Chapter 7: Homecoming Surprise
Rory saw a taxi pull out of the drive as his pulled in. He pushed though the villa’s massive wooden door , sealing out the night’s hum. The stark, silent chill of the marble hallway was a physical shock after the sticky, sin-filled heat of the hotel suite. His own scent, a mix of Chloe’s perfume and sex, seemed to cling to him, a guilty cloud.
He heard the muffled sound before he saw them.
In the hall round the corner two figures were fused together n the middle of the room. Sarah, her back to him her her flimsy dress hiked high on one thigh. And Marco, his taller, athletic frame holding her firmly against him, one hand tangled in her highlighted hair, the other gripping her bare hip. The kiss was not a friendly peck. It was deep, hungry, all tongue and teeth, a wet, audible sound in the quiet house.
Rory stopped dead.
Sarah’s eyes fluttered open and looked over her shoulder. She didn’t jump. Didn’t gasp. She slowly, deliberately, placed a hand on Marco’s chest and pushed him back, just enough to break the seal of their mouths. A string of saliva briefly connected them before snapping.
“Rory.” Her voice was a little too bright, a little slurry. Her pupils were vast, black pools swallowing the hazel of her irises. “Hey, darling. Marco and Fabrizio were absolute gentlemen. They got me a cab, made sure I got home safely.”
Marco turned, a slow, unconcerned swivel. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ciao, Rory. Your wife, she is… very fun. Very… appassionata.”
Sarah swayed slightly, her high heel catching on the rug. She giggled closing the distance to Rory, placing her hands on his chest. Her breath smelled of vodka, mint, and underneath it, a sharp, chemical tang. “They gave me a little bump at the club,” she whispered, her words tumbling into each other. “I said no, I shouldn’t, it makes me too horny and uninhibited, but they insisted. It was just a little one.”
"Yes, I bet they insisted." Rory replied, kissing her on the lips
She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. “I’ve been thinking about you all night. Did you have fun with your little friend.”
He felt a hot spike of something—not quite anger, not quite arousal, but a volatile compound of both.
From the doorway to the vast, minimalist kitchen, Fabrizio appeared. Shorter, wiry, his face a roadmap of healed breaks. He held a small, engraved mirror in one hand, a rolled-up 50-euro note in the other. “Finito!” he announced, his voice a gravelly baritone. He looked at Rory, his eyes ticking down to the undone buttons of Rory’s shirt, then back up. A knowing, feral glint there. “You want? Good shit. Peruvian. Makes the dick hard and the pussy wet, yes?” He grinned, a gold tooth flashing.
Sarah pulled Rory towards the kitchen. “Come on. Just a little. For me. It’ll be like old times.”
The mirror lay on the island, next to a small vial. Neat, fat lines of white powder glittered under the downlights. A ceremony of transgression.
Marco circled Sarah, his hand returning to her hip, possessive. “She tell you? How she dance? How every man watch her?” His English was crude, direct. “She move her ass… mmm… I tell her, your husband is a lucky man. But maybe he needs… help to appreciate.”
Rory stared at the lines. His mind was a riot: Chloe’s taste, her cries, Robbie’s stare. Now this. His wife, buzzing on a stranger’s coke, with a stranger’s hands on her. The same gnawing temptation that had driven him to Chloe now opened its maw right here in his own villa.
He took the rolled note from Fabrizio.
He bent over the cold stone. The sharp, chemical inhale burned his sinus, a punishing cleanse. Almost instantly, a brittle, electric clarity wired his nerves. The fatigue vanished. The guilt sharpened into a focus. He felt invincible, alert, utterly depraved.
Fabrizio grunted in approval, then bent his wiry frame over the mirror. With a sharp, practiced sniff, he vacuumed a line through the crumpled note. He wiped his nose, blinked rapidly, and passed the mirror to Sarah.
Sarah took the note, her movements loose and deliberate. She bent over the island, as she did so Marco’s hand slid from her hip to the curve of her arse, kneading it through the thin silk of her dress. "Oh, you're a bit confident aren't you?" she laughed, one hand holding her hair back, and snorted her line with a soft, tearing sound. She straightened, eyes watering, a wide, chemical grin splitting her face.
She passed the mirror to Marco, who never removed his hand from her backside. He did his line quickly, tossing his head back afterwards. “Bellissima,” he murmured, nuzzling Sarah’s neck.
Fabrizio fixed his dark, glittering eyes on Rory. “So,” he said, his voice low. “You fuck the girl? The one with the little boyfriend?”
The question hung in the drug-sharpened air. Rory could still feel Chloe’s muscles clenching around him, see the come drying on her face.
“Yeah,” Rory said, the word simple and final.
Sarah watched him, her expression unreadable, a smile playing on her glossed lips.
“And he join in?” Fabrizio pressed, a leer spreading across his broken face.
"He had to watch.", holding his wife’s gaze.
Sarah let out a low laugh, shaking her head. She turned into Marco, whispering something in his ear. He chuckled, his hand giving her arse a firm, possessive squeeze.
“Come,” Sarah said, tugging Marco’s hand. “Let’s… sit down.” Her words were a seductive slide. They drifted out of the stark kitchen light, through the archway, and into the shadowy lounge.
Their giggles floated back, soft and conspiratorial.
Rory was alone with Fabrizio. The wiry Italian leaned against the counter, rolling another note. “We have fun with your wife tonight,” he stated, his broken English making the declaration crude. “Dancing. She is… very sexy. She have wild time. The music, dancing drinking… she talk. Very, what you say? Flirty!”
"I bet, she's a bit uninhibited after this stuff."
Yeah! She tell us she think you go off with the girl. She tell us all the things she likes." He leaned in a gave a soft conspiratorial chuckle. "In sex. All the sex things she like. She playing games with us to get us excited."
Rory said nothing. The coke buzzed in his veins, a silent scream.
Fabrizio’s eyes narrowed, assessing. “I bring her back, I want to fuck her,” he said plainly. “Marco want to also, maybe same time.” He shrugged, as if discussing the weather. “She want it, I pretty sure. She talk about it, in the club. About her fantasies. She ask if we have big cocks.”
He paused, letting the v image settle. “This is ok for you? Your wife, fucked by two men? After you fuck other girl?”
Before Rory could form any answer, a sharp, breathy gasp cut through the villa’s silence. It came from the lounge. It was Sarah.
Fabrizio was already moving. Rory followed, his heart a hard knot in his chest.
The lounge was lit by a single floor lamp, casting long, tangled shadows. Sarah was pressed back against the deep sofa, her head thrown back. Marco was over her, his mouth locked on hers, one hand cradling her jaw.
His other hand was inside the cowl neck of her dress, buried deep in the fabric. His fingers were curled, visibly kneading the soft flesh of her breast. Sarah’s hand was on his wrist, not pushing him away, but holding it there, her nails digging into his skin.
She gasped again as Marco’s thumb found her nipple, pinching it. Her other leg came up, hooking around Marco’s hip, pulling him closer.
Fabrizio let out a low, approving sound. He looked at Rory, his eyebrow raised in a silent, challenging question.
Marco broke the kiss, breathing heavily. Sarah’s gaze, glassy and unfocused, slid past his shoulder to where Rory stood with Fabrizio. A slow, tipsy smile spread across her face. “I was just thanking him,” she slurred, giggling as she patted Marco’s stubbled cheek. “For seeing me home safely.”
Fabrizio grunted from the doorway, his voice a low rasp. “I paid for the taxi, bella. My money.” He gestured with his chin, a clear, crude demand.
“Oh! That’s right!” Sarah’s laugh was a bright, artificial chime in the dim room. She pushed at Marco’s chest, slipping out from under him with a drugged fluidity. She swayed on her feet for a second, then walked towards Fabrizio, her hips making a deliberate, rolling motion with each step. She didn’t stop until her body was pressed against his shorter, wiry frame.
She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. It was not a peck. She opened her mouth to him immediately, her tongue finding his. Fabrizio’s hands, quick and rough, lifted the hem of her dress to seize her arse, pulling her hard against the prominent bulge in his jeans. A low, approving groan vibrated from his throat into her mouth.
Behind her, Marco watched, his smirk widening. He hooked his fingers under the hem of his tight, white muscle top and peeled it off in one smooth motion. His torso was a landscape of defined abs and dark tattoos, the skin gleaming in the low light. He tossed the shirt aside, it landing soundlessly on the rug.
He moved behind Sarah, who was still entwined with Fabrizio. His hands settled on her bare shoulders, his thumbs tracing her spine. Sarah broke the kiss with Fabrizio, gasping for air. She looked over her shoulder at Marco, then back at Fabrizio’s hungry face.
“You both want to be thanked properly, don’t you?” she whispered. Her hands went to the thin straps of her dress. She slid them slowly down her shoulders, letting the thin yellow material fall to the floor.
She stood there in just a tiny yellow sheer thong and red high heel sandals, the gems in her nipple piercing glistening in the lamp light. The coke hummed through her, burning away every last vestige of inhibition, leaving only a raw, pulsing want.
Fabrizio’s eyes darkened. “Si. Properly.” His hand came up, his calloused fingers tracing over her pierced nipple, pinching it roughly. Sarah moaned, her head falling back against Marco’s chest.
Marco took that as his cue. He lowered his head, his mouth finding the juncture of her neck and shoulder, biting down just enough to make her jerk. His hands slid around from her shoulders cupping her breasts fully. He squeezed, his fingers finding her nipples, twisting them.
“You like that, Mrs. Sarah?” Marco breathed into her ear, his accent thickening. “You like two men touch you?”
“Yes,” she hissed, her eyes closed, her body arcing between their four hands.
Fabrizio wasn’t content with just her top half. His hands dropped to her hips, his fingers hooking into the sides of her flimsy knickers.
He pulled the lace down her thighs in one sharp tug. They slipped past her knees, over her ankles. She stepped out of them, naked now but for the shoes. The cool villa air whispered over her heated skin, raising goosebumps.
Fabrizio didn’t pause. He dropped to his knees in front of her. His hands nudged her thighs apart. He leaned forward, his breath hot on her bare mound, "Your pussy is wet, the lips, they want," and without ceremony, buried his face in it as she stood there.
“Fuck!” Sarah cried out, her hands flying back to clutch at Marco’s thighs behind her. Fabrizio’s tongue was flat and broad, prodding between her swollen lips for her clit, which he zeroed in, sucking it hard into his mouth, his nose grinding against her.
Sarah’s knees buckled. A raw shriek tore from her throat as Fabrizio ate her with a starved, relentless intensity. Marco held her upright, his hands now rough on her breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples until she cried out each time. “You like his mouth on your cunt, Sarah?” Marco growled in her ear. “You taste good for him?”
“Yes! God, yes, don’t stop!” she begged, her words dissolving into a moan as Fabrizio drove two fingers deep inside her, crooking them, his tongue never leaving her clit. The slick, filthy sounds of his effort filled the room.
Rory stood frozen by the archway, the cocaine burning a cold path through his veins. He watched his wife’s face, contorted in pleasure from a stranger’s mouth. His cock twitched against his zipper.
Fabrizio withdrew his mouth with a final, broad lick. He stood, wiping his glistening chin on the back of his hand. “Bedroom,” he stated, his chest heaving. It wasn’t a suggestion.
Sarah nodded, breathless, her mascara smudged. She looked at Marco, then at Fabrizio, her gaze hungry and unfocused. “Take me there,” she said, her voice husky. “Both of you.”
Marco grinned, stepping back. His hands went to the buckle of his belt. He made a show of it, his eyes locked on Sarah as he undid it, the leather sliding through the loops with a whisper. He unbuttoned his jeans, pushed them and his boxers down in one move.
His cock sprang free, already fully hard, thick and curving slightly upwards. Sarah’s eyes widened, a genuine, appreciative gasp escaping her. “Oh, wow,” she murmured, the drug and the lust making her blunt.
Fabrizio was already stripping, efficient and swift. His shirt off, his own jeans shoved down. He was shorter, but his physique was compact, powerful. And his cock was obscene. It hung heavy and thick the head already leaking. Sarah’s mouth actually fell open. “Oh God,” she breathed.
“You like?” Fabrizio said, stroking himself slowly, his broken-nosed face a mask of arrogant pride.
“I want to feel them,” Sarah said, turning towards the hallway.
She led the way, her red heels clicking a rapid, uneven tattoo on the marble. She didn’t look back to see if Rory followed. The two naked men trailed her, their bare feet silent, their cocks swaying with each step. Rory his own toxic desire in his gut.
Sarah fell onto the vast bed, rolling onto her back, spreading her legs wide in the center. Marco and Fabrizio climbed onto the mattress, flanking her, their bodies surrounding hers.
Fabrizio looked over his shoulder at Rory, who lingered in the doorway. “You want to see your wife.” He pointed to a deep armchair in the corner. “Sit there.”
Rory moved to the armchair, its deep leather swallowing him, granting him a perfect view. Marco settled on Sarah’s left, propped on an elbow, his thick cock lying against her thigh. Fabrizio took her right, his heavier body angled towards hers, his gaze locked on Rory as his hand returned to Sarah’s inner thigh.
Sarah’s head lolled towards Marco, her mouth finding his in a lazy, open kiss. Her left hand, meanwhile, snaked down Marco’s stomach, her fingers wrapping around his shaft. She began to stroke him, slowly, her thumb smearing the bead of moisture over his tip. A low groan vibrated from Marco’s chest into her mouth.
Her right hand found Fabrizio. He was already harder, the veins pronounced. She squeezed him, her small hand barely fitting around his girth. “Oh my God,” she whispered, breaking her kiss with Marco to look down at what she held.
“You like that, huh?” Fabrizio grunted, his hips pushing slightly into her fist.
“I do, I told you in the club, I like men with really big cocks” Sarah breathed, her voice slurry and warm. She turned her head towards the armchair, her eyes finding Rory’s. A slow, knowing smile touched her slick lips. “Did you have fun with Chloe?”
She asked it so casually, while her hands pumped two other cocks. The directness was a shiv between Rory’s ribs. Marco chuckled, nipping at her shoulder. Fabrizio just watched, his expression flat and challenging.
Rory’s mouth was dry. The coke hummed. “Yeah,” he said, the word sticking in his throat.
“Yeah?” Sarah echoed, her stroking rhythm never faltering. “Did you fuck her?”
“Yes.”
“Where?” Her tone was light, curious, almost conversational. “In her pussy? Her mouth?” Her hand twisted on Fabrizio, pulling a sharp hiss from him. “Tell me.”
“All of it,” Rory heard himself say. The admission, forced out in this arena, felt like a surrender and a weapon all at once.
Sarah’s smile widened. “Good. I have an excuse, then” She turned her head back to Marco, kissing him deeply, swallowing his groans as she worked him faster. Her hips squirmed on the bed, a clear, needy friction. She was getting off on this. On his confession. On the two hard cocks in her hands.
Fabrizio shifted, extracting himself from her grip. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing the small mirror and the vial. He dumped a small pile onto the glass, the white powder stark against the reflective surface. With a credit card from his discarded jeans, he began cutting lines with brisk, efficient strokes.
“For you,” Fabrizio said, not looking up, his voice directed at Marco. “For me.” He cut two thick, long lines. Then he glanced at Rory, a cruel glint in his eye. “So the sex with your wife is very dirty.” He tapped the card on the glass. “She tell us in Pacha she like a nasty fuck. Man take control.”
He set the mirror on the bed between Sarah’s splayed legs. He held the rolled note to Marco, who took it and vacuumed his line with a sharp snort. Fabrizio did his own next, his head snapping back, his nostrils flaring. A new, sharper intensity settled over him.
Then he took the mirror. He didn’t cut another line. Instead, he held it steady over his own groin. With meticulous care, he poured a thin, straight trail of powder along the length of his huge shaft, from the base to the swollen, purple head.
“Sarah,” he commanded.
She understood instantly. Her eyes lit up with a depraved glee. She pushed herself up, Marco’s hand falling away from her breast. She leaned over Fabrizio’s lap, her hair brushing his thighs. She Took the note and snorted the line in one long snort
“Fuck,” Rory whispered, his own cock throbbing painfully against his zipper.
Sarah sat back up, licking her lips, her eyes watering slightly from the bitter chemical taste. A dusting of white powder clung to Fabrizio’s skin. He wiped a thick finger through it, collecting the residue. He then dragged that same finger across the mirror’s surface, gathering every last grain.
He held his wet, powdered finger up. His eyes locked on Sarah’s. Then, without breaking that stare, he reached between her legs.
Sarah gasped, her back arching as his finger found her clit. He rubbed the cocaine- grit and all, directly onto the hyper-sensitive nub, grinding it in with a circular, ruthless pressure.
“Oh, God! Oh, fuck!” she gasped with a rush of sensation, spreading her legs and grinding her swollen, tingling groin against his finger. “Oh God!”
Fabrizio didn’t stop. He watched her unravel, his finger working her clit into a swollen, red beacon. “The coke makes the pussy crazy,” he stated to the room, to Rory. “Makes it hungry.” Sarah’s head fell back as Fabrizio fingered her, her hips pumping involuntarily against his hand. “Yes! Just like that, God, that feels good!”
She tore her gaze from Fabrizio’s triumphant smirk and fixed her eyes on Rory, still anchored in the chair. Her voice was ragged but clear, cutting through the animal sounds of her own pleasure. “Was fucking Chloe good?” she panted, each word a hot accusation. “Was she dirty, I know you like it dirty.”
"yes, she's pretty naive and inexperienced, but underneath she's really kinky...."
Fabrizio twisted his finger, and Sarah gasped, her back arching.
“Now it’s my turn,” she purred, leaning back on the bed. “I wean t them to use me, like you used her. Marco and Fabrizio can use me as their slut all holiday. Whenever they want, whatever they want they can have me.” She looked at each man flanking her, a wild, surrendering grin on her face. “Do you like that? You can have me whenever you like.”
Marco didn’t need another invitation. “You tell him, bella,” he growled, his accent thick. “Tell your husband what you are.” He took a firm hold of the back of her and pulled he over to kiss her again pushing his tongue onto her mouth and squeezing her breast as she opened her legs to show Rory Fabrizio's finger
Sarah looked at Rory. "Look at these boys! They're so hot." She said breathlessly. "You know what I like. They're so good looking! Hard muscly bodies. Really big cocks have you seen Fabrizio's! What if he wants to fuck my arse? You'd need to get the lube from my toiletry bag."
Marco pulled Sarah's head down to his lap. "She tell us on the dancefloor she want to fuck." He said to Rory. "I ask me or him, she say both of you. She say she want her husband to see her be slut."
"They're so confident, dominant." Sarah he face inches from his rock hard cock. "Arrogant. They can make me do whatever they want. He knows I want his big cock."
Sarah opened her mouth wide moaned as he pujshed her down and moaned around Marco's shaft, a sound of absolute agreement and took his balls in her hand.
Fabrizio rolled her onto her side, her face bobbing on Marco's groin and lifted a leg in the air to expose her pussy. “She is tight, your wife,” he said, kneeling to get his face between her open legs. “She is greedy for cock, si? Her cunt is soaking, her lips they are big, fat, very red. She to be fucked very much, eh bella?”