Chapter 6: The Domination Begins
Nate didn’t move. He sat on the ruined couch, a statue of conflicted muscle and cooling sweat, Marcus’s command echoing in the chemical-stale air. His eyes were pinned to Ally, to the proof of what he’d just done glistening on her thighs.
“Nate,” Marcus said again, the single syllable a crack of lightning.
He flinched. The sound broke his paralysis. He stood, his movements stiff, his body a fortress of tension. He took one step, then another, the floorboards creaking under his weight. He stopped a foot from them, his gaze darting between their faces, unable to settle.
Marcus released her grip on Ally’s neck. She turned fully to face Nate, a smile playing on her lips that was all cruel, familiar Marcus. She reached up and cupped her own breasts, her hands possessive on the full curves. Her thumbs brushed over the nipples, already hard from the room’s charge and the recent friction. She pinched them, rolling the stiff peaks between her fingers, her eyes locked on his.
“You weren’t kidding about those offseason gains, big boy,” she purred, her voice a smoky taunt. She arched her back, thrusting her chest toward him. The movement was exaggerated, blatant. “All that time in the weight room. Don’t you want to show this bad girl what those hands can really do? Or are they just for blocking?”
It was a challenge he knew. Football. Performance. It was a language that bypassed his tangled guilt.
A low sound rumbled in Nate’s throat. His hands, those massive tools built for violence on the field, twitched at his sides. He looked at Ally, a silent plea for… something. Permission? Absolution?
Ally felt a strange surge of power. This was her body, but it was also a weapon she and Marcus wielded together. She gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was a green light.
Nate’s hands came up. They were trembling. He placed his palms on Marcus’s ribs, his fingertips spanning nearly to her spine. The touch was shockingly gentle at first, a tentative mapping of this impossible terrain. Then his grip firmed, sliding up to cradle the heavy weight of her breasts. He filled his hands with her, his thumbs mimicking her earlier motion, brushing over the tight nipples.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice full of awestruck heresy.
“Yeah,” Marcus hissed, her head tilting back. “That’s it. Feel that? That’s real. All of it.”
She leaned into his touch, guiding him, showing him how to squeeze, how to knead the firm flesh. Her own hands dropped to his wrists, not to stop him, but to feel the cords of muscle in his forearms working. “Now him,” she commanded, her eyes sliding to Ally.
Nate didn’t hesitate this time. One hand slid from Marcus’s breast, leaving the skin flushed. He reached for Ally. His calloused palm was rough against the softer swell of her breast, his touch less uncertain now, fueled by a desperate hunger. He cupped her, his thumb finding her nipple, circling it with a blunt pressure that made her gasp.
He was handling them both, one in each immense hand, his gaze haunted and ravenous. He was comparing weights, textures, the ways they fitted his grip. The sheer visual—this mountain of a man, utterly nude and aroused, groping his two transformed teammates—was so absurdly pornographic it felt like a dream.
“This is so fucked,” Nate muttered, but his hands never stopped moving.
“You love it,” Marcus countered, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. She shifted her stance, pressing her thigh between Nate’s legs, rubbing against his half-hard cock. It jerked back to life against her skin. “You’ve been dreaming about getting your hands on him for years. Admit it.”
Nate’s breath hitched. He didn’t deny it. His fingers dug into Ally’s flesh, a possessive, painful pressure. “Shut up, Marcus.”
“Make me.”
It was the spark. Nate’s control, always a thin veneer, shattered. With a growl, he pushed Marcus backwards. She let him, a thrill in her eyes as her ass hit the edge of the low coffee table. Beer bottles clattered. He crowded over her, his body forcing her to bend back over the scattered junk.
“You want to see what these hands can do?” he grunted, his voice thick with a aggression that had once been reserved for the gridiron. He grabbed her hips, yanking her to the very edge of the table. The wood dug into the backs of her thighs. He dropped to his knees between her splayed legs.
Ally watched, rooted, her own body throbbing in response. She saw Marcus’s triumphant grin, saw Nate’s broad back flex as he shoved Marcus’s thighs wider. He didn’t bother with preamble. He lowered his head and buried his face between her legs.
The sound was raw—a wet, sloppy, voracious feasting. Nate ate her out like a man starved, with none of the finesse she might have expected, all grunting effort and single-minded focus. His tongue was a thick, relentless muscle, licking broad stripes through her folds before zeroing in on her clit. He sucked it into his mouth, hard.
Marcus’s back arched off the table. A shattered cry tore from her throat, her hands flying to fist in Nate’s short-cropped hair. “Yes! Right there, you fucking animal! Just like that!”
He obeyed, his technique purely instinctual, driven by her curses and the violent tug of her hands. He fucked her with his tongue, delving deep, then circled her clit with a brutal, perfect pressure. Saliva dripped down his chin, mingling with her wetness.
Ally moved closer, drawn to the heat of it. She stood beside the table, looking down at the raw spectacle. Marcus’s eyes were squeezed shut, her face a mask of ecstatic agony. Nate’s shoulders worked relentlessly.
Reaching down, Ally tangled her fingers in Marcus’s hair, pulling her head back. Marcus’s eyes flew open, glazed and unfocused. “Watch him,” Ally whispered, her own voice stranger to her ears. “Watch him fucking devour you.”
Marcus’s gaze dragged down to the top of Nate’s head between her thighs. A fresh, guttural moan ripped from her. “He’s a natural,” she panted, her hips bucking against his mouth. “A goddamn… fucking… natural!”
Nate redoubled his efforts, spurred on by the praise. One of his hands left her hip, sliding underneath to grab a handful of her ass, squeezing the firm globe as his tongue drilled into her.
Ally felt her own need coiling, a tight, screaming knot. She guided Marcus’s head to the side, bending down to kiss her. The taste of Nate was on Marcus’s tongue, salty and musky. Ally kissed her deeply, messily, while below, Nate drove Marcus toward the edge.
Marcus broke the kiss, her cry rising in pitch. Her thighs clamped around Nate’s head, her whole body tensing like a bowstring. “I’m coming! Don’t you fucking stop!”
Nate didn’t. He grunted, his face buried deeper, his tongue a relentless piston. Marcus came with a raw, shouting release, her body convulsing against his mouth, her heels digging into his back. He rode it out, lapping at her until her spasms subsided into weak tremors.
When he pulled back, his face was shining and utterly debauched. He looked up at Marcus, then at Ally, his chest heaving. He looked drunk on power, on taste, on transgression.
“On the floor,” Ally heard herself say. The command left no room for debate. “Now. On your back.”
Nate scrambled to comply, his earlier hesitation gone, burned away in the furnace of Marcus’s orgasm. He lay on the filthy carpet, amidst the crushed cans and pizza crusts, his cock jutting upward, slick from his own saliva and Marcus’s juices.
Marcus slid off the table, her legs unsteady. She pushed Nate’s thighs apart with her foot, then knelt between them. She didn’t touch his cock. Instead, she looked at Ally. “He’s ready for you, Hammer. He’s earned it. Show him what that new pussy’s really for.”
Ally straddled Nate again, but this time she faced his feet. She lowered herself, positioning herself above his mouth. “You liked tasting her,” she said, her voice cold and sweet. “Now taste us both.”
She settled her weight, pressing her soaked, swollen lips against his mouth. Nate’s tongue surged upward immediately, licking into her with the same desperate hunger. The sensation was blinding—the rough scrape of his tongue, the hot puff of his breath, the vivid memory of him buried in Marcus mere seconds before.
As Nate feasted on her, Ally reached behind herself. She took Nate’s throbbing cock in her hand, guiding it. She didn’t lower herself onto it. She looked at Marcus, who was watching with fiery intensity.
“Marcus,” Ally gasped, as Nate’s tongue found her clit. “Come here.”
Understanding flashed.
Understanding flashed.
Marcus rose from between Nate’s legs, her movements fluid with purpose. She didn’t walk around. She climbed over Nate’s prone body, one knee planted on the carpet beside his ribcage, the other straddling his chest. She loomed above his face, where Ally still ground herself down. Nate’s tongue never stopped its frantic rhythm.
“Switch,” Marcus said, her voice a low command.
Ally lifted her hips, breaking the wet seal of Nate’s mouth with a soft, sucking pop. Nate gasped for air, his chin glistening. Before he could react, Marcus lowered herself onto his face, replacing Ally’s pussy with her own. She sank her weight down, smothering his gasp into a muffled groan.
Ally shifted back, her own body humming. She kept Nate’s thick cock in her hand, guiding it as she moved. She positioned herself above his hips, then looked at Marcus. Their eyes locked. This was the play. The perfect, fucked-up handoff.
She lowered herself onto him.
The penetration was slower this time, deeper. She was so stretched and wet from before that he slid in with a smooth, devastating glide. She took him all the way, until his hips pressed against her ass. A punched-out groan escaped her lips.
Nate bucked beneath them, a frantic, helpless motion. He was pinned, being ridden from both ends. Marcus rocked her hips against his mouth, a slow, grinding torture. Ally began to move, finding a rhythm that was both punishment and reward.
“You’re fucking buried in him,” Marcus moaned, her head tipping back. She looked down at Nate’s wild, staring eyes. “You feel that, Nate? That’s him. All the way inside your best friend. You’re fucking him right now.”
Nate made a strangled sound, a vibration against Marcus’s core. His hands, which had been lying limp, flew up. They grabbed Marcus’s hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass, trying to control the pace of her grinding. With his other hand, he reached blindly for Ally.
His big hand found her thigh, then slid around to clutch at the cheek of her ass. He pulled her down onto him harder with each upward thrust of his hips. The tableaux was obscene. Animal.
Ally rode him with a growing frenzy, the slapping of skin filling the rank air. Each downward plunge sent a shock through her, a mixture of profound physical sensation and dizzying psychological vertigo. She was fucking Nate. Marcus was riding his face. This was the prank that had metastasized into something else entirely.
“Gonna… fuck…” Nate’s voice was a distorted, muffled rumble against Marcus.
“What?” Marcus taunted, lifting her hips just enough for him to breathe. “Gonna what? Come in him again? You want to fill him up twice in one night? You nasty fuck.”
“Yes,” Nate snarled, the word raw and true.
His admission broke the last pretense. Ally felt a corresponding snap within herself. The performance was over. Only the raw act remained. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on Nate’s rock-hard stomach, and increased her pace. It was brutal, efficient. She was chasing her own end now, using his body to get there.
Marcus matched the tempo, fucking his face with hard, short strokes. “Then do it. Paint his fucking insides. Mark him.”
Nate’s control shattered. His hips pistoned upward, driving himself impossibly deep into Ally. His grip on both of them became viselike. A guttural, choked roar was swallowed by Marcus’s body as he came. Ally felt the hot, pulsing flood, the intimate violation triggering her own climax. Her cunt clenched around him in rhythmic, milking spasms.
She collapsed forward onto his sweaty torso, feeling his heartbeat gallop against her ear. Marcus slowed, grinding herself against his mouth through the final shudders, then lifted herself off. She knelt beside his head, looking down at his wrecked expression.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the distant hum of the dying neon.
Slowly, Nate’s hands fell away from their bodies. He lay there, a battlefield. Ally pushed herself up, feeling him slip wetly from her. She moved to sit on the carpet beside the couch, spent. Marcus remained kneeling, watching Nate’s face as he slowly returned to himself.
Nate blinked, staring at the water-stained ceiling. He swallowed. He turned his head first to Marcus, then to Ally. A strange, broken laugh escaped him. He pushed himself up on his elbows.
Marcus leaned into him then. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace. Her big, soft tits crushed against the solid wall of his powerful chest. The hug was startling in its simplicity, a moment of sheer physical contact stripped of sexual aggression.
Ally watched them for a beat. Then she moved. She crawled behind Nate, where he still sat on the floor. She pressed her front against his strong, sweaty back, her arms snaking around his torso to join Marcus’s embrace. Her own full breasts flattened against the ridges of his spine, a soft counterpoint to Marcus in front.
They held him in a wordless, possessive sandwich of warm flesh. Nate was rigid for a second, trapped between the two impossible forms of his friends. Then a shudder went through him. His head dropped forward, his forehead resting against Marcus’s collarbone.
“Jesus,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Jesus Christ.” He was quiet for another long moment, his breathing slowing. When he spoke again, it was a murmur of stunned, undeniable truth. “You both turned out fucking hot. It’s… it’s not fair.”