Lucky Number

AT THE FAR END of the hotel lobby was a mirrored wall, and Charlotte watched herself and her two companions as they checked in at Reception, seeing what the staff and guests must be seeing. She tried it through their eyes – two sharp-suited older men and a rumpled girl, flushed and sticky and grimy from the train and cab rides that had brought her here. What conclusions could be drawn?

Surely only the right one. The reflection of the senior man – she still did not know their names, though they knew hers – bent to sign something on the desk. The receptionist beamed brightly and glanced at her, curious. She knew. Charlotte sought some comfort in the junior man’s eyes and found it; there was kindness as well as command and tension in those wells of blue.

‘Enjoy your stay,’ the receptionist said, and to Charlotte the words seemed to drip with arch knowingness. The senior man took the keycard from her.

‘I’m sure we will,’ he said.

In the mirror, Charlotte saw the senior man turn to her and, without any form of by-your-leave, place a hand on her bottom, nudging her forward towards the lifts. At the same time, the other man slung his arm low around her waist, and that was how the trio approached the mirror, their images growing larger and more distinct with every step; the girl with the sheer blouse and rucked skirt flanked by the immaculate men.

She could see the faces of the passers-by, see the questions and assumptions behind the eyebrows and forehead creases.

And so, it seemed, could her companions.

‘They all know what you’re here for,’ said the senior man, once the lift doors had swallowed them, spiriting them away from the safety of the open space. His hand was already under her skirt, taking possession of the knicker-free expanse beneath. ‘Don’t they, Bryant?’

‘Oh yes.’ Bryant – a name! – had his lips against her neck, then the tip of his tongue traced an upwards path to the hollow beneath her ear. ‘Pretty obvious, I’d say. You’re here to get fucked.’

‘And not just by one man, you greedy little slut.’ The senior man’s hand shadowed her clitoris, his palm flat between her thighs. ‘They know you’re opening your legs for both of us, maybe one at a time, maybe both together.’

‘Oh, yes, they know all about you, Charlotte.’ Bryant undid the top button of her blouse and slipped a hand inside.

The lift bell chimed and the doors slid open.

‘Please excuse us,’ murmured the senior man to the startled but interested-looking pair of guests waiting on the landing, then Charlotte was escorted, semi-dressed, with a different man’s hand on each bare bum cheek, up the corridor to the room.

‘She will need cleaning up,’ said the senior man dispassionately, throwing off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. ‘Bryant, why don’t you bathe her? I’ll get things set up in here.’

Bryant took Charlotte’s hand and led her through to the marble ensuite, drawing her into him and kissing her gently but thoroughly once the door was closed and the taps running.

‘I know we said you weren’t to speak unless spoken to,’ he said, deftly unbuttoning the rest of her limp and crumpled silk blouse and letting it float down to the tiles. ‘But when you’re in here with me, the rule is suspended. If there’s anything you’d like to ask, just say the word.’

‘What’s his name?’ whispered Charlotte, still not sure she should be framing the unbidden question. ‘Do you know him?’

Bryant chuckled, spinning Charlotte around to unzip her skirt. ‘Yes, I know him. His name is Collins. But you can call him Master. And don’t forget it.’

‘Oh, no, I don’t intend to. I wouldn’t want to cross him.’ Charlotte grinned shyly at Bryant, bending down to peel her sticky, heat-drenched hold-ups down her legs. Ah, the relief of bare skin in an air-conditioned room … though the steam was starting to build up as the giant tub filled with fragrant bubbles.

‘He isn’t as frightening as he seems,’ whispered Bryant. ‘But don’t let him know I told you that. You asked for a distant, cold man and he can play the role to a T.’

Charlotte let Bryant unclip her bra and leaned against him for a while, feeling his crisp white shirt on her back, letting him cup and caress her breasts while they waited for the bath to be ready. ‘What did you ask for?’ she asked.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘The Number. What did you ask for when you contacted them? When you filled in the form, did you do it together? Did you both ask for a submissive female to take to a hotel and fuck? Or did the number hook you up with each other as well as with me?’

‘Ah … well … I’m not sure I can tell you.’ Bryant was hesitant and his fingers pinched at her nipples a little more tightly than was comfortable. ‘We aren’t meant to talk about the Number.’

He let her go and turned off the taps, contemplating the tower of fluffy bubbles on the water’s surface.

‘If I let you into a secret, Charlotte, do you promise not to tell?’

Charlotte, standing naked on the bathmat, nodded.

‘We are the number. Collins and I. We set it up. It’s one of our businesses. But we have never actually used the service until today.’


‘Really. Truth be told, we have been waiting a long time for a girl like you to come along.’ Bryant smiled. ‘And now you’re here. Come on. You must be feeling a bit seedy after your long journey. Let’s clean you up.’

Charlotte felt the accumulated dirt and dust loosen and lift in the water’s warm embrace. She leaned back and sighed, letting the perfumed suds envelop her body, taking away the traces of the journey’s exertions. Not that those exertions had been all bad, by any means. All the same, her skin needed priming for more, much more. She needed to be clean and fresh, a blank slate to be chalked full of the perverse demands of her two mysterious lovers.

Bryant’s talented fingers pinned up her hair and massaged her neck and shoulders while she luxuriated in the bubbles, using the time to reflect on what had passed and preview what might be to come. Her reflection in the washstand mirror opposite portrayed dewy cheeks and shining eyes, a taut kind of excitement radiating out to the corners of the room.

‘Not so dirty now?’ murmured Bryant in her ear, his hands sliding down the slippery slope of her collarbone to find her breasts, just below the water’s surface.

‘Perhaps not in body,’ replied Charlotte, smirking at the double entendre.

‘You’ll need to bathe again before you leave,’ he reminded her. ‘Because, believe me, Charlotte, every inch of your gorgeous body is going to be used long and hard tonight. So don’t use up all the hot water, will you?’

He stood up behind her, causing the water to splash and foam around her, and reached for a towel.

‘Chop chop. We don’t have all night, do we?’

Charlotte stepped into the warm embrace of the thick towel, feeling its gentle friction against her hard, wet nipples and dripping thighs. She allowed Bryant to wrap it around her and then begin to pat it and rub it vigorously against her skin.

‘Arms up,’ he commanded brusquely, drying her armpits, then moving down to the vulnerable teardrops of her breasts, dabbing their underside with the velvety pile, then instructing that she part her legs so he could attend to the dampness within.

When all the soapy wetness was absorbed and Charlotte’s skin tingled with vitality and anticipation, Bryant escorted her, one hand on a shoulder, over to the mirror and had her watch while he took a complimentary bottle of baby oil from the cabinet and tipped some into his palm.

‘Let’s get you ready, shall we?’ he suggested lightly. Charlotte immediately felt her loins flood and her stomach flutter. Ready. The words were subtle, almost innocent, and yet so utterly thrilling; their nuance melting her so that she was a distillation of pure submissive desire.

She saw herself tense and then her shoulders sagged when he began to apply the oil to them. Her head dropped and she half-closed her eyes, placing her entire self in his hands, feeling them descend along and beside the curve of her spine, then back up to her arms, enveloping them, rubbing briskly downward until she was slippery-slick. The bottle was tipped again and then there was a firm but gentle circling of her stomach, a covering of her hips and a blissful, delicious application to her breasts, lengthier and more thorough than ever. Charlotte dared to open her eyes a little wider and groaned at the sight in the mirror opposite – the elegant, signet-ringed hands, fingers splayed across her sheeny mounds, bright red nipples peeking between them. Bryant was looking down, captivated by his work, like a craftsman caught up in the joy of creation.

‘Oh, these are lovely,’ he crooned, ‘but I mustn’t get carried away.’

The bottle was tipped again, and the treatment extended to Charlotte’s legs and feet; she had to tilt forward and grasp the washbasin while Bryant knelt behind her, cupping her calves and gliding upwards, up for the grand finale, up for the bells and whistles and rounds of wild applause, was he there yet? Oh yes. Her inner thighs were thickly coated and now he was oiling her bum, buffing each cheek until it shone and even greasing the length of her crack, from tip to root, now at her perineum, making her sway and grip the basin all the harder.

‘Oh God,’ she whimpered involuntarily as the baby oil was splashed between her sex lips and daubed across her light triangle of fleece. Bryant’s fingers lingered all too briefly at the pleasure portal before withdrawing. He pulled her back by her shoulders and directed her towards the mirror, silently indicating that she should take a moment of self-examination before events moved on.

Her body glistened back at her. ‘I am ready,’ it said. ‘I am prepared.’ And the signs were all there, from the stiff little nipples to the flush at her throat, none of which could be hidden by the plentiful coat of baby oil.

‘I think you’ll do,’ smiled Bryant. ‘Do you feel ready?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ she said, turning her neck to shoot a small smile back at him. ‘I think you both know how to make an occasion memorable.’

Bryant chucked her beneath the chin, his knuckle lingering, caressing. ‘Oh, you can count on that. But don’t forget, once we are out of the bathroom, we go back to the rules you set us. You do exactly as you are told and you don’t speak unless spoken to. That’s unless you want to earn yourself a punishment, and something tells me you wouldn’t be completely averse …’

Charlotte giggled, then mentally composed herself. This was her chance, perhaps the last chance, to live out her favourite fantasy. She was not going to ruin it by trying to humanise her co-participants. From now on, Bryant was Sir again.

‘Let’s go,’ whispered Bryant, and he took her by the elbow and led her to the door, while Charlotte imagined herself as an auctioned slave about to be presented to her purchaser.

In the bedroom, Collins – or Master, as she must remember to call him – was sitting cross-legged in an armchair, reading the Daily Telegraph.

‘Ah,’ he said, looking up, sliding his spectacles down his nose and staring hard at her. Charlotte was tempted to cover her pubic triangle with her hands, but something told her that would be inadvisable. ‘She is clean, is she?’

‘Completely,’ replied Bryant.

‘And you have prepared her to my specification?’

‘Come and see for yourself.’

‘Yes, I think I shall.’ Collins put down the newspaper and sauntered over, eating Charlotte with his eyes from head to toe. She felt like curling into a ball, shielding herself from the bright steel of his gaze, yet the fierceness of it compelled her and she remained straight-backed, though her head hung and her fists clenched. ‘Exactly as we discussed,’ he opined, circling her slowly. ‘Oiled and ready. Nipples hard.’ His hand hovered around them, without ever quite touching. ‘I can feel the heat between her legs from here.’ His hand wafted in front of her snatch, almost touching, almost, so close, but … He retracted it sharply, opting instead to mould his palm against the lower right side of her face and draw her eyes upward into his. ‘Look at me, girl.’

Charlotte almost couldn’t, but she was mindful of her vow of obedience, so she blinked a little then focused on the man who held her under his control.

‘We need to be clear on a few things,’ he said. ‘Before we start. We know what you like, Charlotte, but we want to hear it from you. Tell us what you like.’

‘Oh.’ Charlotte was confounded, reluctant to comply with Collins’s order. ‘I wrote it all down … sent it to you …’

‘Yes, I know that,’ said Collins, the ostensible patience of his tone laced with menace. ‘I am asking you to tell us. We want to hear the words, spoken out loud, by you.’

Charlotte bit her lip and tried to turn her head away, to plead with the seemingly more supportive Bryant, but Collins’s grip was inescapable.

‘Don’t make us wait, girl. You have already earned a punishment earlier on, remember. I would be only too happy to add to it.’

Charlotte had, in fact, forgotten that she had been promised chastisement for speaking out of turn on the train journey. Words began to stumble from her lips, slowly at first, then picking up pace.

‘I want to be controlled … mastered,’ she whispered. ‘I want to be told what to do, and given no option but compliance.’ She stopped, trying to remember what else had been in her statement. ‘I want to be examined, probed, fingered, tongued. I want to suck my masters’ cocks for them, and I want to be taken in every orifice, even simultaneously if that can be arranged. I want to be treated like property, and if I do not perform to my masters’ satisfaction, I want to be punished.’

‘Word perfect,’ noted Collins, smiling into Charlotte’s fiery blush. ‘So let’s go over that again, shall we? You like to be handled? Perhaps like a slave being examined at auction?’

‘Yes!’ Charlotte started at the accuracy of his surmise.

‘Oh dear, Charlotte. That’s “Yes, Master”. Another addition to the tally, I’m afraid. You like to suck cock, I presume?’

‘Yes, Master.’ Charlotte was annoyed at herself for making such a basic mistake.

‘You long to be used in every possible position, I presume.’

‘I do, Master.’

‘And you dream of a good, hard buggering?’

Charlotte’s voice was becoming a squeak. ‘Yes, Master.’ If only he would let go of her face and she could stare at the floor. But he had no intention of alleviating her discomfort.

‘You realise you will be made to beg for your own orgasm. Does that arouse you?’

‘Yes, Master, yes.’ Would this interrogation ever end? Charlotte was already alive with desire, longing to be thrust on the bed and taken, hard and repeatedly, until all three of them were sated.

‘Well, that’s nice,’ said Collins, unexpectedly flippant. Then his voice hardened again and his eyes were grey flint. ‘All of that is to come, Charlotte. But first we have some issues to address, don’t we? Speaking out of turn. Forgetting to use the appropriate form of reply. Some disobedience, some disrespect. How do you think this should be dealt with, girl?’

Collins’s other hand had landed, quite unobtrusively, on her waist and was sliding slowly down to the swell of her hip. The lightness of his touch made her shiver and long to move towards him, into him, to force the pressure upward. He was tall and lean, his hand was large. How would that hand feel on her …

‘I should be punished,’ she sighed, half-closing her eyes in premonitory ecstasy.

‘Yes, you should,’ agreed Collins in a low purr, tapping fingers against her oiled hip, baring his teeth in a feral grin before – no! – letting go of her and pushing her away. ‘Bryant, do the honours, would you? I don’t want oil all over these trousers.’

Bryant, standing behind her, caught her by the shoulders and propelled her towards the bed, pulling her down across his lap once he was seated on the silken covers. Hoping to please, Charlotte made sure her bottom was presented to its fullest disadvantage, raised high, taut and plump, ready to absorb whatever Bryant’s hand could deal. Spanking was a favourite fetish, and she hoped her chastiser would not hold back – but that was before Collins seated himself at the corner of the bed, took a handful of her hair and yanked it so that she had no alternative but to look up at him.

‘I want to see your face,’ he explained. ‘I want you to have no escape from your shame and humiliation, Charlotte. I want to watch every pained expression. I need to make sure that you are properly punished, you see. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Master,’ she groaned in defeat. She had wanted a creative sadist, and Collins was certainly fitting that description. Perhaps a little too well.

‘Good. Don’t spare her, Bryant.’ And with that, the first percussion of hand against rump rang out.

Bryant was an accomplished spanker, knowing exactly how to stop Charlotte reaching a comfort zone, varying his pace and the location of his strokes so that she had to wriggle and writhe and pant into Collins’s face for the duration of the five-minute bottom-warming. The sting of Bryant’s hand was one thing, but sharper by a good factor was the sting of having to have her reactions witnessed and relished by the dread Mr Collins. He kept up an embarrassing commentary along with the smack-smack-smack, sometimes even expecting her to reply to or acknowledge a comment.

‘I believe the oil accentuates the pain,’ he said. ‘It certainly adds something to the sound quality … music to my ears. Does that hurt, Charlotte?’

‘Yes, Master.’

‘Good. You are going to be servicing us with nice hot cheeks; I always think that lends a certain edge to proceedings. I shall enjoy the sight of your crimson rear while I’m pounding away at it later. Oh, I almost felt that one myself. Bryant is a dab hand with a misbehaving bottom, isn’t he? He has plenty of practice, of course. You should see your face, Charlotte … quite the picture of woe.’

Collins’s smile seemed so friendly and avuncular; it was hard to match the words with the face. Indeed, for Charlotte it was increasingly hard to process any thought beyond Ouch! any more. But in due course, Bryant’s unstinting attentions to her behind ceased and she was left to recover over his lap.

‘Is she wet? Or rather, how wet is she?’ asked Collins nonchalantly.

Charlotte’s shoulders shook at the sudden and welcome introduction of Bryant’s fingers to the swollen, overheated area below her swollen, overheated bottom.

‘Goodness, extraordinarily wet,’ said Bryant, amused, massaging her clitoris and pushing one finger up inside her channel. ‘I shall certainly take note. Our Charlotte is a girl who needs a good spanking.’

‘I had a feeling she would be. Regularly and frequently, I’d say. Next time I’ll bring a few items from my collection.’

Charlotte’s head jerked upward, even as she tried to press herself down more firmly on Bryant’s fingers. Next time?

Collins smiled down at her again and extended an elegant hand to ruffle her hair.

‘Don’t you think you need a close eye kept on you, Charlotte? By caring disciplinarians with your best interests at heart? I think such an arrangement might suit us all.’

His thumb pushed against her upper lips while Bryant mirrored the manoeuvre with her lower set. She parted them wetly, admitting both men, sucking on their knuckles with gratitude. Collins was right. The idea he proposed was giddying in its delicious perversity. She would certainly give it her strong consideration … if only she … could … think …

‘Her eyes are glazing over, Bryant; I think we need to bring her back to earth before she is made to come again. All the pleasure has been hers so far. I’m growing just a little impatient.’

‘Yes.’ Bryant’s fingers made a reluctant departure from their playground. ‘I, for one, am waiting for Charlotte to show her appreciation of my efforts. Come on, girl. Your vote of thanks, please.’

Charlotte saw Collins nod briefly, as if giving permission, and she lifted herself gingerly from Bryant’s lap and knelt down between his knees. The upper part of his trousers was stained with oil from her stomach – perhaps the hotel laundry could save them.

‘I’m sorry I spoiled your trousers, sir,’ she said quietly. ‘Would you like me to have them washed?’

Without warning, Bryant lifted her by the elbow, stood up, turned her away from him and smacked her sore bottom soundly.

‘Speaking out of turn,’ he explained curtly before pushing her back to her knees with a hand on the top of her head. He shed the offending garment, along with his boxers, before lying back on the bed, arms spread wide, cock pointing skyward. ‘Now use that mouth the way it should be used, Charlotte.’

Collins stood up and folded his arms, watching her scramble on to the bed and crouch between the vee of Bryant’s thighs. She reached out, placing reverent hands around her master’s tool, tugging the foreskin down to reveal its shiny, eager head. Then she brought her head low, almost licking her lips, savouring the anticipation. Her tongue connected first, lapping at the tiny indentation with its drop of cream. Bryant hissed; she flicked at his frenulum then began to enclose his shaft with her lips and mouth, gliding down, zigzagging with her tongue as she did so. He crammed her mouth with salty-tasting hardness, and still she battled to take more in until she had to stop, fearful of gagging.

‘What a sight she makes,’ commented Collins from behind her. ‘Her bright red rear up in the air and her lips around your cock. I’m not sure how much of that sheen on her thighs is oil and how much is of her own making. She is a dirty little slut, isn’t she? Is she sucking you properly?’

‘Ahhh, yes.’ The words seemed to leak out of Bryant like escaping gas. ‘She can suck all right. Oh, Christ, yes, she can.’

Charlotte was gratified by Bryant’s helplessness at her … well, not hands. Mouth, she supposed. She liked to perform to the best of her ability, and she had honed her oral skills to what she hoped was near perfection. But a challenge to her cocksucking craft was about to be issued.

She heard the unbuckling of a belt and the rustle of fabric, then the mattress tilted downwards behind her. Collins was on the bed.

‘Let’s see how well she concentrates with another cock inside her,’ he suggested. ‘Spread those legs, girl, and keep that arse high. And don’t you dare stop sucking either.’

Charlotte, almost mad with excitement at what was happening, kept up the enthusiastic pace of her gobbling, her head bobbing up and down obediently. She parted her knees as instructed, opening herself up, ready for impalement.

Fingers came first, digging industriously, finding her more than sufficiently lubricated, then the hands held on to her tender bum cheeks and one substantial cock ploughed up inside her, trapping her in position.

‘Your mouth and your cunt, girl,’ said Collins, slowly and deliberately, matching his thrusts, ‘belong to us. We fill them and we own them. We will use them whenever and however we see fit.’

Collins succeeded in fucking her at a pace that seemed at once leisurely and energetic; he kept the rhythm measured, but every nerve ending Charlotte possessed tingled and jangled with each thrust. It was more difficult now to remember to suck; her hands, which had been playing with Bryant’s balls, lapsed into inactivity while her brain’s receptors struggled to cope with her new dual purpose.

‘You are to ask permission for your orgasm, girl,’ Collins continued, his voice a lower and lower growl now. ‘Which is difficult, I know, with your mouth full. Never mind, eh?’ He began to pick up speed, slapping against her warm bum with his pelvis, forcing Bryant’s cock even deeper into her mouth, causing her to sway and tug the mouthbound member this way and that. Just as she was beginning to worry about choking, Bryant began to whisper a string of obscenities, then he yelled ‘Fuck, yes!’ and her mouth was swimming and swirling in liquidy emission.

Charlotte knew implicitly that she must swallow Bryant’s gift and she gulped it down, her mouth still filled with the instrument of the issue, while Collins continued to work her from behind.

‘Keep it in your mouth,’ grunted Bryant, whose body was pliant and relaxed now, his hands playing tenderly with her hair. ‘Just let me look at you like that. Mmm, you’re taking a good pounding, aren’t you? Don’t forget, you have to ask permission to come.’

Bryant’s final mocking words elicited a moan of lewd despair from Charlotte. She knew her crisis was impending, but how could she speak with her mouth occupied? Collins was finding every secret hidey-hole of sensation along the furrow he ploughed, wickedly and effortlessly, as if he had been studying some diagram of her inner workings beforehand.

Bryant, to her eternal gratitude, took pity on her plight. ‘You can speak now,’ he chuckled. ‘I think you might be feeling the need. Do you think so, Collins?’

‘She is hot, Bryant, hot and wet and tight. Just wait till you use her. You’ll see.’

A sound, like the mewing of a kitten, came from Charlotte’s mouth. Eventually, the men were able to discern that it was the word, ‘Please,’ being repeated at a helplessly high pitch.

‘Please what, girl?’ asked Collins, hanging on to his own orgasm by a whisker. ‘Say it, now.’

‘Please may I come?’ she squeaked meekly.

Collins slid his cock backward until it almost parted company with the sorrowing quim that wanted it so badly. ‘Well, let’s see …’ he said.

‘PLEASE!’ she shrieked.

‘I’m a reasonable man …’ He shot back up, swift and hard, to the hilt. ‘You may.’

Charlotte twisted like a dervish, howled like a banshee, felt and sensed and rushed like every other mythological creature in the canon, leaving the tangible far behind, while Collins continued to slam and bang until he too was spent.

‘Let her rest a little while.’ Collins stood up and returned to the armchair and the newspaper, still wearing his shirt and tie, as if Charlotte were simply a document he had finished with.

She remained crouched on the bed for a while, feeling Collins’s semen puddle and trickle around her sex, while Bryant kept her head cradled in his lap, stroking her hair.

‘Good girl,’ he soothed, ‘Good girl. You did so well.’

Charlotte allowed her eyes to close and her mind to drift, swooping in and out of reality. She might have dozed off; coming to, the full surrealism of the situation struck her four-square. She lay on the plumpest of duvets, hearing the air conditioning’s muted whirring, feeling the warmth of another body beside her. A slight catch in his throat suggested that Bryant was sleeping as well. The tiny snores were joined by the sudden inconvenient rumbling of her stomach and she remembered that she had not eaten in … what? … five, six hours?

There was a click and then the urgent voices of a rolling news channel broke the dreaminess. She sat up to see Collins watching the television, still in shirtsleeves and spectacles but bare-legged, sipping at a glass of iced water.

‘Ah, she surfaces,’ he said dryly.

Charlotte wondered if this was an invitation to speak, or merely an observation. She stalled, not sure she wanted any more wrath visited on her bum just yet.

‘I’m considering calling room service,’ he continued. ‘We should eat. You will need to keep your strength up for our grand finale. Come over here and look at the menu.’

Charlotte, feeling muddle-headed and thirsty, did as she was told.

‘Stop there,’ ordered Collins as she drew level with his chair. ‘I want you to kneel down on my lap, knees either side of me, facing away from me.’

Charlotte was unsure, finding words a little hard to understand still, but Collins posed and manoeuvred her body until she was in the required position, her upper torso sloping down upon his legs so that her head almost rested on his ankles. Her legs were tucked either side of him so that his immediate view was of her still-swollen pussy and pink rump.

‘Here,’ he said, dropping the menu on to the floor so that it lay by his feet, open at the room service page. Charlotte’s eyes travelled blearily around the script, trying to make a decision while Collins’s thumbs prised her lower lips apart, inspecting them for damage.

‘How are these doing then?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Still rather tacky … not quite dried yet. Ah well, Bryant won’t mind that. How is this?’ He skewered two fingers up inside her, shaking her out of her dilemma over smoked salmon sandwiches or poached eggs on toast. ‘A little sore?’

‘Just a little, Master.’

‘Just a little, eh? Well, that won’t do. Can’t have you walking out of here without a little bit of difficulty, can we?’

‘No, Master.’

‘No, indeed. Well, let’s order food and then we can see to that. Bryant!’

Bryant awoke with a splutter and a few incoherent words.


‘Sustenance is required. We can’t leave the job half-done, can we?’

‘Oh … no, no, we can’t. Matter of pride.’

‘Quite. So what will you have to eat?’

Twenty minutes later, the receptionist appeared with the trolley – she liked to do these kind of discreet services personally. Bryant, seated at the table in a robe, thanked her for his steak. Collins, who had settled for a club sandwich and a dozen oysters, waved at her to place them on the occasional table beside his armchair. And as for Charlotte’s smoked salmon omelette … well, that was placed on the floor, by Collins’s feet, cut up into squares.

Charlotte’s eyes were tight shut, her face buried in Collins’s shins. She knew the receptionist would be casting an eye over her compliant back and displayed bottom, legs splayed wide and everything between on show.

‘Are you enjoying your stay?’ she heard, in a perky, complicit tone.

‘Very much. Aren’t we, Charlotte? Well?’

Charlotte mmmed, and earned a slap to her bottom for her ambivalence.

‘Lift your head, Charlotte, and answer the lady.’

Charlotte craned her neck and regarded the receptionist from beneath sulky lashes. ‘Yes, we are having a very good time,’ she whispered.

‘Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to improve your Luxe Noir experience,’ smiled the girl before turning smartly on her heel and leaving them to it.

Charlotte was reaching down for her last square of omelette, wondering how bad for the digestion eating in this position actually was, when she noticed Bryant push his plate aside and grin broadly at Collins. She tried to twist her neck back, to see what the reason for this signal of complicity might be, but the first clue she got was the shocking splash of cold gel between the cheeks of her backside.

‘Oh!’ She tried to rear up, pushing her palms on the floor, but Collins replaced her with a firm hand on her spine.

‘You knew this was coming,’ he accused. ‘Don’t make a show of fighting it. We know it’s what you want. Don’t we?’

Charlotte’s hesitation earned her another pink palm-print on her posterior.

‘Y-yes, Master,’ she muttered reluctantly.

‘I suppose you like to pretend you are being forced into it,’ surmised Collins, working the lubricant in tight circles, greasing her rear entry with fanatical thoroughness. ‘Makes it easier to deal with, perhaps. You aren’t the dirty girl, eh? It’s the nasty man who makes you do the dirty things? Is that right?’

‘Per…haps,’ admitted Charlotte, holding her breath as one finger slipped in to the knuckle, remembering just in time to add, ‘Master.’

‘But you’ve done this often enough, I’m sure. I think you must enjoy it. I think you should take responsibility for the fact that you enjoy having your arse filled with a big, hard cock, Charlotte. I think you should admit it. Go on.’

Two fingers were working their way up the passage now, demanding to be yielded to. Meanwhile, Collins plugged her pussy with a lazy thumb, giving her a foretaste of things to come.

‘Oh,’ moaned Charlotte, beginning to experience a ferocious rush of blood to the head. ‘I admit it. I … I …’ She broke off as Collins popped the two fingers out, relubricated them, and added a third to the tally. She knew she was dripping the evidence of her excitement all over his other hand, she knew this shamed her, but she knew also that it thrilled her beyond measure.

‘Go on.’ His left hand pushed and shoved at her pussy while his right continued its attentions to her widening arsehole. Bryant stood up, smiling encouragingly, and made his way over.

‘We need to hear it, Charlotte,’ he said.

‘I want you to fuck me,’ she said tremulously. ‘Fuck my arse. Fill it up. I love it. Master.’

‘Good, that’s very good,’ approved Collins. ‘Well, you’re ready, I think.’

His hands, coated with lubricant and intimate juices, slid out of their hidey holes and braced beneath her ribcage, pulling her upright to her knees. At the underhang of her bottom cheeks, Charlotte could feel the damp tip of his baton, prodding the soft flesh insistently.

‘Sit down,’ he invited, placing his cock strategically mid-cheeks. ‘Sit on my lap, Charlotte.’

Charlotte had only tried this entry method once before – it was more difficult and more painful than the traditional all-fours version, but she was intent on pleasing her masters and herself, and she put her hands on the arms of the chair and moved her legs to a crouching position, slipping her feet down between Collins’s loins and the edges of the cushion.

‘Play with her tits, Bryant,’ commanded Collins, and the subordinate Dominant obeyed, stepping between Collins’s feet and taking both breasts in hand.

Charlotte shut her eyes, surfing the wave of sensation that emanated from her nipples, and took the first brave move backwards, settling Collins’s cockhead right at the aperture that led to her darkest pleasure. She had to wriggle a little, and a few times she began the decisive move only to lose confidence and tauten the muscles once more, but eventually she made a stabbing downward motion and the portal was breached. Almost immediately, her disobedient body tried to clench, but Bryant’s attentions to her nipples led her to relax quite quickly, and she edged back and further back, drawing Collins’s engorged rod inside her innermost recess, grimacing with the discomfort and alienness of it but grateful that he had lubricated her sufficiently to minimise pain.

‘All the way.’ Collins’s voice was hypnotically low. ‘All the way in, Charlotte. How it stretches and fills you – do you feel it?’

‘Ah, yes, I do, Master,’ she gasped, finally unable to reverse any more, her buttocks resting at the top of Collins’s thighs.

‘Sit there and stretch your legs out, Charlotte.’

She unbent and put her full weight down to bear on Collins’s pelvis, stuffed almost to bursting behind now. Bryant had leaned down to suck on her nipples, and she hooked her feet behind his knees, laying her head on Collins’s shoulders and revelling in the lewdness of it all. Collins’s hands were on her pussy now; he spread his own legs wide and prised her thighs apart to mimic him, so that they were stacked on top of each other like moulded chairs.

‘Your arse is full and your pussy spread wide,’ he lapped into her ear. ‘You are utterly and completely open.’ He lifted his lips. ‘Bryant, don’t you want to fuck her? Be my guest.’

Bryant grazed his teeth against a nipple then stood up, peering down at the chasm that offered itself to him. How temptingly, juicily red it was, and how much more tantalising the glimpse of thick male root disappearing into her behind made it.

He shed his robe, hooked his elbows beneath her knees and plunged in.

Charlotte, held in an almost impossibly gymnastic position, gave herself up to the pounding in front and the pulsing behind, marvelling at how the two cocks that occupied her seemed to work together to overwhelm her entire body. It was only a few minutes before she had to ask permission for another orgasm, for the presence of Collins at her rear seemed to hasten her passage to heaven like a jetpack of climactic power. She came twice more before Bryant emptied into her, leaving them both exhausted, chests heaving.

But Collins had his own end in sight, and he stood, still connected to her by his cock, turned around and pushed her down on all fours, kneeling with her tits squashed into the chair cushion. Now he was free to pump and thrust and he did so with abandon, using Charlotte’s bottom to the fullest extent, reaching down to scrabble at her clit, for it was a matter of pride to him that she should be made to come one last time.

She did so in a hissing, sobbing homage to his mastery of her body, begging him for mercy she knew he would not show, and that was what it took to send his seed flying, washing and coating her, marking her most private place as his.

All three of them shared the bath this time, sleepily soaping each other, with kissing and stroking to boot.

‘Would you do this again?’ Bryant asked Charlotte, his fingers releasing the tension in her scalp with magical efficacy.

‘Oh, I might need a week off work to recover, but yes, definitely.’ She looked at Collins, who smiled, a real smile.

‘The Number gave us all what we wanted?’ he suggested.

‘It did. The magic number.’

Collins took her hand and kissed the bubbles off it. ‘My lucky number,’ he said.

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