
“Stay with me,” he said, and then he held me firmly in place and began to thrust upward, hard and deep, so that I sobbed in helpless discomfort.
I blinked. The office sharpened by degrees, just enough that I could feel my sponsor’s hands on my hips, the sweat cooling on my skin, the soreness beginning to declare itself beneath the pleasure.
My bottom, full of Porter’s hardness, still burned where the cane had striped it. My thighs trembled uncontrollably.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, though the words sounded slurred.
Gowry stepped back and adjusted himself with no visible shame at all, while I remained spread and impaled and barely coherent, waiting for my sponsor to come in my anus. That contrast might have mortified me more, if I had had enough of myself back to be properly mortified.
Porter’s cock thrust in and out. I wailed my submission to his utter dominance over my body’s most intimate place. The rhythm stuttered, and my sponsor growled a wordless command that my mind understood without any need for translation: Take it, you little ass whore.
I felt his hot seed spurt into me, into the dark, wrong place, and somehow I had enough remaining shame to blush at the sensation.
“Good girl,” Porter murmured, as his hands gripped me even tighter, as if to make sure I didn’t try to deprive him of even the slightest bit of the pleasure he found deep in my anus. “Such a good girl.”