Decadence Read online

  My fingers were in a place where I knew so many men had wanted to invade before I had. I was feeling what they’d wanted to feel. I was in a special place that I knew not many had been invited before.

  I kissed her again. Hope she got that it wasn’t just lust I was kissing her for, but gratitude. I was grateful for the invitation. And with the amount of juices she was producing, she was grateful for my appearance.

  “Harder,” she said the word to me in her sweet voice, but that word had come out forcefully.

  She was wet. She needed to be fucked. She needed to cum.

  I stopped playing nice. I stopped acting like the place where I was stroking was delicate just because of the way her face looked. The little hole I was working with my fingers stretched and accommodated for a reason; she was pleading with me to go harder for a reason. She could take it.

  I stopped going slow. Sped up the pace. Moved my fingers in and out so fast I could hear her juices lapping up in my hand. My hands were soaking. Her wetness was covering my palm as if I’d dipped it in some kind of liquid and had held it there.

  Ginuwine finished up his song and gave way to Kelly Rowland. Her lyrics were all about motivation. Motivation, stimulation, reciprocation. That was the world of rules we were abiding by in the back of a sleek black almost brand new BMW that belonged to none of us, but was ours all the same. Possession is nine tenths of the law, after all.

  That made Candice mine. Or maybe I was hers since her tight little kitty cat was owning my fingers, those soft strong walls enclosed around two of my digits, pulling me in deeper one second, trying to push me out the next.

  Frustrating, stimulating, intoxicating.

  That’s what sex is. That’s what passion is. That’s what we were all about.

  I went in as deep as I could. Put another finger insider her, a third one. Felt her struggle to make room for me, felt her little hole get bigger, but barely.

  Candice had her back against the backseat, her head thrown back, her eyes rolling in the back of her head, her mouth open as she screamed and breathed heavily and moaned a beautiful song of ecstasy as her twin tits bounced, as my thrusts became harder, went deeper, as I pushed those three of my fingers inside her up to my knuckles over and over again.

  I could feel how serious my face was as I worked her. Her top was still on her even though it had been pulled down and then slid the rest of the way to her mid section. Those tits of hers. They were bouncing. I wanted to suck them again. I wanted them in my mouth. So fat and juicy, they were.

  Her legs were spread across the seat as I fucked her with my fingers even harder than Chris had finger fucked me not too long ago in the private parking garage right outside of Oasis.

  Then she started riding my fingers as if my hand were a cock.

  She needed to be punished for it, and I was a punisher. She had no idea.

  Didn’t matter if it seemed her little sweet spot had just barely taken three of my fingers. I took those out, curled them all around one another, added my pinky finger to the mix and went back inside of her. I was nearly fisting her, though the fingers inside of her could barely fit. She stopped slamming against me then, begged for mercy. I was in a merciful mood.

  I went back to two fingers and started stroking her fast, but not as vicious as before. She would see how vicious I could be later. All in due time.

  Dip it low, bring it up slow, move it all around…

  Christina Milian had taken over the car, her voice over a beat filled with bass and East Asian influence trying to tell us what we should do, but I wasn’t about to take all of her advice. I wasn’t going to take it slow. Candice would’ve gone nuts if I decided to take it slow at this point.

  I found her g-spot; the same way Chris had found mine earlier. I wanted her to cum the same way I’d cum. Wanted her to feel the same way I’d felt.

  I went to work.

  I found that spot and stayed on it. I rubbed that extra smooth part of her at the top of the inside of her sweetness as she gripped my wrist with one hand and pulled at her own hair with her other. She looked sexy losing her mind. She looked hot as she neared her orgasm. No ugly faces over here, just beautiful faces contorted in pleasure, begging for satisfaction.

  “What…are…you…doing…to…me?” She could barely say the words.

  “You want me to stop?” I asked her, and slowed down, but only a bit, just enough to tease her, send her into a panic.

  “If you stop I’ll kill you.” I only laughed.

  Ooooooooooo I can’t wait to get next to you. Ohhhhhhhh I just can’t leave you alone…

  Seven was killing it on that bass as Ashanti sang her heart out. That beat was sick. Ashanti’s lyrics complemented it well. I’d always liked that song. It was perfect for what I was doing. It was the perfect rhythm to go with how I was handling Candice.

  Boy you got me doing things that I would never do…

  I already know that by the time I release my fingers from the chokehold they were in at the moment, they’re going to be wrinkled as if I’d done a few laps in a pool. Our Candi girl is drenched. If I’d had my mouth anywhere down there it probably would’ve gotten filled.

  No time for slow jams. I needed what was playing. I needed that hard hitting tune that made you sit up, made your ears perk.

  I was killing her kitty cat.

  Then I felt it as her breathing sped up. I felt those walls start moving like they never had before.

  She screamed. That already tight part of her tightened further. Tightened and hugged my fingers. No, not hugged, started doing their little dance around my fingers. I felt some more of her juices rain down over my hand.

  I felt her cum. Felt her cum all over my hand. Saw how good what I’d just done to her had felt. Even if she was never mine again, she’d been mine right then.

  I didn’t want to take my eyes off of her, but I peered up and looked in Chris’s direction.

  I hadn’t even realized when we’d gotten to the condo. I hadn’t realized he’d parked. I hadn’t realized how captivated he’d been by what we were doing until then.

  We were all exchanging looks at one another, and for the first time, I couldn’t read Chris. I wasn’t the only one in new territory apparently.

  Candice had fallen to the side of the backseat. She’d just cum. Was spent. Looked tired and gorgeous. She was practically naked. Her legs still open, the outside of her sweet spot glistening.

  I leaned down. Kissed her sweet face. Then I said with a smile on my face, “Don’t even think I’m through with you yet.”

  ***

  Candice slipped her underwear and clothes back on and the three of us made our way upstairs. Chris made his way beside Candice and she ended up between us.

  I held hands with her. Kissed her, gave her quick pecks every now and again, as Chris struck up some small talk.

  It all went back to the rules, and there were four main ones: 1) Keep the questions to a minimum; 2) Make her feel comfortable (ease into anything intimate/sexual); 3) Foreplay over Fucking; Passion over the Pursuit of Orgasm; 4) Go with the flow.

  What happened in the back of the BMW had never happened before. It had always been kissing, at the most, a little touching here and there, but the ride back to the condo had always been reserved for light conversation. Keep the questions to a minimum and let her talk. If you ask her about herself, keep it on the surface, don’t get too invasive, lest you get the invasiveness turned around on you, and trust me, you don’t want that.

  A secondary rule under the first was to compliment her, but don’t be corny or creepy with whatever you say.

  I mentally assessed what we knew about Candice besides the name she’d give us. She was actually five feet two inches tall; I’d asked her as I helped her put her clothes back on in the car. She’d kept her heels on the entire time and they were a pair of cute four inch heels she told me she got from Petit Peton. I wondered if they were actually hers or if she was borrowing them from a friend or a sister. E
ither way, the fact that she had chosen to wear them told me she had good taste.

  The perfume she wore that I couldn’t seem to get enough of on her was a brand by Clinique, one she’d been wearing for years.

  What else could I say besides her kisses tasted of strawberries and she smelled like a June sunset ought to smell when the day hadn’t gotten too hot? She had a hood piercing, that’s what I could add to the list. I’d felt that little ball in the back of the Beemer. She had a little freak in her, but I could’ve told anyone that, piercing or not.

  Also, there were a couple of tats on her hip that dipped down more into her pelvic area. Chinese characters were what she’d had inked on her body, symbols for virtues: Love, hope, and peace. Plenty of people had Chinese characters tatted on their skin and had no idea what they meant or how to read Chinese characters at all before they got to the tattoo parlor, but if she did know what she’d put on her body she sounded like an optimist, someone who saw the glass half full, who was seeing the world as a place with endless possibilities, a person whose dreams hadn’t been completely killed off yet.

  An optimist’s outlook suited what I’d seen from her so far: Constantly smiling, wearing bright happy colors, had a good attitude.

  Rule number one was about being observant, getting to know your prey, feeling out the object of your desire.

  Then there was the third secondary rule under the first one: Talk to her like a friend, not a conquest or a potential notch on your bedpost. If you talked to her like a common whore on the way to your place, I can guarantee you she’ll be regretting meeting you before you two ever reach the front door of your destination. If she’s uncomfortable, her mind isn’t going to be as open; she’s not going to be one hundred percent willing to go on that journey of exacting maximum pleasure and trying any and everything with you.

  The whole idea is to get her comfortable and keep her that way, which is what rule number two is all about, which I’d already partially broken in the car. The secondary rules under that one are the only thing saving me from having obliterated one of our top rules: A) Cut the predatory stares and behavior and be subtle and seductive; B) Get her in the mood.

  Maybe what happened in the backseat of the car wasn’t supposed to have happened the way it had, but I didn’t regret it. I could still smell her on me and it was a nice scent, one I wouldn’t be too quick to wash away.

  As far as rule number three goes, Chris and I have our own version of foreplay that didn’t exactly entail romance, but foreplay is foreplay and you adjust it to yourself and your partner(s).

  Foreplay is about mental stimulation more so than physical stimulation. That hadn’t been foreplay in the back of the Beemer that had merely been a preview.

  The only secondary rule under number three were words to live by, a statement that I knew to be true: Most women have a Girls Gone Wild side to them; it’s just up to their partner(s) to help them release it.

  That was a huge part of the problem with a lot of people in committed relationships with lousy sex lives. They got comfortable with each other and stopped trying to impress one another in bed. They got vanilla and no longer cared about the other spices since they’d snagged the big prize--the ring, the wedding, the house, the title. They got boring.

  Then again, not everyone had high sex drives to begin with and you couldn’t fault anyone for that. A lot of people played at being vixens and sexual dynamos, but really sex was just an act to them, not an experience. Sex wasn’t a feast of flavors to be enjoyed for them, but just something to do every now and again when they found themselves horny. They came and they were happy.

  If all I needed was to cum I would’ve been satisfied with what Chris had given me earlier at Oasis.

  I needed more.

  You couldn’t expect me to be happy and satisfied if you gave me water when what I really wanted was chocolate.

  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.