Roxy Harte (22 page)

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I used to believe in labels, straight, queer. I don’t like labels so much any more, having no idea where I would fit. Easier to just be who I am than to be classified, especially if someone were to try to label me as bi-curious at this late date.

I seek Kitten’s eyes, but she ducks, blushing, and I wonder what she was thinking. I pull her from her seat on the floor cushion at my feet and push her onto the bed. She bumps into Gulliver’s thigh and he glances no more than casually until he realizes who has bumped him. I subtly shake my head so as not to interrupt their ménage à trois and he returns his attention to the girl’s breasts, sucking, biting. She moans loudly and Kitten angles away, I think in reaction to the sound, trying to become very small.

I push her back into the sinking mattress, lifting her skirts to expose her. I leave her to lie beside the joined threesome, spreading her legs so that her beautiful pink flesh stretches open. Her eyes grow wide, but I cannot tell if she is turned on, humiliated, or scared. Maybe a little bit of each.

I stroke her face, using my fingers to press closed her eyelids, letting her feel the mattress motion and hear the sounds the three are making. Without her sight, only her other senses and her imagination will tell her what is happening, turning the experience into a very up close and personal event.

I touch her clit, lightly enough for her to wonder if she imagined it, and then again for confirmation that she did feel something, barely touching. I repeat the motion, knowing that her mind is making her crazy.

She turns her head toward the woman’s moans, the sound of a woman on the threshold of orgasm unmistakable. Kitten gasps as I press harder, drawing her attention away from the woman and to the demanding spot between her own legs, pressing against her, not rubbing, not stroking, just easy pressure against her clit.

Gulliver’s pants join the woman’s and I watch as he pulls back, establishing eye-contact with Phillip, who in turn shakes his head, saying not so subtly, no, not even close. Maybe he’s not interested in girls after all, and if not, he maintained his erection inside her ass admirably while she straddled him. In response, Gulliver slows his pace, allowing the woman time to orgasm completely before withdrawing his still-hard penis from her vagina. A small maneuvering springs Kitten’s eyes wide in time to see the woman fall to the left beside Phillip, where she lies unmoving, catching her breath.

Leaning over Kitten’s face, I demand in my most serious Master tone, “Do I need to ruin your makeup by blindfolding you?”

Her eyes slam shut, missing Gulliver tear a wet condom from his erection and apply a fresh one before pushing Phillip’s knees up to his shoulders.

“Wait?” I request, stalling Gulliver just before his thrust met his target. He paused at the last second to look at me, giving me that look, the one that says, this better be fucking mind-blowing. I smile broadly, remembering that once, as Ice, I was the Master of Mind-blowing. Gulliver smiles back and I think,
good

,
he remembers too.

Without too much effort, I prop Kitten against a stack of pillows, so that, spread and exposed, she serves no more function than backrest for Phillip. I place her arms around his chest, so that she is hugging him close, his hips nestled against her spread pussy, knowing that once Gulliver lifts Phillip’s legs, the weight of both men will pound Kitten’s body. Satisfied, I nod at Gulliver, who lifts and bends Phillips knees. Kitten grunts with the extra weight, but the feather mattress springs with forgiveness, lessening her burden so that when Gulliver plunges and thrusts, Kitten feels all the action and hears all the moaning, sloshing, slapping skin sounds that two men can make while having a really good time of it, but can still
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manage to breathe.

I am pleased with my efforts, knowing her blood is boiling, knowing she has never been this close and this involved with two men fucking before. As Phillip’s sweat makes him slick and hard to hold onto, Kitten tightens her grip; but still I cannot read her face to know what she is feeling. I take the moment to fidget around so that I can kiss her while she holds the man being fucked.

Her mouth responds to mine with enthusiasm, tongue stroking tongue. Just the bobbing motion of her face tells me that her body is taking the full brunt of the two men on top of her. “Open your eyes, Kitten.

I want to see you.”

Still kissing me, she opens her eyes and her gaze goes to the two men for only a second before locking on mine. Her eyes fill with wonder and more, hunger maybe, making me ask, “Do you like this, Kitten?”

“Yes, Master, thank you for sharing this with me.”

I kiss her again, rewarding her honesty.

Without looking, I feel the woman lying beside us move. Half-sitting, half-lying, she reaches out her hand to stroke Kitten’s neck, her fingers traveling up to come between our mouths, touching us both as we kiss. My eyes don’t leave Kitten’s as the woman explores us with her fingers, traveling to touch anything exposed, shoulders, hips, knees, not focusing on one or the other, but touching each of the four of us in turn, with fingers, with lips, pinching a nipple, stroking a leg.

For the most part, all of my clothing is still on, but the woman manages to find me erect. She leaves me covered, patting me lightly, as if to say, I’ll be back, or maybe another day. I really miss her touch when she withdraws her hand, but I am not left untouched for long. Kitten’s fingers replace the woman’s, finding me hard, finding the clasp that holds the pants closed, managing to open my pants while she stares into my eyes. Her kisses and her touch leave me breathless.
Oh God.

If I were less experienced, less skilled, I would have come in her hand with that first touch and, as it is, I struggle not to come on the first fluid stroke of her fingers.

I don’t take my gaze from hers, even when Gulliver and Phillip start breathing hard in unison. But then Kitten moans into my mouth and I know it isn’t reaction to the boys fucking on top of her, but rather because the woman who left me wanting saw no such reason not to touch Kitten.

I want to look. I want to see what she is doing that is bringing Kitten so quickly, but then Gulliver grunts, his orgasm shaking him and the bed, Phillip yells, and Kitten sobs into my mouth, “Oh God, oh God, I am so going to hell for this.”

It is more than I can take, and my own wracking orgasm joins theirs.
We may all go to hell for this one.

* * * *

I have never been a believer of too much excess, but after too many glasses of champagne, too many hors d’oeuvres, and a seven-course meal that would have left Henry the Eighth feeling gluttonous, not to mention the sex…and sex…and sex…I never thought I’d say it, but am I feeling the excess and have rarely been this glad to see my home, my bed, my shower, and yes, yes, yes, my toilet. I come out of a steamy shower to find Kitten sitting on the edge of the bed, drying her hair.

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“Don’t go in there for a bit, eh?” I try for humor, tilting my head at her non-reaction, not even a snicker.

“It was a wonderful party, Kitten. If I haven’t told you thank you yet, really, thank you for making it an incredible night.”

“You said thank you earlier,” she answers, not looking up, staring into space.

Leaning in the doorframe, I bend at the waist to swiftly towel-dry my own hair, watching her from the corner of my eye, recognizing the look on her face. It’s the thinking too much look. The
oh my God what
have I done
look. I’d hoped she was past that. Obviously, she isn’t.

A smudge of white grease paint remains in the crease behind her ear. Taking an edge of the towel, I scrub with the barely damp terry, making little improvement. “Bitch to get all this white off.”

“Um-hmm.”

“Kitten?”

“Hmmm?”

I squat in front of her, making her look at me. “You didn’t do anything to be feeling guilty about.”

She swallows hard and a tear drips down her cheek. “And God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually.”

“Kitten?”

Her gaze meets mine, but her eyes are unfocused. “I remember the verse but for the life of me I can’t remember whether it was prophesy of the forthcoming flood, orSodom andGomorrah . Perhaps it was the foretelling of both. When God gets fed up, he destroys. It seems so important to remember what it takes to make God so mad that he gets fed up, gives up, and destroys.”

I shake her shoulders, making her face me. “Kitten, God isn’t going to destroy you for what we did tonight.”

“How do you know that?”

“Kitten, love. You are perfect in God’s eyes.”

“I haven’t been perfect in a very long time, Master.”

I kiss her face, glad her eyes seem focused again. “You are perfect to me, Kitten. In my eyes, you can do no wrong. I love you. Don’t feel guilty about tonight. Tonight was wonderful.”

She pulls back and searches my face for the truth, whatever had made her feel so torn, the answer she finds in my face makes her smile.

“I scare you shitless when I get all maudlin, don’t I, Master?”

“Maudlin? Is that what you call it? God, Kitten, I was waiting for you to start speaking in tongues.”

“Sh-h, Master, don’t make fun of the sacred.” She laughs, grabbing my face and kissing me hard. “Oh
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God, Garrett. I don’t know what I believe. I have all these verses in my head, memorized, stuck there, for better or worse. Sometimes they start battling in my brain and it’s hard to think.”

“You’re thinking now.”

“My brain stops reciting when you kiss me.”

“Then I will endeavor to kiss you more often.”

“My brain isn’t reciting but I’m still confused about tonight. I don’t understand how I could let that happen.” She looks at me, I lift my brow. “Three in the bed? Before, I mean, after we joined them, watching them was one thing, but we joined them, making it five in the bed. Oh my God.” She wipes her hand over her face, pinching her entire face between her hands.

“Not attractive,” I tell her, pulling her hands away from her face to protect her from herself. Holding her hands, I’m glad when she meets my eyes. I stroke the side of her face and she rubs her cheek into my palm, her eyes drooping with pleasure and maybe exhaustion. I hold her face, asking, “Did you like it?”

She looks away, not pulling away, letting her face lie in my palm, but blushing fiercely, refusing to answer.

“Did I force you to do something you didn’t want to do?”

She pulls her lip between her teeth. “Could I have worded out?”

“You can safe word whenever you need to. I told you that.”

“I know, I didn’t want to. I didn’t even consider it. Tonight everything felt so…” she looks at me confusedly, like she’s trying to figure out what she wants to say. “Right. Everything happened just perfectly—we only did what we should be doing. My God, there were five of us in a bed together, how can that be right by anyone’s standard?”

“You enjoyed it.”

“Yes.” She nods, hiding behind her hands and for a minute I think she will break into tears, but when she peeks around her hands to catch my gaze, she is smiling. “I am wicked, totally sinfully wicked, by my father’s standard, condemned to eternity in hell; but God, Master, I enjoyed tonight—all of it! The nudity, the costumes and makeup, the dancing and food, the sex on the beds and the tables and the floors. It was an orgy from beginning to end and I loved it!”

“I didn’t get to have sex on the floor,” I pout, pulling her down onto me, rolling us onto the soft, plush carpet, kissing her hard, rewarding her honesty with the graze of my teeth on her bare shoulder. I forget I’m exhausted, I want her again.

* * * *

The first time I woke up the sun was setting, warm orange hues casting the bedroom in shades of mystery, softening the hard edges. I didn’t get up, not even to drop the blackout shades. I did roll over to wrap my arms around Kitten, finding us still on the floor. I managed to drag a blanket over us, not wanting to move, not wanting to wake her, not even to help her into the softer, more comfortable bed.

We’d slept all day on the floor, would a few more minutes make a difference?

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I wanted to be at the club by ten. Waking at midnight, I realize that isn’t going to happen. On my second waking, I roust Kitten, managing to get her up onto the mattress. Her groans let me know that being awake isn’t appreciated. I manage to stumble to the bathroom, piss, swallow Tylenol with no water, and climb back into bed. Strangely, I am proud of myself for the accomplishment.

“Damn. Why did you do that?” Kitten growls from beneath the blanket.

I’m too tired to pull a Dom, so I settle for asking, “What’d I do?”

“You pissed. Now
I
have to piss.”

“Oh, that.”

While she takes care of her own bladder, I lie in bed grinning like an idiot. We sound like an old married couple. It’s pathetic, I’m totally in love with her and I don’t care who knows it. It seems important to share this new realization with someone, so I call the club, surprised when George answers, but I don’t bother inquiring as to why. If anything tragic requiring my attention would have happened, I’d know it by now.

“I wanted someone to know, I won’t be there tonight.”

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Everything’s perfect. I collared Kitten last night.”

“I was there, Garrett.”

Kitten flops down on the bed, pulling all of the sheets and blankets onto her side.