Chapter 10: The Long Night
The bedroom had gone dark hours ago. The city's glow bled through the floor-to-ceiling glass, painting the marble in long pale bands. On the bed, Shaheena and Fatima lay tangled in the linen, their limbs loose, their breathing slow and even. Shaheena's hair spilled across Fatima's shoulder. Fatima's hand rested on Shaheena's hip, fingers curled into the fabric.
Nabil lay on the floor at the foot of the bed. The marble was cool against his back. He had not been told to sleep there. He had simply not been told to go anywhere else.
His cock was still hard. It had been hard since the rooftop, since Fatima's cunt against his mouth and Shaheena's fingers around his shaft, stroking him slow and refusing him. They had pulled his head away, kissed each other over him, and walked past him to the bed, leaving him kneeling.
He had stayed. He had stayed so long the marble turned cold under his knees, and then he had lain down on his side and watched them sleep.
The ache was unbearable. It lived in his balls, in his thighs, in the base of his spine. Every pulse of his heart sent another wave of it through his body, sharp and bright, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound.
He needed something. Anything. He had gone three days on edge. Fatima had held him there in the desert, hour after hour, and Shaheena had finished the job, and then the contract, the mall, the pool, the rooftop. Every time they touched him they brought him close and took it away.
He was breaking.
He pushed himself up, slow, careful, his eyes on the two shapes on the bed. Neither moved. He crept to the foot of the bed on hands and knees, the marble cold under his palms, and pressed his forehead to the edge of the mattress.
He could smell them. Jasmine and salt, the last trace of the pool on their skin. Shaheena's bare foot was just there, inches from his face, the arch curved, the toes relaxed. He wanted to take it, to press his mouth to the sole, to taste her.
He didn't. If she woke and caught him at her feet without permission, she would stop. She would laugh and push him away and that would be worse. The denial would be a command, not a mercy.
But the ache was a living thing now. It had teeth.
He shuffled backward from the bed, across the cold stone, until the mattress shadow fell short of him. He lay on his stomach. He pressed his hips down. The marble was smooth and unyielding, and the contact sent a jolt through him so sharp he had to clamp his jaw shut.
He pulled his knees under him. He braced his forearms on the floor. He rocked.
It was nothing. A slow drag of his cock against polished stone, the head catching on the cool surface, the shaft sliding through the faint smear of precome he was already leaking. It wasn't a cunt. It wasn't a mouth. It was just pressure, just friction, and it was more than he had been allowed in days.
He bit his own arm. The leather mark on his throat throbbed.
He moved slower. Deliberate. Each stroke pulled a groan up from his chest and he swallowed it against his bicep, his teeth denting the flesh. The stone against his cock was a punishment and a mercy at once, hard and cold and utterly indifferent, and he hated how good it felt.
Behind him, the bed creaked.
He froze. His hips stopped mid-stroke. He didn't breathe.
The creak settled. The silence stretched. He waited, cheek pressed to the marble, his cock throbbing against the stone, listening for the sound of a woman rolling over, a soft breath, a shift of linen.
Nothing.
He let out a slow breath and began to move again. Smaller strokes now, barely a drag of his hips, the head of his cock grinding in the wet patch he had left on the marble. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, on the dark glass, on anything but the bed. If he looked at them, he would lose the thread. He would crawl to them and press his face into the mattress and beg.
The pleasure built in a slow coil. He wanted to catch it, to hurry it, but he knew his body now. If he pushed too hard he would spill on the floor and it would be over, and then there would be nothing left but the shame and the cold.
He wanted it to last. He wanted them to wake.
He moved his arm and pressed his mouth to the stone instead, muffling himself against the floor. The marble tasted of dust and chlorine. His hips found a rhythm, long and slow, grinding down, the head of his cock catching against the seam between two tiles.
"Need something, pet?"
Her voice came out of the dark, soft and amused.
Fatima. He went rigid. His cock slid off the stone and lay wet against his belly, and the loss of contact made his eyes water.
The bed creaked again. A shape moved in the pale light. Fatima propped herself on one elbow, her hair a dark spill, her eyes catching the city glow as she looked down at him.
"Didn't hear me wake up, did you?" she asked. "Too busy humping the floor."
He couldn't speak. His jaw was locked. His whole body was trembling, the denied orgasm receding from him like a tide pulling out, leaving him burning.
She sat up, swung her legs off the bed, and padded barefoot across the marble toward him. She stood over him, looking down.
"You've got a mess on the floor," she said. "You're going to clean that up. With your tongue."
He obeyed. He lowered his mouth to the stone and dragged his tongue through the smear he had left, the taste of himself flat and salt-bitter on his tongue. Fatima watched him with her arms folded, naked in the pale light, and made a small sound of approval.
"What are you doing to him?" Shaheena's voice came out of the dark, rough with sleep.
Fatima glanced at the bed. "He was humping the floor. Thought I'd let him clean up his mess."
Shaheena sat up, the linen pooling around her waist. Her hair was a tangled fall over her shoulders. She looked down at Nabil, kneeling naked on the marble, his mouth wet, his cock leaking against his thigh, and something shifted behind her eyes.
"Come here," she said.
He crawled. Two paces across the cold stone, then he stopped at the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees, his head bowed.
"Look at me."
He raised his eyes. Her face was unreadable in the half-dark.
"You've been edging for days," she said. "I know what that does to you. You're crawling out of your skin."
"Yes, Shaheena."
"Do you want to come?"
The word tore out of him. "Yes."
"Beg for it."
"Please." His voice cracked. "Please, Shaheena, I'll do anything. I need it, I'm burning, please let me come, I can't take any more, please."
She watched him break, her expression calm. Then she looked at Fatima, and something passed between them, silent and complete.
"We'll give it to you," Shaheena said. "But there's a condition."
"Anything."
"You'll come while your tongue is inside one of us. And we're going to sit on your face and take all of it away from you. Every breath. You'll suffocate under us, and you'll come so hard you won't even remember it happening."
He stared at her. His cock twitched violently, a bead of precome spilling down the shaft.
"Do you understand?" Fatima asked. "You won't feel your release. We'll take it from you. You'll be drowning in our cunts and asses while your body empties itself, and you'll never know it happened."
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I want that. Please."
"On your back," Shaheena said. "Now."
He scrambled onto his back on the marble, his spine against the cold stone, his cock standing rigid and weeping against his belly. Above him the two women rose from the bed and came to stand on either side of his head, looking down at him.
"Open your mouth," Fatima said.
He opened. She straddled his face, her knees on either side of his skull, and lowered herself until her ass pressed against his upturned mouth. Her skin was warm, still carrying the heat of the pool. He smelled her, clean and musky, and his tongue pushed out without being told.
Shaheena moved in behind her, climbing over his face from the other direction. Her cunt settled over his nose and mouth, pushing the air out of his lungs in a hard rush, and she ground down until he couldn't see anything, couldn't breathe anything but her.
"Wider," Fatima said, and he forced his jaw open, and she pressed her asshole against his tongue. He pushed it inside her, into the tight, dark heat of her, tasting her clean and wanting, and she let out a long, shaking sigh.
"Good boy," she breathed. "Now don't stop until you can't move."
Shaheena straddled his face from above, her full weight settling onto his mouth and nose. The world went dark. The air went out. He bucked under her, his hips jerking, his cock smearing against his own stomach, and she planted a hand on the floor beside his head and ground down harder.
"Come," she said. "Come for us, pet. Lose it."
He couldn't breathe. His lungs were burning, his chest heaving against the weight of her thighs, his tongue buried deep in Fatima's ass, and his cock exploded without permission, without warning, a violent, shuddering release that ripped through him in waves he couldn't hear and couldn't feel.
His vision went white, then black. His body convulsed under them, once, twice, spurting over his belly and chest, and then he went still.
"Shhh," Fatima said, her voice far away, muffled by the roaring in his ears. "There it is. That's it, pet. You did so well."
He didn't hear her. He was already gone, limp as a snapped thread, the two women above him still grinding, still taking, until they were satisfied.
He came back to himself in fragments. First the cold of the marble against his spine. Then the weight lifting off his chest, the rush of air filling his lungs. Then the voices, close and above him, saying words he couldn't put together yet.
"There he is." Fatima's hand was on his cheek, patting it lightly. "Back with us."
Shaheena knelt beside him, her thighs still spread, her cunt glistening. She looked down at him with satisfaction, the way she looked at a meal she'd finished.
"Good boy," she said. "You lasted longer than I thought."
He blinked at the ceiling. His body was a wet rag, wrung out. His cock had softened against his thigh, gleaming with his own come. He tried to speak and made a sound instead.
Shaheena's smile faded. She tilted her head. "What was that?"
"Nothing." His voice came out cracked. "Nothing."
"You said something." She leaned closer, her hair brushing his chest. "While you were under. You were whispering something, over and over. I heard it but I couldn't make it out."
Fatima sat up, her interest sharpening. "I heard it too. Sounded like one word."
Nabil's stomach dropped. He remembered. He had been gone, weightless, under the weight of them, and something had broken loose in his head and spilled out of his mouth.
"It was nothing," he said again.
"Liar." Shaheena's voice went quiet and careful. "You were saying 'please' while you came. That's not nothing. You were begging for something before you lost it."
The silence stretched. Fatima leaned in, her chin on her knees, watching him like a specimen.
"Tell us," Shaheena said. "What were you asking for?"
"I don't remember."
"Then I'll help you remember." She shifted, settling her weight onto her heels. "You were gone for maybe ten seconds. You came harder than I've ever seen you come. And the whole time you were mouthing something. One word. Over and over." She pressed her finger to his lips. "Was it a word you've been wanting to say to us but haven't?"
His heart was slamming against his ribs. The taste of his own come was still in his mouth.
"Answer me," she said.
"Shaheena, please. I can't."
"You can, and you will." Her hand closed around his jaw. "We give you everything, pet. Every inch of the life you asked for. The least you can do is tell us what you want when you're too far gone to keep secrets."
He looked past her, at Fatima. Fatima's expression had gone unreadable, but something in it was patient, waiting. She knew. She had heard it too.
"Say it," Shaheena said. "Or I'll keep you on your knees until sunrise and we'll see if you're less proud then."
The threat did it. The image of another night on the marble, the edge building again, broke something inside him.
"Piss," he said.
Shaheena blinked. "What?"
"There was a word I came here for." He swallowed. "I said it in the desert. When you were holding me down, when I couldn't breathe. I realized I wanted more than this." His throat ached. "I want to be lower."
Fatima's eyes went sharp. "Lower than our footstool? Lower than our toilet?" A pause. "Our actual toilet?"
He couldn't speak. He nodded.
The look that passed between the two women was electric. Shaheena's hand fell from his jaw. She sat back on her heels, her mouth open, then slowly closed.
"All this time," she said. "All those nights, the crawling, the begging, the licking. You told us you wanted to be taken apart. You never told us you wanted to be emptied out."
"Because I didn't know how to say it," he whispered. "Because every time I think about it, I hate myself for wanting it. And then I want it more."
Fatima laughed, low and delighted. She crawled over to him, straddling his chest, her cunt inches from his mouth. "Say it again. Slow this time."
"I want you to use me," he said, his voice shaking. "Like a bathroom. I want to drink from you and eat from you and I want you to watch me do it. I want to be so used that nothing of me is left but the need."
Shaheena was quiet for a long moment. Then she moved, shifting until she was lying beside him on the marble, her head propped on her hand, her eyes tracing his face in the pale light.
"No more tonight," she said. "You've had your release. You're raw."
"Shaheena-"
"No." Her hand came down over his mouth, pressing his words back. "But I want you to think about that fantasy while you lie here. I want you to hold it, taste it, get sick with wanting it. And tomorrow, when you've had a night to reflect and your body has stopped trembling, you'll crawl to us and ask for it properly."
Fatima leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "And if you grovel well enough, we might just let you have a drink."
They left him on the marble. Shaheena pulled a blanket off the bed and dropped it over him without ceremony, and then the room went quiet, and sometime after that, he went under.
The dream took the suite and stretched it. The ceiling was higher, the dark deeper, and the two women stood over him at the foot of the bed, but in the dream they were enormous, taller than the glass, taller than the towers outside. Shaheena's voice came from everywhere.
"Lower," she said.
He tried to stand and couldn't. His body had forgotten how. He settled onto his knees, then onto his belly, then lower than his belly, into the floor itself, until the marble held him the way a gutter holds rain.
Fatima crouched over his face. In the dream she was already bare, already open, her cunt a slow descending weight.
"You asked for this," she said. "Open wide, pet."
He opened. She pressed down and her piss came in a hot, bitter rush, flooding his mouth faster than he could swallow. It ran down his chin, into his ears, pooled in the hollow of his throat. He gulped and gulped, choking on the salt and acid of it, and somewhere underneath the panic was a pleasure so profound it felt like religion. He was being filled with them. He was becoming their vessel.
"Good boy," Shaheena said. "Don't waste a drop. Every drop is a gift."
Fatima finished and didn't move away. She ground her wet cunt against his mouth, smearing him with it, and he licked her clean, licking his own shame off her skin, and she laughed the low dirty laugh he knew from the desert.
"My turn," Shaheena said.
She took Fatima's place, wider, more patient. She sat on his face with her full weight and released in a long slow stream, and he drank his cousin down like water in the desert, because that was what she had made him, a thing that drank. His cock was hard against the floor and nobody touched it. Nobody ever touched it in this place.
"Look at him," Fatima said. "He's leaking and he doesn't even notice. He's not a man anymore. He's a fixture."
"Say what you are," Shaheena said, grinding down, cutting the air.
His mouth was full of her. He said it anyway, into her, the words dissolving against her flesh. Toilet. Fixture. Nothing. He said nothing is left of me but the need, and the need was the only part of him the dream kept fed.
They used him again. And again. In the dream the sequence had no end to it, just the two of them cycling over his face, pissing, wiping themselves on his tongue, rubbing their asses against his mouth until his jaw forgot everything but the shape of them. At some point Fatima squatted over his chest and shat a soft dark log across his ribs and Shaheena made him hold it there, carry it, wear it like a sash while he thanked them, and the thank-you kept coming out of him wrong, slurred, reduced to one syllable.
Please. It was all that was left. Please, please, please.
"He's begging in his sleep," Fatima said, far away now, her voice thinning into the real room. "Listen to him."
The dream drained. The ceiling came back down to its true height. Nabil surfaced into the dark of the bedroom, flat on his back under the blanket, his hips jerking, his lips still shaping the word against the empty air. His cock was rigid again, aching, and a fresh bead of precome slid down the shaft onto his stomach. His mouth tasted of salt that wasn't there.
Shaheena was propped on one elbow above him, her hair hanging, watching him come apart on the floor.
"You were saying it again," she said. "The word. You've been saying it all night."
Fatima stirred beside her, blinking awake. "Piss?"
"Worse." Shaheena's mouth curved slowly in the city light. "He was saying please. All night. Begging in his sleep to be used."
Nabil lay frozen under the blanket, his heart slamming, his secret visible on his own sleeping mouth.
Shaheena swung her legs off the bed and sat on its edge above him.
"Maybe you shouldn't wait for morning," she said.
Shaheena didn't move off the bed. She sat on its edge, her knees apart, her hands resting on her thighs, looking down at him. Fatima shifted behind her, propping herself on her elbows like a queen in a king's chamber, watching.
"You said please all night," Shaheena said. "Every time I woke, there you were, mouthing it. Crying it into the dark like a prayer."
"Yes, Shaheena."
"But you've already come tonight." Her tone had gone light, almost conversational. "You got your release. We gave it to you. That was the mercy."
His stomach dropped. "Shaheena..."
"Did I say you could beg again?"
"No. Please. I mean no, Shaheena."
She watched him for a long moment. Then she swung her legs onto the floor and stood, naked in the pale light. She walked around him in a slow circle, her bare feet whispering on the marble. Fatima joined her, circling the other way.
"He's still wet," Fatima observed. "Look at him. Precome on his stomach, his cock twitching. He already forgot the mercy."
"The land remembers the rain better than the man who watered it." Shaheena knelt behind his head. "Wake up, pet. It's time to earn your morning."
It was dawn. The first grey light crept through the glass, replacing the city glow with a flat, pale blue. Nabil lay still, his body trembling from a night of denied dreams and bitter releases. His cock was hard again, a thing he no longer controlled.
"On your hands and knees," Fatima said. "Face the bed."
He moved, slow, his joints aching from the marble. When he was in place, facing the foot of the bed, Shaheena settled onto it. She leaned back on her palms, her legs open, her cunt bare and glistening in the dawn light.
"You want to serve us properly," she said. "Prove it. Worship my ass like you worship my cunt."
"Yes, Shaheena."
He crawled forward and lowered his mouth to her. He dragged his tongue from the base of her spine down between her cheeks, pressing into the tight muscle of her asshole. She sighed and leaned back, letting him work.
"That's it," she breathed. "Nose in my crack, tongue up my hole. You look like you were built for it."
Fatima slid off the bed and knelt beside Shaheena. She ran her hand up Shaheena's thigh, her fingers finding the place where Nabil's tongue worked.
"Let me taste," she said.
She leaned in and pressed her mouth to Shaheena's asshole, right beside Nabil's tongue. He felt her lips, her teeth, the hot slide of her tongue against his own, and he made a sound into Shaheena's flesh that was half groan, half whimper.
Shaheena's hand came down, threading into Fatima's hair and Nabil's at once.
"Both of you," she said. "Together. Lick me clean like the good little pets you are."
Nabil pulled his tongue away, giving Fatima room. Fatima took it. She buried her face between Shaheena's cheeks and licked long and slow, from her hole to her tailbone, and Shaheena's hips lifted off the bed to meet her.
"You like that," Shaheena said. "Licking another woman's ass. You like tasting my cunt on her tongue."
"Yes," Fatima breathed, pulling back just long enough. "I like tasting you everywhere."
She tilted her head, pressing her cheek to Shaheena's thigh, her lips against the wet skin, and sucked a slow kiss onto the inside of Shaheena's ass cheek. Then she turned to Nabil.
"Your turn, pet. Show me how you worship her cunt."
He obeyed. He lowered his mouth to Shaheena's cunt and licked, long and flat, from hole to clit, tasting Fatima's saliva and Shaheena's own heat mixed together. Shaheena groaned and spread her legs wider, one ankle hooked over Fatima's shoulder.
Nabil ate her like a starving man. His tongue curled into her hole, dragged up through her slit, circled her clit in an unhurried rhythm that made her thighs tremble. Fatima watched him work, then moved down Shaheena's other leg, taking her foot into her hands.
Shaheena's toes were painted the same deep burgundy as the heels from the mall. Fatima pressed her mouth to the arch, kissing it, then slid her tongue between the toes, one by one.
Shaheena's breath caught. "Oh. Oh, that's..."
"Good?" Fatima sucked her big toe into her mouth, licking the underside with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Yes. Fuck. Keep going."
Fatima worked her way along the foot, sucking each toe, licking the webbing, biting softly at the ball of the foot. Shawna's other foot pressed flat against Nabil's chest, pushing him deeper into her cunt.
"More," she said. "Both of you."
Nabil redoubled his efforts. He buried his tongue in her hole, lapping at the tender walls, and when he pulled out he dragged his tongue up to her clit and circled it until she was bucking against his mouth. His own cock was hard and ignored, leaking against the marble, and the ache was a roaring fire in his belly.
He was so deep in her that he heard their words as if from underwater.
"Another one," Fatima said, muffled against Shaheena's foot. "A third. Someone new to fill his mouth while we do this."
"I've thought about it." Shaheena's voice was thick with pleasure. "A man, maybe. Two men? One to kneel under me while you ride his face."
"That's what I'm talking about." Fatima's eyes glinted. "We can do anything, can't we? We have the money. The suite. The boy." She nodded at Nabil. "He'd watch. He'd serve. He'd love every second."
Nabil's tongue faltered for half a second at the thought. Shaheena's hand tightened in his hair, pulling him back into her.
"Don't stop, pet. You're not done." She looked at Fatima over his head. "We'll talk about the third later. After he's earned his morning."
She pushed his face back into her cunt and rode his mouth to orgasm, her thighs clamping around his skull, her hand fisted in his hair as she came with a long, silencing moan. He drank her down, his own need screaming in his gut, and when she finally pushed him away he lay panting on the marble, his face wet, his cock untouched and weeping.
Fatima pulled Shaheena into a slow kiss, tasting herself on her tongue. They broke apart and looked down at him.
"Not yet," Shaheena said. "But maybe soon. If you ask for it properly."
She lay back on the bed, Fatima curled against her side, and they left him kneeling on the cold marble, watching the dawn rise over the city, his need a living thing that no one was going to feed.
Fatima stretched, her arm draping over Shaheena's hip. The dawn had gone gold along the glass. Nabil knelt where they'd left him, his cock fat and dripping on the marble, and they both looked at him the way you look at furniture that needs replacing.
"The third," Shaheena said. "We were talking before we slept."
"We were," Fatima said. "And I think we decided."
Nabil's chest tightened. "Decided what?"
Shaheena slid off the bed and stood over him. "We want a man. A big one. Hands like shovels, shoulders like a doorframe. Someone who can fuck us the way you can't."
"You please us with your mouth," Fatima said, crouching in front of him, her thumbnail lifting his chin. "Beautifully. But your cock is average, pet. We've been polite about it. No more politeness."
"Average," he repeated. The word landed in his stomach like a stone.
"I've measured you with my eyes a hundred times," Shaheena said. "Five and a half inches on a good day, and you're spent after one. We want a cock that hurts. One that stretches us open and keeps going. A cock we can scream on." She circled him slowly. "You'll be there for all of it. Holding our ankles. Cleaning up after. Watching a real man use what you only get to lick."
Nabil's cock jumped against his belly, leaking a fresh rope of precome, and Fatima laughed at it.
"Look at that. He's already saying yes with his body."
"His mouth will follow." Shaheena stopped in front of him, arms folded. "Here's the arrangement. The third comes to the suite. He fucks us. Fills us. Both of us, as deep as his body allows. You take every load out of us with your tongue after. And you don't touch yourself. You don't come at all, not that day, not while he's here."
"And if I say no?" His voice cracked on it.
"Then no third," Shaheena said, shrugging. "And also no more mornings like this one. No cunt on your tongue. No feet. No ass. You go back to being my cousin who calls on holidays." She bent down, her lips at his ear. "You said you wanted to be lower than the floor. Well, this is the floor under the floor."
Fatima straddled his thigh, her wet cunt pressing his skin, her hand sliding down to wrap around his cock. She pumped him once, slow, her thumb smearing the slick head.
"Say the word and I stop," she whispered. "Say yes and I keep going until you're right at the edge, and then you watch Shaheena decide whether you ever get to finish again."
His hips bucked into her fist, shameless, and she squeezed the base of him hard enough to hurt.
"Please," he said.
"Please what?" Shaheena's hand came into his hair, tilting his face up. "Use words."
"Yes. Bring him. A man with a bigger cock. I want to watch him fuck you. I want to hold your legs open for him. I want to clean what he leaves behind." The words poured out of him faster than he could be ashamed of. "Please, both of you. Please."
Fatima stroked him faster, her fist a wet blur. "Good boy. Now hold still, because here's your reward for agreeing."
She worked him right up the slope, his balls drawing tight, his thighs shaking, his breath going ragged, and then she let go at the very last second and stepped away. His cock slapped wet against his stomach, pulsing at nothing.
"There," Shaheena said. "That's the feeling. That's what you get to keep while a stranger's cock is buried in my ass and Fatima's riding his face. You'll be kneeling in the corner, hard as stone, thanking us for every scream he pulls out of us."
"Not a stranger," Fatima said, reaching for her phone. "I know someone. Personal trainer. Arms like cable. And I've seen him in shorts, cousin. He's enormous."
"You're serious," Shaheena said.
"I've been serious for weeks." Fatima was already typing. "Karim. He owes me a favor and I owe him a night. Consider both debts settled."
Nabil knelt on the marble, untouched, aching, watching her thumb move across the screen. The message went out. The read receipt came back in under a minute, and Fatima smiled at whatever Karim answered.
"He says he'll be here at noon," she said, "and he asks if the boy cooks."
"Noon," Shaheena repeated. She looked down at Nabil, her eyes bright and cruel and warm all at once. "Then you have three hours to learn your place under a real man's shadow."