Decadence (6 page)

I’d overheard most of the conversation
between Candice and Chris on our way up to the condo. Her
twenty-first birthday had been the weekend before, but her friends
in this part of the city had missed her and had wanted to take her
out for a little belated birthday club hopping. Oasis had been
their first stop and she’d had no problem ditching them. She didn’t
sound mean relaying the details, just like a girl having fun, a
girl who hadn’t done anything too crazy to get herself into enough
drama where she found smiling nearly impossible. She was younger
than me, less experienced. She was carefree. I missed those
days.

She asked us how old we were. Another
question neither of us minded answering honestly. Chris told her he
was twenty-nine. I told her I was twenty-eight. I think most days
we both felt older than we really were, but not tonight. My burdens
felt like they were being lifted from my shoulders bit by bit, the
closer we made it to the bedroom.

She was looking around the condo admiringly,
not knowing the full details behind this wonderful space
overlooking the lights of the city. She asked who decorated it and
I told her it had been me.

The condo was all modern, clean line style,
white and gray being the main colors in the rooms up front with
black and white framed photo art on the walls. Everything always
looked crisp and pristine in this place, perfect.

I noticed her noticing the stripper pole in
the middle of the living room. A little smile widened across her
face, but she didn’t mention it. I think she got the impression
that not a lot of lounging around and TV watching took place in
this space.

Chris slipped into the kitchen and came back
with a bottle and some glasses. Poured a little in each glass. We
made a toast.

I put my glass down. Stepped over to Candice,
kissed her, tongued her good, nice and slow, nice and deep.

I moved my face away from hers, let Chris
take his turn.

He covered her mouth with his, and I saw
their tongues maneuvering over and around and against one another.
They made sloppy kissing sounds that were making me hot.

She was melting into him. Her eyes were
closed. He pulled away from her and came over to me, let me taste
what they both tasted like combined.

Chris and I moved apart and looked at Candice
who stood only inches away from us, watching us, intrigued by what
we were doing.

I told her, “We share.”

“I get that.”

“I don’t think you do,” I started explaining.
“It’s me and him and then there’s you.” She raised an eyebrow. I
continued. “You either agree to do what we say, to do this with us,
or you walk out that door right now, no harm, no foul, we take you
back to the club, to your car, to your friends. No hurt
feelings.”

“I’m here because I want to be here.”

I gave Chris a look. I wasn’t sure she was
getting it. I needed to drive the point home.

“We will never force you to do anything you
don’t want to do. We won’t hurt you…on purpose. If you ever feel
uncomfortable, let one or both of us know. We’re not mind readers;
you have to tell us what you’re feeling.” I stepped closer to her,
ran my fingers through her hair, looked into her eyes. “This is
about pleasure. Yours and ours. But we’re in charge. You do as we
say,” I stepped closer to her, got in her face, put my hand under
her chin, made her look into my eyes. I kissed her sensually, then
took my mouth and tongue away from hers. Spoke my words forcefully
when I asked, “Will you serve Christopher? Will you do whatever he
says without question? Are you willing to please him? Please
me?”

She nodded.

“Good,” I said with a smile on my face just
as Chris fastened the handcuffs on her wrists.

***

Stripped of her clothes and underwear,
everything except her shoes, Candice stands with her wrists cuffed,
her hands behind her back looking docile and scared. Just a little.
Just enough.

I get in her face again, put her chin in my
palm, tilt her eyes to meet mine and ask her, “You want us to fuck
you?”

She nods.

I put my hand between her thighs that she
parted the way Chris told her to and I find her slit, part her
lips, rub that area nice and gentle before I ease my palm back and
slap her sweet spot, feel her wetness, hear her give a little yelp.
I rub her again, smack her opening twice and get close to her ear
to give her a warning, “Speak when you are spoken to. Answer my
questions with words. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” she says, averting her eyes.

I grab her face, turn it towards me.

“You will look at me. Directly. Do you
understand me?”

“Yes,” she answers and nods.

“Both of you,” Chris’s voice rings out. “Go
to the room. Now.”

Authoritative. Masculine. He was the boss,
both our dominant. We did what we were told. We were playing our
parts. We were characters in a game, only this game was real. In
our game Chris was the dominant; I was the villainess. People who
didn’t know any better would be easily confused by our different
titles, more than likely believing we were the same characters, but
hey couldn’t have been more wrong.

A dominant wasn’t automatically a villain; a
dominant could be if they wanted to be, but to assume they were
would be a mistake. A dominant controls the situation. The
situation is never meant to get out of the dominant’s hands. A
dominant’s subject or subjects obeyed him at all times, whatever he
wants, a subject is meant to do. If a dominant can’t control his
submissive he is no longer the dominant; if the submissive resist
the dominant’s control, they are not his submissive, the game is
over, there is a flaw in the plan, and you need to figure out what
went wrong before you attempt it again.

Chris and I, however, had a one hundred
percent success rate. He was in control and I was his partner and
we always had willing participants.

I played the role of the Villainess, the evil
vixen, and since I was the evil mastermind who both suggested and
orchestrated these things in the first place he said it seemed only
right that I exact justice on his behalf. He gave orders, I
followed them, and I made sure they were followed.

Candice and I entered the den of decadence,
the master bedroom, at the end of the hallway. Candice looked
around the room admiringly. I must say, it is beautiful. I’d
ditched those neutral tones I’d used in the front rooms and went
with mainly black and red when it came to the master bedroom. The
walls were painted in black, red, and white. There were curving
rivulets of black that looked like ribbon alongside interwoven
bursts of red that looked like rose petals bursting form knotted
curvatures of the black ribbon. The bed was custom built, the
mattress specially made, and it took up most of the space in the
room. It was huge and all feathers and satin, silk and Egyptian
cotton, big fluffy pillows and beauty, all sex and sexy.

Music was already playing over the sound
system. The music was a soundtrack of songs we’d put together
ourselves for situations especially such as these. There were
recording devices, a sixty inch plasma flat screen mounted on the
wall. We were always ready to either put on a show or watch one.
There was a mirrored ceiling along with a mirrored wall, but I’d
gone the extra mile to make sure none of it came across as tacky or
made anyone feel like they were spending the night in a seedy
honeymoon suite in some skeevy hotel out in the middle of
nowhere.

The only thing provocative out in the open
was the stripper pole in the far corner of the room, everything
else was hidden. Eighteen inch double jelly dong, glass dildos,
more handcuffs, scarves, the closet filled with costumes meant for
more role playing, lube, butt plugs, body chocolate, ball gags, a
body sling, a riding crop--all of those things in other places,
waiting to be used later. They were things I’d been collecting and
using before and after my marriage. Things that represented the
other side of me that Scott knew nothing about.

“Get on the bed,” Chris tells her, turning
her attention back to the task at hand. “On all fours. Now.”

Candice does as she’s told. I’m watching her,
waiting for her to disobey so I can punish her. But she’s doing
exactly as she’d been told. That doesn’t stop me from watching her
every move.

“Leila,” Chris calls my name roughly and my
head snaps in his direction.

“Yes?”

“Undress me.”

I move quickly across the room, unbutton his
jeans, unzip them, pull them down until they’re at his ankles. He
steps out of them smoothly.

I notice the bulge in front of his black
Calvin Kleins and pull them down, exposing his hardness. He’s not
just semi-hard, he’s rock solid, and it takes a lot to get him
where he is right now.

I look up at him. His expression is cold and
stony.

He is not Chris.

He is Christopher.

He’s a master and we are his servants; his
pleasure boxes, there to please him.

“Get off your knees, it’s time for a taste
test,” he says to me.

I do as I’m told and move over toward Candice
on the bed who is propped up on her knees, her head sideways on the
bed, her face contorted in confusion and impatience. But she’s
gotten the hand of the game enough to know not to ask what’s next.
She’s agreed to participate, to take whatever we dish out. I’m just
waiting for her to slip up.

Chris walks over to her, his thick ten inch
cock stretched out in front of him like a weapon, a sword made of
flesh, powerful enough to do plenty of damage. I know. I’ve felt
what it’s capable of.

Chris leans down and pulls her closer to the
edge of the bed towards him. He squats and is face to face with her
slit. Her sticks out his tongue and drags it from her clit up to
her opening and gently parts his way agonizingly slow as he makes
his way inside her.

She moans.

I don’t hesitate to spank her.

“Who told you that you could make any noise?”
I chastise her, the butt cheek I smack is reddening; I can feel the
sting of where I slapped it on the palm of my own hand.

She doesn’t make anymore noise even though I
know that what Chris is doing to her feels almost too good because
it’s been done to me countless times.

He moves his tongue in and
out of her, does tricks with that little appendage of his, swirls
it around, bends it, makes it stiffen and then softens it
again.

I see him dragging it, wiggling it, all over
her folds, inside and out. He sucks her clit and she shuts her eyes
and makes faces that look like she’s in pain, but I know that what
she’s feeling is really pleasure. She has to bite her lip to keep
from crying out, screaming, telling him she wants more, that she
wants it harder. She’s a trooper, she’s squirming, but Chris is
holding onto her tight.

He uses both his hands, spreads her lips as
wide as he can, puts his mouth up to her bright pink inner walls
and starts sucking her hard and good.

She can’t help but scream out.

I know how it feels.

And I’m jealous.

She’s in ecstasy. She feels like she’s going
to explode from the inside out.

Instead of spanking her I
get on the bed and kiss her deep as Chris continues to suck her
folds, her walls, her clit, he looks like he can’t get enough of
her.

Then he comes up for air, licking his
lips.

He calls for me.

I know what’s next.

“Taste her,” he commands. “She tastes so
fucking good. Just as good as she looks.”

I decide to see for myself, especially since
I’ve wanted to see all night. I only got a tiny taste of what she
was putting out in the Beemer. Now I get to not just sample, but
feast.

She’s dripping wet and I can’t tell how much
of it’s her and how much is from Chris’s mouth. I get to see how
the two of them taste mixed together once again.

She’s so soft, so hot, so wet.

I ease my tongue inside of her; let her
folds, her lips, close around it. She does taste good. So soft. I
suck her clit, give it a few little nibbles, lick around her lips
and then go back inside her. Chris doesn’t give me much time before
he comes back and says a little too playfully for a dominant, “Stop
being greedy. Give me some more.”

He moves in and starts sucking her again. He
moves his mouth over that part of her in the same way that he
kisses. With passion, as if he’d live inside of her if he
could.

Then we go at it together. Our lips and
tongues collide as we lick and suck her everywhere, as she
struggles to maintain poise, but I can tell that’s a battle she’s
losing by the second.

Abruptly Chris stands up, his hard on
throbbing, his dick jumping with a pulse of its own. The head is
swollen and precum comes out, a few drops drip onto the floor. He
grabs his shaft, rubs his rod slow and easy, tilts his head back,
runs his hand over his head and shuts his eyes. I watch as he puts
his completely exposed cock up against her slit. I watch as he lets
a few drops of his semen drip onto her lips, mix with her juices; I
watch as he eases that huge member of his inside her slowly. Watch
as he puts he pushes his semen that no longer produces babies
anymore disappear inside her. I watch that part of her stretch,
accommodate him. That kitty of hers goes form tiny to welcoming a
cock that looks nearly as big as her slim little arm. He eases in
and out. Doesn’t go fast.

I’m shocked. He never does that. Ever. We’re
always safe.

He’s breaking rules.

We both are.

I can’t help but wonder what the hell is
happening to us. What the hell is this girl doing to us?

He eases out of her completely. He exhales
the way a thirsty man does after he’s been working all day under a
hot summer sun and he just got a nice long swig of something icy
cold and liquid.