Chapter 38 #2
Alistair and Matt start thrusting in a rhythm.
It builds slowly—each of them learning the other's pace through my body—and I am never empty, always full, one of them going deep as the other eases and then the other going deep, a continuous incredible alternating pressure that fills me completely from both directions and my arms are shaking and I am making sounds on every stroke, helpless, continuous, loud. Sometimes they are both inside me up to the hilt and I sob. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
“Jesus Christ,” swears Sarah. “So fucking hot.” She moves her face beneath me again, this time licking my pussy. I can’t hold off my orgasm anymore. I feel like I’m going to combust.
She sucks my swollen clit and I scream. Everything goes white and the orgasm smashes into me so hard I think I’m dying. I wouldn’t mind dying.
Sarah’s tongue fast and hard on my clit and both of them fucking me simultaneously and the sensation is so enormous it has no edges—it fills everything, my whole body, every nerve firing at once, my cunt and my rim clenching around them both simultaneously which makes them both groan and go harder which makes me clench harder and the feedback loop of it is spiraling, building, going somewhere I have never been.
I come again.
It’s utter annihilation. It starts somewhere deep between the two of them, where the pressure of both their cocks is greatest, touching through a thin membrane, and it detonates outward through every part of me simultaneously, gripping Matt in long violent pulses, clutching Alistair, my back arching, my arms giving way so that I’m folded over, face smashed into the bed and still taking both of them while the orgasm moves through me in waves that don't stop.
They don't stop either.
Alistair fucks me harder. Matt drives up into me harder.
Sarah's tongue doesn't stop and the orgasm that should be ending topples me again and I cry out against Matt's chest and grip his shoulders and my body keeps going. It keeps clenching, keeps pulling them deeper, keeps coming, and I can’t tell anymore where one thing ends and another begins because nothing ends, it all runs together, wave into wave into wave crashing right into my soul.
Too much, something in me thinks. Too good. This will actually kill me. But I don’t care.
Alistair comes with his face pressed hard into my spine and a sound I have never heard from him—low and guttural and undone—his hands gripping my hips so hard I feel it in the bone, buried as deep as he can go, and the pulse of him in my ass while Matt is still fucking my cunt sends me over one final time so hard my voice goes out completely, just air, no sound.
Matt drives up into me three more times and goes still, then I feel him filling me.
Both of them still inside me, both of them spent, I collapse.
Every part of me is shaking and my face is wet with tears and spit.
Sarah rolls me onto my back and starts cleaning me up with her tongue, slowly, languorously, loving it, going from hole to hole and back again, making sure she gets every last drop.
We have a while to recover, then the door opens.
A man I have not seen before steps through. Dark-haired, unhurried, taking in the room without surprise. He closes the door behind him.
He looks at Sarah with fire in his eyes. She’s already sitting up, her hair tangled, her mouth curved. She holds out her hand to him and he comes to her, kissing her beside me and pushing her down into the bed so close that I can feel the warmth of his skin.
The hours that follow are surreal—an erotic dream sequence.
It is all warmth and candlelight, the smell of bodies and champagne and something sweet that gets passed around on a small tray.
Some colorful pills that I take without asking what it is but makes me feel happy and beautiful and in love with everyone there.
Hands I don’t know and mouths I don’t recognize and the kissing and slapping and squelching has become one continuous thing, low and rhythmic and human.
The dark-haired man has his mouth on my throat, my hands in a beautiful woman’s hair.
Sarah laughing at something, the real laugh, unexpected and warm in the middle of all of it.
A woman I have not seen before, the corseted woman from downstairs, her dress gone, her hands on Alistair's chest—I watch this from across the room and feel no jealousy, only a loose warm want that is the residue of everything that has already happened and is still happening.
More champagne. More pills. An icy drink cold in my throat.
A vibrator pressed into my hand by someone and then taken back and used on me and I close my eyes and float.
I kiss and lick so many beautiful women, fingering a green-eyed redhead so hard that she squirts all over me.
Alistair keeps checking in on me but it’s not necessary, I’m in the best fucking dream.
I deep-throat a dildo and then a huge man’s cock.
I choke and I like it, then he laughs and pulls my hair back and fucks me hard, saying how pretty I am, how good I feel.
Matt's voice somewhere, low, talking to someone.
The dark-haired man is back, his tongue everywhere, slippery.
A different mouth on my breast that is not Sarah's and not Alistair's and I don't care, I just feel it, just let it happen, my body a thing that is being taken care of in a room full of people who know what they are doing. I hear Sarah murmur: “I know. Isn’t she the most beautiful fucking sexy bitch you’ve ever laid eyes on? Wait until you taste her pussy.” When I turn to look, she’s talking about me, and then she crawls over to me like a cat.
The candles burn lower. I am on my back and then I am not and then I am again and the room moves around me in warm amber waves and I think—distantly, from very far away—this is what a body is for.
And then Alistair is there, holding my hand, stroking my face. The room keeps going around us, sounds and movement and naked skin.
I am his. He pulls me into him. My back against his chest. His arm around my waist.
Outside the string lights are still burning orange in the trees.