Chapter 13: Free for all
Kai slid out slowly, leaving Anya gasping, her body clenching around sudden emptiness. The wet, sucking sound was almost lost beneath a smattering of applause – light, appreciative, a dozen hands clapping softly from the edges of the room. Anya blinked, dazed, sweat stinging her eyes. The mirrored walls reflected a kaleidoscope of naked bodies. Men and women lounged on chairs, perched on the edge of the wide dresser, leaned against the mirrored surfaces themselves. Hands moved lazily or frantically between legs. Soft sighs, low groans, the slick sounds of self-pleasure filled the sun-drenched air, thick still with jasmine, sweat, sex, and Linda’s cigarette smoke.
Anya pushed herself up onto her elbows, turning her head. The vulnerability of moments before evaporated, replaced by a reckless, burning hunger. The deep ache Kai left felt like an invitation, not an ending. Her red hair was plastered to her temples, her skin flushed and gleaming. She scanned the watching faces, a fierce, almost defiant light in her eyes. "Applause?" she rasped, her voice raw. Then, louder, bolder: "That was just the opening act." She pushed herself fully onto her knees, presenting herself again, open and wanting. "Anyone," she declared, the word ringing clear. "Any hole. Fuck me. Now."
A beat of stunned silence, punctuated only by the continued sounds of masturbation. Then movement.
Simone, still wrapped in shimmering gold but now visibly damp with sweat, stepped forward from near the door. Her gaze was intense, fixed on Anya. She reached Gary, who was still half-dazed on the rug with Mel draped over him. Simone nudged his shoulder with her foot. "Move, Gary," she murmured, not unkindly. "Your turn’s over. Mine’s starting." Gary blinked, mumbled something incoherent, and clumsily extricated himself, pulling Mel with him towards the safety of an oversized floor cushion. Mel giggled, her hand immediately finding Gary again.
Simone didn’t rush. She let the gold wrap slip from her shoulders, pooling like liquid metal at her feet. She walked to the bed, her movements fluid and confident. Without breaking eye contact with Anya, she climbed up, kneeling behind her. Her hands weren't hesitant; they explored the curve of Anya’s ass, fingers tracing the slickness Kai had left behind, dipping lower. Anya shuddered, pushing back eagerly against the touch. "Yes," she breathed. "There. Take it."
Simone’s fingers pressed, circled, prepared. The blunt head of her cock nudged against Anya’s tight entrance. Anya braced, breath held. Simone pushed in steadily, a slow, deliberate invasion that made Anya cry out, a sound more relief than pain. Simone leaned forward, her chest pressing against Anya’s sweaty back, one arm wrapping around her waist, holding her close as she began a deep, rhythmic rocking. "Good?" Simone murmured against her ear, her voice a low vibration.
"Good," Anya gasped. "So good. More…"
Before she could finish the thought, a taller figure materialized beside them. It was Lars, one of the Scandinavian sculptors Anya had chatted with by the infinity pool. He was already hard, his cock bobbing, a look of focused intent on his face. He didn’t ask. He simply moved in front of Anya, kneeling on the bed. His hands framed her face, tilting it up. His gaze held hers for a second – assessing, wanting. Then he guided himself towards her open mouth.
Anya met him eagerly. She opened wide, her tongue darting out to taste the salty bead of pre-come at his tip before taking him deep. The dual penetration was overwhelming – Simone’s thick fullness stretching her ass, Lars filling her mouth, pressing against the back of her throat. Her senses swam. She felt stretched, owned, utterly consumed. She sucked Lars hard, her head bobbing, gagging slightly on his length before pulling back to gasp, only to dive deep again. Simone’s thrusts grew more urgent, matching the rhythm Lars set with Anya’s mouth. The bed creaked beneath the synchronized movement.
"Fucking hell," Linda exhaled from her armchair throne, stubbing out one cigarette and immediately lighting another. Her other hand was buried between her own thighs, fingers working with practiced efficiency. "Now that’s a tableau. Anya, darling, you’re putting on one hell of a show." She chuckled, a low, smoky sound. "Don't mind me. Just enjoying the view. Carry on."
The room vibrated. The air hummed with the sounds of flesh on flesh – the wet slap of Simone’s hips against Anya’s ass, the slick glide of Lars moving in and out of Anya’s mouth, the rhythmic squelch accompanying Simone’s deeper thrusts. Mingled with this were the sighs and moans of the audience, the rasp of Linda’s lighter, the rustle of bodies shifting as they touched themselves. The mirrored walls reflected it infinitely: Anya, pinned between two bodies, her eyes glazed with pleasure-pain, her own hands clawing at the sheets; Simone’s powerful back flexing; Lars’s head thrown back in ecstasy; Linda’s smirking observation; Gary and Mel entwined again, watching raptly; others lost in their own private release.
Anya was a conduit, a vessel overwhelmed by sensation. Every thrust from behind sent shockwaves through her, intensified by the pressure of Lars filling her mouth, cutting off her air in waves. Stars burst behind her eyelids. Her body felt like it was fracturing, dissolving under the relentless double assault. Simone’s pace became frantic, her breath hot and ragged against Anya’s neck. Lars groaned, a deep rumble Anya felt through her jaw, his fingers tightening in her hair, holding her firm as his hips snapped forward, burying himself deep in her throat just as Simone slammed home one final, shattering time.
Anya convulsed. Simone cried out, her body locking rigid against Anya’s, pulsing deep within her. Lars gasped, his release flooding Anya’s mouth, thick and hot, triggering her own gag reflex even as the combined internal pressure tipped her over the edge. Her orgasm wasn’t a wave; it was a detonation, ripping through her with terrifying force. Her scream was muffled around Lars’s cock, a guttural, animal sound ripped from her core as her body bucked uncontrollably between them.
Lars pulled out slowly, gasping, leaving Anya coughing, sputtering, strings of come glistening on her chin and lips. Simone slumped forward, pressing her face between Anya’s shoulder blades, her own breath ragged as she softened inside her. Anya collapsed forward onto her forearms, trembling violently, utterly spent, her vision blurry, the mingled taste of salt and sex heavy on her tongue. The room seemed to hold its breath for a second, the only sounds the crackle of Linda’s cigarette and Anya’s own harsh, uneven gasps.
Then, from the periphery, near the window where shadows gathered, a lighter flicked. Kai leaned against the mirrored wall, watching. Her purple hair was a dark splash against the reflection of the wrecked bed. Her expression was unreadable, intense, absorbing the scene – the aftermath, the exhaustion, the raw vulnerability etched onto Anya’s face. She took a long, slow drag, the ember glowing brightly in the dimming light, her artist’s eyes missing nothing.