Chapter 27: Stacey on the Cross
The cross had been bolted to the concrete for four days, and nobody had touched it.
Stacey had looked at it every night, though. She'd come down for ice, or for the projector remote, or for no reason at all, and she'd stand in front of the black iron with her hands in the pockets of her sweatpants and read the rings like they were a sentence she hadn't finished.
Amber noticed on the second night. Amber noticed everything. She'd waited, the way a dog waits by a door, and tonight she finally couldn't stand it anymore.
"So is it happening, or are we just going to keep staring at it like it's a painting?"
Lola didn't answer. She was on the deep couch with her legs crossed at the ankle, a glass of whiskey resting on her knee, watching Stacey the same way she watched a pot come to a boil. Blossom sat beside her in the linen sarong, one bare foot tucked under her thigh. Alex stood behind the bar with a towel in his hand, halfway through drying something he'd forgotten about.
Stacey crossed the room. Her sneakers made no sound on the polished slab. She stopped a foot from the cross and turned around.
"Blossom."
Not a question, exactly. Blossom's eyebrows went up a fraction.
"Say the rest of it," Blossom said.
"I want you to strap me to it. I want you to take me apart in front of everyone. All of you watching." Stacey's jaw worked once, and then she said the last part plainly, because she had never been a woman who dressed things up. "I want to be the one who can't move for once."
Blossom set her glass down on the side table without looking away from her.
"Yellow light means slow down," Blossom said. "Red stops everything. What's yours?"
"Baltimore."
"Baltimore stops everything." Blossom stood, and the sarong slipped off one shoulder. "Yes. I'll do it."
Amber was already off the couch. "Oh, hell yes." She went to the projector and thumbed it on, and the six-foot display woke across the wall with a soft electric hum, showing the room from the corner angle, showing the cross and the woman standing in front of it and the four people watching her.
Lola hadn't moved. "Take your clothes off first," she said. "Slowly. Let him watch."
Stacey pulled her tank over her head. Her breasts settled, small and high, nipples tightening in the cool basement air. She hooked her thumbs into her sweatpants and pushed them down her long legs, stepping out of them, and her cock hung heavy and half-full, uncut, the head already showing a bead of slick she didn't bother to hide. Alex stopped breathing for a second. He caught himself and put the towel down.
Blossom went to the cabinet and unlocked it. She took the black leather cuffs, a bottle of oil, the bullet vibrator, and the curved glass toy, and set them on the chaise in a neat row like a dentist laying out instruments. Then she walked to Stacey, took her face in both hands, and kissed her slow, sucking on her lower lip until Stacey's hands came up and gripped Blossom's waist.
"Arms up," Blossom said.
Stacey raised her arms. Blossom buckled the first cuff around her right wrist, snug but not tight, then threaded the strap through the ring at the top of the cross and pulled it until Stacey had to stand with her arms spread wide, wrists at shoulder height. The second cuff went on, and then Blossom's hands were on her hips, turning her, spreading her stance, until her ankles lined up with the lower rings.
"If you sag, it holds you," Blossom said against her ear. "That's the point. Let it hold you."
She buckled the ankle straps last. When she stepped back, Stacey was stretched into a soft X, heels just touching the floor, arms out, ribs showing faintly with every breath. The display showed her from the side, long and lean and helpless, and Amber made a low noise from the couch and settled in with her drink.
Blossom oiled her palms and started at Stacey's throat. She worked down over the collarbones, both hands flat, thumbs dragging along the tendon, and Stacey's head dropped back against the leather pad. Blossom got to her breasts and took her time, pinching the nipples until they stood up shiny and dark, rolling them, tugging just hard enough that Stacey's hips twitched against the straps.
"You're already leaking," Blossom said.
"I've been thinking about this for four days."
"I know. I watched you look at it."
Blossom knelt without being asked. She licked a stripe up the underside of Stacey's cock, from the base to the ridge, and then took the head into her mouth and sucked. Stacey's whole body pulled tight, wrists jerking against the cuffs, and the leather creaked.
"Fuck," Amber said, delighted. "She can't even move her hands."
Lola sipped her whiskey. "Keep her there," she said. "Don't let her come."
Blossom pulled off with a wet sound and smiled up at Stacey. Then she reached for the vibrator, clicked it on, and pressed it flat against the sensitive spot just beneath the head. Stacey made a noise like she'd been hit and tried to close her legs, and couldn't, because the straps were already holding her open.
Blossom worked her like that for a while, one hand on the vibrator, the other cupping her balls, mouthing at the inside of her thigh. Then she reached for the oil again, slicked two fingers, and slid them back between Stacey's legs, past her taint, pressing against her hole.
"Breathe," Blossom said.
Alex found his voice. "Can I?"
"Ask her."
Stacey's eyes were half shut. "Get on your knees and suck my cock while she fingers me."
Alex crossed the room and knelt. He took her in his mouth, and Blossom pushed two fingers into her at the same time, and Stacey groaned from somewhere deep in her chest, a raw sound that had nothing composed in it at all. The display threw the whole picture across the wall: Alex's head moving on her, Blossom's arm working, the black iron holding everything upright.
Amber had a hand down her own shorts by then. Lola watched without touching herself, chin on her knuckles, absorbing it.
Blossom withdrew her fingers, wiped them on her thigh, and picked up the curved glass toy. She oiled it until it shone, lined it up, and slid it in slowly, angling it, watching Stacey's face for the flinch. When she found the spot, Stacey's knees actually buckled. The straps caught her.
"Again," Stacey said.
Blossom gave it to her again.
She moved it in a slow rhythm, feeding it deeper, thumb braced on Stacey's taint, and Alex kept sucking her with the flat of his tongue. Stacey's breath came faster, more ragged, her hips rolling into the pull of Alex's mouth and then back onto the glass.
"I'm close," she said. "Blossom. I'm close."
Blossom stopped. All of it, at once, hands off, mouth off, the toy slipping free and leaving Stacey empty and shaking and strung up with nowhere to put it.
"Not yet," Blossom said.
Stacey's head came up, and her eyes were black and furious and laughing all at once. "You absolute cunt."
Blossom kissed the inside of her knee and stood. On the couch, Lola finally set her glass down and got to her feet, and she walked to the cabinet without hurrying. She opened the glass door and lifted the black leather collar off its hook.
"Now," Lola said. "Let's talk about who wears this."
Stacey looked at the collar in Lola's hand and then at the wall display, where her own image hung stretched and black-ironed and slick with oil. Her cock jerked against her stomach with nothing touching it.
"Put it on me," she said.
Lola didn't. She walked the short distance and held the collar up so Stacey could see the buckle, the soft worn leather, the little brass ring set at the throat.
"You understand what this is," Lola said. "Blossom's hands on you. Not mine. Not his. Hers. You gave her the night."
"I know what I gave her."
"And you'll wear this to say so."
Stacey's chin came up an inch, the height of it, and then she dropped it back against the pad. "Yes."
Lola buckled it around her throat. She slipped one finger under the leather to check the fit, then stepped back and sat down again, and that, apparently, was the whole of her involvement. She picked up her whiskey. Amber muted the projector's hum by leaning on the couch arm and staring.
Blossom walked back to the cabinet. She didn't take anything out. She stood there with her back to the room for a moment, hips loose in the sarong, and when she turned she had nothing in her hands at all.
"What do you want to take me with," Stacey said. It wasn't a challenge. It was the first thing she'd said all night that sounded uncertain.
"You." Blossom untied the sarong and let it fall. She was bare underneath, auburn hair down her back, small breasts, the quartz at her collarbone catching the amber light. She crossed to the chaise and dragged it across the slab, scraping, until it sat directly behind Stacey's back, close enough that Blossom could lean over it and reach the cross.
"Alex," Blossom said. "Lie down on this."
He did. He was harder than he'd meant to be, obvious through the denim, and he didn't bother hiding it. Blossom settled him on his back on the black slope, head at the low end, and then she straddled him the wrong way around, facing away from him, facing Stacey.
"You're the furniture," she told him. "Don't move."
Blossom put both hands on Stacey's hips and pulled her forward into the V of the straps, until the cross took every ounce of her weight and her heels left the floor. Then she reached between them and took Stacey's cock in her fist, and guided it up, and slid down onto it in one slow press of her thighs.
Stacey made a sound that came apart in the middle. Her whole body arched into the leather and the straps pulled taut and the rings in the iron squeaked.
"Jesus," Amber said.
Blossom rode her without hurry. She leaned back onto Alex's chest, braced her feet on the base of the cross, and worked her hips in long rolling strokes that dragged Stacey in to the root and then almost out. Alex lay under her and felt every shift of her spine through his own body, and he kept his hands flat on the chaise the way he'd been told.
"Talk to me," Blossom said over her shoulder.
"I can't think of anything," Stacey said, and laughed, wrecked. "You're doing that on purpose."
"Yes."
Blossom planted her hands on Stacey's waist and sped up. The collar stood out dark against Stacey's throat, and every time she swallowed the brass ring moved. Her wrists twisted in the cuffs, not to get free, just to feel the cuffs stop her.
Lola set her glass on the side table with a click, got up, and walked around behind the cross. She stood in Stacey's blind spot and put one hand on the back of her neck, over the collar.
"How long have you wanted this," Lola said.
"Since you bolted it in."
"Say it to the room."
Stacey turned her face toward the display, toward her own strung-up body, toward Blossom's back and the steady wet rhythm of her, and she said it the plain way she said everything. "I wanted to be the one who couldn't move. I wanted all of you to see it." Her voice cracked on the last word and she didn't take it back. "And I wanted Blossom to be the one who got to do it."
Blossom reached back, found Stacey's hips, and rode her hard now. The sound of their skin filled the basement. Alex watched from underneath, Blossom's back curving, the two of them joined above his chest, and his own hips came off the chaise a half inch before he caught himself and put them back down.
"Amber," Blossom said. "Come here."
Amber was already standing. She left her shorts on the floor where she'd stepped out of them and crossed the slab barefoot, drink still in her hand, and Blossom told her where to stand, at Stacey's shoulder, close enough to kiss along the edge of the collar.
"Hold her face," Blossom said. "Look at her while she comes."
Amber took Stacey's jaw in both hands. She turned her head gently and looked straight into her, and Stacey looked back with her eyes wet at the corners and her mouth open, and Blossom drove down onto her and ground in a slow circle and said, "Now."
Stacey came with her whole body. It tore up through her stomach and her chest and her throat, and the straps caught her when her knees went, which they did, completely, so that she hung there shuddering and held while her cock pulsed inside Blossom and her cum leaked out down past the base of it. Amber held her face the whole time and didn't blink. On the wall, the display showed the three of them knotted together and the black iron and the collared throat, and Alex, forgotten underneath, felt Blossom's thighs shake around his ribs.
Blossom came a few seconds later, quiet about it, forehead dropping against the high point of Stacey's shoulder.
She eased off after that, slowly, hands staying on Stacey's hips while Stacey's feet found the floor and took an experimental share of her own weight again. Amber let go of her face and took a big gulp of her drink.
Lola went to the cross and began with the ankle straps. Blossom straddled Alex's chest without a word, her pussy still swollen and glistening with Stacey's cum dripping from between her lips. She lowered herself slowly, deliberately, until her cunt hovered just above his face. "Clean me up," she commanded, her voice husky with desire. Alex hesitated for only a second before sticking out his tongue. Blossom sank down, smearing the sticky mixture of her own juices and Stacey's cum all over his mouth and chin. She ground against his face, riding his tongue as he lapped at her, tasting both women on her skin, the musky aroma filling his nostrils, her hands tangling in his hair as she used his mouth to clean her thoroughly.
Nobody said anything for a while. She unbuckled each one in turn, pulled the tails free, and let them hang. Then the wrists, one and then the other, catching Stacey's arm when it dropped and folding it against her own chest to rub the circulation back. When the last strap was loose, Stacey sagged forward and Lola took her and held her upright.
Stacey's legs were not steady. Her hair had come half out of the ponytail, and the collar was still on.
"You keep that," Lola said, reading her before she asked.
Blossom came back with a bottle of water and put it into Stacey's hand. Stacey drank half of it in one go and spilled some down her own chest and didn't care. She looked at Blossom over the rim of the bottle.
"I want to do that again," she said.
Blossom wiped a smear of oil off Stacey's collarbone with her thumb. "I know you do."
On the chaise, Alex finally sat up. His shirt was wet where Blossom had been, and he had a hand pressed to the front of his jeans in a way that fooled nobody.
Amber flopped down next to him and elbowed him in the ribs. "You didn't get to do anything," she said, delighted about it.
He looked across at Stacey, upright now on her own, leaned into Lola, collared, wrecked, grinning a tired private grin at nothing in particular.
"I got to hold the floor up," he said.
Amber got up to refill her drink and came back with the bottle, which she set on the floor between them because the side table was too far away. Ice clinked. Somewhere upstairs the house settled with a long wooden groan.
"So," Amber said, dropping cross-legged onto the cushion, "can I ask you something?" She was still in her tank top and nothing else, knees apart, entirely unselfconscious. "Genuine question. No judgment. You can tell me to screw off."
Stacey lowered the water bottle. "That's usually how those start."
"I know. I'm aware." Amber took a sip and pointed the glass at Stacey's chest. "Your tits. Are those from the hormones, or did you get work done? Because I've been around gym locker rooms my whole life and I genuinely can't tell, and it's been driving me crazy for like a month."
Lola made a low sound into her whiskey, half laugh and half warning. Blossom just watched, curious, head tilted.
Stacey looked down at herself, then back up. She didn't flinch, which was the thing about her. "Hormones mostly. I started at nineteen. They came in on their own, small and slow." She cupped one with her free hand, casual, matter-of-fact. "I had a little contouring done two years ago. Not implants. Just fat grafts, mostly to even them out. So technically you're right on both counts."
"See, that's why I couldn't tell." Amber sat up straighter, genuinely fascinated. "Okay, follow-up. Did the hormones actually change your, like, body shape? Beyond the hips, I mean. Because your shoulders are still really broad and I figured that was just player shoulders."
"Field hockey shoulders." Stacey finished the water and set the bottle aside. "The hormones softened some things and did nothing for others. My jaw is the same. My hands are the same. You start after puberty and you keep the skeleton you walked in with." She shrugged. "I like my shoulders. I break jackknifes with them."
"You do not."
"I do. Ask the girl whose nose I broke in October."
"That was a car door," Amber said.
"It was my shoulder and a car door," Stacey said. "Both things can be true."
Blossom had set her wine down and drawn her knees up to her chest, listening with that still, open expression she got when someone told her something true. "Does it bother you," she asked. "The question. People asking what's been done and what hasn't."
Stacey considered it properly, which was how she answered everything. "It depends on who's asking. When it's a doctor, no. When it's some guy at a bar, yes, but not for the reason you think. He's not curious. He's cataloguing." She gestured loosely at Amber with her chin. "She's curious. That's different."
"I'm extremely curious," Amber confirmed. "I want to know everything. Do you still get, like, chest dysphoria, or did that go away? Because the whole house rule thing, you're naked constantly, and you don't ever seem to hate your body."
"I spent a long time hating it." Stacey reached for the black collar at her throat, not to take it off, just to touch it. "Then I stopped. It wasn't a switch. It was more like, I don't know. Wearing the same jacket for years until one day it just fits."
Lola swirled her whiskey and spoke without looking up. "I've watched her undress in this house maybe forty times. She's never once done that thing people do, where they cover up first and then uncover. She just takes her clothes off."
"Because nobody in here has ever made me a before-picture," Stacey said. "That's the whole thing. I'm not a before-and-after. I'm just the after."
Amber let out a breath and tipped her head back against the couch. "God. Okay. That's actually beautiful and I need to not cry while I'm buzzed." She drained the rest of her glass and set it down hard. "One more. Last one, I promise. Can I touch them? I want to see if they feel real."
Blossom laughed, low and warm, finally. "Amber."
"What? I said it was the last one."
"You have no shame," Blossom said, without any judgment in it at all.
"I have exactly the right amount of shame," Amber said. "That's a different thing."
Stacey set the collar flat and thought about it for a second. Then she leaned forward off the couch onto her knees on the rug, close enough that Amber only had to reach, and said, "Go ahead."
Amber's mouth opened a little. She hadn't actually expected a yes. She put her glass down and reached out with both hands, slow, the way you'd approach an animal you liked, and cupped Stacey's breasts with her palms. She weighed them, thumbs brushing over the nipples, and her face went through three expressions in about two seconds.
"Oh, they're so soft," she said, hushed. "Mine are hard as rocks when I'm cold. These are like, warm pillows."
"That's the grafts," Stacey said. "They stay softer."
"Do they have feeling? Like, all the way through, or just the outsides?"
Stacey's hips shifted, a small tell she didn't bother to hide. "All the way through. More than before, actually. The nerve regrowth took about a year and it came back angry."
Amber's thumbs moved over the nipples again, slower this time, and she caught the way Stacey's breath changed. She grinned up at her, wide and a little wicked. "Oh, I see. I see what's happening here. This was a scheme."
"It was your scheme," Stacey said. "I just agreed to it."
From the bar, Alex cleared his throat. He'd gotten the towel off the counter and folded it over his arm like a bartender who wanted to be seen working. "So this is what normal looks like now," he said. "Everyone naked and Amber making a case study out of Stacey's tits."
"Research," Amber said. She gave one last squeeze and pulled her hands away, prim about it, then leaned back and picked up her empty glass. "Important research. For science."
"Your drink's empty."
"Then get me another one. You work here now."
Blossom had finished her wine and set the glass by the leg of the couch, and she looked around the room the way she always did at the end of a night, taking inventory, checking that everyone was whole. Her gaze landed on Alex, then on the folded towel, then on the bar behind him.
"You haven't had a turn," she said.
He looked at the towel. "I got used as furniture."
"That's not a turn."
Stacey got up off the rug, straightening, and the collar shifted against her throat when she swallowed. She crossed to him, took the towel out of his hands, and dropped it on the bar. Her skin was still slick in places, oil catching the light along her ribs.
"No," she said. "It's not."
He looked at her for a beat, the collar dark at her throat, the oil still shiny along her collarbone. "Is that an offer?"
"Yes," Stacey said. "That's an offer."
He walked to the corner where the camera sat on its tripod. The red eye was on, the wall display humming. He found the ring on the lens and turned it, slow, watching the six-foot screen inch forward until the frame had left the cross and settled entirely on the black chaise, the low slope of it, the rise in the middle, the slab floor around it.
"Zooming in," he said, mostly to the room.
"On what?" Amber asked, propped up on her elbows.
"Him," Blossom said. "Obviously him."
Alex crossed to the cabinet. He opened the glass door, took down the coil of black leather from the hook beside the collar's empty spot, and let it unroll in his hand. It was a leash, thin, braided, brass clip at one end. He turned back to Stacey and held it up so she could see.
She tipped her chin, baring her throat, and he stepped in and clipped it to the brass ring on the collar with a small sharp click. He gave it a testing tug. Her feet moved an inch.
"Take your clothes off," Lola said from the couch, back to her whiskey, not looking up. "Or don't. You've been half out of them for ten minutes."
He stripped. Shirt, jeans, boxers, all of it dropped on the floor in a damp pile, and his cock stood up off his body with no apology, flushed dark at the head and already slick at the tip. On the wall behind him the display showed his back, broad and bare, then swung when he turned. When he moved toward the chaise, the picture followed the line of his hips.
"Look at that," Amber said. "It's bigger on the wall."
"Sit," Blossom said.
He sat. The foam gave under him and the slope tipped him back a little, hips canted up, and the wall display threw the whole thing giant and glowing: his thighs, his stomach, and his cock standing out of the frame like something mounted for inspection. He scooted down until his ass was at the low edge, feet flat on the floor, knees apart. The screen filled edge to edge with him.
"Jesus," Amber said. "You could count the veins."
Alex gave the leash a slow pull. Stacey came with it, step by step across the concrete, until she stood between his knees, looking down at him and then over at the wall, at the enormous version of his cock hanging above them like a headline.
"Kneel," he said.
She knelt. Her hands went to his thighs first, fingers spread, and she leaned in and breathed on him, warm and close, mouth open without touching.
"On the screen," he said. "You're going to watch yourself do it. I want to see your face next to my dick."
She turned her head toward the display. Her own profile filled the lower half of the frame, wet-mouthed, eyes up, and above her the whole length of him stood upright and stern.
"Go on," he said.
She licked him. Base to head with the flat of her tongue, slow, and he watched it happen twice at once, once on his own skin and once huge and bright on the wall. He grunted and the leash went taut in his fist.
"There," he said. "Like that. Do it again."
She did it again. Then she took the head into her mouth and sank, and he felt the tight wet drag of her and saw the picture swallow him at the same time, and his hips lifted a half inch off the foam before he caught them.
"That's it," he said. "Look at you. Collar on, leash on, on your knees, sucking my cock in front of the whole house." He pulled the leash, not hard, just enough that she had to come forward onto the hand she hadn't braced, and her mouth slid down another inch. "And you're doing it so I can see it on a fucking screen. That's the thing you asked for, isn't it. You wanted to be the one who couldn't move."
Stacey pulled off, a wet sound, a string of spit hanging off her lip. "I'm not strapped to anything."
"You've got a leash on your neck and my cock in your mouth." He gathered her ponytail in his free hand, loose, and pushed her back down gently. "You tell me."
She took him deep and stayed, nose pressed to his belly, throat working, and he watched the wall show her hold it, her eyes watering a little, her jaw wide. Amber had stopped making jokes. Blossom sat forward on the couch with one arm across her breasts.
"Good," he said. "Fuck, that's good. Look up. Look at the camera."
She looked up. Her eyes found the lens and stayed, and the display showed it, her face ruined and beautiful beneath the huge column of him. He pulled the leash a little tighter, just a gentle pressure at her throat, and she moaned around him and the vibration went all the way up his spine.
"You like the collar," he said. "You've had your hand on it since Lola put it on you. Don't think I didn't see."
She nodded as much as she could with her mouth full.
"Take it slow," he said. "I want to watch the whole thing on the wall. You don't get to rush me."
She slowed, and it was worse, or better, the long drag up and the long swallow back down, her tongue working the underside where he was most tender. He watched the screen and let himself go hazy, his own body on the wall like some stranger's, and under it her head moving, and the collar, and the leash running from her throat to his fist.
From the couch, Lola set her glass down and said, quietly, "Don't let her finish you."
"I know," he said.
He did know. He pulled her off, panting, and held her back by the leash so she hung there with her mouth open and empty, chest heaving, spit on her chin.
"Not yet," he said. "You wanted the whole house to watch. So let's let them." He tipped his chin at the display. "Go again. Slower."
Stacey looked at the wall, at her own gleaming open face beneath him, and lowered her head.
He pulled the leash until she came off him with a wet gasp, and her chin lifted and her throat pulled against the leather.
"Get up here," he said. "Turn around."
She rose on unsteady knees. He shifted on the chaise, scooting back into the slope until his spine pressed the rise, feet planted, and pointed at his own lap.
"Backwards," he said. "Facing the wall."
Stacey understood before he finished. She stepped over him with a hand on his knee for balance, put one foot down on the far side of the foam, then the other, and lowered herself down onto his thighs with her back to his chest and her face toward the display. The chaise tilted under the shift of weight. The camera caught it all: her shoulders, the long line of her spine, the collar, and under her the hard jut of him riding up her backside.
"Holy shit," Amber said from the couch, sitting up straight. "Oh, that's a shot."
On the wall Stacey watched her own body settle onto Alex's lap. Six feet of her, oiled and glowing, thighs spread over him, ponytail half down, black collar bright against her throat. She stared at it.
"I've never seen that," she said.
"Seen what."
"My ass." She tilted her hips a little and the display tilted with her, close and warm. "I mean I've seen it. In a mirror. Not like this. Not while somebody's underneath me."
Alex leaned forward and reached past her hip to the cabinet door, pulled it open, and came back with the pump bottle. He slicked his fingers without ceremony.
"You want this," he said. Not quite a question.
"Yes." She braced her palms on his knees and arched her back, opening herself, and the camera pushed in tighter when she moved. "Slow."
He got two fingers into her first. She took them with a long breath out, and the display showed the whole thing, her hole stretching around his knuckles, the shine of the lube, the way her thighs jumped when he curled them. Amber had her drink halfway to her mouth and had forgotten to finish the motion.
"Look at the screen," Alex said. "Not me. You don't get to look at me."
Stacey lifted her head. Her own face looked back at her, mouth open, eyes bright, and below her chin the frame cut off at her collarbone, everything under that just body. He worked his fingers in and out of her until she was loose enough to take three, and she rocked down onto them without being told.
"Again," she said.
"You said slow."
"I said slow for the other thing."
He pulled his fingers out and wiped them on his own thigh. Then he took himself in hand, lined up, and let her do the rest. She sat back onto him an inch at a time, and the ring of her ass took the head, then the crown, then swallowed him slow. Her back curved and her hands dug into his knees and a sound came out of her that had no words in it.
"Breathe," he said.
She breathed. She let her weight settle until her ass rested flat against his hips and he was all the way inside her, and she sat there and looked at the wall.
"That's me," she said. "That's what I look like with a cock in me."
"You've had one in you before."
"Not on a wall."
The camera was zoomed so tight that the picture had almost gone abstract. Her ass spread around the base of him, the tight skin going pale where he stretched it, and the slow pulse of her sphincter as she held him. Above that, nothing but the small of her back and the tail of her ponytail.
"Tell me what else you see," Alex said.
She talked while she started to move. Small rocks at first, grinding back and forward, letting him drag in her. "I see my shoulders. They do the thing I thought they did." Her voice was low and wrecked. "I see where the hormones stopped. Right across the middle of me. There's a line."
"That's not a line."
"It's the graft scar. Both sides. I never thought anybody would see it from behind."
Alex reached around her. He slid his arm under her thigh and found her cock hanging heavy and untouched between her legs, slick already from her own leaking, and closed his fist around it.
Stacey's whole body locked.
"There it is," he said.
She tried to keep riding and couldn't do both at once, so he did the work for a second, hips rolling up into her from below in short strokes, steady, and his hand moving on her cock in time with it. On the wall her body disappeared and came back with every stroke, the frame filling and emptying. Amber had stopped drinking entirely.
"Oh," Stacey said. "Oh, that's not. That's not fair."
"You said slow."
"I didn't say you could do both."
"You didn't say I couldn't."
She found her rhythm again, pushing back against his thrusts so that she took him deeper every time, and his fist worked her from root to head and back. The lube and her own wet made a soft ugly sound in the room. Lola sat on the couch with her whiskey and watched with her chin on her knuckles.
"Look at her face," Blossom said, quietly. "She's gone."
She was. Her jaw had gone slack, and the collar moved with every swallow, and she kept her eyes on the display like it was the only thing holding her upright. Her own hand found his wrist and closed over it and pushed, hard, telling him what she wanted.
"Faster," she said.
"Ask me right."
"Faster. Please."
He gave it to her. He took her hips in both hands and drove up into her, and behind the slap of their skin the chaise creaked against the slab, and Amber finally set her drink down on the floor where it would spill. Stacey's head fell back against his shoulder and she watched upside down as the wall showed the two of them going at it, and she laughed, once, disbelieving.
"I've been in this room a week," she said, thick, "and I've never seen us before."
"You're seeing us now."
"Yeah." Her hips slammed down and stayed, grinding, and she reached back and grabbed his thigh and held on. "Yeah. Do it. Right there. Right fucking there."
He kept his fist moving on her and she came first, spilling over his knuckles and down between his fingers onto the foam, and the screen showed the whole long shudder of it from behind. He followed her a stroke later with his teeth in her shoulder.
Nobody clapped. That wasn't the room.
Lola finished her drink and set the glass down flat, and looked at the two of them still knotted on the chaise, breathing hard, Stacey wearing his cum and her own, collar on, leash still clipped, hanging loose.