A Toy's Toy

This story and all characters are fiction. All characters are over 18.

She'd probably feel more comfortable naked; the light nightie I've allowed her only accents the fragile vulnerability of her body. Her pert little breasts are barely covered, and clearly visible through the gauzy peach coloured fabric. Her pussy lips are likely to peek from under the hem of the short garment as soon as they start swelling, which shouldn't take long, if the blush spreading from her neck is any indication. She's biting her lip and rubbing her palms on her hips whenever her concentration wavers. She then darts a look my way to see if I've noticed and tries to suppress a grimace of guilt as her eyes continue to criss-cross the floor before her.

He circles her slowly, examining her in rigid silence that can't be easy for her to bear. Even I'm uncomfortable, and I'm used to his presence and his silences.

After two full circles, he stands between us again and, although he's still watching her, it's me he speaks to. "A toy acquiring a toy," he mutters. "It sounded odd enough even before the toy turned out to be..." The sentence ends with a humph that is halfway between disbelief and resentment.

It's not a question, so I don't respond.

I like her. Her mouth was the first thing I noticed when I first saw her. Innocent, quite full and soft, with the upper lip curving up in the middle so her beautiful front teeth showed whenever her lips were even a little parted. A face of a young angel; big, big eyes and long, dark eyelashes; plump, soft cheeks. There was nothing angelic and pure about her dreams and desires though, and they shone through all those appealing features, through the strobe lights and bluish wisps of cigarette smoke that filled the air in the club.

I stared.

She caught me staring and looked away, her coy eyelashes coming down to cover her thoughts, her elegant eyebrows wrinkling slightly in unsettlement.

I still stared. There's no law against it.

She caught me at it again and looked away again, this time starting to blush.

The third time our eyes met, I could see she was unnerved, but still unable to keep herself from making coquettish eye-contact. It wasn't vanity. There are women who enjoy being admired, but they give nothing back—tend to thread all over their admirers, in fact, to drive the point home. Cheap, shallow trash. This one wasn't like that; she found my looks addictive because she'd sensed a need she could fulfil. It was that need that had hooked her. She couldn't hold my eyes or stop her teeth from sinking into her lush lips, but she wouldn't move to the other part of the club or make any attempt to avoid my attention. I knew I had her before I made my way through the crowd. I stood behind her to talk into her ear just loud enough for her to make out my words over the music. In the short few hours between telling me her name and seeing the first light of dawn, up on the flat roof pulsing with the rhythm of the music coming from below us, she gave herself with touching speed and ease.

It's odd. I want to hide her from him, because he wants me to do that. At the same time, I want to share her with him, because I know he'll like her. The need to give him pleasure is getting in the way of pleasing him.

"Your toy," he says, "is breathing."

I rub my cheek on his shoulder and say softly, "Well, sir, I must admit that it is. But you said I could get any toy I wanted, and this one has so many delightful functions, and came so cheap, I just couldn't resist it." I smile at her when she glances at me from under her eyelashes. In that split second, her eyes flash a tangle of emotions that might confuse someone who doesn't know her intimately. Anger at my betrayal of what she considers our secret; shame, arousal, even a hint of familiar mischief.

"Of course you couldn't," he says dryly.

Millions of men dying for a threesome on this planet, and I happen to have a weakness for the one too jealous to want it. "Don't want to see anyone else touching you, " he usually says. At least the word see is in that sentence for a reason. And he hadn't ordered my toy out of his bedroom yet. No man would. Few women would, for that matter.

"Functions," he repeats the word as if he doesn't know what it means. His voice is icy now; he's either angry or trying not to laugh, I'm not sure which. My toy thinks she knows which and, against all the warnings I've given her, makes the mistake of opening her mouth to plead with him.

"Please sir, if you would—ughmmm..." is all she manages to utter before his hand moves with speed that would put a viper to shame, slams into her mouth and catches her tongue between three fingers. I grimace. She gives a tortured groan muffled by his hand. Her tongue wiggles free, of course, to escape the pain instinctively, which only means his hand will intrude deeper to again pinch the base of the muscle I love so much. Keeping absolutely still is her best option, and she does, as soon as her brains catch up with her instincts. Her eyes are large with surprise and pain, and she looks amusing with her mouth wide open, teeth pressed against his fingers.

"It talks, too" he sighs, in a tone that would be better suited for a sentence like, "It had set a kindergarten full of toddlers on fire. "

I give her a meaningful look. "Yes, sir. A mistake it's not likely to repeat, I believe."

Impossibly, her terrified eyes go even wider in response, trying to agree with me. His fingers release her tongue and it takes her a second or two to adjust her position. She swallows convulsively. She's probably scared to death; I tend to go too easy on her, at least where physical pain is concerned. This might be the first time in months she's even remembered there's such a thing as a safeword; it would definitely be the first time she'd wondered if her safeword would be honoured. I know it would, but I decide to pretend I haven't guessed her fears; he's not easy to please, and better she get a firm warning in the start than a real punishment later.

"Right... Where was I?"

He knows where he was better than I do. "Functions, sir."

"Mhhm."

"Unbuttons shirts, sir, to start with."

He says nothing, which is an equivalent of a dozen words from someone else. My toy looks very worried, more so when I smile and nod to her over his shoulder. She reaches to unbutton the top button of his shirt with trembling fingers. He moves forward to accommodate her, nearly making her take a step back in fear. When she realizes no more pain is coming, she almost looks up into his face. A small, grateful, shy smile blooms across her slightly flushed face. She's so cute when she's bashful, and it's working its irresistible magic. Her closeness and lovely little fingers brushing his skin timidly as she struggles with the buttons make his chest move to take in a deep, controlled breath. I don't need to look down to know the rest. His dick must be standing erect, probably bouncing and poking her belly. Maybe I should be jealous, but all I can feel is a satisfied smile tugging at my lips and a stir in my nipples.

After the last of the buttons has given way, she brushes the lapels of the shirt away, exposing his chest hesitantly. My fingers meet hers on his shoulders. I give her a light caress and a naughty smile to turn her nervousness into excitement. She smiles back, lowers her face to hide it, looks up again to make sure he'll let her lower her lips to his chest. I watch her for a few seconds, voyeuristic delight filling my body, before I join her. Her mouth works on the front of his body, mine covers his back in kisses. Her mouth has a soft warmth to it that surprises me every time I feel it on my skin, one I couldn't hope to match, but I know his body better, know every spot likely to milk a sigh out of him, every nerve ending that can be strummed to make him shiver. I lick up along his spine, my hands following along his sides, pulling my toy upward from his belly button. I don't want her going too low too soon.

Our lips meet at his shoulder for a brief, gentle kiss. I dive into her trusting eyes for a moment, before her tongue wiggles its way to his ear. I lick her saliva off his skin, following her mouth, catching up with it for a another kiss right by his ear. I thrust my tongue into her mouth. She moans; he sighs when her breath flows into his earlobe. I suck her tongue into my mouth, suck hard, pulling her up until she must be on her toes, leaning heavily against him. I release her, my mouth moving to the back of his neck, but she moans again. I know that moan, I know how responsive she is, I know he must be touching her. He may have accepted her as a favour to me, but her body against his is the more likely reason he's touching her. I want to see it, although I don't need to; I know the touch of his hands, the heaven and hell he keeps in the palm of his hand. My imagination runs wild, the images of his hands on her body whirling in my mind as I suck hungrily on the smooth skin of his back. I have to force myself to concentrate, to move downward as she does the same in front of him to keep him sandwiched between two warm mouths and encircled in four soft hands.

When she goes down to her knees, I stand up again, reaching around him to undo his belt and zipper. I can feel his excitement. It makes the mundane task heavenly. I want to see the two familiar, sexy sights together—her face and his cock. I want to watch his beautiful tasty cock disappear into her sweet mouth. His eyes go from watching her to glancing at me with a raised eyebrow. Because he looks like he knows exactly how I feel, his eyes are impossible to hold. They urge me forward into things I otherwise wouldn't do. They make me horny and shy. They make my head bow easily. They make me sink to my knees before him more efficiently than a hand pressing down on my shoulder ever could.

She is busy, giving short licks up and down his shaft. She's keeping her tongue wet enough to glide smoothly, but she's not slobbering. Good girl. She remembered the warning about making too much mess. She follows her instructions carefully, and it lends harmony to our moves, so they appear like a practiced wanton dance. My fingers tease his testicles while she's licking his cock; her mouth descends, leaving his shaft free for me to gently squeeze and stroke. I rub a drop of precum over the skin still damp with her saliva. I inhale the male scent of his crotch combined with the lemon of her perfume, and her head makes room for mine as I lean in to feel the warmth radiating from his flesh.

I'm eager to feel it in my mouth, but the change in the angle of his upper body makes me look up. Like I thought; he's leaning back to be able to see us better. His lips are parted, his eyes glazed and dark with lust. I let my tongue snake out, more for visual effect than in effort to give physical pleasure. I feel another mouth coming close to mine, another slick tongue joining mine. I lower my eyes to allow him to enjoy the sight in peace; two female heads competing for his cock, one dark-haired, one chestnut with paler sun-bleached highlights. A pair of almost black eyes, another pair of light, silvery green, like willow leaves when the stormy wind flips them upside down. Ten gentle fingers holding his shaft, adorning it with pearl and white of French-manicured nails. Five blood-red nails stroking his balls, the other five pinching her nipples. She gasps and her jaw slackens. I pull her forward by her nipples and watch her take what I want, his large head, between her lips. She begins to suck with obvious pleasure. God, that's hot. I can't resist leaning forward and slipping my tongue between her cheek and his cock. It's not easy; he's as hard as he can get, quite a mouthful, but I want to taste the sight that they make. I can feel her tongue massaging the underside of his cock and the rhythmical pulses of suction she applies.

When I try to pull my tongue out, she lets her lips fall away from his cock, probably thinking that's what I want. I grin at her and take a long lick from the base of his shaft to the tip. She smiles back and mimics my movements. I take a lick again, then she does. For a while we settle into a harmonized rhythm, but it soon falls apart in a swirling confusion of lips, tongues and fingers guided solely by the sounds of his pleasure. I'm lost in sensations, lost between her soft mouth and his saliva-slick cock. It takes a hand in my hair to pull me out of the careless bliss.

I open my eyes. His other hand is holding her head. He tilts both our heads up.

"Look at me," he orders. His voice, deep and hoarse with sexual pleasure, makes me shudder. "Mouths open. Tongues out."

He slides his rock hard erection into her open mouth. I hold my breath, watching the cock in his masculine hand, looking more powerful than usual in contrast to the feminine softness of her lips. A soft whine of envy escapes from my lips. He slaps her outstretched tongue with his stiff cock. My pussy twitches in response to the dirty smile on his lips and the little flinch she gives when his meat hits her pretty pink tongue and moist lips.

He pulls out of her mouth and moves to use mine. I can taste her saliva. I have just enough time to suck gently on his head before it's out of my mouth again and thrusting back into her face. I watch her tongue move under the screen of her cheek, her tireless, gentle, skilful tongue. He continues to play with our mouths in turns, sometimes pulling out too soon with a wet plop, sometimes staying longer inside. When it's her mouth that has him longer, I can feel jealousy tickling, the humiliation and betrayal of it only fuelling my lust.

If only I could pull myself away from them, I could watch him use her body. I want him to like her, I want him to enjoy her. What would frighten me out of my head normally—the possibility of him liking her better, betraying me, forsaking me, abandoning me—is precisely what turns me on now. I want him to fuck her and push me away when I try to lick his balls, or his cock when it slides out of her. I want to lick her clit to make her tighten around him to heighten his pleasure—and I want him to bark at me not to bother. I want her to betray me too, humiliate me by doing what is unthinkable to her—by climbing higher than me, by pleasing him better than I can, rendering me unneeded as a slave or a mistress. I want to beg for his attention, I want him to refuse it, I want him to break my heart. I want to feel worthless, die of loneliness and come back to life when he smiles down on me at the end, calling me his again.

At least I think that's what I want. As my eyes meet his, there's an unformed smirk on his face, and I get that familiar feeling of ground giving way beneath me when I think he might have read some of my scarier thoughts. He lets her head go; she continues to slide her lips up and down his shaft, merely increasing the pace a little. Her cheeks hollow on each stroke. I wonder if she can hear what I can, an approaching orgasm in his ragged breath. Is she trying to steal his orgasm, or is she just so into it she can't stop herself?

He stops her. With the root of his palm on her forehead, he pushes her away. She loses her balance, almost falling on her butt ingloriously. Her eyes dart up to him in surprise and uncertainty, but don't quite reach him before they turn to me instead.

I look up. His eyes are closed. He certainly doesn't look displeased. I give her a smile of reassurance, receiving a weak smile in return, and take her by the hand to lead her behind him. He needs a change of pace, and know just the thing. When she's kneeling with her face to his back, I jerk my head to get her started. She just blinks for a moment, but as she makes the first long swipe with her tongue from the top of his thigh almost to his waist, she looks like she'll get into it soon enough. There's no reason for her not to; he's not too hairy, for a man, and the well-toned muscles of his ass are yummy.

I stand there for a minute, my eyes transfixed on her pretty face against one of the least decent parts of male anatomy. It's unmistakably shameless. A good old-fashioned penetration or a blowjob may be interpreted as dignified, maybe even sacred or transcendental, but I doubt there are sugary lips in the world that could disguise oral stimulation of an ass as anything other than a dirty little perversion.

And she's so good at it. Even after having her do that to me more times than I can count, I envy him a little. The velvety glide of her tongue, the contrast of cooling saliva and humid warmth of her breath, little licks and tickles around the anus... I sigh.

She takes her time. She always does; that's one of the things that make her a great fuck. She covers every inch of every ass cheek with her tongue, then moves lower, to the tops of his thighs, while her hands cup the flesh above her face to massage it gently. She'll come back up later, I know, to kiss and nibble all over, but there's a more important spot to see to now. I spread his cheeks for her. She looks up—just a glance searching eye-contact, not a hesitation—before she dives in. Even before her nose is pressed against his crack, I can see her tongue darting out. She looks ridiculous and heart-warming at the same time; if someone had told her, the first time she'd laid eyes on me, that she'd be where she is now, with her face pressed into some stranger's ass and her tongue working diligently to relax his anal ring, what would she have said?

Well, not a word out of her now. Dropping to my knee behind her, I reach between her legs. Oh, someone's enjoying their task. The unique perfection of a hot, wet, supple pussy greets my fingers. Her hips begin to move and she gives a moan muffled by the muscular flesh surrounding her face. Sliding a finger into her cunt, I rub her G-spot carefully. Her response is loud as usual, a juicy moan that reverberates into sensitive nerve endings in his body. He grunts. With each stroke of my fingers, I can hear them both reacting. With my other hand I pinch her rose-colored nipples to make her moan harder, or I stroke gently from his knees to the crotch, tickling his balls and the soft skin between them and his now slick anus. It takes a long while for me to get bored of that game and move back before him.

His cock is twitching in need. It can't be all that bad, or he would have masturbated it himself or said something to me, but I still feel a pang of guilt for having neglected it. I lick up and down the underside of his shaft coating it in wetness before I take it into my mouth. I don't move for several long, blissful moments, feeling it stretch my cheeks and throat apart. I love it when he's hard like this, excited and enjoying himself, practically at the edge of ecstasy. It requires care not to push him into an orgasm he doesn't want yet, but it feels magnificent, the appealing size of the rubbery head as it slides over my tongue, the impact it makes with the hard back of my throat.

I keep him on that edge, quickening my pace when he relaxes and slowing down when his muscles begin to clench and shudder. I break the rhythm occasionally, dipping down with my tongue, licking from below his balls, along his shaft all the way to the tip, and then letting it slide into my mouth and deep into my throat. He gives a soft groan of pleasure every time, and when my tongue is at the lowest point of its journey, I can taste her hot breath coming from behind him. I rotate my head and upper body until my face is to his balls—and to her tongue probing inside his back passage. Almost at the same time, he bends over to play with my breasts and her hands reach out to touch me. If they keep this up, I'll come with just a stir of air against my clit. There isn't a muscle in my body that isn't trembling. My skin feels feverish. It feels like my mind is open in two directions, sucking loving warmth from her and frying on a sadistic connection with him. I can feel how close he is. I'd like to see him cum all over her face, but I know he prefers to do it deep in the warmth of a woman's body, and I've never been able to resist any sentence he starts with "I want to", or the silent equivalent of it, the impatient pat on my upper arm he gives now.