Chapter 19: The Command
The air in the bedroom hung heavy with the scent of sandalwood and anticipation. Sara had lit three candles, their flames casting trembling shadows across the silk duvet. She adjusted the strap of her black lace teddy for the tenth time, her eyes darting to the digital clock on the nightstand. 8:58 PM.
“She’s late,” Charly said from his perch on the edge of an armchair. He was wearing dark trousers and a simple white shirt, buttoned to the top. He looked like he was waiting for a job interview, not for a woman who would orchestrate his undoing.
“Two minutes isn’t late,” Sara replied, her voice tighter than she intended. She smoothed her hands over her hips. The teddy clung to her, leaving little to the imagination. It was Nat’s suggestion. Wear something that makes you feel like a masterpiece. “She said 9. It’s basically 9.”
The doorbell rang, a soft chime that sliced through the quiet. They froze, a shared electric current jolting between them. Charly’s eyes widened. Sara took a deep, deliberate breath. “Okay,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “Showtime.”
She walked downstairs, feeling the cool hardwood under her bare feet. Charly followed, a step behind, his presence a nervous warmth at her back. Through the frosted glass of the front door, she could see a blurred silhouette. She opened it.
Nat stood on the doorstep, a leather jacket over a simple black dress that ended mid-thigh. Her pink hair was swept up in a messy, elegant knot. She carried a small bag. Her smile was immediate and disarming. “Hi,” she said, her voice a warm, low alto. “You must be Sara. You’re even more stunning in person.” Her eyes flicked past Sara to Charly. “And you must be the lucky spectator.”
Charly managed a nod. “Hi, Nat. Come in.”
Nat stepped inside, her heels clicking softly. She shrugged off her jacket, revealing toned arms and a neckline that hinted at cleavage. She smelled of rain and something spicy, like cardamom. Her gaze was appraising, taking in the living room, the dying embers in the fireplace from the night before, the two of them standing there like nervous students. “Cozy,” she remarked. Then she looked directly at Sara. “Nervous?”
“A little,” Sara admitted.
“Good. So am I.” Nat’s honesty was a relief. “Let’s go upstairs, talk a bit before we begin. Boundaries first. Always.”
In the bedroom, the candlelight seemed to embrace Nat, highlighting the sharp curve of her cheekbone. She placed her bag on a chair and sat on the end of the bed, patting the space beside her for Sara. Charly remained standing, shifting his weight.
“Right,” Nat began, her tone shifting to one of gentle authority. “Safewords. We’ll use the traffic light system. ‘Red’ means stop everything, scene ends, no questions. ‘Yellow’ means pause, check in, something needs adjusting. ‘Green’ means all good, keep going. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Sara and Charly said in unison.
“Tonight’s dynamic,” Nat continued, looking between them. “Sara and I are playing as equals. We are the queens of the evening. You, Charly, are our servant. Your pleasure is contingent on our whim. You will serve, you will watch, you will obey. If you please us, you may be granted participation. Do you understand and consent?”
Charly’s throat worked. “Yes. I understand.”
“Verbally, please.”
“I understand and I consent,” he said, the words clear.
“Sara?” Nat turned to her.
“I understand and I consent,” Sara echoed, a thrill running through her.
“Nothing is off limits during the scene, given ongoing consent,” Nat said. “But the moment the scene is over—when I say it’s over—it’s over. We debrief as adults. We separate the game from reality. This is crucial. Any questions?”
Sara shook her head. Charly did the same.
“Good.” Nat stood, her movements fluid. She walked to Charly. “Then we begin.” She reached out and undid the top button of his shirt. “You’re too dressed for a servant.” She undid the next, and the next, until his chest was exposed. Her fingers were cool and efficient. “Take the rest off. Then kneel by the bed.”
Charly fumbled with his belt, his fingers clumsy. He stripped down to his boxer briefs, then, after a glance at Nat’s unwavering expression, removed those too. He was already half-hard, his arousal a stark, vulnerable fact in the soft light. He knelt on the plush rug beside the bed, his hands resting on his thighs.
Nat turned to Sara. “Now you. Stand up.” Sara obeyed. Nat circled her, a predator admiring her prize. She stopped behind her, her breath warm on Sara’s neck. Her hands came to rest on Sara’s shoulders, then trailed down her arms, making her shiver. “Gorgeous,” Nat murmured. Her fingers found the clasp of the teddy between Sara’s breasts. With a deft flick, it came undone. The lace slid down Sara’s body, pooling at her feet. She stood naked, her skin pebbling in the cool air.
Nat stepped back, her eyes drinking Sara in. “Lie back on the bed. In the center.” Sara did, the silk cool against her back. Nat kicked off her heels and climbed onto the bed, straddling Sara’s thighs. She didn’t touch her yet. She looked down at her, a small smile playing on her lips. “You have the most delicious mouth,” Nat said. Then she leaned down and kissed her.
It wasn’t like kissing Charly. It was assertive, exploratory. Nat’s tongue swept into Sara’s mouth, claiming it. Sara moaned, her hands coming up to tangle in Nat’s pink hair. The kiss deepened, turning filthy and wet. Nat’s hands slid up Sara’s torso, cupping her breasts, rolling her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers until they were hard, aching points.
From the floor, Charly let out a ragged breath. They both ignored him.
Nat broke the kiss, trailing her mouth down Sara’s neck, to her collarbone. “Taste yourself,” Nat whispered, her voice husky. She took Sara’s hand and guided it between Sara’s own legs. Sara gasped as her own fingers brushed her slick folds. “Get them good and wet,” Nat instructed, “then put them in my mouth.”
Sara’s face burned, but the command ignited her. She pushed two fingers inside herself, feeling her own heat, her own desperate wetness. She coated them thoroughly, then brought them to Nat’s waiting lips. Nat took them deep, sucking hard, her eyes locked on Sara’s. The obscene sight, the soft, wet sounds—Sara’s hips bucked off the bed.
“Good girl,” Nat purred, releasing her fingers. She shifted her body lower, her face now level with Sara’s stomach. She held Sara’s gaze as her tongue drew a slow, wet line from her navel down to the thatch of dark curls. She didn’t go further. Instead, she looked over her shoulder at Charly. “Come here. Kneel at the side of the bed. You may use your mouth on your wife. Only your mouth. And you may not touch her with your hands. Keep them behind your back.”
Charly scrambled up, his knees aching. He positioned himself where Nat indicated, his face inches from Sara’s glistening core. The scent of her, mixed with Nat’s perfume, was overwhelming. He leaned in, his tongue extending.
“Wait,” Nat commanded. She placed a hand on his forehead, holding him back. She looked at Sara. “Do you want his mouth on you?”
Sara, delirious with want, nodded. “Yes.”
“Tell him.”
“Lick me,” Sara gasped, looking down at her husband’s desperate face. “Now.”
Nat released him. Charly’s tongue dove into her, a flat, urgent stroke. Sara cried out, her back arching. He ate her with a frantic, starving passion, his nose buried against her, his hands clenched into fists behind his back. Nat watched for a moment, her eyes dark with approval. Then she moved up, kneeling by Sara’s head. She kissed Sara again, deep and consuming, as Charly’s tongue worked below.
The dual sensation was maddening. Nat’s demanding kiss, Charly’s devoted licking. Sara felt pulled apart, worshipped. She ran her hands over Nat’s back, feeling the muscles shift under her skin. She pulled at the zipper of Nat’s dress. “Off,” she begged against Nat’s mouth. “I want to see you.”
Nat broke the kiss, a sly smile on her lips. She sat up, reached back, and unzipped her dress. She peeled it off in one smooth motion. She wore no bra, her breasts small and perfect with pale pink nipples. A simple black thong was all that remained. “Your turn,” she said to Sara, hooking her thumbs into the sides of the thong. “Help me.”
Sara sat up, pushing Charly’s head gently away. He knelt back, his mouth and chin wet, watching with feverish eyes. Together, Sara and Nat tugged the thong down Nat’s legs and off. Nat was completely bare, her body a landscape of gentle curves and lean muscle.
Nat pushed Sara back onto the pillows. “My turn to taste,” she murmured, and lowered her head between Sara’s thighs. Her technique was different from Charly’s—slower, more precise, achingly deliberate. She licked Sara with broad, flat strokes, then focused on her clit with a tight, circular flick of her tongue. Sara’s thighs trembled. She grabbed handfuls of the silk sheets, a high, keening sound escaping her lips.
“Watch her,” Nat commanded Charly without lifting her head. “Watch how she comes apart on my tongue.”
Charly was transfixed, his own cock throbbing, untouched. He watched Nat’s head move, heard the wet, slick sounds of her mouth on his wife. He saw Sara’s face contort in pleasure, her neck corded, her breasts heaving. It was the most beautiful, most humiliating thing he had ever witnessed.
Sara’s orgasm built like a storm, swift and devastating. “Nat, I’m… I’m gonna…” she choked out.
Nat doubled her efforts, sucking Sara’s clit deep into her mouth, two fingers sliding inside her, curling up.
Sara shattered. Her scream was raw, guttural. Her body convulsed, riding wave after wave of intense pleasure as Nat gently fucked her with her fingers, drawing out the climax until Sara collapsed, boneless and gasping.
Nat lifted her head, her lips glistening. She kissed her way up Sara’s body, whispering praise into her skin. “So good,” she murmured. “You taste like heaven.” She settled beside Sara, propped on an elbow, and finally looked at Charly. His whole body was tense, trembling with need.
“Does that look like fun?” Nat asked him softly.
“Yes,” he croaked.
“Do you want to fuck her?”
“God, yes.”
“Do you deserve to?”
He hesitated, his eyes clouded with shame and desire. “No.”
Nat smiled. “Correct. But I’m feeling generous.” She sat up. “Sara, on your hands and knees.”
Still breathless, Sara obeyed, turning over. Nat positioned herself behind Sara, mimicking the act of taking her from behind. She ran her hands over Sara’s ass, spreading her cheeks, exposing her thoroughly wet, used pussy to Charly’s gaze. “Look at her,” Nat said. “Look at how open she is. How ready. This is because of me. You may fuck her. But you will not come inside her. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Charly breathed.
“When you’re close, you will pull out and finish on her back. She is our canvas. Now… take your place.”
Charly moved like a man in a dream. He positioned himself behind Sara, his cock nudging against her entrance. He looked at Nat, who gave a single, regal nod. He pushed in.
Sara cried out, a sound of pure, stuffed fullness. He was so deep. Nat leaned forward, her front pressed against Sara’s back, her mouth next to Sara’s ear. “Feel him,” she whispered. “He’s so hard for you. But he’s here because I allowed it.” Her hands came around to fondle Sara’s breasts, pinching her nipples.
Charly began to move, slow, deep strokes that punched the air from Sara’s lungs. The sight was obscene: his hips slamming against her ass, Nat wrapped around her like a possessive shadow, both of them joined in using her. Nat’s whisper was a constant, filthy soundtrack. “He’s fucking you so well, baby. Taking what I gave him. You’re both mine right now.”
Charly’s rhythm faltered, becoming jagged, frantic. “I’m… I’m close,” he grunted, the words ripped from him.
“Not inside her,” Nat reminded him, her voice sharp.
With a pained shout, Charly pulled his slick cock from Sara’s depths. He shuffled forward on his knees, and with three rough tugs of his fist, he came. Thick, hot stripes of semen splashed across the small of Sara’s back, painting her skin white.
He crumpled forward, his forehead resting between Sara’s shoulder blades, panting.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the pop of a candle wick. Then Nat slid off Sara, her movements smooth and deliberate. She went to her bag, pulled out a soft cloth, and carefully wiped Sara’s back clean. The gesture was unexpectedly tender. She then tossed the cloth to Charly. “Clean yourself up.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, naked and magnificent, and looked at them both. Sara had rolled onto her side, spent. Charly was kneeling again, looking dazed. “The scene,” Nat said, her voice now calm and clear, “is over.” She let the words hang, a definitive full stop.
She reached for her dress, pulled it on. “I’ll give you two a minute.” She walked to the bedroom door, paused, and looked back. A soft, genuine smile touched her lips. “You were both magnificent.” Then she left, closing the door softly behind her.
The silence she left in her wake was profound. Sara looked at Charly, at the awe and ruin on his face. The game was over. The rules were back. They were just them again, in their bedroom, marked by the same fire but fundamentally unscathed. She reached for his hand on the rumpled silk. He took it, his grip almost painfully tight.
He took it, his grip almost painfully tight. They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing in the scent of sex and melted wax, listening to the faint sound of Nat moving downstairs. The world seemed to have softened at the edges, gone blurry and warm. Sara finally let out a shaky laugh that was half a sob.
“Holy shit,” she whispered into the quiet.
Charly just nodded, his throat working. He looked wrecked, hollowed out and put back together differently. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, a gesture so tender it made her chest ache. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rough.
“I’m… I don’t know.” She squeezed his hand. “I feel like I’ve been pulled inside out. In a good way. The best way.” She shifted on the damp sheets, wincing slightly. “My brain is just static. Pleasant static.”
A slow, dazed smile spread across Charly’s face. It was a smile she hadn’t seen in years, maybe ever. It was pure, unguarded wonder. “That was…” he began, then stopped, shaking his head. Words failed. He tried again. “When she told me to pull out, to come on your back… I’ve never… I’ve never felt anything like that. Like I was just a tool. A really, really happy tool.”
Sara pushed herself up onto an elbow. She traced the line of his jaw, sticky with her. “You were perfect. Both of you were.” She leaned in and kissed him, a deep, searching kiss that tasted of salt and her own slickness and him. It was messy and real. When they broke apart, they were both grinning like fools, giddy children who’d pulled off a magnificent heist.
Charly’s laugh was a surprised puff of air. “I can’t stop smiling. My face hurts.”
“Mine too,” Sara giggled, collapsing back onto the pillows. She stared at the ceiling, her body humming with a profound, liquid satisfaction. Every muscle felt used and blissful. “That was the best sex of my life,” she said, the words leaving her as a simple, undeniable fact. “Like, not even a competition. Period.”
“Yeah.” Charly lay back beside her, their shoulders touching. “It really was. I feel… clear. For the first time in months.” He turned his head to look at her. “Was it… was it what you wanted?”
Sara thought of Nat’s commanding whisper in her ear, the feel of her tongue, the way she had orchestrated their bodies like a composer. She thought of Charly, obedient and aching, and the shocking power she’d felt radiating from her own core. “It was more,” she said simply. “It was everything the phone thing promised, but real. Flesh and blood.” She paused, the next thought forming with crystalline clarity. “I want more of her.”
She said it softly, testing the weight of the desire in the quiet room. It felt dangerous and utterly right.
Charly didn’t hesitate. He found her hand again, lacing his fingers with hers. “Me too,” he said, his voice firm. “God, me too. I want to see what happens next. I want…” He swallowed. “I want to be that for you again. For both of you.”
For both of you.” His admission hung between them, raw and vulnerable.
A soft knock on the bedroom door made them both jump. Sara pulled the sheet up over her breasts instinctively, then let it fall, a small act of reclamation. “Come in,” she called, her voice still husky.
The door opened and Nat leaned in, her pink hair now loose around her shoulders. She saw them holding hands, their faces soft with spent pleasure, and a genuine smile touched her lips. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said, stepping inside. “Just wanted to check in before I head out.” She studied their faces, her gaze knowing and warm. “So? How was it? How did it feel?”
Sara exhaled, a long, contented sigh. “Unreal. In the best way. I feel… dismantled. In a good way.”
“Yeah,” Charly echoed, his thumb stroking Sara’s knuckles. “It was… exactly what I needed. What we needed.”
Nat nodded, leaning against the doorframe. “Good. That’s the goal.” She crossed her arms, her demeanor shifting from orchestrator to confidante. “I wanted to ask… while the afterglow is still on you. Was the dynamic right? Playing as equals, with him serving?”
“It was perfect,” Sara said quickly.
“For that scene, yeah,” Charly added, his brow furrowing slightly. “It fit.”
Nat’s smile widened, a spark of playful curiosity in her eyes. “I’m glad. But I’m also curious about your flexibility.” She paused, letting the question settle. “Would you be open to exploring other dynamics? The possibilities are endless, really.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Sara serving you and me, Charly. Or me serving both of you. Or both Sara and I serving you. A complete reversal. The chemistry we built tonight… it gives us a lot of trust to play with.”
Silence descended, thicker than before. Sara felt Charly’s hand tense in hers. She looked at him, seeing the sudden, complex flicker in his eyes—intrigue, fear, a flash of something like hope.
“Serve… me?” Charly asked, the words sounding foreign on his tongue.
“Or Sara could serve us both,” Nat clarified, her tone light but intentional. “It’s not about replacing one truth with another. It’s about exploring the spaces in between. The surrender isn’t always yours, Charly.”
Sara’s mind spun. The idea of kneeling for Charly, of tending to his and Nat’s pleasure under their direction, sent a surprising, liquid heat between her legs. It felt taboo in a new, thrilling direction.
“And you… serving us?” Sara asked, her voice quiet.
Nat’s shrug was elegant. “Absolutely. Power is a toy. It’s more fun when you pass it around.” She pushed off the doorframe. “Don’t answer now. Just sit with it. Let it simmer.” She moved to the bed, sat at the foot near their legs. The casual intimacy of it, her nakedness under the simple dress, was staggering. “Tonight was about giving you both a specific flavor of power. You,” she said to Sara, “got to taste being adored and commanded simultaneously. And you,” she said to Charly, “got to live in your devotional space, your pleasure wholly contingent.” She reached out, her hand resting lightly on Sara’s ankle. “But his submission… it’s a gift to you, Sara. It’s service. What would it feel like to return that? To gift him your submission?”
Charly made a small, choked sound. Sara could feel the intensity of his gaze boring into the side of her face.
“I don’t know,” Sara whispered truthfully.
“That’s the point,” Nat said, her voice a gentle murmur. “To not know. To find out.” She gave Sara’s ankle a soft squeeze, then stood. “I should go. Let you two breathe.”
“Wait,” Charly said, the word bursting from him. He sat up, the sheet pooling at his waist. “Stay. For a bit. Just… talk?”
Nat regarded him, then Sara, her head tilting. “Okay,” she said softly. “For a bit.”
She didn’t leave. Instead, she kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed, settling cross-legged at their feet like a charismatic sage. They talked in the candlelight, the conversation meandering from the mechanics of the scene to the whispers of fear and elation it unlocked. Nat was a deft interviewer, pulling threads of desire from them they hadn’t fully articulated.
“When you came on her back,” Nat said to Charly, “what was the loudest thought in your head?”
Charly looked down at his hands. “That I was marking something that wasn’t mine. That I was allowed to mark it. It felt… primal. Degrading and perfect.”
Sara listened, a new understanding unfolding. His shame wasn’t a flaw; it was the engine.
Later, Nat’s hand found Sara’s calf again, her touch casual but electric. “And you, when I had you both? When he was fucking you and I was whispering in your ear?”
“I felt…” Sara searched for it. “In charge of everything and nothing at the same time. I was the object and the subject. It was dizzying.” She paused. “I liked it. I liked your voice in my head.”
Nat’s smile was slow and deep. “I liked being there.”
The conversation lulled into a comfortable quiet. The candles guttered lower, painting the room in deep amber and long shadows. Charly leaned back against the headboard, his eyes closed, a quiet smile on his face. Sara watched Nat, who was tracing a pattern on the silk duvet with a fingernail. The energy in the room had shifted from post-coital languor to something charged and waiting.
Nat looked up, catching Sara staring. “What?” she asked, her voice a low hum.
“Nothing,” Sara said, feeling caught. “Just… looking.”
“Mm.” Nat’s gaze drifted to Charly, then back to Sara. A silent question passed between them. Sara held her breath, then gave the smallest nod.
Nat moved with a panther’s grace. She crawled up the bed until she was kneeling beside Charly. He opened his eyes, watching her, his breath hitching. She didn’t speak. She simply leaned down and kissed him.
It was different from how she’d kissed Sara. This was exploratory, soft, a slow tasting. Charly remained perfectly still, as if moving might break the spell. When Nat pulled back, his lips were parted, his eyes wide.
“You’ve been very good,” Nat whispered, her face inches from his. “Such a devoted servant.” Her hand slid down his chest, over his stomach, his skin tightening under her touch. She found him already hard again, his cock lying thick against his thigh. She wrapped her fingers around him, a slow, firm stroke. “Look at you. Still so eager. Even after everything.”
Charly moaned, his head tipping back against the headboard.
“Sara,” Nat said without looking away from Charly’s face. “Come here.”
Sara moved, her body obeying before her mind could question. She knelt on Charly’s other side.
“Touch him,” Nat instructed. “Just like I am.”
Sara wrapped her hand around Charly’s shaft, mirroring Nat’s rhythm. The feel of him, hot and rigid in her grip, coupled with the sight of Nat’s smaller, paler hand moving just below hers, was profoundly lewd. They stroked him together, a synchronized, possessive rhythm.
“He’s so hard for us,” Nat murmured, her voice a dirty secret in the quiet room. “He’s our good boy. Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Charly gasped, his hips twitching.
“What do you want, Charly?” Sara heard herself ask, her voice adopting a lilt of Nat’s command.
He shook his head, overwhelmed.
“Tell us,” Nat purred, speeding her hand slightly.
“I want… I want to fuck,” he managed, his words ragged. “Please.”
Nat slowed her hand, causing him to whimper. “You want to fuck who?” Her tone was clinical.
Charly’s eyes darted between them, panicked and lust-drunk. “I don’t… I don’t know.”
“Choose,” Sara said, squeezing him. The power was intoxicating, a heady cocktail handed to her by the woman beside her.
“You,” he blurted, looking at Sara. Then, almost immediately, his eyes shot to Nat. “Or… her. God, I don’t know.”
Nat smiled, a wicked, beautiful thing. “Indecisive.” She leaned close to his ear, her lips brushing it. “Lie back.”
Charly obeyed, sinking into the pillows. Nat positioned herself over his face, one knee on either side of his head. She was bare, her sex glistening in the low light just inches from his mouth. “Taste me,” she commanded, her voice leaving no room for doubt. “Make me come on your tongue. That’s your task.”
She lowered herself onto his mouth. Charly’s hands came up to grip her thighs, but Nat caught his wrists. “No,” she said sharply. “Hands on the headboard. You don’t get to hold me. You just take what I give you.”
He released her, his hands flying up to grip the wooden slats above him. His body was a taut line of tension. Then his tongue went to work, lapping at Nat with a frantic, focused energy.
Nat threw her head back, a soft sigh escaping her. “Good,” she breathed. “Very good.” Her eyes met Sara’s over the landscape of her own body. “Your turn. Ride his cock. But don’t you dare come. That’s not for you yet.”
Sara scrambled to obey, her heart hammering. She straddled Charly’s hips, guiding him inside her with one swift, sinking motion. She was still wet, swollen, and he filled her utterly. She moaned, the sensation almost too much on her sensitized flesh.
“Now move,” Nat instructed, her voice starting to fray at the edges as Charly’s mouth worked beneath her. “Use him. Take what you need. But hold that edge.”
Sara began to move, riding him in a slow, grinding rhythm. She watched Nat above her, watched the subtle tremors begin to rack the other woman’s body. Nat’s breathing grew jagged, her fingers tangling in Charly’s hair, not to guide him but to fist it.
“He’s so good with his tongue,” Nat gasped, her eyes squeezing shut. “So fucking dedicated.” Her hips began to rock against his face, meeting his efforts. “I’m gonna come,” she warned, her voice a sharp cry. “Don’t you stop. Don’t you fucking stop!”
Her climax hit her, a silent, violent shudder that arched her back. She ground herself against his mouth, milking the sensation, a long, guttural moan tearing from her throat. Sara kept moving, the sight pushing her closer to her own brink, but she bit her lip, holding it back as ordered.
Nat collapsed forward, catching herself on her hands, panting heavily. She looked wrecked, beautiful. She dismounted from Charly’s face, which was slick and shining. He was gasping for air, his chest heaving.
Without a word, Nat pushed Sara off Charly. Sara fell to the side, her own need a throbbing ache. Nat took Sara’s place, straddling Charly’s hips. She guided him back inside herself in one smooth, impaling motion. She gasped, her head falling forward.
“Now,” Nat hissed, looking down at Charly, her face a mask of fierce possession. “Now you can fuck. You can come. Come inside me. Fill me up.”
It was the permission he’d been waiting for. With a broken cry, Charly thrust up into her, his grip on the headboard turning his knuckles white. His rhythm was wild, uncoordinated, pure frantic release. Nat rode him, meeting every drive, her eyes locked on his.
“That’s it,” she grunted, her own body still quaking from her orgasm. “Give it to me. All of it.”
Charly’s whole body went rigid. A sound, raw and animal, erupted from his throat as he came, pulsing deep inside her. His thrusts slowed, then stopped, his body going limp beneath her, utterly spent.
Nat stayed there for a moment, absorbing the last of his spasms, a slight, satisfied smile on her swollen lips. Then she carefully lifted off him, a trickle of his release marking her inner thigh. She looked at Sara, then at the ruined, blissful man between them.
“Scene’s over,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. She reached out, her hand finding Sara’s, their fingers linking over Charly’s heaving chest.
And there, in the glowing aftermath, the three of them entangled, a new beautiful thing started to emerge. As Charly saw Nat and Sara hugging in a tender way as they drift to sleep, he realized how fucking lucky he was.