Mixed Pairs

She did so, murmuring in a low voice, "Fuck me, Serge."

And he did so.

* * * *

Hayden Carter was sitting, naked, on the side of the bed in Heather Hoyt's room in the Boston Millennium Hotel as she knelt, also naked, between his spread legs, her hand cupping his balls and the root of his shaft in place, while she sucked on his glans and ran her tongue down the side of the phallus. He was thick, if not particularly long, and he was stiff in throbbing erection. She was relieved to find that he still could achieve and maintain an erection that aroused her. His body otherwise was a pleasant surprise for her. This wasn't going to be the chore she was afraid it would be.

Carter ran his hands through Heather's luxuriant red hair while she sucked him. That was probably what made her stand out the most on the ice—not her talent as a skater, although that was commanding, but her luxuriant reddish-golden blonde hair and the color of the costumes she wore on the ice to accentuate her flowing mane.

"You are such a beauty—off the ice as much as on," he said, "and there's many a champion woman skater who that isn't true of. And so sexy. I can't wait to be inside you."

"I can hardly wait either, Mr. Carter," she whispered, taking her mouth off his shaft but only long enough to look up into his face with her emerald-green eyes that she knew could, all by themselves, ensnare a man. She ran her hands up his sides and onto his chest, sinking her fingers into the swirls of salt-and-pepper hair there and digging in to find and tweak his nipples. He was still lean and hard bodied for his age. She would enjoy the fuck. But she would have fucked him anyway. He had what she wanted—what she'd told Serge she wanted for both of them.

Oh, yes, she knew that Serge was somewhere, fucking Carter's wife. Or at least he was if their plan was working out. She had come prepared to think of Serge fucking her while Carter was doing so—Serge was a master at the fuck—but now that she had seen Carter naked and was working on his dick, she knew she could enjoy the fuck purely on what he had to give.

"Call me, Hayden, you sweet thing," Carter murmured. "We are hardly in a position to be formal now, are we?"

He had moved a hand to squeezing one of her breasts, and when he leaned in to say what he did in her ear, he'd let the hand go down to clutch her pubic mound. She gasped, as he plunged two fingers inside her. He raised her to a standing position with the strength of his hand clutching her mound, with his fingers buried in her. He was strong and commanding and promised to be demanding, and she realized for the first time that she wasn't going to control this fuck.

"Hayden, Hayden," she whispered as now it was she who was running her fingers through his hair. Carter's hands went to her buttocks, which he squeezed and separated. Heather moaned as he rubbed his cheeks against her heaving belly and then licked his way through her reddish-blonde pubic triangle. His mouth went to her labia, sucking them into his mouth, attacking her clit with his tongue, and feasting on her deeply, fully, almost brutally. She writhed against him and under his control. His fingers dug into her anus, pulling her open, invading her ass with his fingers. She cried out and struggled against him but grew weaker and weaker. Her knees turned to jelly, and she would have collapsed onto the floor, if he was holding her steady—and eating her out until she exploded. And then again and again.

Fingers of both hands were inside her ass canal, spreading it open. She began to hyperventilate as she realized that the man was going to fuck her in the ass.

She was putty in his hands, softly mewing and as loose as a rag doll when Carter lifted her and settled her down in his lap, facing him. He positioned her on his shaft and slowly impaled her—not her cunt, though. He lowered her anal channel onto his phallus and pulled her off and on his lap, holding her like a docile doll, until he gave her his flow.

He pulled her back up into his chest, and rocked and cooed to her, his dick withering inside her ass but only to half hard.

"You are so sweet. This is the way I like it, but if you want me to give it give it to you the other way, I can do that too. Do you want me to fuck you in the regular way?"

"Yes, please," Heather murmured in an exhausted voice.

"I've taken a little something. It won't be long before I can satisfy you that way too. Is that what you want?"

"Yes, please."

"You are so sweet that I don't want to give you up. I don't want you to go back to Colorado. I want you to stay here, with me. I want you to train at my center. But Serge isn't good enough for you. Victor will be so much better as a partner for you than Serge is. All he needs to be is well. You must join me at our train center here. Do you understand?"

"Yes . . . Hayden," she whispered.

"We both feel that I'm hard again. Shall I fuck you properly now?"

"Yes, oh yes. But shouldn't you . . . do you have . . .?"

"Oh I never use a condom. I want the raw feel of flesh on flesh. Don't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"There's no worry. I'm told there's no danger . . . that I can't . . . you're not going to deny me this, are you?"

"No, I guess not," she answered doubtfully. But he didn't leave time or opportunity for more doubt.

He laid her on her back on the bed, and she spread her legs for him, bent her knees, and placed her feet on the surface of the mattress. He moved over her, but not fully over her, as she expected. He lay between her legs, encasing them in his arms to hold her in thrall and steady, and began eating her cunt out again, making her cry out and clutch at his head, and writhe under him. He feasted on her until she had exploded multiple times and collapsed under him. Then he moved over her body, wrapped an arm under her waist to roll her pelvis up to him, thrust his hard, thick shaft deep inside her and fucked her and fucked her and fucked her. She cried out again and again at the unexpected strength and stamina of the man.

And she laughed and laughed, because not only was she unexpectedly being gloriously fucked, but she also was getting exactly what she had opened her legs to the old man to get—in his stable of skaters.

* * * *

Surprisingly, the key card didn't work when Heather Hoyt tried it in the door of Room 309 at the Boston Millennium Hotel. She looked piqued, then confused, and then she laughed, stuck the card back in her wallet and took out a different key card. That one worked a charm, and she entered the room to find Victor Mukhin, wearing only his briefs and an ace bandage wrapped round his left ankle, propped up on pillows in his bed with an iPad in his hands. He looked up and smiled at her.

"How did it go?" he asked.

"Dinner at J. J. Donovan's or afterward?" Heather asked.

"Both."

"Let's just say I have Hayden Carter in my pocket?"

"Just in your pocket?" Victor said, giving her an evil little look and popping his tongue in his cheek.

"Yes, he fucked me. And he's very good at it."

"Better than me?"

"It's a close race. If you weren't so obsessed with dumping Missy and pairing with me, though, you'd be competing on that right now."

"Ooo, I love a challenge," Victor said, putting the iPad aside, leaping off the bed, and reaching her and taking her up into his arms in two long strides that completely belied that there was a thing wrong with his ankle.

He held her there in his embrace, close, with one hand, as they kissed. He pushed her skirt up her legs with the other hand, and gasped when he found she was wearing no panties. In turn, Heather gasped as she freed his shaft through the opening his briefs to find him already hard.

Then, pulling away from the kiss—and out of his embrace, she stepped back a pace and laughed. "You know that Missy thinks you're gay."

Victor's anger flared up and he backhanded Heather across the cheek. Stumbling, she almost went to the floor, but he was here, with quick reflexes and great strength, keeping her from falling, turning her body in the process with an arm encircling her waist and holding her up, while he thrust his hard dick inside her cunt and started to pump furiously.

"Shit," he exclaimed, realizing he wasn't wearing protection.

She gasped again when he pulled out of her vagina and switch his dick to her anus, her anal walls slowly giving way to him just as they had for Hayden Carter, and he worked inside her there to his ejaculation. He then pulled out of her, picked her up in his arms, carried her over to the bed, and dropped her there on her back. Sitting beside her, he pulled the drawer to the nightstand open and took out a condom packet and a bottle of lube.

"He fucked me in the ass too," Heather said, her hand going to Victor's back, massaging it.

"You surprised me," Victor said. "You didn't give me time to get a rubber on." He turned to her, slipping her skirt off her legs and pulling her blouse open, popping the buttons, finding she wasn't wearing a bra, as he already had been able to tell. He grabbed her breasts and squeezed them, as she arched her back and moaned.

"You are as good at that as Carter is," she said. "But, God, he was good at eating me out."

"I fuck for my pleasure, not yours," Victor growled.

Pulling his briefs down and off his legs, snapping a condom on, and lubing his crowned dick up, Victor covered her on the bed, sliding his shaft between the folds of her labia and rubbing her there with the underside of his dick, while he laced his arms under her armpits, holding her arms captive over her head and attacking her nipples with his mouth.

"Yes, yes, fuck me," she was murmuring.

But he'd already done that; he wasn't ready to do it again so soon, nor was he in such heat that he lost control of himself. He had a point to make about preferring women to men. He was sensitive on the point as he'd tried men before—it's how he got to the States, letting his coach have him—and he was working hard on making the switch.

He'd been honest about fucking only for his pleasure now, but he didn't want her to compare him unfavorably to Carter. He worked his mouth down her body, as she arched her back and moaned. She grabbed the back of his head, pulling at his hair, trying to pull him away from her, if only for a moment of relief, as he buried his face between her thighs and attacked her clit and cunt with his mouth, working her more brutally than Carter had, while she writhed under him and her pelvis went into a rhythm motion of grinding against his face, until, with a series of small cries of "Oh, shit! Fuck!" she jerked and exploded . . . repeatedly.

She collapsed under him, and lay there moaning, as Victor rose up over her, thrust inside her cunt again, and pumped her with athletic vigor to his second ejaculation.

Laying there stretched against each other on the bed, panting and groaning, Victor said, "Gay did she say?"

"Clearing Missy is wrong," Heather answered in a breathy voice. "But then we knew that. She's wrong about your sprained ankle too." Heather gave a little laugh.

"I hated to do it," Victor said. "I hated not to compete. If you hadn't demanded—"

"It's all for the longer-term good, Victor. We wanted to be free to pair with each other. We have a better chance together than you do with Missy or me with Serge. And we wanted the Carters to pay our way and train us. The best way was to make Hayden want Missy to pair with Serge. It will all work out for the best. It is working out. Carter will be delighted to put you and me together and treat us royally to keep us from screaming bloody murder over breaking the pairs up so that he can get Serge for Missy. You just need to be OK with him fucking me. He won't know that the partner switch was our plan all along. Trust me. Now . . . Fuck, you're hard again. You're not going to . . . are you?"

"What do you think?" Victor said, snapping another condom on, rolling on top of Heather, and pushing into her again.

"Missy has been saying I may be gay, has she?" he snorted.

* * * *

Helsinki, Finland, 1 April 2017, Hartwell Arena

Heather gave a little moan, and Hayden Carter turned to her, a look of concern on his face. "Did you feel something. Is it . . .?"

"No, it isn't that," Heather spat out. She obviously was not enjoying herself. The seating in the figure skating arena at the rink for the 2017 Worlds wasn't built for heavily pregnant women. "It's these damn seats. It's just a cramp. Maybe we should leave."

"We can't now. The medal ceremony is about to start," Carter answered. "She knows where we're sitting. She'll look up here and expect to see me here. She has the right to gloat. I'll just have to tough it out."

"It's always her with you, isn't it, Hayden?" Heather said, but she settled back into the chair. She knew who paid the bills—who was going to have a lot more bills to pay in another month. The upside of this, of course, was that she had Hayden by the shorthairs now. He was going to be quite a gravy train for her—almost worth giving up skating for. She's pay the little loving wife for him—but with a different sense than he might think. She wasn't about to give up letting either Victor or Serge fuck her. It wasn't like Hayden was the faithful kind either. His training stable was stuffed with women skaters he was stuffing.

Hayden looked out over the arena, looking to see if they were here, and of course they were. Cheryl had opera glasses and Hayden could see they were trained on him, across the ice. Well, she had reason to gloat too, Hayden knew. They'd get past this. This was good for the training center—for future business. For now, this was as close as he could be to Cheryl—across the width of a large indoor stadium—until her divorce went through. But after that they could return to training skaters together.

Cheryl, loving wife she'd tried to be, had done everything Hayden had demanded of her, and she was just as surprised as Hayden was that he wasn't as sterile as he thought he was. But Cheryl's interests had moved on in the last year and Heather's condition was Cheryl's ticket to a big slice of Hayden's fortune and served her own interests.

Sitting next to Cheryl was Serge Agapov. Both of them were basking in the attention they were getting in the arena. They had been here the day before themselves, down on the ice, standing on the podium, accepting their silver medals in the 2017 Worlds pairs competition. The skating world was all abuzz at how well Cheryl had done in just one year of a comeback to skating, transitioning from singles skater to pairs.

Swinging his attention from Cheryl and Serge, Hayden picked Victor Mukhin out in the stands. The young man was looking particularly glum. He'd had to scramble for a new pairs partner when Heather discovered she was pregnant and the DNA test surprisingly had come back pointing at Hayden, and he'd thought he'd struck gold when the female half of the bronze winners the previous year had lost her partner. The two of them had worked day and night and had won bronze in the U.S. Nationals, but, alas, his partner had sprained her ankle just before the Worlds and they'd had to scratch. That was two years in a row and, ironically, it hadn't been feigned this year.

And there, now, on the ice, as the red carpet to the three-leveled platform had been rolled out, was the other phenomenon of the year in international figure skating. As Missy Carter was announced in the bronze medal position in the women's competition at the 2017 World ISU figure skating championships, she looked up in the stands, picking the figure of her father out, and giving him an "I said I wanted to be a singles skater" smug stare down.