Chapter 2: Double Trouble: A Throat and a Throne
The silence in Lola’s car was a living thing. It was different from the quiet after the stall—that had been a stunned, breathless vacuum. This was a thick, humming tension, stretched tight over the sounds of the engine and the swish of tires on wet pavement. Dave stared out the passenger window, watching the streetlights smear yellow streaks across the glass. He could still taste Lola on his tongue, and underneath it, the faint, sharp tang of Shane.
Lola drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. Her fingers drummed a restless rhythm. “My place is closer,” she’d said outside the pub, and it wasn’t a question. He’d just nodded, his throat too tight for words.
Her apartment was on the third floor, cluttered and warm. Books piled on a sagging sofa, a vibrant, chaotic painting of a jungle on the main wall, the scent of jasmine incense clinging to the curtains. She didn’t turn on the main light, just a small lamp in the corner that cast the room in deep amber and long, reaching shadows.
She turned to face him, her back against the front door. “So.”
“So,” he echoed.
“That happened.”
“Yeah.”
She stepped forward, closing the distance. Her hands came up to his chest, palms flat. She could feel his heart hammering under her touch. “You’ve been thinking about it since the door closed, haven’t you?”
He didn’t lie. “Yeah.”
“Which part?” Her fingers began to undo the buttons of his shirt. “Fucking me while he watched? Or the way his cock felt next to yours inside me?”
Dave swallowed. The directness was a punch to the gut. “Both.”
“Good.” She pushed the shirt off his shoulders. It fell to the floor with a soft thud. Her eyes travelled over his torso, then back up to his face. There was a daring, challenging glint there. “He gave me his number. Told me to use it.”
Something hot and dark coiled in Dave’s stomach. Jealousy? No. Anticipation. “Did he.”
“Mm-hmm.” She popped the button on his jeans. “Said he had a feeling we weren’t finished.” The zipper came down, a loud rasp in the quiet room. “Are we finished, Dave?”
Before he could answer, his phone buzzed in his discarded jeans. A text notification lit up the screen on the floor. Lola glanced down, then back at him, a slow smile spreading on her lips. “That’ll be him.”
“How do you know?”
“Timing.” She knelt in front of him, her hands on his hips. She nuzzled against the hard line of his cock straining against his boxers. “Check it.”
He bent, fumbling for the phone. The screen glowed. A message from an unknown number.
Pub toilet wasn’t much for conversation. You left your wrench on the bar. Could drop it by.
Dave stared at the words. You left your wrench on the bar. He hadn’t. It was a transparent, ridiculous lie. A code. His thumbs hovered over the screen.
“Well?” Lola’s breath was hot through the cotton. “Tell him to come over.”
The decision was a door swinging open in a dark room. He typed quickly, his fingers clumsy. Lola’s. 33B Willow Rd. Flat 3. Now.
He hit send. The whoosh sound was final.
Lola made a noise of pure satisfaction and pulled his boxers down. His cock sprang free, already fully hard. She took him into her mouth without preamble, deep, her throat working around him. He groaned, his head falling back, the phone slipping from his hand to clatter on the wooden floor.
She didn’t let him finish. After a few minutes, she pulled off with a wet pop and stood up. “He’ll be ten minutes,” she said, her voice husky. She took his hand and led him to the center of the room, near the sofa. “On your knees.”
He went down, the rough texture of her rug biting into his skin. The domesticity of the setting—the cozy apartment, the art, the smell of her life—clashed violently with what was happening, making it feel all the more illicit.
She stood over him, peeling off her own clothes with deliberate slowness. When she was naked, she put a hand in his hair, fisting it tightly. “You’re going to be good for us, right? You’re going to explore that curiosity?”
The knock at the door was sharp, decisive.
“Get the door,” Lola whispered, releasing him.
Dave rose, his nakedness feeling suddenly more exposed. He unlocked and opened the door.
Shane stood there, holding a completely unrelated adjustable spanner. He looked Dave up and down, a smirk playing on his lips. His blue eyes were bright, predatory. “Brought your wrench.”
“Cheers,” Dave said, his voice rough.
Shane stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him. He dropped the spanner. It landed with a heavy thunk. His gaze went past Dave to Lola, who stood gloriously naked in the lamplight. “Evening.”
“Took you long enough,” Lola said, but she was smiling.
Shane moved into the room like he owned it. He shrugged out of his jacket, then pulled his shirt over his head. His body was solid, defined, a map of muscle and old scars. He unbuckled his belt, eyes locked on Dave the whole time. “So. Where were we?”
Lola closed the distance. She put her hands on Shane’s chest, then turned to look at Dave over her shoulder. “Right where we left off. But with better lighting.”
She pushed Shane gently until the backs of his knees hit the sofa and he sat down. His cock was already hard, jutting up from his open jeans. Lola turned to Dave, her hand back in his hair, guiding him forward. “You wanted a taste. So taste.”
Dave’s heart was a drum in his ears. The curiosity wasn’t abstract anymore. It was here, thick and veined and inches from his face. The musk of him, mixed with soap and the night air. He could see the bead of moisture at the tip. Lola’s grip was insistent, unforgiving.
He leaned in. The first touch of his tongue was tentative, a flat lick up the shaft. The skin was smooth, hot. Salty.
“Yeah,” Shane breathed, his hands coming to rest on his own thighs, knuckles white. “That’s it.”
Encouraged, Dave took the head into his mouth. It was an alien, thrilling fullness. He worked his tongue around it, his own need a throbbing, forgotten ache between his legs. He heard a low moan and realized it came from Shane. The sound went straight to his cock.
Lola watched for a moment, her breath quickening. Then she moved. She climbed onto the sofa, straddling Shane’s lap, facing Dave. She lowered herself onto Shane’s cock in one smooth, slow motion, her head falling back as she took him inside her. Dave had a perfect, obscene view of Shane disappearing into her.
“Now me,” Lola panted, looking down at Dave. She shuffled forward on her knees, until her slick, swollen folds were hovering over his face. “Don’t you dare stop what you’re doing.”
She lowered herself onto his mouth. The taste of her exploded across his tongue—musky, sweet, utterly familiar, but now layered with the pre-come and salt of Shane. The angle was awkward, incredible. He was sandwiched between them, his mouth serving both of them, his world reduced to heat and taste and the raw, grunting sounds above him.
He sucked and licked at Lola, his tongue delving deep into her cunt while his mouth continued to work on Shane’s cock, which slid in and out of his vision, glistening with her wetness and his saliva. The dual sensation, the complete subjugation, was the most potent thing he’d ever felt. He was a tool for their pleasure, and it freed something in him, something dark and hungry.
“Fuck, his mouth,” Shane gritted out, his hips bucking upwards, driving himself deeper into Lola, which in turn pressed her down harder onto Dave’s face. Dave nearly choked, but the overwhelm was the point.
Lola was babbling, a stream of filthy praise and pleading. “Just like that—oh god, yes—you both feel so fucking good—I can feel him sucking your cock through me, Shane, I can feel it—”
Shane’s hands, which had been on her hips, snaked around and grabbed two fistfuls of Dave’s hair. He didn’t guide him; he used him. He began to fuck upward into Lola with hard, short strokes, which meant Dave’s mouth was dragged back and forth along his shaft in a relentless, rhythmic gag. Tears sprang to Dave’s eyes from the strain, but he didn’t pull away. He welcomed the rough control, letting Shane set the pace, his own tongue still working feverishly on Lola’s clit.
The room dissolved into a sweaty, heaving tangle of limbs and shared breath. The jungle on the wall seemed to pulse in the dim light. Dave lost all sense of time, of self. He was just a vessel for sensation—the ache in his jaw, the crush of Lola’s thighs against his ears, the primal, groaning sounds from Shane that vibrated through both of them.
It was Shane who broke first. With a ragged shout that was half curse, half prayer, he slammed up into Lola and held there, his body rigid. Dave felt the hot, sudden pulse against the back of his throat and swallowed instinctively, the act itself a deeper submission than he’d ever known. The taste was bitter, chemical.
Shane’s release triggered Lola’s. She ground down against Dave’s face, her cries sharp and broken as she came, her juices flooding his mouth and chin.
Slowly, Shane’s grip on Dave’s hair loosened. He slumped back into the sofa, spent. Lola climbed off him, her legs unsteady, and collapsed onto the rug beside Dave. She was panting, her skin sheened with sweat.
Dave sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was still painfully hard. His own need was a screaming, untouched thing.
Shane, recovering first, zipped his jeans. He looked down at the two of them on the floor—Lola splayed and spent, Dave kneeling, cock standing at attention, his face a mess of their combined fluids. That knowing smirk returned.
“Looks like someone didn’t get his turn,” Shane said, his voice a low rumble. He nodded toward Dave’s erection. “Lola, you’re a terrible host.”
Lola laughed, a breathless, giddy sound. She propped herself up on an elbow. “He was busy.”
Shane stood up. He walked over to Dave, looking down at him. There was no tenderness in his gaze, only a frank, assessing hunger. “Stand up.”
Dave stood. Shane was barely an inch taller, but he felt the difference in the space between them.
Shane’s eyes dropped to Dave’s cock, then back to his face. “You still curious?”
The bathroom stall had been a collision. This was a choice. Clear and sober in the lamplight.
“Yeah,” Dave said, the word scraping out of him.
Shane’s hand shot out, not to his cock, but to his shoulder. He spun Dave around, pushing him forward until he was bent over the back of the sofa, the rough fabric scraping his stomach. Shane’s weight pressed against him, his mouth near Dave’s ear.
“This what you wanted after you watched me come in her?” Shane muttered. One hand gripped Dave’s hip, the other spat, then slid down between his ass cheeks. The touch was blunt, clinical. “This what you were thinking about in the car?”
Dave couldn’t speak. He nodded, his face pressed into the sofa cushion.
He heard the rip of a foil packet. Lola, watching from the floor, had handed Shane a condom. The rustle, the snap. Then the cold, slick pressure of lube.
There was no gentle preparation. Shane pressed the head of his cock against him, and pushed. The burn was immediate, intense, a white-hot spike of pain that made Dave gasp and dig his fingers into the sofa. Shane didn’t stop. He leaned his full weight into it, sheathing himself in one long, brutal invasion.
“Fuck,” Dave choked out. It was too much. It was everything.
Shane began to move, each thrust a reclamation of that tight, forbidden space. It was nothing like fucking a woman. It was harder, more direct, an intense pressure on every nerve. The pain began to blur, melting into a shocking, deep-current pleasure that radiated up his spine. Each drive forward brushed a spot inside him that made his legs tremble.
Lola crawled over. She knelt in front of Dave, her face level with his. She kissed him, deep and filthy, tasting herself and Shane on his lips. Then she took his aching cock in her hand, stroking him in time with Shane’s thrusts.
“You like that?” she whispered, her eyes blazing. “You like him fucking you like this? Taking it like a whore?”
Her words, the dual sensations—the exquisite, rough fullness from behind and her skilled hand on his cock—shattered him. His orgasm tore through him with a violence that buckled his knees. He came over her hand and the sofa cushion in thick, pulsing stripes, his cry muffled by her mouth.
Shane fucked him through it, his own rhythm becoming erratic, until with a final, deep grind and a guttural groan, he finished too.
The silence returned, deeper this time, saturated. Shane pulled out and stepped away. Dave stayed bent over the sofa, his body humming, utterly wrecked. He heard the soft tread of Shane heading to the bathroom, the click of the door.
Lola rested her forehead against his. Her hand, sticky with his release, came up to cup his cheek. “So,” she said softly, echoing her word from when they’d entered. “Now you know.”
He did know. The curiosity wasn’t a question anymore. It was an answer, written in the ache of his body and the quiet storm in his head. The door he’d opened hadn’t just led to a one-time act. It had led to a new room in himself, dark and unexplored, and he was already standing inside it, wondering what else the shadows contained.