Tell You All About It

Pressed against the bold letter S.

"Shaw tells me he owns me as he fucks me," she said, matter-of-factly, belying the lust curling in her stomach.

"D-do you like that, do you?" Ethan asked, feeling as though the soles of his shoes were being sucked into the concrete floor. His balls felt tight, close to bursting, a sensation in his diaphragm upon each inhalation.

Freya chuckled. "Yes."

"Wha-what else does he tell you?"

"That I'm his dark alley whore," she hissed, covering her gash with her palm. She leaned back, core tightly engaged, wishing she had something behind her upon which to anchor herself, so as to thrust her hips up in triumph.

"That he wants to take me, eviscerate me, crawl underneath my skin," she continued, eyes half-closed and breath shuddering through parted lips. "And I swear that's what he's done. He's under my skin, Ethan. I feel electrified around him. I can't explain it."

She had slowly begun to rub her palm through her folds as she monologued, her knees swaying, head rolling heavy, breasts thrust forward. Ethan couldn't swallow; he couldn't breathe as he watched Freya seduce herself with memories alone.

He wondered what it would be like to watch her with Shaw.

The thought made him audibly moan, shake and shudder, pulling Freya back to him, darkened eyes velvet with arousal.

"You love that, don't you?" she whispered, almost to herself. "If you can't fuck me like that, at least someone can. Right?"

This time Ethan groaned.

"Fuck," Freya echoed, head lolling back as she sunk three fingers into her pliable cunt. She reached into her depths, her free hand cupping her breast and rolling her nipple through the fabric of her singlet, her thighs restrained from going any wider due to booted feet and overall-shackled ankles.

"Fuck this is so hot," she breathed, pumping her fingers into her cunt. In her mind's eye she saw Ethan squirming on the futon, his dick throbbing in his pants, his heart bursting from his chest.

Ethan watched as Freya's cunt grew from bright pink to a dark, dusky rose, blooming before his eyes. Beneath his tongue saliva pooled, slimy and warm. He gulped, his throat tight and pressed a hand over his crotch, trying to supress his erection.

"Oh, god, Freya," he managed, his voice strangled even to his own ears. "Fuck."

His toes curled in his shoes, a shock of heat bolting up from his soles to his gut. He jerked forward, made a choking kind of noise, heat flooding the front of his pants, heat flooding his cheeks, boiling his brain.

"Fuck!" he cried out, hips arching up, hand fisting in the used sheets, sex and sweet earth clay making his nostrils flare. "Fuck, Freya!"

Freya had anchored herself with her left palm on the hard concrete floor, her right hand munting her cunt in front of Ethan's face, showing him Shaw's come on her fingertips, spreading it up and around her clitoris, smearing it over his marks, each one, branding herself further, completely lost to her body.

"Oh fuck," she choked, feeling her orgasm coiling through her veins. "Fuck. I'm gonna come." And then she'd heard Ethan's strangled cry of release, a sound that triggered her own response.

Her cunt tightened, thighs tensing as she thrust her hips mid-air and exploded around her fingers, her juices running rivets down her palm, to the pulse in her wrist, clenching and sucking deep, muscles quivering upon her release.

She slapped her pussy once, hard, then rubbed her palm over her tender flesh, soothing and spreading sex, calming herself. She managed to pull herself up to sitting, shuddering another breath as her head rushed with blood and her pussy clutched at the upright angle.

She slowly opened her eyes, saw Ethan flushed and floundering, his fists twisted in her sheets.

Freya licked her lips, rubbing them together to supress the smile.

Wasn't this interesting?

Her grin won out and she smiled broadly, bringing her sex-soaked hand to her mouth, rubbing middle and ring fingers over her bottom lip before sucking them into her moaning mouth.

The third finger -- her forefinger, she eventually held out for him. "Would you like to try?"

Ethan nodded, heart jerky with the movement.

Freya stood, shuffled over to him and waved her hand in front of his face. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent, his head swimming. She pressed the back of her finger to his gently parted lips, running it between them, mimicking outercourse almost, giving him the sex that lay thicker on the back of her hand.

His breath shuddered from his lips and his nostrils flared with the close proximity of her scent. Her fingers glistened with sex and saliva, wrists spackled with clay. Ethan's tongue pushed forward to tickle the soft, floppy skin above her knuckle, wriggling against the skin, eyes half rolling back in bliss at the warmth of her honeyed sex on his mouth.

She stepped back, bent to lift her overalls back up. "Did you like that?" she asked softly, clipping her bib up he licked his lips.

Ethan nodded again, opened his eyes and looked up at her, love fierce in his pale green eyes.

"Good," Freya smiled, picking up her cold coffee, sipping to quench her own thirst. "I'll be sure to tell you all about it next time." Pause. "Promise."

* * * *

The next time Ethan encountered Shaw was just three days later, when he let himself into Freya's townhouse after two missed calls and an unanswered text lead him to believe she wasn't home. He came over to replenish her weed stash. As he opened the door, he heard her scream.

It made his heart race and his balls ache.

Especially when he heard Shaw growl, "Who owns this cunt?" Followed by a spitting sound, a low feminine groan, sadistic masculine laughter. "Fucking tell me, Yaya."

Yaya?

Ethan placed the bag of weed on the small side table that held umbrellas and keys and other pocket items, and slowly backed out the door, easing it closed behind him.

Immediately, as if without thought, he shoved his hand down his pants, his mind a flickerbook of motion, of Shaw fucking Freya life like a whore, using filthy words, owning her, enjoying her wanton lust, her body responding to his power, feeding it.

Ethan gasped, a strangled sound, his palm flooding with heat as he came in his pants. His ears burned, but the ringing between them finally quietened.

"What the fu-" he breathed, mouth agape, wiping his hand on the seat of his jeans.

"Fuck."

He buckled himself into his ute, and drove home in a daze.

* * * *

The scent of baking bread and roasting coffee beans roused Shaw in the early hours of a quiet morning. He blinked gently, taking in the soft yellow lamplight, hearing the neighbouring hens clucking at the gentle morning beneath the whirring of Freya's wheel. He turned his head on the pillow, shifted on the lumpy futon -- she really needed something better than this, and he made a mental note to look into it -- muscles aching, and watched her moulding clay.

She was naked beneath her apron, hair bundled atop her head, leaving her face unframed. He saw her squint in the dim light as she ran her thumb nail along the slowly spinning form. She dipped a sponge, the rippling water droplets easily absorbed into the quiet morning, making Shaw appreciate the moment to watch her while she was unaware.

She was so lovely, he thought, half shifting on his side, not needing to feign the sleepy sigh that followed. She didn't even look up, so engrossed was she in her work. Shaw closed his eyes and held a moan at the back of his throat in remembrance of those delicate hands moving along his shaft, cupping his balls, teasing him and intoxicating him like no other.

She worked the clay with that same knowing smile caressing her lips.

He grinned, watching her through slitted eyes as her hands moved over the clay, curving a wave-like shape using just her fingertips and a small sponge. He watched with growing alertness as she pressed her thumb to depress motion into her sculpture, bringing it to life.

Shaw shuddered out a breath and Freya looked up, pinning him under her intense gaze.

He grinned, shifting on the futon, pulling one side up, erect in couch position, sitting up to face her, her mint green sheets draped casually over his hips.

"You're so fucking sexy," she breathed, releasing the wheel and placing a damp cloth over her cresting clay, quickly wiping her hands on her apron.

"You weren't here," he mumbled, rubbing his palms over his face, thinking he should probably shave.

"I was inspired," she grinned. "Tired inspired, but inspired nonetheless."

"Tired inspired?" he asked, dropping his hands and slouching down the couch.

"Yes. It's a thing."

Shaw smiled. "Can't imagine what caused it."

Drawing the sheet away, Shaw stood, naked honey in the golden lamplight, and stalked over to her, his bare footsteps moving cool on the concrete floor. He watched as Freya pushed back from the wheel but remained seated, her thighs parted, pussy obscured by the curtain of her apron. She gulped as his semi erect cock rested but a whisper from her bottom lip.

She moistened said lip, tongue darting out to roll slowly from one corner to the other, before looking up and gripping the base of Shaw's dick, remnants of clay spotting her knuckles, staining the back of her hand. Her eyes travelled heavy up his body, pulled by his will, eager for the connection of his hungry gaze.

"Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are?" he asked, voice gruff, rough with sleep and emotion.

Freya leaned forward, parted her teeth, her bottom lip rubbing feather light soft against his silken bellend, and shook her head. "No," she breathed over his tingling sex. "I have no idea. Why don't you show me?"

Her eyes goaded him; her voice seduced him.

But it was her smile that undid him.

He gripped her bun, pulled her head back, exposing the long column of her throat. She released a husky chuckle, eyes brightening, anticipation building. He manoeuvred between her parted thighs, pressing the shinbone just below his knee against her gash.

She opened her palm and rubbed his shaft over her lips, nose, chin, even her eye-socket. His balls rested gently against her chin as she skilfully brought him to full hardness, her soft kisses and light licks sending bubbles of fizz across his mid-section.

"So fucking beautiful," he groaned, pressing his shin against her sex, enthralled by the look of pure bliss intensifying her beauty, searing her features into his soul. His tense fingers gripped her bun -- he wanted the length of it wrapped around his hands, but he was too impatient -- and yanked her head back further, knowing her scalp tingled from the pull of her hair at the root.

He stepped firmer into her personal space, his thigh tense between her breasts, his other knee pushing her left thigh out, the muscle of her inner-thigh pulled taut, sinew straining beneath pale gold skin. The welts of his passion ripe peach on her thighs, tingling with fresh blood and arousal.

He gripped his shaft, her hand moving down to cup his balls, and guided his cock between her lips, loving the rush of warm air over his skin as she sighed in happy welcome, the spongy heat of her tongue making his head swim and heart lurch in his chest. Shaw coughed out a breath as he felt himself tickle the back of her throat, the soft slimy feel of her silently gagging around him, feeling her oesophagus contract with her moans.

"That's it," he breathed, feeling a snarl curl on the final consonant. "Hold me there. Feel me."

Freya sucked in a breath through nostrils flared, a small high-pitched sound stuck at the back of her throat making her eyes water. Her hand squeezed Shaw's thigh and she exhaled slowly, forcing her throat to relax, to accept his invasion.

"Oh, fuck, you're perfect," he grunted, pulling her back, allowing her to suck in a full and cool breath around the head of his dick before her slammed her back down his length, throat fucking her hard and fast and deep. Complete.

Freya held her jaw slack, her throat open, the slide of Shaw's dick along her tongue making her acutely aware of his shin against her pussy. She wanted to frown over the barrier between them, but knew the muscle movement would ruin his rhythm.

And she so loved it when he fucked her in a perfect rhythm.

She moaned, the friction against her pussy making her tremble, her bottom lip quivering against his thrusting shaft, her nostrils flaring for air, eyes watering as she began to choke on his sex.

"That's it, whore," Shaw snarled, his hand moving down to grip the apron, pulling it up around her neck, yanking her as she gasped upon the flesh of his shin pressing against her burning cunt.

"Oh baby, you are fire," he moaned, feeling her heat shoot through his veins, from his dick down his leg to the webbing of his toes.

She began to rock herself against his leg, a dog in heat, humping as she sucked him, the pumping of her hips in tandem with the suction of her lips. Her eyes dark cocoa, demanding and overwhelmed with need.

"That's it," he soothed, humping his hips against her, not caring if her jaw was sore, not caring that spittle was dribbling down her chin, that he could see her eyes glisten in the dim light. "Take that cock. Fuck your mouth."

Freya moaned at his words, his tone, the guttural need behind them. She felt her pussy spasm against Shaw's shin, eyes rolling back as she groaned in pleasure around his cock, her throat contracting and spasming as she tried to suck in a breath to expel her joy. She bucked her hips against his leg, seeking pleasure, desperate for release somewhere: her cunt, his cock, her mouth, she didn't care. She needed to let go. She knew he knew.

"That's it, that's it," he chanted, his breath shallow and short. His movements didn't slow; if anything, they increased, speed and power. He was ferocious, attacking her mouth and throat, grunting as he felt his balls tighten and his toes curl, knowing she could taste his leaking precum, knowing she knew he was close. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure, her tongue pressing him up to the roof of her mouth, rubbing him against the soft ridges there.

Shaw's vision swayed; he pulled her hair tighter and grunted, "Come with that dick in your mouth," before crying out, "Fucking give it to me!" the final vowel extended on his cry of release. He spurted two, three times down her throat before he had mind to pull himself back, withdrawing on the fourth and coming on her tongue, his glistening cock slipping from her slackened lips to ooze down her chin, rubbing his tingling wet warmth against her aching throat, his seed pooling at the apron around her neck.

"Here, let me get that," Shaw mumbled before gently detangling her and tossing the apron aside.

Freya lifted her eyes, her now-empty mouth open, panting slightly, lips swollen and pink. She cricked her neck as she cupped her breasts, massaging her tender aching flesh, licking the corners of her mouth as she did so.

Then she smiled.

"It was only, like, two hours ago that..." she trailed off on a chuckle, bringing her hands up her throat and down again, rubbing her lips together to hold onto sensation. She sat straight, the ache in her cunt more acute at the tilted angle of her pelvis.

"Yes?" Shaw asked, drawing her to her feet, knowing she was aching from the squatted position, and still needy not having come as hard as she liked.

"Your recovery time is impressive," she grinned.

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence with 'for a man of my age'," he grumbled, hand caressing her cheek. Freya turned her head to kiss his palm, tasting salt, before laughter bubbled out.

"No," she giggled. "For a man in general. I didn't come to you a virgin, so I've an idea on the average recovery time. Clearly though," she continued, "you're anything but average."

A slow, self-satisfied smile spread across Shaw's features. "No, you weren't a virgin. But parts of you were." His hand moved down and around the curve of her hip, over her asscheek down and back up again, smiling as she resisted the urge to squirm. "And you, my dear," he whispered softly against her temple, "are anything but average."

Freya trailed her fingertips down her chin and throat, feeling his slickness on her skin, and remembered the night he took her anal virginity, claiming her where no one else had, bonding them forever with the shared intimacy.

She blushed in memory, asked Shaw if he wanted a soda, and stepped away, over to the sink to soap her hands. Her phone buzzed and flashed alight with a notification as she shook her fingertips dry before grabbing a clean tea-towel.

"Grab that for me, can you?" she asked, bending to retrieve cool drinks from her fridge.

Comfortably naked, Shaw brought it over to her -- idly noted it was ten to five -- in exchange for a can of coke. The can hissed open and Shaw watched with amusement the range of expressions to cross Freya's face.

"Fuck," she muttered, tapping and scrolling through notifications.

"Everything okay?" Shaw swallowed, leaning a hip against the countertop.

"Yeah," she responded, distracted. "Ethan. I cancelled our brunch date last Sunday. All good. Just checking in."

But Shaw saw her blush and knew she held a secret.

He smiled. He just loved coercing secrets out of her.

"You're blushing," he stated.

"What?" she laughed, suddenly nervous. "No."

Shaw smiled broadly, enjoying her discomfort. "I know you've told him about me. He saw me at your place the other week. I don't mind. I know you need it."

Freya licked her lips, knowing what he expected of her regarding communication. "Yeah," she admitted. "I've told him. Just about the alleyway, though. And some of the stuff you say..."

Shaw tilted his head, watched as she wiped down the pristine sink. He leaned over and rested his hand on her forearm to still her. His eyes were direct and demanding. But also compassionate. He knew she was in turmoil.

Freya let out a breath and tossed the rag in the sink, turned to face him.

"Last Monday morning," she began. "After you'd shown up at my place. Ethan came here for coffee and I told him about what we did. What we do. And, and..." Another fortifying breath. "And I fingered myself while he watched."

Her hands clenched the edge of the sink as she made her confession, both relieved and worried. Relief at having told her secret, worry at his response.

Shaw took her hand and led her to the futon, laying down and holding her over his chest, his middle finger stroking along the length of her spine.

"It's okay, Freya," he murmured, pressing his nose into the crown of her head, breathing in her sunrise scent. "You're exploring the lifestyle. It's okay. I'm not mad." He smiled up at the ceiling, imagining perfectly how she'd have looked fingering herself for an eager onlooker. "I'm impressed, actually," he continued. "Proud, even. Tell me about it."

Snuggled up warm against his skin, and with the soft light of the lamp washing them golden, she told him. About how Ethan had always loved her, and how she didn't love him back. How she'd freaked out mid-seduction, worried she'd ruin their friendship, and how she realised Ethan responded to her as she did to Shaw. She wriggled warm against Shaw's skin and told him how she'd centred her thoughts, on him, to calm and herself and control her orgasm.

That final part of her confession -- using him to control her orgasm -- made Shaw groan, cradle her face between his big hands and tilt her lips to his. He kissed her tenderly, tongue tracing the shape of Freya's mouth, tickling the skin between her front teeth and upper lip. She moaned into his mouth, his name shuddering on her breath.

"Shaw," she breathed, eyes closing with languid pleasure. He shifted beneath her, sliding down a little to properly press kisses to her throat, hands cupping her breasts between their bodies -- so small in his large hands -- his thumbs and forefingers rolling her turgid teats before bringing them to his mouth, wriggling again to align himself properly with her nipples.