65. Darcy

For a few minutes, we just kiss. Hug. Touch. Stroke. We're limbs and breath and sensation. Dex tugs me to one side so he can kiss me deeply, and the way Max's arm is banded around me from behind, I'm pretty sure he's having a good grope of Dex's outrageous bum.

Then I'm pulled onto my back, Max nipping at my lips and probing with his tongue before he raises his head and his mouth finds Dex over me. I watch the wet dance of their tongues, the slide of their stubbled jaws, as they kiss right above my face. It's the best show ever, and I have a front-row seat.

We can't get enough of exploring each other. I clamber up onto my knees and turn so I can simply take them in, sprawled out on the sheets with their legs akimbo and their hair mussed and their eyes watchful. Hungry. Max crosses his arms behind his head, and the heavy tufts of hair under his arms have me wanting to bury my face in them.

I reach out and stroke down their stomachs. Hard. So fucking hard. I skate my fingertips over their latex-covered erections and gently cup the darker, thinner skin of their balls. I'm a kid in a theme park who doesn't know what—or who—to ride first.

Dickneyland, I remember, and smile to myself.

‘You look very smug,' Max observes, stretching out.

I shamelessly eye-fuck his naked body. ‘I am indeed smug. Look at you both.'

He glances across at Dex. ‘Time to see if she's all talk and no trousers,' he says with a mock-sigh, and I squeal as I'm tugged laughingly down to the bed and pounced upon.

‘Right.' Max is the CEO again, or the conductor, maybe. I already know that the symphony he'll orchestrate for us tonight, in this huge, serene room with the summer dusk beyond the windows, will be magic. I know, whatever happens, its music will stay with me forever.

‘Get on your back, sweetheart,' he tells me with a sweet brush of his lips over mine. I'm rolled onto my back, and Dex manoeuvres himself on top of me. The mood changes instantly. Less playful, darker. Anticipation hangs heavily in the air as I gaze up at him, Max stroking my hair off my face.

It's just me and them. No one else. Nothing to concern myself with except using my body as a channel for uniting the three of us in this most visceral way.

Then Dex is kissing me, and nudging at my entrance, and pushing inside me, and I'm gasping with how full I am, because this is how full should feel. Tight. Just the right side of overwhelm. He fits me perfectly, and when he drags his dick out of me and pushes back in it's so elemental I could weep.

Max mutters something to Dex that I don't catch, and then Dex is rolling onto his side and taking me with him. It's less overwhelming like this, I guess because he doesn't have as much leverage to thrust in this position, but it's still pretty intense, because having Dex gaze into your eyes while inside you in any position is going to send a girl crazy.

‘I've been thinking about this every day since I got to be inside you last week,' he whispers. As I'm smiling back at him, there's a wet, squirting noise and then Max is sliding in behind me, smearing a lot of lube between my cheeks, and I stiffen.

‘It's okay, angel,' Dex says, nodding reassuringly. ‘Keep focusing on me.'

It's as if I'm at the doctor's surgery, on the cusp of getting some godawful injection, and Dex is the nurse tasked with distracting me. The difference is, he's way hotter than any nurse I've ever seen, and he's trembling with the effort of staying still inside me, and the things Max is doing with his lubed-up finger are incredibly, shamefully pleasurable.

He's stretched me like this before, a few times now, but never with the agenda that he has tonight. I remind myself that I can do this, that my body is fully capable of stretching to accommodate him if I can get out of my own head.

Thankfully, Max's particular formula for warming me up doesn't just include a lubricated finger but his own brand of prose so dirty it has my body melting, blooming, around him.

‘She won't be content with just your cock,' he grunts in my ear. ‘She wants to be sandwiched between us, wedged between two guys and impaled on two dicks like the dirty, incredible little whore that she is. Don't you, sweetheart?'

I moan something incoherently affirmative, because he, the consummate maximiser of every sliver of opportunity, takes the chance to slide another finger inside me, and all I can think is burn. Burn. Alarm bells are going off, my body is far too full, and the stretch down there between Dex's cock and Max's fingers is way, way too much.

‘Breathe, angel,' Dex says, staring at me with desire and concern and wonder. I have a sudden, fleeting memory of a friend in Oz telling me how she felt like slapping her doula every time she told her to just breathe when in labour, and I feel exactly the same. I want to slap them both, tell them to fuck off, tell them I'm too hot and too impossibly tight and that I cannot fucking breathe, because there's no oxygen in the room.

‘You're doing great, sweetheart,' Max says. ‘I promise you it'll be worth it. And if you don't like it or it's too much, you say so and I'll take turns with Dex fucking your cunt. You'd like that too, wouldn't you?'

Yes. Yes I'd like that—I'd love being used by two men, one hole at a time. That sounds far more sensible. Why the ever-loving fuck I'm allowing Max to do this when I've never tried anal and I have another man inside my body is beyond me.

‘Say your safe word, so we know you've got it to hand,' Dex says, running a featherlight palm over my nipple, and that feels good. That feels non-violating and very, very nice.

I close my eyes. ‘Folklore,' I whisper, and it's amazing, the images that conjures up. Woodlands full of intricately furled ferns and low-lying mists. Cool streams. Smoking chimneys and swirling capes in plum-coloured velvet. It's so soothing, so mystical. A dreamy escape from the intensity of the here and now.

‘Good girl,' Max tells me, withdrawing his fingers. ‘I'm going in, okay sweetheart? Just bear down on me if you can.'

The initial pain is raw and intrusive and fucking awful. It hurts like a motherfucker, despite the lube. I pant hard, sweat slicking my body, Dex stroking my face and hair, the anguish on my face reflected in his.

‘Fuck,' Max grunts. ‘You're—it's so fucking tight back here. Jesus, sweetheart. You okay?'

‘Yeah,' I shudder out. I'm okay except for being frozen and way too full. I'm terrified to move in case it hurts more.

‘Try not to clench,' he says. ‘Try to relax, baby.'

He's only called me baby once or twice, but I love it when he does, and my body softens around him in approval. Naturally, he presses his advantage, pushing forward, and it's deeper but not as awful than the initial pain of accommodating his crown.

I gaze at Dex while Max pauses, I take in his huge eyes and his stubble-dusted jaw and that lower lip, looking at him with genuine pleasure as he strokes my face.

‘Can you feel him?' I whisper.

He smiles, and it's filled with awe. ‘Yeah. I can feel him.'

‘Good,' Max says behind me in a voice gruff with emotion, and beyond the pain there's a sense of wonder that these two men are meeting inside my body. It's unbelievable, and it's as close as we can physically get to each other. It's greater than just me and my physical discomfort.

I take a deep breath. ‘Keep going,' I tell Max, and he presses a kiss to my hair and shunts forward once again.