Chapter 4: A knock at the suite door reveals the businessman from the club, his hungry eyes locking onto Lyss's naked form. Scott shoves her to her knees between them, commanding 'Open wide, princess' as both men unzip. She alternates between their thick cocks, her lips stretching around each shaft as they face-fuck her in turns. Scott pulls her hair back to watch the businessman's dick disappear down her throat while he spreads her asscheeks and spits on her tight hole before pushing two fingers in. 'Gonn
The suite’s doorbell chimed, a sterile sound that cut through the heavy silence. Scott, already dressed in dark jeans and a t-shirt, didn’t look at her as he crossed the room. “Get on the bed,” he said, his voice devoid of inflection. She obeyed, the sheets cool against her bare skin, the ghost of his come still tacky on her thigh.
He opened the door to the salt-and-pepper haired man from the service corridor, who stood there with a confident, expectant smile. “You’re a hard man to track down,” the businessman said, his eyes immediately finding Lyss on the bed. Scott stepped aside. “We weren’t finished.”
The man entered, his gaze stripping her anew. “I see.” Scott closed the door, the final lock engaging with a solid thunk. “You like her mouth?” Scott asked, his tone conversational as he leaned against the minibar. The man nodded, loosening his tie. “Lyss,” Scott said, not raising his voice. “Show him.”
She slid off the bed and approached on her knees, the plush carpet rough against her skin. Her hands went to the man’s belt buckle, her fingers working automatically. He sighed, carding his fingers through her hair as she took him into her mouth, the taste of her own dried arousal from earlier still on him. Scott watched, sipping a glass of amber liquid. “Now me,” he said, unbuckling his own belt.
She turned her head, maintaining rhythm on the stranger while taking Scott into her mouth, stretching her lips wide. The men stood over her, their cocks sliding past her lips in turn, a wet, shared rhythm that made her jaw ache. “Fuck, she’s good,” the stranger grunted, his hips pushing forward. Scott’s hand gripped her scalp, guiding her depth. “She’s learning.” The room filled with the sounds of their groans and her choked, wet gasps for air.
The rhythm broke when Scott pulled himself from her mouth with a wet pop. “Hands and knees, baby girl,” he said, his voice a low rumble that brooked no argument. She released the stranger with a gasp, strings of saliva breaking, and crawled to the center of the floor on trembling limbs.
The businessman moved behind her head, guiding his cock back between her lips as Scott positioned himself at her soaked entrance. “Look at that,” the stranger muttered, watching over her head as Scott’s thick crown pressed against her. Scott drove into her with one brutal, burying thrust that made her scream around the cock in her mouth. He set a punishing pace, each deep plunge shaking her entire body, his balls slapping wetly against her clit.
He reached around her hip, his calloused fingers finding her swollen nub and rubbing rough, tight circles that made her eyes roll back. “She’s clamping down like a vise,” Scott grunted to the stranger, his own breath starting to hitch. Then his other hand, slick from her cunt, slid down the cleft of her ass. He pressed his thumb hard against her tight, untouched hole, applying relentless pressure until the ring of muscle yielded with a sudden, burning pop.
She convulsed, a muffled shriek trapped in her throat as he worked his thumb knuckle-deep inside her ass, stretching her obscenely. “Fuck yeah,” Scott hissed, his thrusts becoming erratic, the dual penetration overwhelming her senses. The stranger fisted her hair, fucking her face in short, sharp jabs, his groans mingling with Scott’s. “I’m gonna come,” the man warned, and she sucked harder, her throat fluttering as his release flooded her mouth in hot, bitter pulses.
Scott’s thumb pushed deeper, twisting inside her as he slammed home one final time, his roar filling the room as he emptied himself into her clutching cunt. He pulled his thumb out slowly, leaving her aching and gaping, then reached for his phone on the side table. The red recording light glowed to life, capturing it all: her on hands and knees, come dripping from her lips, Scott’s seed leaking from her ravaged cunt onto her trembling thighs.
The businessman zipped his trousers, his earlier confidence replaced by a hurried, almost sheepish efficiency. “Right,” he muttered, avoiding their eyes as he moved quickly to the door. It clicked shut behind him, sealing them in the suite’s silent, charged air.
Scott set the phone down, its red eye still watching from the nightstand. He looked at her, his gaze traveling from her spit-smeared chin down to the mess between her thighs. “That cunt’s had enough,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “Turn over.”
He didn’t wait for her to move. His hands, hard and implacable, rolled her onto her back. He pushed her knees up toward her chest, spreading her wide, exposing everything. The cool air of the room kissed her stretched, throbbing holes.
Reaching for the bottle of liquor on the bar, he poured a generous amount into his palm. The sharp, clean smell of expensive whiskey cut through the room’s musk. He rubbed his hands together, warming it, then smeared the slick, burning liquid over his cock and against her tight, clenched rosette.
“This is mine, too,” he stated, not a question, as he positioned the broad, soaked head of his dick against her. He applied relentless, steady pressure. Her body resisted, a ring of fierce, burning tension, before yielding with a sharp, internal tear that forced a broken cry from her throat.
He sank into her ass in one excruciating, inexorable inch, then another, the whiskey-sting merging with the brutal stretch. “Fucking virgin ass,” he grunted, his own breath catching at the hot, vise-like squeeze. He held there, buried to the hilt, letting her burning channel spasm and adjust around his invasion.
Then he began to move, short, grinding withdrawals followed by deep, penetrating thrusts that stole the air from her lungs. Each stroke was a raw, friction-filled claiming, a world away from the slick give of her cunt. His thumb found her clit, rubbing rough, distracted circles as he fucked her ass with a focused, possessive rhythm.
“Look at the phone,” he ordered, his voice thick with strain. Her hazel eyes, glazed with pain and a shocking, deep thrum of pleasure, found the unblinking red light. He pistoned into her, his balls slapping against her damp skin, driving her toward a climax that felt like splintering glass.
The pain crystallized, then shattered into a thousand points of white-hot light. Her body seized, a raw, screaming clamp around his invading cock, her cunt pulsing emptily as her orgasm tore through her without permission. "God, yes, you filthy bitch," he groaned, feeling her ass spasm wildly around him.
He drove through her climax, fucking her through the violent tremors. "Tell the camera," he gritted out, his rhythm never faltering. "Tell it what's happening right now."
Her voice was a ragged, broken thing. "You're in my ass." She panted, each word forced out between his thrusts. "It's so deep. I'm coming on your cock in my ass." The admission, voiced to the blinking red eye, triggered another wave, her inner muscles fluttering wildly around the thick intrusion. "It's stretching me open. I can feel every inch." He slapped her thigh, a sharp crack. "Louder."
"I'm coming from you fucking my ass!" she screamed, the sound raw and torn from her throat, as her body arched violently against him. He grunted, his own release surging up to meet hers, pumping his heat into her deepest channel until she felt impossibly, irrevocably full.
He stayed buried inside her, his weight a solid, unmoving fact, as his come leaked out around the constricting ring of muscle. The phone’s red light watched from the nightstand, a silent third party to the wreckage. He finally pulled out with a slow, wet sound that made her flinch, his softening cock slick with whiskey and her own violated resistance.
“Look at that,” he said, his voice rough but calm, as he turned her onto her side. He spread her cheeks apart, holding her open for the camera’s unblinking eye. The proof of his possession dripped from her stretched, reddened hole onto the rumpled sheets. “A souvenir.”
He left her there, walking naked to the bar to pour another drink. The ice clinked in the glass, a clean, normal sound. She didn’t move, her body a map of aches, each one a fresh coordinate in a world she no longer recognized. He returned, the glass in one hand, his hardened cock in the other.
“We’re not done,” he said, and the casual certainty in his tone was worse than any command. He pushed her onto her stomach, his knees forcing her legs wide. He positioned himself again, the broad head nudging past her tender, swollen ring with a practiced, brutal pressure. She buried her scream in the pillow.
He set a relentless, deep rhythm, each thrust a sharp burn that gradually morphed into a dull, full ache. His hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back to face the camera on the nightstand. Her blurred vision focused on the tiny red eye.
AS HE FUCKS HER ASS AND THE CAMERA'S RECORDING, HE REMINDS HER TOMORROW IS HER WEDDING DAY. His voice was a flat, rhythmic chant against her ear, synced with every piston of his hips. “Tomorrow you marry that soft boy.” Thrust. “You’ll walk down that aisle.” Thrust. “And you’ll remember this cock in your ass.”
His thrusts were a brutal metronome, each one punching a soft, wet sound from her body. “You’ll say your vows,” he grunted, his voice strained with effort, his pelvis grinding against her tender flesh. “And this used little asshole will still be leaking my come.” She whimpered, the pain a bright, clarifying fire, and her hips pushed back against him, seeking more. The camera’s red light watched, unblinking, as she took him deeper, her own hunger eclipsing the burn.
“Whose?” he demanded, his hand sliding around to grip her throat, not squeezing, just holding. “Yours,” she gasped, the word torn from her, her body accepting each full, devastating stroke. “It’s always yours.” He fucked her with a deeper, slower rhythm now, a possessive claiming that reached a place her untouched cunt never could. Her thoughts, meant for white lace and solemn promises, dissolved into the raw sensation of being split open.
You’re supposed to be getting married tomorrow. The thought flickered, distant and meaningless. But all she really wants to think about is Scott’s cock. It was the only truth left, the only fact that mattered in the universe of this bed.
His rhythm stuttered, his breath hot and ragged against her neck. “I’m filling this ass up,” he warned, his voice a raw scrape. She pushed back hard, taking him to the root, a silent, desperate plea. His release flooded her, a hot, pulsing intrusion that made her own climax detonate, a silent, shaking convulsion that milked him dry. He collapsed over her, his weight pinning her to the mattress, both of them slick with sweat and spent. The red light on the phone finally winked out.