Chapter 13: The Saturday Lesson
The text came on Friday night, a soft buzz on my nightstand that pulled me from the half-sleep I'd been drifting in since Thursday's linen appointment. Lucy's name lit up the screen.
"Change of plans for tomorrow. No human dildo this week. Just me and her. You'll like it."
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. No Kaleb. No Miguel. No strangers with cocks like forearms. Just Lucy and Emily, practicing whatever it was Lucy had cooked up next. I could do that. I'd done that before, back in the early weeks, when it was just the two of them and a bullet vibrator and a dildo. I'd sat in that chair and watched and hated every second of it, but at least I'd known what was coming.
I texted back a simple thumbs up and fell asleep with the relief settling warm in my chest.
Saturday came too fast. I drove to Emily's apartment building at ten in the morning, the sun already high and hot. The parking lot was nearly full, a mix of sedans and trucks I didn't recognize. I ignored that. Lucy had said no human dildo. I trusted that.
The door to Emily's apartment was unlocked. I pushed it open and stepped into the living room, the familiar scent of vanilla washing over me. The couch had been pushed to the wall again. The tea lights were lit. And in the center of the room, the floor was covered in a nest of pillows and blankets, soft and deep.
The bedroom door was closed.
"Caleb," Lucy's voice came from behind me. I turned. She stood in the hallway that led to the small kitchen, completely naked, her olive skin glowing in the morning light. Her hair was loose, falling past her shoulders. She had a wide, knowing smile on her face.
"Lucy," I said. "Where's Emily?"
"In the bedroom. Stripped and ready." She walked past me, her hips swaying, and pushed the bedroom door open. "Come see what we've been working on."
I followed her. That's what I always did. I followed her into the room and let her close the door behind me.
Emily was on the bed.
She was tied, spread-eagled, her wrists and ankles bound to the bedposts with soft silk scarves, her body stretched out on the deep purple comforter. Naked. Completely naked. Her skin was flushed pink, her nipples hard and dark, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. But that wasn't what stopped me.
Her bush was gone.
For as long as I'd known her, Emily had worn a full bush, a soft blonde triangle that I'd caught glimpses of when she leaned over or when her shorts rode up. I'd never seen it fully, never touched it, but I'd known it was there. It was part of her, private and familiar.
Now it was smooth. Completely, gleamingly smooth. Her cunt lay bare between her thighs, the lips pink and swollen, the skin around them hairless and soft like a girl's.
And over her mound, just above that bare slit, was a tattoo.
A black spade. Playing card style. Pointing down. And inside it, a single letter, roughly drawn, black and bold.
"A spade," I said. My voice came out strange.
"Queen of spades," Lucy corrected. She crawled onto the bed, her body moving with a liquid ease, and settled between Emily's spread thighs. "You know what it means, don't you, Caleb?"
I stared at the tattoo. I'd seen the symbol before, in a thousand places, in jokes I'd never understood and images I'd never let myself look at. The queen of spades. I knew what it meant.
"It's a fetish," I said. "It's a thing for some people."
"It's a brand." Lucy ran her palm over Emily's bare mound, her thumb tracing the edge of the tattoo. "It means she belongs to Black men now. It means every time she spreads her legs, they know exactly what they're getting."
I couldn't breathe. Emily's eyes were open, watching me, her lips parted. She looked peaceful. She looked like she'd been waiting for me.
"There's more," Lucy said. She lifted Emily's leg, turning her slightly, and I saw the other one.
Above Emily's asshole, which was open and gaping, a dark hole that had been used so much it no longer closed fully, was another tattoo. The same black ink, the same rough letters.
Blacks Only.
I stared at the words. They were positioned perfectly, framing the hole they described. I could see how it had been done, the artist leaning in close, Emily bent over, the needle tracing each letter around that ruined rim.
"We got them done on Wednesday," Lucy said. "After the study session. I drove her to the shop myself."
I thought of Wednesday. The twenty football players. Emily covered in cum. Emily airtight.
Lucy laughed, a low, throaty sound. She leaned down and pressed her lips to the spade tattoo, kissing it like you'd kiss a child's scraped knee. Then she moved lower and pressed her mouth to Emily's bare cunt.
Emily gasped. Her hips arched off the bed, her bound wrists straining against the silk.
"Open her up for me, Caleb," Lucy said, between licks. "She's been practicing all week. Just trying not to come until you got here."
I stood frozen at the foot of the bed. My hand found my pocket. My cock was already straining against my jeans, thick and hot. I pulled out the tissue I'd started carrying everywhere, a habit I couldn't break.
Lucy's tongue worked Emily's clit, which was no longer buried in a thatch of hair but exposed and swelling, a hard pink pearl that Lucy rolled and flicked with practiced ease. Emily's moans grew louder, more ragged, her hips pushing up against Lucy's face.
"I want to open her with my hand," Lucy said, pulling back. She looked up at me, her chin slick with Emily's wetness. "I've been working her up to it all month. She's ready."
"She's not ready for that."
"She is." Lucy smiled. "She's been taking bigger and bigger cocks. She needs something with a little more structure. Something that can really stretch her out."
I watched as Lucy kissed her way down Emily's belly, past the bare mound and the spade tattoo, and pressed her open mouth against Emily's cunt. Emily's thighs trembled. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps.
"Please," Emily whispered. "Please, Lucy. I need it."
Lucy slid two fingers into her, slow and easy, and Emily's back arched. My hand moved on my own cock, stroking through the fabric of my jeans, the pressure building.
Then Lucy pushed in a third finger. Emily cried out, a high, desperate sound. Her eyes rolled back. Her body shook.
"That's it," Lucy purred. "Take them all."
She worked her fingers in and out, stretching Emily open with each stroke. Emily's cunt looked wet and red, the lips spread wide, her inner walls gripping Lucy's fingers. The piercing glinted at the top of her slit, a small metal barbell through her clit, catching the light.
A fourth finger. Emily screamed.
"Shh, shh, you're fine," Lucy said. She curled her fingers, reaching up, and Emily's scream turned into a sob of pleasure. "You're doing so good, baby girl."
I stuffed the tissue down my pants and wrapped my hand around my bare cock. It was small in my palm, three inches, already leaking. I stroked it in quick, furtive jerks, watching Lucy work.
Lucy pulled her fingers out. Emily whined, her hips chasing her hand. Lucy shushed her, then pressed her thumb against Emily's asshole, which swallowed it without resistance. Emily's eyes flew open.
"I want you to come for him," Lucy said. "I want you to come so hard you squirt all over these sheets."
"I can't. I can't, I've never."
"You can." Lucy's hand eased deeper into Emily's cunt, her whole fist pressing against the tight ring of muscle. "You've been practicing. You're ready."
Emily's body seized. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. Her heels dug into the mattress, her back bowing off the bed so hard her shoulders lifted from the comforter. Her hands clawed at the scarves binding her.
And then she came.
It wasn't like the orgasms I'd watched her have before, the shuddering, gasping releases that left her trembling. This was something else. A convulsion that started at her core and exploded outward. Her whole body locked. Her lips peeled back from her teeth. And a rush of liquid poured out of her, clear and hot, spraying across Lucy's hand and arm and the bedding beneath them.
It kept coming. Wave after wave, her cunt gushing, her body shaking. Lucy laughed, a delighted sound, and turned to look at me, her face wet, her hand still buried inside Emily.
"Come for her, Caleb," she said.
I didn't need the permission. My cock jerked in my hand, three inches of exploded need, and I came into the tissue. A pathetic, sputtering release that soaked the paper and ran down my fingers. I watched Emily's body convulse between the silk scarves, watched the liquid pour out of her, and I came harder than I had in weeks.
When Emily finally collapsed, limp and gasping, Lucy pulled her fist free. Emily's cunt gaped, a dark red hole that slowly closed around nothing. The spade tattoo rode above it, black and final.
I looked at the tissue in my hand. Then I looked at the queen of spades on her mound and the words above her asshole and the way she lay there, spread open and spent, wearing her new marks like jewelry.
"She's beautiful," Lucy said softly. "Isn't she?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
I folded the tissue and shoved it in my pocket, and I turned and walked out of the bedroom, through the living room, and out the front door. I stood in the parking lot with my hands shaking, the morning sun hot on my face.
My phone buzzed. Emily's name.
I let it ring.