The Business of Pleasure (2 page)

Charlotte’s voice was becoming a squeak. ‘Yes, Master.’ If only he would let go of her face and she could stare at the floor. But he had no intention of alleviating her discomfort.

‘You realise you will be made to beg for your own orgasm. Does that arouse you?’

‘Yes, Master, yes.’ Would this interrogation ever end? Charlotte was already alive with desire, longing to be thrust on the bed and taken, hard and repeatedly, until all three of them were sated.

‘Well, that’s nice,’ said Collins, unexpectedly flippant. Then his voice hardened again and his eyes were grey flint. ‘All of that is to come, Charlotte. But first we have some issues to address, don’t we? Speaking out of turn. Forgetting to use the appropriate form of reply. Some disobedience, some disrespect. How do you think this should be dealt with, girl?’

Collins’s other hand had landed, quite unobtrusively, on her waist and was sliding slowly down to the swell of her hip. The lightness of his touch made her shiver and long to move towards him, into him, to force the pressure upward. He was tall and lean, his hand was large. How would that hand feel on her …

‘I should be punished,’ she sighed, half-closing her eyes in premonitory ecstasy.

‘Yes, you should,’ agreed Collins in a low purr, tapping fingers against her oiled hip, baring his teeth in a feral grin before – no! – letting go of her and pushing her away. ‘Bryant, do the honours, would you? I don’t want oil all over these trousers.’

Bryant, standing behind her, caught her by the shoulders and propelled her towards the bed, pulling her down across his lap once he was seated on the silken covers. Hoping to please, Charlotte made sure her bottom was presented to its fullest disadvantage, raised high, taut and plump, ready to absorb whatever Bryant’s hand could deal. Spanking was a favourite fetish, and she hoped her chastiser would not hold back – but that was before Collins seated himself at the corner of the bed, took a handful of her hair and yanked it so that she had no alternative but to look up at him.

‘I want to see your face,’ he explained. ‘I want you to have no escape from your shame and humiliation, Charlotte. I want to watch every pained expression. I need to make sure that you are properly punished, you see. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Master,’ she groaned in defeat. She had wanted a creative sadist, and Collins was certainly fitting that description. Perhaps a little too well.

‘Good. Don’t spare her, Bryant.’ And with that, the first percussion of hand against rump rang out.

Bryant was an accomplished spanker, knowing exactly how to stop Charlotte reaching a comfort zone, varying his pace and the location of his strokes so that she had to wriggle and writhe and pant into Collins’s face for the duration of the five-minute bottom-warming. The sting of Bryant’s hand was one thing, but sharper by a good factor was the sting of having to have her reactions witnessed and relished by the dread Mr Collins. He kept up an embarrassing commentary along with the smack-smack-smack, sometimes even expecting her to reply to or acknowledge a comment.

‘I believe the oil accentuates the pain,’ he said. ‘It certainly adds something to the sound quality … music to my ears. Does that hurt, Charlotte?’

‘Yes, Master.’

‘Good. You are going to be servicing us with nice hot cheeks; I always think that lends a certain edge to proceedings. I shall enjoy the sight of your crimson rear while I’m pounding away at it later. Oh, I almost felt that one myself. Bryant is a dab hand with a misbehaving bottom, isn’t he? He has plenty of practice, of course. You should see your face, Charlotte … quite the picture of woe.’

Collins’s smile seemed so friendly and avuncular; it was hard to match the words with the face. Indeed, for Charlotte it was increasingly hard to process any thought beyond Ouch! any more. But in due course, Bryant’s unstinting attentions to her behind ceased and she was left to recover over his lap.

‘Is she wet? Or rather, how wet is she?’ asked Collins nonchalantly.

Charlotte’s shoulders shook at the sudden and welcome introduction of Bryant’s fingers to the swollen, overheated area below her swollen, overheated bottom.

‘Goodness, extraordinarily wet,’ said Bryant, amused, massaging her clitoris and pushing one finger up inside her channel. ‘I shall certainly take note. Our Charlotte is a girl who needs a good spanking.’

‘I had a feeling she would be. Regularly and frequently, I’d say. Next time I’ll bring a few items from my collection.’

Charlotte’s head jerked upward, even as she tried to press herself down more firmly on Bryant’s fingers. Next time?

Collins smiled down at her again and extended an elegant hand to ruffle her hair.

‘Don’t you think you need a close eye kept on you, Charlotte? By caring disciplinarians with your best interests at heart? I think such an arrangement might suit us all.’

His thumb pushed against her upper lips while Bryant mirrored the manoeuvre with her lower set. She parted them wetly, admitting both men, sucking on their knuckles with gratitude. Collins was right. The idea he proposed was giddying in its delicious perversity. She would certainly give it her strong consideration … if only she … could … think …

‘Her eyes are glazing over, Bryant; I think we need to bring her back to earth before she is made to come again. All the pleasure has been hers so far. I’m growing just a little impatient.’

‘Yes.’ Bryant’s fingers made a reluctant departure from their playground. ‘I, for one, am waiting for Charlotte to show her appreciation of my efforts. Come on, girl. Your vote of thanks, please.’

Charlotte saw Collins nod briefly, as if giving permission, and she lifted herself gingerly from Bryant’s lap and knelt down between his knees. The upper part of his trousers was stained with oil from her stomach – perhaps the hotel laundry could save them.

‘I’m sorry I spoiled your trousers, sir,’ she said quietly. ‘Would you like me to have them washed?’

Without warning, Bryant lifted her by the elbow, stood up, turned her away from him and smacked her sore bottom soundly.

‘Speaking out of turn,’ he explained curtly before pushing her back to her knees with a hand on the top of her head. He shed the offending garment, along with his boxers, before lying back on the bed, arms spread wide, cock pointing skyward. ‘Now use that mouth the way it should be used, Charlotte.’

Collins stood up and folded his arms, watching her scramble on to the bed and crouch between the vee of Bryant’s thighs. She reached out, placing reverent hands around her master’s tool, tugging the foreskin down to reveal its shiny, eager head. Then she brought her head low, almost licking her lips, savouring the anticipation. Her tongue connected first, lapping at the tiny indentation with its drop of cream. Bryant hissed; she flicked at his frenulum then began to enclose his shaft with her lips and mouth, gliding down, zigzagging with her tongue as she did so. He crammed her mouth with salty-tasting hardness, and still she battled to take more in until she had to stop, fearful of gagging.

‘What a sight she makes,’ commented Collins from behind her. ‘Her bright red rear up in the air and her lips around your cock. I’m not sure how much of that sheen on her thighs is oil and how much is of her own making. She is a dirty little slut, isn’t she? Is she sucking you properly?’

‘Ahhh, yes.’ The words seemed to leak out of Bryant like escaping gas. ‘She can suck all right. Oh, Christ, yes, she can.’

Charlotte was gratified by Bryant’s helplessness at her … well, not hands. Mouth, she supposed. She liked to perform to the best of her ability, and she had honed her oral skills to what she hoped was near perfection. But a challenge to her cocksucking craft was about to be issued.

She heard the unbuckling of a belt and the rustle of fabric, then the mattress tilted downwards behind her. Collins was on the bed.

‘Let’s see how well she concentrates with another cock inside her,’ he suggested. ‘Spread those legs, girl, and keep that arse high. And don’t you dare stop sucking either.’

Charlotte, almost mad with excitement at what was happening, kept up the enthusiastic pace of her gobbling, her head bobbing up and down obediently. She parted her knees as instructed, opening herself up, ready for impalement.

Fingers came first, digging industriously, finding her more than sufficiently lubricated, then the hands held on to her tender bum cheeks and one substantial cock ploughed up inside her, trapping her in position.

‘Your mouth and your cunt, girl,’ said Collins, slowly and deliberately, matching his thrusts, ‘belong to us. We fill them and we own them. We will use them whenever and however we see fit.’

Collins succeeded in fucking her at a pace that seemed at once leisurely and energetic; he kept the rhythm measured, but every nerve ending Charlotte possessed tingled and jangled with each thrust. It was more difficult now to remember to suck; her hands, which had been playing with Bryant’s balls, lapsed into inactivity while her brain’s receptors struggled to cope with her new dual purpose.

‘You are to ask permission for your orgasm, girl,’ Collins continued, his voice a lower and lower growl now. ‘Which is difficult, I know, with your mouth full. Never mind, eh?’ He began to pick up speed, slapping against her warm bum with his pelvis, forcing Bryant’s cock even deeper into her mouth, causing her to sway and tug the mouthbound member this way and that. Just as she was beginning to worry about choking, Bryant began to whisper a string of obscenities, then he yelled ‘Fuck, yes!’ and her mouth was swimming and swirling in liquidy emission.

Charlotte knew implicitly that she must swallow Bryant’s gift and she gulped it down, her mouth still filled with the instrument of the issue, while Collins continued to work her from behind.

‘Keep it in your mouth,’ grunted Bryant, whose body was pliant and relaxed now, his hands playing tenderly with her hair. ‘Just let me look at you like that. Mmm, you’re taking a good pounding, aren’t you? Don’t forget, you have to ask permission to come.’

Bryant’s final mocking words elicited a moan of lewd despair from Charlotte. She knew her crisis was impending, but how could she speak with her mouth occupied? Collins was finding every secret hidey-hole of sensation along the furrow he ploughed, wickedly and effortlessly, as if he had been studying some diagram of her inner workings beforehand.

Bryant, to her eternal gratitude, took pity on her plight. ‘You can speak now,’ he chuckled. ‘I think you might be feeling the need. Do you think so, Collins?’

‘She is hot, Bryant, hot and wet and tight. Just wait till you use her. You’ll see.’

A sound, like the mewing of a kitten, came from Charlotte’s mouth. Eventually, the men were able to discern that it was the word, ‘Please,’ being repeated at a helplessly high pitch.

‘Please what, girl?’ asked Collins, hanging on to his own orgasm by a whisker. ‘Say it, now.’

‘Please may I come?’ she squeaked meekly.

Collins slid his cock backward until it almost parted company with the sorrowing quim that wanted it so badly. ‘Well, let’s see …’ he said.

‘PLEASE!’ she shrieked.

‘I’m a reasonable man …’ He shot back up, swift and hard, to the hilt. ‘You may.’

Charlotte twisted like a dervish, howled like a banshee, felt and sensed and rushed like every other mythological creature in the canon, leaving the tangible far behind, while Collins continued to slam and bang until he too was spent.

‘Let her rest a little while.’ Collins stood up and returned to the armchair and the newspaper, still wearing his shirt and tie, as if Charlotte were simply a document he had finished with.

She remained crouched on the bed for a while, feeling Collins’s semen puddle and trickle around her sex, while Bryant kept her head cradled in his lap, stroking her hair.

‘Good girl,’ he soothed, ‘Good girl. You did so well.’

Charlotte allowed her eyes to close and her mind to drift, swooping in and out of reality. She might have dozed off; coming to, the full surrealism of the situation struck her four-square. She lay on the plumpest of duvets, hearing the air conditioning’s muted whirring, feeling the warmth of another body beside her. A slight catch in his throat suggested that Bryant was sleeping as well. The tiny snores were joined by the sudden inconvenient rumbling of her stomach and she remembered that she had not eaten in … what? … five, six hours?

There was a click and then the urgent voices of a rolling news channel broke the dreaminess. She sat up to see Collins watching the television, still in shirtsleeves and spectacles but bare-legged, sipping at a glass of iced water.

‘Ah, she surfaces,’ he said dryly.

Charlotte wondered if this was an invitation to speak, or merely an observation. She stalled, not sure she wanted any more wrath visited on her bum just yet.

‘I’m considering calling room service,’ he continued. ‘We should eat. You will need to keep your strength up for our grand finale. Come over here and look at the menu.’

Charlotte, feeling muddle-headed and thirsty, did as she was told.

‘Stop there,’ ordered Collins as she drew level with his chair. ‘I want you to kneel down on my lap, knees either side of me, facing away from me.’

Charlotte was unsure, finding words a little hard to understand still, but Collins posed and manoeuvred her body until she was in the required position, her upper torso sloping down upon his legs so that her head almost rested on his ankles. Her legs were tucked either side of him so that his immediate view was of her still-swollen pussy and pink rump.

‘Here,’ he said, dropping the menu on to the floor so that it lay by his feet, open at the room service page. Charlotte’s eyes travelled blearily around the script, trying to make a decision while Collins’s thumbs prised her lower lips apart, inspecting them for damage.

‘How are these doing then?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Still rather tacky … not quite dried yet. Ah well, Bryant won’t mind that. How is this?’ He skewered two fingers up inside her, shaking her out of her dilemma over smoked salmon sandwiches or poached eggs on toast. ‘A little sore?’

‘Just a little, Master.’

‘Just a little, eh? Well, that won’t do. Can’t have you walking out of here without a little bit of difficulty, can we?’