My Boyfriend’s Boyfriends. Lisette Ashton

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘Meet the boys, Zadie.’ Dane drops an arm around my shoulders and rattles off a list of names, but I’m not able to take them in. Or meet the guys’ eyes.

      ‘Hey,’ I mutter.

      The ginger one isn’t as polite. ‘Come on, Dane,’ he complains, grinding out his cigarette end. ‘No wives, no girlfriends – you know the rules.’

      ‘Fuck off, Dec,’ says Dane amiably. ‘It’s my turn to set the Game. Well, this is it. We’re going on a Pussy Hunt.’

      There’s absolute silence for a moment. I feel six pairs of eyes locked on me like sniper scopes.

      ‘Huh,’ says someone.

      ‘What sort …?’

      ‘A Pussy Hunt,’ he repeats. ‘A proper one. I reckon we give her twenty minutes’ head start. She’s pretty good across rough country. The first man to catch her – or the last man standing – gets her pussy.’

      Someone snorts. Slow grins break across those hard faces.

      ‘Shit …’

      ‘You dirty bastard, Dane.’

      ‘Whose idea was that?’ asks Lewis, mildly incredulous.

      He lifts an open hand to me. ‘Hers.’

      That’s not exactly true. But he’d made very sure of his ground before he suggested the scheme to me. He’d known about my porn stash since the early days of our relationship: Three and More! The Gang’s All Here! Greedy Bitches! – all that stuff. I like the idea of one girl, several guys. That’s my thing; it’s the notion of being the centre of attention, the star of the show. It took Dane to suggest bringing it to reality, though.

      I think I shocked him at first, with my use of porn and my sexual enthusiasm. His ex-wife had barely believed in sex, the way he tells it. He was like a kid in a sweetshop with me, and we pushed each other to extremes. I’ve never come so close to getting arrested as that night in his car – getting it on in the service-station car park, astride his lap, steamy and sweating and giggling like crazy; then pinned by police headlights.

      He drew all my deepest dirtiest fantasies out of me. I’d tell him wild stories as he licked my pussy: the rugby-club changing room, the van full of policemen taking me into custody, the ship full of pirates with me a captive damsel. Silly fluff, really. But he’d never laughed at me. Grinned, yes: that considering, narrow-eyed grin of his. Taken thorough advantage of my arousal, yes. Suggested other scenarios, yes. Driven me to the brink and over with whispered suggestions about fucking me in the public bar of our local, or on the bus … or, yes, at Lewis’s wedding reception.

      Then he’d introduced the fantasy of the hunt through the woods.

      Then, one day, he’d remarked, ‘We could do that, you know. For real. If you wanted.’

      I’ve never even had a threesome, until now.

      ‘You sure about this?’ asks a guy with a scarred lip, almost accusingly.

      I swallow. Am I sure? It doesn’t seem real yet. Here I am, standing in front of seven fit, hard men, and they’re all looking at me and picturing what it would mean to chase me down and fuck me. ‘Yeah,’ I say, my voice all hoarse and strained. ‘Yeah, I’m sure.’

      ‘That’s my girl,’ says Dane, giving me a hug. Then he flips a small rucksack off his shoulder and presses it into my arms. ‘Go get changed into this lot,’ he tells me, jerking his chin to indicate the stone hut we’ve all parked in front of.

      They watch me go. I can feel their eyes on my back and my ass and my legs. I slip into the dark interior of the bothy. It’s pretty rough and basic – stone floor, plank bunk-beds, sleeping bags and six-packs of beer dumped for later use. I drop the rucksack on the rough table and explore the contents.

      The change of clothes has taken me by surprise. I had intended to run in the sports gear I’m wearing now, the same kit I wore when I met Dane. Yes, I’m one of the soft managerial types. A local government officer. My Saturday workouts were what led to us starting our private one-to-one exercise regime.

      Now he’s presented me with costume, and I struggle to make sense of it. A narrow black skirt, almost knee-length, in some nasty shiny fabric. A white button-fronted blouse, but over a cami-top of red lace. Knee-high black suede boots – with no heels, thank goodness. I couldn’t run in heels. A short scarlet jacket, very 80s style. It all looks a bit like formal office-wear, but also a bit cheap. And quite dated.

      It doesn’t convey anything to me, but older men always have baggage.

      Military men have shit-loads of baggage. I know that. I’m from an officer’s family.

      I can hear them talking outside, their voices deep. Each rumbling syllable sinks to the pit of my stomach. When I squint out through the half-open door, I see one of them shake his head dubiously.

      Dane can handle the discussion. I get changed, deciding not to bother with bra or panties. What would be the point? I touch myself between the legs, exploring the pussy Dane lovingly shaved this morning. I’m as soft as a plush toy, but there’s a secret slipperiness hidden there. My body is eager for this.

      The clothes fit snugly, but well. My fingers tremble as I do up the buttons on my blouse. That’s when Dane comes in to check on me. I hear the deep intake of his breath, and he blocks the light from the door as he enters. ‘Hey, Zadie.’

      ‘Hey.’

      He’s got a paintball gun like a rifle hanging from his shoulder.

      ‘You OK with this?’ His knuckles graze my cheek softly, and he cups the back of my head. I look up into his face, like it’s going to tell me something I need to know. But his expression is closed, as always, his eyes watchful but betraying nothing. Everything about him is reserved. Except when we fuck. It’s one of the few times he opens up.

      No, he’s not going to be my forever guy. But he’s a good man, I think. And good to me.

      ‘I reckon so,’ I say, my voice a little weak. I’m scared, but I want to try this. I want to take the leap. I want to do something that isn’t just fantasy. These guys … they’ve done stuff for real. Here in their woodland hideout they’re playing a game, but it hasn’t always been a game to them. They’ve killed people, I suppose, and that freaks me out a bit. They’ve hunted people down. They’ve been places I can’t imagine, and don’t want to. When they run round with their paintball guns, they are just pretending – but these are men who don’t have to pretend.

      I don’t want to just pretend either, any more.

      ‘I’ve told them the rules,’ he says, one hand on my waist. I can sense the tension crackling off him, and as our bodies brush together I feel the push of his erection. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about.’

      ‘They’re all up for it?’ Even the married ones? I might have added.

      ‘Oh, yes.’

      I nod, and decide to ask. ‘What’s this clothing about then?’

      His gaze flicks СКАЧАТЬ