My Boyfriend’s Boyfriends. Lisette Ashton

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СКАЧАТЬ – all the crap I carry in my head – is irrelevant. I’m being fucked. By seven men. And I do what I had feared: I disintegrate into a great explosive orgasm, howling around the cock-shaft filling my mouth.

      But there’s no escape into the evening sky. They have me pinned.

      ‘Next,’ says Dane’s voice, somewhere far away. They shift me over to the next pair of men around the circle. I know the one muscling up eagerly between my thighs and draping my legs over his shoulder is Nottingham, because I can feel his beard on my bare labia. He gobbles into me like a man at a watermelon-eating contest, making my scratched, bruised, sweat-glazed flesh bounce and shake as I jerk beneath the onslaught. The lean, scarred man is the next to fill my mouth with his cock. I still have no idea what his name is. What does it matter? It’s a cock. He’s a man, and he’s fucking me.

      Seven men, and they take it in turns to eat me out and to rod my throat. I come every single time – in fact each guy refuses to stop eating my pussy until the moment I’ve tensed and twisted and spasmed. Dane makes sure of that; he knows exactly what I’m capable of. He takes his own turn last, just when I’m thinking I’m too exhausted to wring out another climax. But he’s too familiar with my body to be denied, and I come again.

      It’s not quite like I imagined in my sanitised fantasies. This thing is sharper, more uncomfortable, earthier. Better. There are … tastes. Twinges of pain. Moments of near-panic. I’m so much less in control, of them or of myself. Despite all my wild dreams, I couldn’t have imagined how this feels. Or how extraordinarily, indescribably good it is.

      After that they lay me down on the woodland floor. Dane squats between my open knees and lays his hand on my throbbing sex. I’m gasping and quivering and trying to get control over my body again. He watches my face carefully. He pulls a tube of lube out of his pocket and squirts it copiously over my undercarriage. Then he strips off his heavy camo-jacket and the vest underneath and bundles them up to make a cushion that he slips under my hips, lifting my pelvis.

      The others stand around, wiping the perspiration off their foreheads and stroking their erect cocks. Watching to see what happens next.

      ‘Pin her arms,’ he orders. Two of them press my wrists into the grass.

      Dale pushes my knees up towards my chest to stretch my pussy wide, mounts me and starts to fuck. After all that sucking, penetration feels alien and frightening and wonderful. His chest glistens with sweat. He’s so hard, so charged up, that it doesn’t take that long before the flush rises in his chest and face, and I know he’s going to unload. But he surprises me. He pulls out abruptly just before climax, grips his cock hard and gives it a couple more pulls, the muscles in his forearm sliding like machinery. A jet of semen spurts out from his engorged bell-end, right up my torso. In five or six splashes he’s managed to hit my tits and belly and pubic mound. Then he rolls away.

      ‘Who wants to fuck her next?’ he asks, clearing his throat.

      ‘Me,’ says Karaoke quickly, shucking his too-hot jacket. ‘My balls are fuckin’ blue.’

      Karaoke, then Lewis. Then Scar. Then Nottingham. Then Dec. Then Trev. It’s not dignified, but it is incredibly intense. While one guy’s shafting me, the others hold me down. They straddle my face and make me lick their cocks and balls, they play with my nipples and jiggle my tits. I’m so grateful that Dane went first and showed them just how hard I can take it. I stop thinking. I stop being Zadie. I’m just Pussy. And that’s perfect.

      They all pull out and ejaculate on me, in turn, just the way they’ve been shown. Military types like their rituals. By the time I’m painted up with seven loads of jizz, I’ve come again three more times, and the light has faded to dusk.

      Everything goes quiet then, except for my loud breathing and the warble of a twilight blackbird. I can feel my pulse hammering in my groin and belly and breast, a deep thunder. I’m so limp I feel like part of the earth beneath me. Overhead, their faces are very dark, silhouetted against the lambent sky.

      Dane, kneeling by my side, touches me on the lips, and then runs his fingers down my body – right through the creamy spill of his mates’ semen, stirring it, mixing it together. He lifts his hand to his bare chest, rubs the slick into his breastbone and crosses his heart.

      They all follow suit. In absolute silence.

      My eyes are already welling with exhausted tears. I blink hard. They’d rather die, these men, than tell each other how much they love each other. How close they are. It’s so much easier when they’ve got a woman to do it through.

      I’m moved in a way I’d never anticipated this day. I wipe at my trickling tears with a dirty hand, feeling the grit smeared across my cheek.

      ‘You OK, babes?’ Dane asks. ‘You done in now? You want to go home?’

      ‘No,’ I whisper. ‘I need a pint of water and a bit of a rest … but I’m good.’

      ‘D’you want a bit more?’

      ‘Might do,’ I admit.

      There’s laughter, but it’s gentle. ‘She’s fucking game, your girl,’ says Nottingham.

      Dane pulls on his jacket. ‘Let’s get back to the hut before the mosquitoes eat us alive,’ he says, and crouches to pull me up onto his back in a piggyback. He’s a big strong guy and it seems effortless. ‘We can fuck you in a bit more comfort there,’ he adds. ‘Bring the kit, lads.’

      As he starts back up the hill, hands under my butt and slapping a tattoo on my ass, I twist my head to see the others fall in behind us, grinning.

      Like good huntsmen, they’re bringing the body of their quarry back with them, to share it out.

       Red Room

       Lisette Ashton

      ‘It’s going to happen tonight,’ Helen said. Her voice was stiff with determination. She had made the decision and she was going to stick with it. ‘I’m doing the red room. I’m doing the red room tonight.’

      Tony raised a single eyebrow. It gave his face the questioning expression that always reminded her of Roger Moore. Even the tone of his voice had the sardonic twist that she associated with the star of her favourite old Bond films.

      ‘I thought you were doing the red room last month?’ Tony asked.

      ‘That was my intention –’

      ‘And you’d said you were going to do it the month before –’

      ‘– it’s not always easy to stick to a plan at Club K –’

      ‘– and the month before that, if my memory serves –’

      ‘I’m doing the red room tonight,’ Helen broke in. She spoke with enough finality to end the conversation. ‘It doesn’t matter what I’ve said previously. And it doesn’t matter whether or not I’ve stuck by what I’ve said. I’m definitely doing it tonight.’

      The abruptness in her tone was measured. She didn’t want to cause an СКАЧАТЬ