Seven Scarlet Tales (14 page)

‘OK.’ Richard rubbed the last of the moisturiser over
the twin curves of Lucy’s rear, then he smacked it, hard and resoundingly. ‘Did you bring us here so you could choose between us?’

Lucy stared.

‘Of course not. Why would I do that?’

‘Well, I did wonder. It’s natural, I think.’

‘Richard, I’ve got two fantastic lovers. Why would I want to change that? I want to keep you both. I just think it’ll be easier if you know each other and if we can perhaps do the odd thing together now and again. That’s all. Don’t ever think I want to lose you. Don’t ever.’

Half-laughing, half-crying, she pressed herself into Richard’s embrace.

Richard said nothing until he drew apart from her and asked, ‘Are you cold?’

Lucy looked down at her nipples for the answer. They were erect.

‘Um, a bit,’ she said. ‘Why?’

‘I’m not sure you deserve to get dressed yet, but if you’re very cold … But the fire is lit downstairs, I think. I heard Rob muttering under his breath and striking matches. Perhaps you’ll be warm enough.’

‘I’ll freeze!’ Lucy hugged herself and made a beseeching face.

That seemed to make up Richard’s mind.

‘Of course you won’t,’ he said briskly. ‘Get downstairs. Why on earth would you need clothes anyway?’

‘Am I in trouble?’ she asked, turning to face him at the bathroom door. ‘For this?’ She waved a hand, indicating the whole cottage and the scenario itself.

‘You’re always in trouble, Lucy,’ he said. ‘You embody it. Downstairs with you, now.’

Knowing Richard’s ‘no more answering back’ voice well, Lucy flitted down the staircase to find Rob sitting in the best armchair by the crackling fire, an open bottle of wine and three glasses on the coffee table.

‘You finished your dinner?’ she said, plonking her bare bottom on a low leather-patched stool by Rob’s feet.

‘Yes,’ he said, smiling. ‘Is this your after-dinner outfit? I like it.’

‘Oh, it’s just an old thing I threw on,’ said Lucy, smiling back. ‘You seem very relaxed. I’m so glad.’

‘This place has that effect,’ he said. ‘Or it could be the food and wine. Though I haven’t had any wine yet. Do you want some?’

‘I’ll pour.’

She stood and bent over the table, making sure her profile was displayed to Rob at its best advantage.

‘Isn’t Richard coming down?’

‘I expect so. He might be getting changed, or unpacking a few things. Are you OK? Comfortable? Didn’t get too wet?’

‘I’m fine,’ said Rob.

He was wearing boots, rather tight jeans and a dark long-sleeved T-shirt; he looked casually mouthwatering. There were still traces of his cold, rainy journey in the high colour of his cheeks and the slickness of his off-blond hair, now a shade darker from damp.

Lucy handed him a glass of wine, and poured one for herself.

‘Cheers,’ she said, raising it, sitting as close to the fire as she dared without roasting one side of her body.

It was odd, how quickly she adjusted to her nudity. The self-consciousness she had expected to feel was a long way back in her mind – which was a little disappointing because,
if she was honest, she had hoped for a stronger sense of shame. Instead she felt calm, warm and like an artist’s model, taking everything in her professional stride.

Something would have to be done about that, she thought.

‘Are you nervous?’ she asked.

‘Who, me? God, no, too busy enjoying not still being on that endless journey,’ he said. ‘And you make a nice visual accompaniment to the wine.’

His eyes were ravenously bright, observing her over the curved rim of the glass.

Lucy felt an additional warmth, above the fire. She thought of how Rob had seen her earlier, in the car, her bottom in his face while she sucked Richard’s cock. He had seen her at her sluttiest. He was still here, apparently unfazed.

‘The journey wasn’t all bad, I hope,’ she said with a smirk.

He returned it, swallowing his wine slowly and with relish.

‘No, not all,’ he agreed. ‘The last bit was good.’

‘Did you mind,’ she said, dropping her voice to a whisper, ‘Richard being so bossy? He didn’t mean to put you out.’

‘He didn’t. Honestly. It’s fine.’

A creak from the stairs broke their brief communion.

‘Richard,’ piped Lucy, returning to the bottle. ‘Will you have some wine?’

‘Mm, don’t mind if I do.’

As he reached the foot of the stairs, Lucy saw that he had not been getting changed. He had, however, been unpacking some items from his bags.

These items were placed on the rug beside Lucy’s footstool.

‘Oh,’ she said, her voice faltering as she handed the wine to her master. ‘I really am in trouble, then?’

She retreated back to the footstool and cast her eye over
the rug with heavily pantomimed dismay. A broad-backed hairbrush, a two-tailed strap, a riding whip.

Richard took his seat in the other armchair and sipped at his wine.

‘So, Rob,’ he said. ‘Do you mind if I call you Rob, by the way? It’s how Lucy always refers to you, but if you prefer—’

‘No, Rob’s fine. I sometimes have Lucy call me ‘Dr Sherburn’ but I’ll let you off.’

‘Doctor?’

‘Rob has a PhD,’ said Lucy eagerly, but Richard nudged his leather-shod toe between her bottom cheeks and shushed her.

‘We’ll hear from you, young lady, when you’re spoken to,’ he said.

Rob smiled tightly into the fire before looking back at Richard.

‘What she said. No medical training. Just an abnormally huge and useless knowledge of post-war social policy.’

‘Yes, she said you were an academic. At the LSE, was it?’

Rob nodded.

‘I’m a lowly post-doc with a couple of seminar groups at the moment, but I’m having something published later this year and hoping it’ll whisk me into the starry heights of, I dunno, a lectureship.’

‘That’s where you see your future?’

‘I’ll be honest, Richard, I don’t see my future at all. I don’t have a plan. I never have. Bloody hell.’ He shook his head, vigorously, and took another slug of wine. ‘I’m sure you don’t want to hear my life story. Or my loaf story, as I should perhaps call it.’

Richard smiled. ‘On the contrary,’ he said politely, but Lucy didn’t think his heart was in it. Why would it be?
Richard was a go-getting corporate bastard who had never tolerated a rival in his life. Why would he start now? Her nerves flared up again, tormenting butterflies with sharp antennae.

‘We’re not here to bore Lucy with this kind of thing,’ Rob proclaimed. ‘And I think you must agree with me, Richard, given what you’ve brought down with you. I’m guessing a quiet post-prandial game of Scrabble isn’t on the agenda.’

‘You’re not wrong. Or, well, I don’t think you are. If you’d prefer to play Scrabble, of course, that’s an option.’

‘Oh. No, it’s fine.’

‘What I mean to say, and I’m coming across clumsily, for which I apologise, is that I don’t have an agenda. I just have some preferences. If they aren’t yours, then we can rethink the plan. In short …’

‘You’re both in charge,’ translated Lucy. ‘You both get to tell me what to do, but you don’t get to tell each other what to do. The scene has to be negotiated between you.’

Both Richard and Rob stared at Lucy.

‘Didn’t I say something about speaking when spoken to?’ said Richard.

Lucy gripped the sides of her footstool and hung her head.

‘Sorry, sir,’ she whispered.

Richard turned back to Rob.

‘She spoke out of turn, but her words are no less valid. That’s exactly what I was trying to say.’

‘I never thought of you as in charge to begin with,’ said Rob, a tad belligerently. ‘I don’t play second fiddle to anyone.’

‘And neither do I. So this isn’t going to be easy. If Lucy isn’t going to get torn apart in a battle of dom wills, we have to play this very carefully.’

‘OK. I see what you mean. It’s fair enough. So, what do we do? Take turns?’

‘I think, as an opening position, that makes the most sense. Perhaps when we know each other better we can play as a threesome, but for now, well, do you want first dibs?’

Rob laughed.

‘Are we back in the playground? We’ll be playing cops and robbers next, handcuffing each other to the climbing frame.’

Lucy thought that sounded pretty good, but she kept her own counsel, knowing that she had already chalked up a punishment from Richard.

‘I’ll go first if you prefer,’ said Richard, shrugging and sipping at his wine.

‘No, you’re fine. We need to get the measure of each other, don’t we? You watch how I am with Lucy and then I’ll watch you.’

Richard nodded. ‘Maybe I’ll pick up a few tips.’

Rob put down his glass and stood up.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘That’s put me on the spot. What’s it going to be?’

Lucy could see that Rob was a little bit flustered, now that he was called upon to perform. He would want to impress Richard and that would put him off his stride.

She wriggled suggestively on her stool, hoping he would understand that she wanted some attention to her pussy.

The little shimmy seemed to inspire him, and he crouched in front of her, his mesmeric blue-green eyes fixed upon hers.

‘Spread your legs,’ he said. ‘Show us the goods.’

Lucy obeyed, parting her thighs wide until she was split as far as she could be.

‘See that?’ said Rob to Richard.

Richard’s reply was the flash of his camera app.

‘Have you ever,’ Rob asked pleasantly, ‘had a girl with such a fat, juicy clit?’

‘Now you come to mention it, I don’t think I have.’

‘I think it’s the fattest, juiciest clit in the world. It’s always so swollen and needy. It’s like it needs to be frigged non-stop. Sometimes I forbid Lucy to touch it for a few days in a row. That’s one of my worst punishments. She told me once that when she isn’t meeting up with one of us she likes to masturbate at least three times a day. Don’t you think that’s shameful, Richard?’

‘She’s a little tramp.’

‘One of the things I like to do is to get her to come in public, just by rubbing herself against a seat. She can do that, you know. Did you know that?’

‘I must confess, I didn’t.’

‘You should try it. Next time you’re out together. I made her do it on a train once. The carriage was almost empty, but there were a couple of guys further down the aisle. She humped that seat until she couldn’t hold back. God, it turned me on. Had to have her at the back of the station car park as soon as we got off. Do you remember that day, Lucy?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘That train seat was a bit like this stool – that velvety material. Or you can have her stuff something in her knickers so she’s got that clitoral friction whenever she moves. She never lasts long. Anyway, we’ll come back to Lucy and her easy orgasms. Hold your tits up high for us, Luce. Yeah. Squeeze them. Nice and tight. Stroke the nipples. Did you bring any nipple clamps, Richard?’

‘No.’

‘I did. I’m saving them for later though. What I like is when Lucy humps a chair and strokes her nipples at the same
time. I love that. I make her look me in the eye the whole time. It’s especially enjoyable in a public place, and I guess your presence takes us halfway there. Lean forward, Lucy, and ride that stool.’

Lucy shut her eyes for a moment. Rob knew that this was one of the commands she found hardest to obey. Because he knew it, it was one of the kinks he explored with her most often. He loved her discomfiture and her embarrassment, which seemed to get worse every time instead of better.

She proved herself his willing slut time after time, but his appetite for this kind of display had only grown. One day, she thought, he was going to get her arrested.

But not today, because only Richard’s eyes rested on them, and they were burning with curious lust.

Rob was right about the upholstery of the stool. It was very reminiscent of the stiff fuzz in that railway carriage. It prickled against her bare thighs and now she did not even have the protection of knickers. When she leant forward, the pile felt thick and dry against her clit.

She was so wet, though, that it scarcely mattered. She pushed out her bottom, bent low and cupped her breasts in the way Rob always liked.

It was excruciating to know that Richard was watching her from the side of the room. This was an aspect of her sexuality he knew nothing about: her love of being humiliated in semi-public settings. She felt guilty, as if she had been concealing an important truth from him, and now it was all coming out.

But perhaps he wasn’t into this kind of thing, anyway. After all, there were things she did with Richard that Rob never suggested. Richard was much more into tying her up and using sex toys than Rob was, for example.

Rob was all about mind control and unbroken eye contact.
And this was what he was doing now. He pierced her skin with his penetrating gaze, making her hold it as she began to shift about on the stool.

‘Nice and slow to start,’ he said approvingly. ‘That’s it. Stretch those thigh and arse muscles. Move those hips. Ride that pony, Lucy, ride it. Don’t stop. How does it feel on your clit?’

‘Rough.’

‘Bad?’

‘No. Not bad.’

She began to jerk, squeezing her gluteal muscles, working hard to get the level of friction she needed. She wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. But now that little itch had taken fire at the core of her, and was starting its inexorable spread outwards. She would need to buck vigorously over the stool cushion to get where she wanted to be, but that was too much. Too slutty, too embarrassing, too blatant. If it was possible to preserve any vestiges of decorum whilst shagging a footstool in front of two men, she would try to do it.

‘She’s getting there,’ said Rob. ‘See her, hard at it. Work it, girl. Ride.’

‘Perhaps she needs the whip,’ suggested Richard. ‘Do you think she’s making enough effort?’

Damn, it sounded as if Richard was really enjoying the spectacle. And his suggestions were not welcome.

‘That’s a great idea,’ said Rob, ‘and I would. But I like to hold her eye contact. She hates it, you see. She hates to know that she can’t hide from me. It makes it so much more satisfying.’