Three Words
by Distorted Angel
The video, which Alexander Rand would later distribute to a circle of interested friends, began with an establishing shot: a hotel bedroom in the late afternoon of an English autumn day. Rain on the windows. The world outside was doubly blurred, first by the lens, then by trickles of moisture. The camera paused for a moment to consider the droplets running down the glass, then pulled back to reveal a row of small statues ranged along the window sill.
The statues were made of dark material, amber or brass. Stood like a set of Russian dolls, the largest of them eight or nine inches in length, the statues resembled Oscars figurines with rounded bulbous heads. For several silent seconds, the camera rested on the largest of these, contemplating the pearlescent quality of light on its smooth surface. Then it swung around to take in the rest of the room.
The room was nicely kitted out. Heavy curtains swept across the ground. The abstract wall art hinted at eroticism while staying the right side of good taste. It was noiseless save for the patter of rain. Gloomy but not dark. Twin bedside lamps sweetened the shadows with spots of yellow light. There were roses in twins vases on the mantelpiece. The camera recorded heavy carpets, a plush if slightly fussy armchair. It considered the bed with its neat floral duvet and the bedside table on which, rather incongruously, sat an old fashioned iPod wired into stylish black speakers.
The camera returned to the empty bed, and stopped for a minute, allowing the emptiness and silence to dominate the scene. Then it rotated, to zoom in on the door, which swung aside, admitting two drenched women to the room.
Neither was wearing a coat, and both looked far wetter than seemed entirely reasonable, given the relatively mild drizzle outside. To look at them, you’d think they had spent an hour in the hotel courtyard having buckets of muddy water thrown over them.
“For fuck’s sake,” said one. “Can this day get any worse?”
She was the older of the two, late twenties or very early thirties (no need for more precision than that). Her honey blonde hair, which the production team’s hairdresser had spent several hours working into an elaborate curl first thing this morning, now hung in a sodden mess around her shoulders. Her stylish, knee-length skirt had soaked itself to her thighs. Her pretty, country-set blouse was so sodden with rain that it resembled tissue paper. The camera took advantage of this fact, resting for a moment on her breasts. The woman gave no sign of being aware of the camera or the cameraman behind it. Her name was Christine Archer and she looked as pissed off as she sounded.
Her companion, younger, darker haired and wearing a skirt which was considerably shorter than Christine’s although every bit as wet, tried to look more cheery. If you had seen her before on TV this would not be a surprise. Tanya Meckless always give the impression of being bubbly and upbeat, and this is one of those occasions where what you get on the screen is a good approximation of real life.
Tanya liked being cheerful, and did her best to stay that way, even though she had not enjoyed the two mile trudge through country roads any more than Christine. Her shoes were scuffed with mud; splashes and tears ran up the length of her hose. The camera took time to consider this detail, or maybe it was just enjoying her legs, an agreeably large percentage of which were shown off by the skirt.
She kicked off her shoes, unbuttoned the cuffs of her blouse as Christine said, “I mean, how can all the locks on our floor have broken simultaneously?”
Tanya looked around for something to dry her face with, failed to find anything and settled for dabbing at her cheeks with the palms of her hands. “That’s technology for you.”
Her dismissive tone came naturally: technology was her day job. She and Christine were hosts of The Transformation Show, a day-time TV show which merged art, design and technology in a way which had unexpectedly turned into a hit. She unwrapped her silk scarf and contemplated it sadly. It was probably ruined for good. “Be grateful this room still has an old mechanical lock rather an electronic one or there’d be nowhere at all for us to go.” She undid the first button on her blouse.
Christine shook her head. Right now she did not feel grateful for anything. It had been an aggravating day. Late in the afternoon, the team of three geeks around whom the technological elements of the show revolved, had still been arguing about how to turn a seven pieces of 1950s junk into something they could market as a techno-design classic. These arguments, which nearly always resulted in something interesting if you left them long enough couldn’t be hurried, but they made for lousy television unless the squabble turned seriously angry. Today that had not happened, and about five o’clock, the floor manager had concluded that there was no chance of any filming today and had suggested that the show’s hosts (or eye candy, as the internet habitually referred to them) should go back to the hotel. Only the taxi hadn’t shown up, and for some unfathomable reason Tanya decided it wouldn’t take that long to walk. Then the rain had come, and when they got back, soaked to the skin, only to find themselves locked out of their rooms, with nothing to change into.
Christine hitched up her skirt and tried to wring the fabric out.
“I am fucking soaked,” she said.
The camera decided this was a good excuse to move from her breasts to her logs. They were legs worth looking out, supple and shapely, despite the smears of mud. The camera shifted position and, for a slightly cheap moment, afforded viewers who might enjoy such things a glimpse of Christine’s knickers. Eventually Christine decided her skirt was not getting drier like this and tugged it back down.
By which time Tanya’s blouse was open to the navel.
It had long been a topic of conjecture amongst Transform Show’s (mostly male) fan base about exactly how much Tanya Meckless wore beneath her blouses. Conjecture decreed that Tanya had decided (or been instructed) that the correct response to complaints that you could often see her bras through the fabric of her shirts was to stop wearing bras all together. Conjecture was backed up by a host of online screen grabs in which Tanya held up some small piece of hardware at chest height, ostensibly to give the viewer a chance to examine it, but actually presenting them an almost unimpeded view of her small, firm boobs, with nipples pressing perkily against the fabric.
“What do you think you’re doing?” said Christine.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” replied Tanya. “I’m taking my clothes off.” She slipped off her tights and held them up in front of her. Mud and water trickled over her fingers. “Not much good for wearing again, but they might do as an improvised restraint. What do you think?”
Her expression was conspiratorial and extraordinarily sensuous. Christine was seized by a not-entirely unpleasant memory of lying in her own bed the previous night, listening to Tanya and her boyfriend making love. For some reason these days it seemed as if Christine was always in the room next to Tanya and pretty much every night was punctuated by the sounds of Alex putting Tanya through her paces. She got pretty loud a lot of the time, and very enthusiastic, and the language she deployed was definitely not suitable for day time television.
The sounds of raw passion would often have a stirring effect on Christine’s husband, as he lay beside her in the dark. Christine well recalled a memorable evening when she had heard Tanya calling out in a voice, desperate with need and raw desire, “Oh please, please, please, put it inside me.” It had struck her at the time that there was something especially sexy about an upper class voice made rough through sexual need. She had also been impressed and more than a little jealous at how much of a state Alex had apparently worked Tanya into before he even got his dick inside her.
You wouldn’t think it to look at him. Alex was a russetty ferret of a man, thin and rather bookish in appearance. Not at all the sort to bag someone as gorgeous as Tanya. But to judge from the way he made her react, he was clearly a man who knew how to push a girl’s buttons.
While she had been thinking about that, thinking about Alex’s dick and about Tanya opening herself up to let him stick it into her, Christine had become aware of her husband’s penis, pressing insistently into the crack of her buttocks. Christine had been tired, but it had been clear from the degree of Peter’s arousal that there was no chance of her getting any sleep until she had done something to satisfy him, and before she had a chance to negotiate some compromise offer, Peter had rolled her over onto her back and was using his knees to prise her legs apart.
There had been no attempt at foreplay but, rather to Christine’s surprise there had not been any need. It seemed as if listening to the evidence her co-star’s excitation had had more of an effect on her than she had realised. Christine had given a sharp, hard gasp of satisfaction as Peter’s cock plunged into her, and then the two girls, separated only by the thin wall of the hotel were caught up in a gasping, shuddering race to see which of them could be first to cross the line into paradise.
Freed from her rain-sodden blouse, Tanya’s padded across the carpet to drape it over a chair. For some inexplicable reason, Christine’s eyes were drawn to the sway of her breasts. The nipples were pale but perky.
“You don’t want to stand around in those wet clothes,” said Tanya. “You’ll catch your death.”
“I don’t have anything to change into,” said Christine.
Tanya shrugged a second time”Nor do I.” She turned her skirt around to make it easier to get at the zip. “That’s why I’m getting into bed.”
As Tanya stepped out of the little wisp of fabric, Christine knew she ought to look away, but couldn’t tear her eyes from the small, neat patch of hair. The hair on top of Tanya’s head was almost jet black. The little tuft was lighter.
When Christine finally looked up, she found Tanya looking straight back. The younger girl grinned broadly. Christine’s face burned. This is ridiculous, she thought. Tanya’s standing there naked and I’m the one who’s embarrassed.
“And what about me?” she said. It was hard to get the words out. In Christine’s own ears they sounded more like a croak than normal speech.
“You can get in with me. There’s plenty of room.”
Christine licked her suddenly dry lips. Her eyes strayed towards the bed. It was tastefully decorated, with a floral bedspread and big, fluffy pillows, plumped against the headboard. It was big and generous. Slightly too generous for the room, in fact. There didn’t seem an awful lot of space in here for anything other than the bed. As Tanya had said, there would be plenty of room for them both. Except that when Christine’s pictured herself in that bed, herself naked in that bed with Tanya stretched out alongside her, it was impossible not to imagine limbs coming into intimate contact. Limbs and lips and breasts. Christine remembered the night before. And the nights before that. Herself and Peter lying together, listening to the bed next door creak and bump and grind with rhythmic motion. Hearing the hot, hard, relentless, dirty noises that Tanya was making. Imagining that it was herself or her husband making Tanya make those noises.
Christine shook her head. She didn’t understand where these thoughts were coming from. When it came to sex, she was adventurous enough, she supposed, but her inclinations had always been conventional. Herself and a man, preferably one she cared about, for whom she felt something more than simple animal lust.
So why, when she now glanced shyly down at the bed was her mind filled with images of skin on skin, of insinuating fingers working their way into clefts and crevices, teasing and stroking engorged, excited flesh? Why should she want to be bitten, nibbled, caressed, tweaked, pinched? Those weren’t things she had ever imagined being done to her, at any rate not by her young, pretty, vivacious, pliable co-star. So why did her breathing suddenly seem to have tightened? Why was she so aware of the pulse in her temple, the perspiration seeping out along the edges of her hairline to mingle with the sheen that the rain water had left on her face?
“In bed?” she said, as if she were translating the words from a language she had known a long time ago and now almost entirely forgotten. “Get into bed? With you?”
“Well, yes,” said Tanya with just a hint of impatience. “Get your clothes off and get in.”
“I can’t,” she murmured, the words emerging almost like a whimper.
“Of course you can,” said Tanya.
“No, really I can’t. My hands are too numb. I can’t even get my scarf off.”
She didn’t know how it had happened. Her hands had been cold when she had come into the room, but they had been perfectly serviceable. She had been able to work the lift and unlock the door without any problem. But now it seemed as if the cold had sunk into the meat of her hands and she could hardly even get her fingers to twitch. It made her feel unexpectedly helpless and vulnerable.
“Oh really?” said Tanya, and there was a laugh in her voice, as if Christine was making some kind of joke, although Christine didn’t think she had said anything funny. “I suppose that means you want me to do it for you?”
Christine thought about it for a moment and then concluded that Tanya was probably right. That must be what she had meant.
Tanya started to tug at the knot of the scarf around Christine’s throat. “Silk’s a bugger once it gets wet,” she observed. “The knots get so tight there’s really no way to wriggle out of them. Imagine if you had this around your wrists. Imagine if someone had you tied to the headboard.”
Christine’s face flushed and her tongue poked out to moisten her lips. “Is that something you do?” she whispered. “You and Alex?”
“We tried for a while,” said Tanya. “It didn’t work for us.”
With a look of faint regret, she let the scarf flutter to the floor and started undoing the buttons on Christine’s shirt.
“You didn’t like it?” said Christine.
“I liked it fine,” said Tanya, “but it didn’t do anything for Alex. When it comes down to it, the ropes and the handcuffs, they’re just a metaphor, an attempt to represent something.”
She pushed Christine’s blouse off her shoulders then sunk to her knees to unfasten the skirt. The floral print fluttered to the floor and spread like a scatter of roses. Tanya stayed on her knees while she gently drew down Christine’s knickers.
“A metaphor for what?” said Christine. She couldn’t quite believe she was just standing there, letting another woman undress her. But it didn’t feel as if there was anything else she could do. Her mind seemed numb as her fingers, wrapped up in cotton wool. All she could do was to go along with whatever Tanya suggested.
“Helplessness, of course,” replied Tanya. “Surrender. Loss of control. But if you already have that for real then you don’t need to bother with the metaphor.”
Christine wasn’t sure what Tanya meant, but that seemed okay because it didn’t look as if Tanya head been expecting a response. The slender brunette climbed back to her feet and reached behind Christine’s back to under the clips on her one remaining garment. She tutted her head in disapproval. “This is a really dull bra for such lovely boobs.
As if to remind the viewer of its presence, the camera decided this would be a good moment to make a long, slow circumnavigation of the two naked women, stopping to pay particular attention to Tanya’s bottom and Christine’s heavy breasts.
“Right,” said Tanya, when the camera had completed its circuit and was back where it had started, positioned to stare frankly at her neatly trimmed cunt. “Time to get into bed.”
“We can’t,” whimpered Christine. “People will talk.”
Tanya shook her head dismissively. “Talk about what?”
“About the two of us. About us being in bed. About us being…”
Christine let the sentence trail off, unable or unwilling to say the final word.
“About us being lesbians, you mean?” says Tanya. She chuckled. “You don’t think they’re saying that already? You don’t think there’s whole pages of the internet devoted to mash-ups and stories of what they suppose the two of us get up to behind closed doors?”
Christine didn’t need to imagine any of that stuff. She had seen it. She had read it. Just the other night, in fact, she had been reading a story to her husband, describing the kind of things which Tanya had been talking about. The text had been crude, explicit, illogical, badly written and filthy. Really, really filthy. It had got Peter almost as stiff as she could ever remember him being. Christine had hardly even had time to start recounting the third of the fictionalised encounters, the one where Tanya had propped herself up on her hands and knees and ordered Christine to run her tongue along the cleft of her arse cheeks, before Peter had pulled her body on top of his and started ramming furiously into her.
Breaking away from that chain of thought, Christine became suddenly aware of just how close to her Tanya was standing, how intently Tanya was studying her face. Almost as if her co-star could guess what she was thinking.
“If the idea of bed bothers you that much,” says Tanya, “why don’t you sit on the chair?”
With a sigh of relief (and maybe a touch of regret) Christine let herself fall into the chair. It was absurdly comfortable. Even the slight roughness of the fabric against her naked back felt sensuous. It was only as she was stretching herself out that it occurred to Christine that this was the only chair in the room. For a moment, she had the alarming (or was it hopeful) thought that Tanya might sit down on top of her.
“Where are you—?” She began, but before she could finish the question, Tanya had lowered herself onto the floor next to Christine’s feet. She sat with her legs slightly parted, bare bottom resting on the backs of her heels.
“This is nice, isn’t it?” she says, and by way of proving the point, she rested the side of her face in Christine’s lap.
Christine had no idea what to say. She supposed that sitting here naked with her attractive young co-star also naked resting her head so that her mouth was just a few centimetres from the tops of Christine’s thighs could be described as nice. It’s not just the first word she would have chosen.
“Peter would be jealous,” she blurted out.
Tanya offered her another of those sexy, unaccountably knowing grins. “Your husband?” she said. “Why’s that then?”
“He has a… well, he has a little bit of a crush on you. Well, not such a little one, actually.”
It was embarrassing to say the words out loud. Christine was not quite sure how she had got onto this conversational trail. She’d needed something to take her mind away from sexual scenarios with Tanya, and it was only after the words were out that she realised that this might not be the best topic that she could have chosen.
Tanya said, “Does that bother you? I don’t see why it should. Alex has a thing about you as well. Well, to be honest, Alex has a thing about just about anything in a skirt. Last night at dinner, he could hardly keep his eyes off the pretty red haired waitress. He was practically trying to talk her out of her knickers right there in the dining room.”
The way she says it made it sound as if the waitress had been part of the menu. Maybe Alex had thought that she was.
Christine says, “And how do you feel about that?”
Tanya said, “He’s a man. Men like looking at women. They like screwing women. Given the choice, pretty much any man would like to fuck as many women as he could. Smart women know that. They know that it’s their job to keep the man beside them thinking that what he’s got beside him is a good as what he could get anywhere else.”
Christine said, “Well you certainly seem to do that. I can’t think of another couple who do it as often as you.”
“Alex likes sex,” said Tanya. “He likes it as often as he can, and as hard and vigorous and filthy as he can.”
Thinking about the nights she had heard Tanya and Alex at it, Christine said “It sounds like you feel the same way.”
“Well, I do now,” said Tanya. “Alex likes me to enjoy the things he does to me. And so, of course, I do. Some of them I maybe wasn’t so keen on at first, but he told me I wanted to do them and after that I did.”
“You mean, like, he wants you to go down on him or something?” Oral sex was something Christine had never been keen on, either giving or receiving; it felt like an obvious example of something you might not want to do. Well, there was another one, but she wasn’t even going to talk about that. Too dirty. Too uncomfortable. She didn’t even like to think about it.
“Oh no, not that,” said Tanya. “Well, I mean, obviously he likes me to do that as well. And he likes to watch people doing it to me. But that wasn’t what I was thinking of.”
“Well, what then?” said Christine, trying not to sound shocked. Tanya was on TV for God’s sake. Girls who appear on TV didn’t go around letting others watch them having their pussies licked.
“Well,” said Tanya, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “There was this time he decided he wanted to shag my sister so we went around to her house and he got me to put on a sex show for her husband while he took her upstairs and went to bed with her.”
“A sex show?” said Christine, making it sound as if she’d never heard those three words put together in that particular order before.
“Oh yes,” said Tanya. “Jim—that’s my sister’s husband—was sitting on a chair in the lounge… now I come to think of it, he might have been handcuffed to it… anyway, he was there with his dick poking out of his trousers and I’d stripped all my clothes off and I was giving him like this lap dance, letting his cock get almost into me, only not quite, letting the head of it graze against my lips and getting it all sticky from me, and all the time the two of us could hear Alex and my sister up on the bed together.”
“Oh come on.” Even as she tried to laugh off the image which Tanya has placed in her head, Christine was acutely aware of how Tanya’s hands had moved from her calves and to the insides of her thighs. At some point, without even being aware of it, Christine had allowed her legs to move apart, and now Tanya’s delicate fingers were sweeping steadily over her skin, moving tantalisingly higher with each pass.
As if drawn by the movement, the focus of the camera shifted closer, and for several moments the screen was filled by an image of Christine’s blond topped vulva and the long slender fingers which were moving ever closer to it.
Desperate to bring this conversation back to some kind of normality, Christine said “I’ve met Jim and your sister. You don’t even like them that much. You certainly don’t like him.”
“Well, no, that’s true,” said Tanya. “But, like I say, Alex wanted to screw Carrie and he figured he would enjoy it more if he knew that I was downstairs getting Jim wound up.”
“And you went along with that? said Christine, incredulously. “You thought it was all right?”
“Of course I thought it was all right. Alex said it was all right, and he wanted me to think it was all right, so I did.”
“You’re saying that he can just give you instructions and you do whatever he says? Like he’s forcing you to do stuff and you just go along with it?”
Tanya frowned. She looked faintly puzzled, as if it had never occurred to her that there was anything strange about the situation. She said, “It’s not like he’s forcing me, exactly. I don’t feel pressurized or bullied or afraid It’s more like he tells me how he wants things to happen and I just decide that’s how I want them to happen as well. So I just do what he tells me.”
Christine was shocked. Appalled.
“How long has this been going on?”
“I’m not sure exactly. I mean, I’ve only known him six months or so, so I guess it can’t be longer than that, can it?”
“And how is he doing it? I mean, is it drugs or is he blackmailing you…?”
“Oh no,” said Tanya. For the first time since the conversation had taken this extraordinary turn Tanya sounded shocked. “It’s nothing like that. At least, I don’t think so. I’ve told you already, it’s not like he’s forcing me. It’s more like a key word.”
Christine stared at her friend. This had to be some kind of wind-up.
“A key word,” she says. She felt shocked and appalled. And strangely, sharply excited.
Tanya nodded, “That’s right. A key word. There’s this thing he says to me and I do what he tells me to do.”
Christine shook her head. This really was crazy. It was as if she had stumbled into one of those on-line fantasies about herself and Tanya. The whole idea was so obviously nonsensical that it had to be some kind of joke. The only question, really, was how far Tanya would be prepared to follow the logic of the joke, in pursuit of whatever punch line she was aiming for.
“And I suppose you don’t actually know what this key word is. He makes you hear it but you’re not allowed to remember it, or something.”
“Oh no,” says Tanya, “I know exactly what it is. It’s mouse trap.”
“Mouse trap?” says Christine. “Just those two words?”
“Just those two.”
“So if I were to say mouse trap to you it would turn you into my mindless zombie slave?”
Tanya laughed. “No, of course not. It’s not about being a slave. And it’s certainly not about being mindless. Have you ever looked at me and thought that I don’t have a will of my own? Of course you haven’t. I’m not some shambling bimbo. That’s not how it works. It’s not like you stop being able to think. It’s just that the things you want to think about, the things you want to do, are more conditional and what someone else tells you to do.”
She stared up at Christine from her position on the floor, her face as earnest and attentive as a Golden Retriever’s. Christine looked back into those dark intelligent eyes. Tanya did not look as if she were mindless. But nor did she look as if she were joking.
Christine flexed her feet against the soft while pile of the carpet. Water and mud were spread across her feet all the way from her ankles to her toes. She said, “So if I, having says the phrase mouse trap to you were to tell you that you want to lick the dirt off my feet.”
Tanya smirked. “I’d say that you were almost ridiculously old school and conventional.” She rolled herself over, lowering her mouth towards the tops of Christine’s right instep. “But then I’d admit that your feet do look as if they could do with a good clean.”
Before Christine could respond, Tanya had brought her mouth down and had started delicately lapping away at the mud.
“You like that, don’t you?’ breathed Tanya, breaking off from her ministrations for just long enough to murmur the words, before returning her attention to what she was doing. Her tongue moved steadily, one moment reaching down into the gaps between Christine’s toes, the next stretching to reach for the ball of her ankle.
Christine gave a little mew of pleasure. The fact is, she did like what Tanya was doing, liked it more than she would have expected. Partly it was just the sensual pleasure of feeling skin against skin. Christine had always liked having her feet touched, especially when, as now, they were cold and sore and aching. More than that, though, there was an undoubted sexual frisson which came from seeing her friend in this supplicant position.
“There’s mud on my legs as well,” she murmured. “I think you might like it if you were to clean that off too.”
“I think I might,” murmured Tanya, shifting her position to obtain better access to the insides of Christine’s calves. Her tongue moved insistently, working away at the water and the mud, moving up towards her knees. Christine sighed and sunk back in the chair, closing her eyes as her co-star’s mouth went higher still, lips moving lovingly along the curve of her thighs where her fingers had been earlier.
As Tanya’s tongue moved higher, as tantalising and persistent as her fingers had been earlier, Christine could feel her breathing growing rapid. She sighed in anticipation. Then, slowly, reluctantly, she pushed her friend’s head away. “Not that,” she breathed. In spite of what the internet might want to imagine, Christine did not have a thing for girls. She did not want to have a thing for girls. She especially did not want to have a thing for a girl whom she was going to have to see and work with on a daily basis.
She thought Tanya might be offended at being denied what she apparently wanted, but when Christine looked into those soulful eyes, she saw nothing but understanding and acceptance. And maybe a hint of amusement.
“You want me to do your boobs first, do you? Naughty girl.”
Before Christine could protest that this wasn’t what she had meant, Tanya had pushed herself upright, leaned forward and ran her tongue down Christine’s cleavage, and round in a long slow sweep which grazed the edge of her nipple. Christine gasped, and decided abruptly that letting Tanya do her boobs first might be exactly what she wanted. She had never known a mouth quite so cunning, so adept at delivering pleasure.
Tanya dragged her lips with slow precision over Christine’s breasts, shifting from one to the other, flicking the engorged nipples, grazing them with her teeth. Christine’s head pressed backwards against the edge of the chair, her mouth slackly open, breathing raggedly. As the pleasure grew, she became increasingly aware of the hot wetness in between her legs. She thrust her hands into Tanya’s short dark hair, but this time her intention was not to push her friend away, but to push her down, towards the point where all her thoughts and sensations had been focused.
But Tanya pulled away.
“Time to get into bed,” she said. Her formerly pale cheeks were pink with emotion, and her pupils were dilated. She tugged at Christine’s elbows, as if she were trying to pull her out of the chair.
“But I thought...” Christine protested feebly.
“You thought I was your slave, or something? Your mindless little sex doll? I told you already, that’s not how it works. You want me to pleasure you, don’t you? You want me to pleasure your cunt?”
Christine groaned out loud. She didn’t know how it had happened, but in the space of a few minutes she had gone from not being keen on the idea of girl-on-girl sex, to wanting the feel of Tanya’s mouth licking and lapping at her as badly as she had wanted anything in her life.
“Believe me, I know more than you than you know about yourself,” Tanya insisted. “I know exactly what you need. Get into bed with me and I’ll show you.”
With her head filled up with pink haze, Christine found no space in her thoughts for anything but acceptance. She flopped face onto the counterpane. Tanya was already there. With a mixture of soft words and eager gestures, the younger girl got the two of them into the position she desired: Christine on her hands and knees, face raised to stare past the dresser and out towards the windows.
Tanya rolled onto her back, then wriggled down the length of Christine’s body, pausing to lightly scrape the distended nipples, an act which provoked fresh moans of pleasure from Christine. In due course, Tanya ended up with her head between Christine’s knees. Her own knees were splayed out, thighs slightly elevated and heels resting lightly on the edge of the bed. Her neatly trimmed pussy was no more than fifteen inches from Christine’s face, close enough to make it obvious that Tanya really did enjoy being given instructions.
The sharp, musky smell of female arousal was clear in the air, and Christine could see a trickle of moisture spreading across the counterpane. Experimentally, she extended a finger and traced the line of Tanya’s lower lips. Tanya bucked and writhed beneath her, something Christine found almost indescribably exciting. For a moment she was tempted to lower her mouth and start licking at those sticky lower lips. But then she thought, No. This is for me. This is all about my pleasure.
“Do it to me,” she ordered. “Do it to me, Tanya. Do it to me now.”
“If that’s what you want,” her friend answered, raising her head and pressing her mouth hard to Christine’s hot, wet snatch. It was instantly apparent that this was not the first time Tanya had done this. The motions of her mouth were exact and exhilarating. Her tongue was a hot, hard nub, steadily, incessantly pushing the lips apart to reach the wetness within.
“Oh fuck,” gasped Christine. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”
And at that moment, she heard a voice.
“Since you seem to be enjoying yourself so much, and since I know that you want to enjoy it even more, you’ll want to do exactly what I tell you for at least the next few minutes.”
Given the circumstances, it seemed unlikely right then that Christine’s would have been capable of frowning, but the camera, recorded a certain confusion. Because the voice was obviously Tanya’s, but given what Tanya’s mouth was doing at that moment it seemed impossible for her to form even a coherent syllable, let alone whole sentences.
The voice continued, “You won’t want to speak and you won’t want to move. And you definitely won’t want to cry out for help.” Tanya’s voice paused for a moment, and it was only then that Christine realised that the words were coming to her from the little MP3 player on the bedside table. “Well, maybe that last bit isn’t entirely true. That bit about you not wanting to cry out for help. But you’ll act as if it is, won’t you? You’ll act that way for me. Feel free to gasp out with pleasure if you agree.”
As the recorded Tanya made this request, the real live Tanya’s fingers took Christine’s lips and firmly peeled them apart, and the tip of her tongue flicked out to caress the tip of her clitoris.
“Yes,” she screamed. “Oh fucking Jesus, yes.”
“Did you just agree?” the recorded Tanya continued. “I’m pretty sure you did, even though I obviously can’t see your right now, as I’m sure you’ve worked out for yourself. You have worked it out, haven’t you, Christine darling? But have you also worked out that we’ve been playing a little game with you?”
Oh yes, thought Christine. Oh yes, I’ve worked it out. But the thought was so distracted it was hardly even coherent. It would not have been strictly correct to say that Christine’s intellect had shut down, but the main thing holding her attention was the fact that Tanya had withdrawn her tongue from Christine’s clitoris and was moving it in naughty little circles around the sopping edge of her entrance.
“That trigger word I gave you,” the recording continued, the words only just audible over Christine’s ever more exited gasps. “Mouse trap. I didn’t tell you the entire truth about it, I’m afraid. It is a trigger word, obviously. But not for me. Well, not just for me. You see, (and I’m guessing that I might have mentioned this already) Alex likes to have sex. He likes to have an awful lot of sex with an awful lot of women. And ever since the day he saw us on the show, he’s known he wanted to have us both together.”
One of Tanya’s hands was fondling Christine’s breast. She took a nipple in between her finger and thumb and tugged it fiercely. The pain ran down into Christine’s cunt where it melted into another wave of pleasure. “Fucking bitch,” she gasped. But what she really meant was, Oh Christ, do that again.
Tanya’s voice purred onwards, every bit as relentless as her fingers. “And so he’s been doing a bit of work on you. Making some modifications. Turning you into something more fun, a little more malleable. His own transformation project if you like. Up until now we haven’t let you know about it, mostly because it’s been more fun to keep you in the dark, even if that does mean that you’ve been a little bit prissy and dull. But don’t you worry. All of that’s going to change. In just a moment I’m going to give you the first of three one-word instructions. And each time you hear one of these words, you’re going to do what it tells you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” groaned Christine. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ, yes.”
It was not entirely clear if her answer was a response to the words coming out of the speakers or the tongue working in between her legs. Maybe it was both.
The recording continued. “I hope you’re ready for this, Christine. Here is the first instruction. See.”
At the very same moment, Tanya’s tongue flickered over in a burst of frenzied movement over the swollen clitoris. Christine gasped in uncontrolled pleasure, even as her eyes were widening in shock. The space immediately around the bed was suddenly transformed.
It wasn’t like someone whipping away a curtain. It was more like that that moment, after you’ve spent ages hunting for a missing object that you realise it was there all along. The thing Christine had unaccountably failed to observe right until the moment the voice on the speakers instructed her to see, was that she and Tanya were not alone. Three men were present alongside them.
One was the sound recordist from the TV crew. He was holding the end of a boom microphone which extended over the bed so that the tip of the instrument was about a foot and a half above the top of Christine’s head. The second was Alex Rand. He was sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, the chair that Christine had not even known was there until the moment before. He had a drink in one hand and his legs were stretched out in front of him. The third man was Christine’s husband, Peter. He was stood right next to the bed, with a camera perched on his shoulder. The sound guy was fully clothed, his usual working outfit: black jeans and a dark polo neck jumper. Both Peter and Alex were naked. They sported massive erections.
Alex’s hard-on, rising from his carrotty patch of pubic hair, looked vigorous and springy. But her husband’s cock was so massively engorged it looked positively painful. Its tip was practically touching Christine’s face. The skin was pulled back from the glistening head. She could not remember having seen her husband looking so utterly aroused as he was at that moment. His body seemed locked into a rictus of desire.
“I know that this has probably come as a bit of a surprise,” said Alex over the top of his whisky glass. “But the truth is that right now you’re feeling far too much pleasure to want to shout, or to climb off the bed, or do anything expect what I tell you. Is that right? You can gasp in pleasure if you like.”
Christine was happy to oblige.
“Good,” said Alex. “I thought that would be the case.” He got up from his chair and walked over to the bed, picking up the iPod and thumbing it into silence.
“I’ think I’ll do the talking for the next few minutes,” he continued. “There’s probably just about enough of your brain still working for you to figure out the predicament you’re in, but I’m going to tell you about it anyway, mainly because I like the sound of my own voice.”
Alex wasn’t joking. Explaining to a new participant in his games exactly what had happened to her was one of his favourite parts of the whole process. He got almost as much satisfaction from it as he did from throwing cold, muddy buckets of water over a woman while making her think it was raining.
“Oh, and Tanya, my sweet, since Christine is probably going to find her emotions a bit out of control I want you to take charge of them. I want you to keep her on the edge but I don’t want to let her tip over it. Do you think you can manage that for me?”
Tanya wriggled herself around a little on the bed, adjusting the position of her hands and momentarily drawing her mouth away from Christine’s cunt. She extended her tongue and ran the tip of it all the way along the line of the soft wet skin, taking care to let it not quite touch the points of maximum pleasure.
Christine groaned, long and low, trying to shift her hips to bring Tanya’s mouth back to the point she most wanted it to be, but Tanya just shifted in time with Christine’s movements. Her tongue moved again and again, circling, sidling inwards, reaching towards the edge of the clitoris then deliberately pulling away.
“As Tanya has already explained, pretty much from the moment I first saw you I thought that it would be good to get you naked and fuck you. When I learned that you were married, I thought it was only right that your husband should be involved as well. So we had a chat. Isn’t that right Peter? Turned out that he had a thing for my girlfriend, so it seemed as if an exchange of favours was in order.
“We talked about lots of things, and he explained to me that there were several sexual experiences you’d never had and were disappointingly reluctant to try. We both agreed your horizons needed broadening.”
Christine knew she ought to be upset. She ought to be angry. But it was hard to feel anything over the ever increasing waves of pleasure which Tanya was generating.
Tanya’s legs were wide apart, her hips undulating steadily, thrusting her pelvis upwards as if to receive the strokes of an invisible cock. Christine could smell the sharp, acrid scent of arousal, and wondered if she should do something to relieve the passion which Tanya was so obviously feeling.
But no. She wasn’t going to do it. That wasn’t her. It wasn’t what she did. With another woman’s tongue moving assiduously between her vaginal lips it seemed almost absurd to claim, even to herself that she wasn’t into girls, but Christine did insist it all the same. She was pretty damn sure that that could change in a moment if Alex decided that he felt like changing it, but so long as he didn’t Christine felt that she could still hold on to a touch of her own autonomy. She could still make choices. And she chose to resist the charms of Tanya’s open pussy as it rose and fell in mute supplication just a handful of inches from her face.
Alex was still talking. He had put down the iPod and positioned himself closer to the edge of the bed now and placed his hands on the curve of Christine’s buttocks. He stroked them absent-mindedly while gazing down to observe the intimate details of his wife’s mouth doing its work. The camera came in close to catch it all: his hands, his stiff, expectant cock, Tanya’s mouth on Christine’s dripping cunt.
“The first thing Peter felt, felt quite strongly in fact, was that you weren’t nearly enthusiastic enough about the concept of oral sex.” With a barely suppressed chuckle, Alex remarked. “I’ve had a lot of these conversations over the past few years, and you’d be amazed how many men feel the same way about their wives and girlfriends. Doesn’t matter how good looking the girl is, how strong the rest of the relationship is, nothing’s quite right unless she’s addicted to the taste of come and wants to have cock in her mouth twenty four hours a day. Strange thing to get so obsessed about, don’t you think? But fortunately quite easy to arrange. As you are about to discover.”
As I’m about…?
But even as the thought was forming, Christine discovered exactly what Alex meant. As she stared at Peter’s erection, she felt her mouth began to water. Her body, already quivering from Tanya’s attentions was filled with an intense and aching need. She wanted it, that stiff and throbbing length of meat. She wanted to run her tongue all over it, to smother it with pleasure, to feel it spit and splatter and coat the inside of her mouth with salty fluid.
In spite of Alex’s instruction not to move, the wave of longing which swept through her was too powerful to resist. Not even the need to maintain the contact between her pussy and Tanya’s beautiful mouth was enough to prevent her from lunging forward, sweeping her tongue across the quivering cock head.
God it tasted good. More than that. It tasted incredible. This must be the way an addict felt, she thought, in that first, sweet instant as their drug hits home. She couldn’t get enough of it. She couldn’t get enough of it into her mouth.
The camera was watching, recording, documenting everything. Zooming in on Christine’s face, her eyes unfocused with delight, and her head bobbing relentlessly. Then zooming out to take in the whole panoply: the girls on the bed and the two naked men, one of them still completely in control, the other groaning in incipient ecstasy as Christine’s mouth moved with frantic eagerness, lips and tongue working in pursuit of pleasure.
Alex watched for a moment or two, giving the camera the chance to record the moment for posterity. Then he said, with just a hint of displeasure in his voice. “I’m sure I said that you didn’t want to move for the moment.”
And he was right. She didn’t. In spite of her almost physical hunger, her need to have her husband’s cock against the length of her tongue, she didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to do anything that Alex did not tell her to do. She pulled away. In spite of her own need. In spite of her husband’s groan of frustrated desire. When Alex spoke again she could tell from his voice that he was grinning that familiar, all-knowing grin.
“What’s the matter, Peter? You sound a little distressed. Feeling the need for relief, are you?”
Peter’s hips bucked savagely, trying to close the distance between the tip of cock and his wife’s warm, welcoming mouth. He couldn’t quite make it.
“Not yet,” said Alex sternly. “Not just yet. Not for any of you. Not until I’m ready. You see, once I’d agreed to help your husband by making a few adjustments to your mental horizons I felt that I needed something in return. And when he told me about something else you had always been unwilling to do I knew exactly what that payment was going to be. Quite a treat really. You don’t often get to meet a virgin in this day and age. You do understand what I’m talking about, don’t you Christine?”
Christine knew. Of course she did. She could hardly help knowing it. It had been the one aspect of their sex life that she and Peter had really disagreed about, batting it back and forth until they had come to what, she now realised, had always been a grudging acquiescence on his part. Even without that knowledge she’d have been pretty much clued in. The feel of Alex’s cock head, now pressed right up against the crack of her bottom would have been an unavoidable hint.
She whimpered. And in spite of the strength of the hold that his words, his desires, had laid on her mind, she felt the stirrings of refusal within her.
“No,” she whispered. And then more strongly, “No.”
“No?” repeated Alex. Christine had been afraid that he would be angry, but he didn’t sound it. When she glanced up to see his face in the mirror he didn’t look it either. “Do you not like the idea of having your back passage violated?”
This time, Christine just shook her head.
“And why would would that be, exactly?”
“You’re too big,” Christine insisted. “I don’t… I couldn’t… It would be too…”
“Too tight?” suggested Alex. Unaccountably, his gaze flicked over to the window sill and the row of metal statues. “I think you under estimate yourself. In fact, I know you do.” He reached for the iPod again. “Time for another instruction.”
He depressed the play button and Tanya’s recorded voice pronounced a single word.
“Remember.”
And she did. It was like turning a page in a forgotten photo album. Suddenly everything was there in absolute perfect clarity. She was lying on her back in her hotel bed. She was naked and rolled into a ball with her knees pulled up to her chin. The sounds of Alex and Tanya’s lovemaking filled the air around her, and for the first time she realised that the reason the noises had been so loud these last few weeks was not because the hotel walls had become unaccountably thin but because someone had set up a microphone in Tanya’s room and was relaying everything that happened there through to the speakers on Christine’s wall.
But that was not the main thing Christine recalled. The thing which filled her mind to the exclusion of just about everything else was the awareness that she was using her own hands to push the head of one of those metal statues past the ring of her rectum. The sounds of her own gasps as the muscle slowly and reluctantly eased were a counterpoint to Tanya’s filthy excitement.
“You see,” said Alex, his voice in the present drawing her out of her memories. “I think you’ll find you can take more than you think. So long as you’ve been good with your practising. I think it’s time to find out if you have. Don’t you?”
As he posed the question, he pressed play on the iPod for the final time, and Tanya’s voice gave Christine her final instruction.
“Accept.”
And she did. She accepted everything.
As he pushed his cock head into Christine’s arse, Alex grunted with satisfaction. And once he had got himself settled to his liking and began to rock back and forward with hard, insistent jabs, he managed to gasp out, “I want you to know, Peter wanted this to happen. He wanted me to do this to you. He wanted to watch it happen.”
Christine’s mouth fell open, whether from the shock of Alex’s words or from the sensations of his cock moving inside her it would have been impossible to say. And in that instant, her husband completely and entirely lost control, ejaculating furiously and insatiably.
Strands of come splattered Tanya’s belly. They flickered onto Christine’s face. Her tongue reached out to catch them, and as the first sweet, salty droplets danced across her tongue she felt orgasm building inside her. The muscles of her invaded arse tightened ferociously, provoking a gasp and a series of frantic jerks from her deeply embedded lover. As her orgasm built and built, refusing to let go, refusing to come to an end, Christine gave into the demands of her own body and began to frantically lick the droplets of her husband’s come from off the cunt of her co-star.
She couldn’t stop. None of them could. Tanya’s muff was forcing itself against her mouth, even as the length of her tongue was flickering passionately over Christine’s clit. The air in the room was filled with flesh-muffled groans of ecstasy and the monumental creaking of the bed.
That was the end of the video, but not the end of the evening. Later, after things had calmed down, and the camera man and his camera had both been sent away, Alex ordered drinks from downstairs. Christine was not exactly surprised when the girl who brought them up turned out to be the red-headed waitress that Tanya had talked about earlier, still less when Alex suggested that the waitress should remove her uniform while she and Tanya lay on the bed and gently played with each other. She was more than a bit resentful, though, when Alex had the girl kneel down in front of himself and Peter and go to work with her mouth. It seemed as if her insistent hunger for cock was not going away any time soon, and the sight of the two stiff pricks rising from their owner’s laps as the obliging red head took first one and then the other in her mouth had quickly driven her to distraction. Perhaps appreciating this, Alex allowed Christine and the waitress to swap places, and as Christine settled down to task of milking the two men as completely and thoroughly as she could, she listened to the sounds of love-making from the bed behind her, and the last of the daylight faded from the sky outside, and the rain came down.