Chapter 12: Ecstasy-Fueled Submission
Sasha was the first to move, a languid stretch that made her ribs press against her skin. She swung her legs over the side of the table, the smeared evidence of both men glistening on her inner thighs. “Ruined?” she repeated, her voice a scratchy, amused thing. “I feel fantastic.” She hopped down, landing with a soft tap on the wooden floor. She didn’t reach for her discarded clothes. Instead, she walked, naked and utterly unselfconscious, toward the archway that led to the living room. “I’m getting a drink. Anyone else?”
Her casual dismissal was its own power move. Ashley watched her go, a complex knot of envy and admiration tightening in her spent gut. Sasha didn’t seek approval; she took her satisfaction and walked away. Ashley, still trembling on the table, felt like a used toy waiting for someone to decide where to put her next.
“Yeah, whiskey,” Dominic called after Sasha, slapping Ashley’s thigh companionably. “Good hustle, champ.” He followed Sasha, leaving Ashley alone with Carter.
Carter looked down at her. His intensity had banked to a low, smoldering ember. He ran a single finger from her sternum down to her pubic bone, through the mess they’d made of her. “You got what you asked for,” he stated, his voice devoid of its earlier sarcasm, leaving only a flat finality. “Don’t whine about the aftermath.”
Then he turned and left the room too.
Ashley lay there, the cool wood beneath her a stark contrast to the feverish heat of her skin. The silence was absolute, and in it, the hollowness returned, sharper now. The ruin she’d craved had been granted, and it left her feeling not peace, but a deeper, more frantic emptiness. She wanted to be Sasha, walking away whole. She wanted to be the one who decided the scene was over.
Slowly, she pushed herself up. Her muscles protested, deliciously sore. She found her panties on the floor and stepped into them, the damp fabric a crude reminder. The dining room felt like a crime scene, the air still vibrating with the echoes of their voices, their grunts, her own choked pleas. She couldn’t stay there.
She followed the sound of low voices and the clink of glass to the living room.
Weeks bled into one another after that night, marked by a new, unstable tension.
Sasha became a semi-permanent fixture, her toothbrush appearing in the guest bathroom, her stark black leather jacket slung over a living room chair. Her presence changed the chemistry. Carter’s focus became more divided, his disciplinary energy a prize both women competed for, though Sasha did so with a cool, strategic cunning that left Ashley feeling clumsy and transparent.
One lazy Saturday, Dominic came home with a large, ridiculous cardboard box. “Look what I found!” he announced, dropping it on the plush velvet rug with a thud.
It was a karaoke machine, an older model with wired microphones and a small display screen. Carter looked up from his laptop, unimpressed. “What the fuck are we going to do with that?”
“Unwind!” Dominic insisted, already tearing the box open. “Live a little. We work hard, we play hard, right? And sometimes play is just… singing badly.”
Ashley, curled at the end of a couch, felt a flicker of hope. This was normal. This was silly. It wasn’t about pain or power or degradation. She watched as Dominic set it up, plugging it into the wall and the television. He scrolled through the ancient song library. “Oh, perfect,” he grinned, selecting a syrupy love ballad from the nineties.
Carter sighed, shaking his head, but didn’t object. He poured himself three fingers of whiskey and settled back into his armchair, a silent, observing king.
Dominic handed a microphone to Sasha, who took it with a raised eyebrow. “Really?”
“Really,” Dominic said, starting the track. The opening synth chords filled the room, tinny and nostalgic.
Sasha shrugged, brought the microphone to her lips, and began to sing. Her voice was surprisingly clear and low, devoid of genuine emotion but perfectly on-key. She performed it like a challenge, her storm-grey eyes locked on Carter as she sang about forever and devotion. It was a parody, and it was electric.
When the chorus hit, Dominic, grinning, thrust the second microphone at Ashley. “Your turn, duet!”
Ashley took it, her heart pounding for a different reason now. This was a stage. She stood, meeting Sasha’s gaze. Sasha’s lips curled into a slight, mocking smile as she sang the sweet lyrics, and Ashley joined in. Their voices clashed—Sasha’s cool control against Ashley’s breathy, earnest attempt at sincerity. They stood close, the spotlight from the TV screen casting their faces in blue light.
As the second verse began, something shifted. Dominic, ever the instigator, produced a small baggie from his pocket. “To loosen the vocal cords,” he winked, pouring out two small pills. Ecstasy. He offered one to Sasha, who dry-swallowed it without breaking her lyrical line. He then offered the other to Ashley.
Ashley hesitated, glancing at Carter. He swirled his whiskey, his expression inscrutable. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Permission. She took the pill, the bitter chalkiness coating her tongue before she washed it down with a gulp of someone’s abandoned beer.
The drug worked quickly, a soft, warm wave melting through the constant low-grade anxiety in her chest. The music became a physical thing, the velvet of the couch impossibly soft under her fingertips. Sasha’s voice, singing about love’s embrace, seemed to wrap around her. They were sharing the microphone now, their faces inches apart, the lyrics flowing between them.
Ashley wasn’t sure who moved first. One moment they were singing, and the next, Sasha’s free hand was on Ashley’s hip, pulling her closer. Ashley’s breath hitched. Sasha’s storm-grey eyes were no longer mocking; they were dark, curious pools. The synthetic longing in the song bled into a real, tangible charge in the air between them.
Sasha leaned in, and her lips met Ashley’s.
It wasn’t gentle. It was possessive, a sudden conquest. The microphone dropped from Ashley’s hand, thudding onto the rug. Ashley melted into it, her hands coming up to tangle in Sasha’s black hair. The taste of her was sharp—whiskey and cigarettes and something uniquely, coolly Sasha. The kiss deepened, turning hungry and sloppy, a battle for dominance Ashley was happy to lose.
They sank together onto the velvet couch, a tangle of limbs. Sasha shifted, straddling Ashley’s thighs, never breaking the kiss. Her hands were everywhere, pushing Ashley’s shirt up, her thumbs brushing over Ashley’s nipples, pinching them hard through the lace of her bra. Ashley moaned into Sasha’s mouth, her hips arching up, grinding against the denim of Sasha’s shorts.
“Fuck me,” Ashley gasped, tearing her mouth away, her vision swimming with color and need. “Please.”
Sasha responded by hooking her fingers into the waistband of Ashley’s panties and yanking them down her thighs. She didn’t bother removing them completely. She slid her hand between Ashley’s legs, finding her already slick and swollen. Sasha’s cool gaze flickered over Ashley’s flushed face. “So eager,” she murmured, her voice a low rasp. “So desperate to be ruined by anyone who’ll have you.”
Before Ashley could answer, Sasha dipped her head, her tongue licking a rough, flat stripe through Ashley’s folds. Ashley cried out, her back bowing off the couch. It was so different from the men—purposefully rough, clinical in its efficiency, yet devastatingly effective. Sasha ate her out with a focused, almost scornful intensity, as if punishing her cunt for its eagerness.
Ashley’s world dissolved into sensation. The synth of the karaoke track still pulsed through the room, the forgotten lyrics scrolling past on the screen. She grabbed fistfuls of the velvet cushion, her moans growing louder, unfiltered. She was dimly aware of movement, of shadows shifting at the edge of her blurry vision.
Dominic had moved behind them. He’d unzipped his pants, his cock hard and jutting out. He watched for a moment, a lazy smile on his face, before pressing the head against Sasha’s lips from behind. Without missing a beat in her ministrations on Ashley, Sasha opened her mouth and took him in, sucking him with the same ruthless efficiency.
The dual sensation—Sasha’s tongue circling Ashley’s clit while Sasha’s mouth worked Dominic—was overwhelming. Ashley’s thighs trembled around Sasha’s head. She was hurtling toward the edge, the ecstasy magnifying every touch, every sound. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she chanted, a broken mantra.
Carter watched from his armchair, his earlier annoyance replaced by a dark, predatory interest. His eyes were fixed on the scene: Ashley writhing beneath Sasha’s ruthless mouth, Sasha servicing Dominic with detached skill, Dominic groaning as he fucked her throat. Carter took a slow sip of his whiskey, his gaze analytical, like a sculptor assessing a block of marble.
He saw the way Ashley was fragmenting, coming apart under a woman’s touch for the first time in front of them. He saw the raw power Sasha wielded, even on her knees. He set his glass down with a soft click, the sound cutting through the music and moans.
“Enough,” Carter said, his voice not loud, but absolute.
Sasha pulled off Dominic immediately, a string of saliva breaking between her lips and his slick tip. She looked up from between Ashley’s thighs, her expression unreadable, a dark smear of Ashley’s arousal on her chin. Dominic stepped back, breathing heavily.
Carter stood, his silhouette tall and commanding against the dim lights. He walked over to the couch, looming over Ashley, who was panting, aching, poised on the very brink of orgasm and violently denied.
“You don’t come because she tells you to,” Carter stated, his voice low and dangerous. He looked at Sasha. “You don’t come because you’re high.” Finally, his burning gaze settled on Ashley’s desperate, tear-streaked face. “And you,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that slithered over her skin, “you don’t come until I say you’ve earned it.”
He let the words hang in the drug-thickened air, a verdict suspended over the tangle of limbs on the velvet. Ashley whimpered, the denial a physical ache deep in her core. Carter’s eyes, dark and calculating, shifted from her desperate face to Sasha’s cool, challenging expression.
“Dominic,” Carter said, not looking away from Sasha. “You like a fight?”
Dominic grinned, his cock still hard in his hand. “Love a good scrap.”
Carter’s finger pointed, a quick, decisive gesture. “Her.” He indicated Sasha. “She’s yours. I want to hear you make her scream something other than a song lyric.”
A flash of something hot and violent crossed Sasha’s grey eyes. A smile, sharp and pleased, touched her lips. “Promise?” she breathed, looking at Dominic.
Then Carter’s gaze swung back to Ashley, who shivered under its weight. “And you,” he said, the whisper gone, replaced by a flat, commanding tone. “You’re mine. You’re always mine. Get on your knees beside the table. Face the couch.”
Ashley scrambled to obey, her limbs clumsy with need. The world was a soft-focus blur of colored light and amplified sensation. The rough texture of the rug beneath her knees was a symphony. Every breath Sasha took behind her was a hurricane. She assumed the position, her back to the room, her cheek pressed against the cool glass of the coffee table.
She heard Dominic move first, a shift of fabric, a low laugh. “Alright, firecracker. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
There was a scuffle, a thud, and a gasp that was unmistakably Sasha’s. Ashley risked a glance back. Dominic had Sasha pinned face-down on the other couch, her wrists gripped in one of his large hands behind her back. His other hand was sliding her shorts down her hips. “Not so talkative now,” Dominic taunted, his voice thick with amusement.
“Fuck you,” Sasha spat, the words muffled by the cushion, but she arched her back, pressing her ass into him.
“That’s the idea,” Dominic said, and Ashley heard the wet, blunt sound of him pushing into Sasha without preamble. Sasha’s gasp was sharp, followed by a low, shuddering moan. Dominic set a punishing pace immediately, the couch creaking under their combined weight.
Carter’s hands closed on Ashley’s hips, pulling her back from the table. His touch was electric, every point of contact a live wire on her ecstasy-heightened skin. He spat onto his fingers, the sound obscenely loud, and rubbed the moisture over her asshole. She was slick from Sasha’s attention, from her own desperate arousal, but he used none of it, offering only this crude lubrication.
“You wanted ruin,” Carter murmured, his breath hot on her ear. He positioned the broad, plum-shaped head of his cock against her tight ring. “Here it is.”
He shoved forward.
The pain was a bright, white-hot spike driving through the haze of the drug. Ashley cried out, her nails scraping the glass tabletop. It wasn’t the careful, brutal stretching from the dining room weeks before. This was a single, merciless invasion. Her body resisted, clenching violently around the intrusion, which only intensified the blazing shock of it.
Then the ecstasy did its work, transmuting the sharp agony into a deep, visceral throb of pleasure-pain. The line between violation and rapture dissolved. A choked, ragged moan tore from her throat. “Yes,” she sobbed, the word shattered. “Yes, please.”
“Please what?” Carter demanded, not moving, letting her feel every inch of him buried inside her most forbidden space.
“Please fuck me,” Ashley begged, pressing her ass back against him, seeking more of that impossible, perfect feeling. “Please ruin me, Carter.”
He began to move. Each withdrawal was a sweet, aching emptiness. Each thrust was a glorious, full repletion that sent shocks through her nervous system. He fucked her ass with a steady, relentless rhythm, his balls slapping against her wet cunt with each drive forward. The dual sensation—the brutal fullness in her ass, the indirect pressure on her clit—coiled the spring in her gut tighter.
Across the room, Sasha was unraveling. Dominic had released her wrists and now had her by the hair, yanking her head back as he pounded into her from behind. “Who’s a greedy little slut?” he growled, his voice strained with effort.
“I am!” Sasha screamed, the words ricocheting off the walls. “I’m your greedy fucking slut!” Her defiance was a form of surrender, and Dominic rewarded her with a deeper, harder angle that made her shriek.
The room was a chorus of filth. The wet slap of skin on skin, the ragged gasps, the thump of furniture shifting, the low, guttural commands and high, broken pleas. The air, already thick with cigar smoke and whiskey, grew heavy with the salty-sweet smell of sweat and sex.
Ashley was drowning in sensation. Carter’s hands dug into the flesh of her hips hard enough to bruise, holding her in place for his deep, piston strokes. Her own slickness dripped down her inner thighs, soaking his balls with each impact. She was babbling, a stream of consciousness made of praise and obscenity. “Your cock feels so fucking deep, you’re tearing me apart, oh god, don’t stop, it’s so good, please let me come, please…”
“No,” Carter grunted, his own breath becoming labored. His control was a tangible force, a wire holding him taut. “You come when I’m done with you. When I say.”
His pace increased, becoming faster, less measured. Ashley could feel the tense coil of his own approaching release in the rigid way he held himself. She was a vessel for it, a tool for his pleasure, and the clarity of that purpose pushed her closer to the edge she was forbidden to cross.
Dominic’s noises grew louder, more urgent. “You gonna come for me, you fiery bitch?” he snarled at Sasha.
“Yes! Fuck, yes, make me!” Sasha’s answer was a ragged shout.
The simultaneous crescendo was inevitable. Carter’s thrusts lost all rhythm, becoming a frantic, brutal driving. Ashley felt him swell inside her, a pulsing heat. With a final, deep grind, he buried himself and let out a raw, gut-deep roar as he emptied into her ass.
The convulsion of his orgasm, the feeling of his release filling her, was the permission she needed. Her own climax detonated, a seismic wave of pleasure that ripped through the pain and the ecstasy and the degradation. She screamed, a sound without form, as her body convulsed around nothing, her cunt clenching wildly on empty air.
A second later, Sasha’s own cry joined hers, sharp and triumphant, as Dominic hammered into her one last time, his shout muffled against her shoulder.
Then, silence.
A heavy, panting silence, broken only by the hum of the karaoke machine’s idle screen and the drip of sweat onto the floor.
Carter pulled out of Ashley slowly. She collapsed forward onto the coffee table, her cheek pressed to the cool glass, her body humming and utterly spent. Across the room, Sasha lay limp under Dominic, her black hair a wild fan across the velvet.
Dominic was the first to speak, his voice a breathless laugh. “Holy shit.” He eased off Sasha, slumping onto the floor beside the couch. “Fuck. Yeah.”
Carter stepped back, adjusting his clothes. He looked down at Ashley, a slick mess trembling on the floor, then at Sasha, who was already pushing herself up on shaky arms, a look of fierce satisfaction on her face. His gaze traveled between his best friend and the two ruined, glowing women.
A slow, possessive smile spread across his face. He picked up his whiskey glass from the side table, took a long sip, and swallowed.