Chapter 20
The infinity pool is outside, between the beach and the resort, at the rear of the hall the CNC Frat used for the other party.
Broad, sandstone stairs descend from the patio that runs the length of the hall.
I follow Mr. Loxland down them, sandals in hand, my translucent sarong floating in the air and brushing my body.
A late morning breeze washes in from the beach past the pool’s invisible edge.
Above half of the pool a ripple-patterned shade cloth shields those already splashing about in the water. Splashing and fucking, of course.
“How do they not wear out their bits?” I muse.
From behind, Tomás replies. “Have you worn yours out?”
“Not yet,” I murmur.
“Give us time. You’re to call me sir, today.”
His South American accent has a certain something I love.
Is it just because it’s different from the Australian one I’m used to?
I’m still mulling over why when he takes my shoulder and halts me then pushes me against the stone support wall of the patio.
With his knee wedged between my legs, he kisses me—a long, sultry fucking dominant kiss that warms me in all the wrong and right places.
He pulls away but stays only inches away. His breath caresses my lips. “Answer me.”
I’m panting lightly and have to swallow before I reply. I’m definitely warmer, plus his thigh is pressing on intimate places. “Umm. Yes, Sir?”
“Good girl.” He cups my face. “If you forget, I will sew your pussy together, one stitch for every transgression. Every. Single. Time you forget.”
“What.” My voice has gone husky and these two… Over his shoulder I can see Mr. Loxland watching us. They have me responding like a little clockwork toy. “Sir,” I hurriedly add. “If you do that, I’ll be like…”
“I’d have to stitch you everywhere? It’s only for today. Entender? Understand?”
“Okay. Sir. And if you keep pressing there, I might come.”
He chuckles.
“Also…” I cannot help saying this, I need my facts to make sense, sometimes. I lower my voice, am tempted to lean my head into his shoulder. “Uhh. You can’t fuck me if I’m sewn there.”
He kisses me again, softly, presses his thigh in rhythmically until I’m half mesmerized. “I’ll take them out, fuck you, then stitch you back up.”
“Oh.” Oh fuck. Now I’m stupidly turned on. Did I miss a sir? “Sir!”
He ushers me onward. “Go.”
Why has Tomás saying he’ll fuck me then redo the stitches made me horny? Hornier. The mindfuck in that has possibly deceased my brain cells.
“I like your idea, Tomás. Today, it’s sir for me, too, Juniper. You first.” Mr. Loxland steps aside to let me pass. “I want to watch that ass wiggle. And imagine the look on your face when I place my first stitch.”
“Umm.” No words come to me and I shut my mouth and sneak by him.
What have I done to trigger this? I suppose if I absolutely opt out, they won’t do it?
But I won’t, unless I forget a sir and then…
shit. Now I’m imagining myself with my legs bound open, tied up, as he comes in with a needle and thread.
This arrangement is nuts. I don’t know why I like it this way.
Wait. No, I do.
Fear and sex. Fear is a spice. I figured this out before, and it’s still the reason why I like them ordering me about. Why I like daring them to do things to me, kinda, sorta. It’s exhilarating.
But I have reservations. I am going to have to remember to say sir. A needle sinking into my lips down there, the pain would be incredible. I wince then trot down the last few steps.
I guess I’m getting used to the CNC Fraternity craziness because I can pass most of it…
them, without gawking, much. Besides, most are doing it pretty normally—on the grass at the side or on sturdy deckchairs or sprawling outdoor lounges, if in threesomes and foursomes as well as twosomes.
Though a few are wearing kinky clothing, nakedness and revealing swimwear is common.
Is the pool full of come?
I eye the water as we head for the right-hand edge and cannot spot anything obvious in the pristine blue-greenness. The bottom bears a gentle mural of the seabed.
Is this Russian, Zasha, here? I look for him while we make our way along the inner length of the pool before dropping our gear onto an unused lounge that lies below a large umbrella.
Whips? Floggers? Impact play? None, except for a spanking. A petite mermaid in the water is getting screwed, I think—judging by her clutching the pool’s edge, the jolting of her body, her moans, and by the man as big as a walrus at her back.
Wait. He’s bald. That’s almost certainly Zasha Morosova.
I half raise my hand, then stop myself. My men have sat on the edge of the pool, legs in the water.
They’ve both undressed completely, and it is, as far as I can recall, the first time they’ve done this in public.
The ripple of muscles, the ridges of their abs, and Tomás’ thick thighs entice me to ogle them. Love a man with big thighs. Oof.
I’m woken from my reverie.
“Off with the dress, before you sit down.”
“The sarong, sir?” I discard the sarong, let it fall to the paving. I give myself a figurative pat on the back. I remembered to say sir, though it’s pussy preservation motivating me.
“Yes. Sit.’” He pats the pool edge between them. Tomás offers me his hand.
“Sir, is that him?” I jerk my head toward walrus man.
“Someone behind me? I’m not looking after you did that. Sit.”
Except Mr. Loxland has already turned and looked. He swings back. “It is him. I doubt he’d care about random guests staring. He is nailing a mermaid.”
The hand is still there. Tomás cranks up an eyebrow and beckons. I take his hand and sit between them, letting my feet dangle in the pool. The water is brilliantly cool, just how I like it. “Sorry.” Then I hurriedly add, “Sorry, sirs. Fuck, this is going to be hard to remember.”
They’ve leaned back to speak behind me.
“Best idea ever?” Tomás says.
“For sure. She’s going to forget at least once.”
“We could take bets.”
I turn and frown.
Loxland’s slips his hand into the back of my bikini bottom, sliding down to tease my ass, while Tomás places his on my thigh. With the two of them laying claim to me, tingles spread like dancing fire from where they touch, my skin, my core, my breasts, softly arousing.
Mr. Loxland pulls me closer and kisses my shoulder.
His cock is erect, and I stare at it as he says low and rough, gravel in every syllable, “Climb on me, straddle my lap. I want to see your face when you fuck yourself on my cock.” He bites my neck, once, twice, mouths it with his teeth dragging on skin making me sigh.
“Hmmm. Change in plans. Down here with that mouth first.”
He uses my hair to direct me, and I open my mouth and lick my tongue around the head of his cock, wetting it, sucking a little, while his fingers turn to iron in my hair.
“Down.”
He presses me lower, until I engulf his cock, inch by rigid inch.
With my ass angled off the pool paving, Tomás has chosen to undo the sides of my bikini and draw it off me.
Then he works his fingers between my lips and inside me, fucking me there in time with the rise and fall of my head.
The noises forced from me by the dick plundering my mouth are distractions from what is happening with those fingers.
I am being used like a puppet—a wet, cock-sucking puppet with a hole.
When Loxland pulls me off him, he groans, his face is strained. Guess I did my job well. Tomás wipes his hand off on my ass then slaps it.
“Now you can climb on me,” Loxland instructs.
As gracefully as I can, kneeling to either side, I arrange my legs over him. I am spellbound by what I’m about to sit on. Jutting upward, glistening with my drool, his cock waits for me to sink onto it. I can still taste it, still taste the hint of precum, the girth stretching my mouth.
That sensation, where the head parts me and pushes in, it’s in my mind as I rise and position myself, pushing his cock backward so it glides between my engorged lips, feeling the head slide, and then...sink into me. My thighs tense as I halt.
Panting softly, I resist the need to arch my back and instead stare between my legs at what little I can see of the base of his cock, knowing the rest is already inside me.
I swallow, stifling a whimper as his cock moves.
Loxland waits patiently, though he’s tightening his grip on my hair.
Palms on his muscular legs, I groan and lower myself, until I’m sitting on his thighs fully impaled, with nowhere else to go.
My pussy squeezes in. I revolve myself, just a little, pumping up and down by half an inch.
I duck my head, claw at his legs. That feeling of fullness is so damn good.
“Move,” he grunts.
I start the rise and falling rhythm, fucking myself onto him, desire making me into a feral thing, an animal that just wants…and wants…
More.
Cock.
His hands arrive at my waist, and I’ve fluttered my eyelids closed so I can experience every particle of every hot, wet, swollen moment of his erection going in me. The inches entering, the loss of them, the slide, the withdrawal, the awesome way my pussy swallows his cock, until he’s a part of me.
I hold his shoulders, and he pulls me close and kisses me ruthlessly, lips devouring mine while he slaps up into me. Hips tilting, he fucks me with a ruthless force that jars me and makes me shudder and moan at each re-entry.
Ruthless man. Perfect Dom.
“Now. Off. Go to Tomás.” The hunger in his eyes tells me how hard this is but he’s amused at my pitiful sounds of protest. I want to finish on him, but I also want them both. I’m dripping wetness, smearing the hairs on his thighs.