With Interest Ch. 5

As soon as they were both fully inserted, I moved around and fed my bouncing erection into her mouth. There is something sinfully delightful about a triple penetration. "Now last one to come wins!" I called. Wins what, nobody asked; nobody really cared. Still a few of the others, not otherwise engaged, gathered around and began to cheer. With Penelope's help, the three of us found a counterpoint, and began fucking in earnest.

In a relatively short time, what with the small crowd shouting and cheering, and Penelope riding them both with incredible alacrity, Dave and Walter came almost as one. Their double ejaculation washed Penelope over the edge of her own rasping, sputtering orgasm. While she was puffing in climax, she thrust her head harder against me, taking me deeper than ever into her throat, pulling me past and sucking my come in spurts right up from my balls. Holding her gasping head tight, I jetted gob after gob of semen down her throat. And suddenly we were still, she on her hands and knees still perched on Walter, pushed back against Dave, still hanging on to their recently spent cocks.

"And, for my prize," I announced to all and sundry, amid the murmurs of appreciation, "I want my dear Ms. Lord to clean off, orally, each of these two fine specimens. Okay?" There was an instant of surprise, or, perhaps, uncertainty in her eyes, but only an instant. I smiled at her beatifically. With a slight nod, she pulled off Dave, scrambled off Walter and turned around. "Dave first," I suggested. So, without any hesitation now, she gobbled up the drooping, dripping snake that had just climbed out of her ass.

The evening was rapidly becoming a cornucopia of sexual activity. Becoming distracted myself, I lost track of Penelope for a short time, but, some time later I caught her eye, between tableaus, as it were, and summoned her over. Begging her sit next to me, I put my arm around her. She snuggled in, warm against my body, head at my shoulder. I could almost feel her purring. "Look at that," I muttered. Directly before us, Jake's partner, Suzie, was being actively fucked doggy-style by Gerry. "What do you think?" I queried, vaguely. Penelope lifted her head to watch the spectacle. Suzie was moaning and puffing and thrusting back against each of Gerry's lunges. "How do you think she tastes, right about now?" Penelope raised her eyes to mine, trying to discern my gist. "You know," I smiled, "I think maybe you should get down under her and find out. Help her out here. Get at her clit. Who knows, maybe she'll reciprocate – know what I mean." Penelope didn't say a word, but simply moved from my side, rolled to her back and began to squirm her way under Suzie, who faltered only a moment before resuming her energetic exhibition – a smile settling on her lips.

As Penelope's bush came even with Suzie's chin, arms appeared from beneath and wrapped tightly around Suzie's rocking thighs. Hidden underneath, between the flexing knees, it was, nevertheless, not difficult to tell when Penelope made contact. Suddenly, Suzie's eyes went wide; her mouth gaped and her breath gasped. Already aroused from the sound pounding she was receiving, Penelope's oral attention carried her swiftly to the peak of orgasm. "Aahh! Oooh! Aaack!" She whipped her head back and forth, swinging her butt in syncopation. Both Gerry and Penelope had to hold fast and ride out the crisis.

"Don't neglect Gerry!" I called as Suzie shook out the last of her climax, letting her head drop to Penelope's slit. The moment her tongue hit Penelope's clit; Penelope's hips began to tremor and shake. At the same time, Gerry's pounding became urgent and frenetic. His howl of pleasure was joined in harmony by a muffled wail from below, as both Gerry and Suzie collapsed, in panting giggles atop my dear assistant.

Just as they were finishing, Marcie, Dave's rather submissive partner, was left lying dazed on the rug, having, herself just been royally fucked by two of the guys. I helped extricate Penelope from the post-orgasmic heap, and without giving her a chance to even catch her breath, I led her over to Marcie. "How about a little sloppy soixante-neuf, eh, girls?" Penelope, too, was somewhat dazed, so, from behind, I positioned her over the supine Marcie, settling her quim onto Marcie's mouth, and pushing her face deep between Marcie's legs. "Eat, eat, eat," I called, holding her firmly by the back of the head, then, lining myself up with her delicious bum, I slowly but firmly insinuated my sprung rod up her rectal passage. Pushing all the way in, I started up a steady in/out, calling out instructions on every back-stroke. "C'mon Marcie, her clit and my balls – lick 'em! Make her come again, Ms. Lord, make her come!"

The smooth inner surface of her tight rectum rippled spasmodically around my swelling, sliding pole, exciting and inciting, until, after far too few strokes, I could feel the ignition sequence triggering in my loins. Marcie's tongue, lapping sporadically, further inflamed, and, suddenly, I was lost – pounding into Penelope's ass with drunken abandon. Volley upon volley of my love liquor nozzled deep into her bowels, her head still buried, her tongue tying knots in Marcie's sodden bush. Before I withdrew, I gestured to Grace and whispered a request in her ear. Good old Grace – when I'd first been introduced, she had added with a ribald wink, "Don't let the name fool you." She was back in a flash.

Pulling out of Penelope with a pop, I lifted her head, settling, for a sec, her pussy hard on Marcie's face. "Okay, Ms. Lord," I still kept some sort of faux-propriety in my voice, "we'd like you to use this, here, device on Marcie." I showed her the mammoth double-ended dildo that I'd got from Grace. Once again, her eyes betrayed just a moment of surprise or disbelief or apprehension. "We," I said, using the royal we, "want you to fuck her – fuck her until you both come. Do you understand?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Jackson," she replied, taking the proffered colossus and inspecting it before rising off Marcie's half-smothered face and moving down between her legs. Marcie just watched passively, with a rather lost-in-lust sort of smile on her face, as Penelope positioned herself between her thighs. Casually sweeping a hand up Marcie's slit, Penelope gathered fluid to lubricate the latex shaft. Then pausing, an inspired grin crossing her lips, she leaned forward and held the massive dildo to Marcie's mouth. "Lick it," she whispered, "Get it good and wet."

Marcie shut her eyes and began meticulously washing the fleshy, rubber cylinder with her tongue and lips, wetting it thoroughly while wiping it clean of her own juices.

Pulling back abruptly, Penelope held the tool threateningly over Marcie's genitals for a moment. Then, with an almost vicious shove, she threaded the monster between pink puffy lips, well up Marcie's gaping hole, eliciting a single, surprised 'Ooomph!' Holding the great curved phallus in place with one hand, and raising herself to a crouch, she straddled the pretend-prick, and, with her own eyes closed in a passion of concentration, she lowered herself down, down, down onto it – engulfing it while forcing it further into Marcie – until there was no longer room for her hand. Marcie's eyes opened wide, her lustful look now more engaged. When they made contact – pubis to pubis – at the slow end of the descent, Penelope placed her hands on Marcie's shoulders, arms straight. Taking her cue, Marcie reached up and grasped Penelope's biceps firmly, her breath already laboured.

Penelope opened her eyes briefly and smiled down at Marcie. "Here we go," she whispered, then, closing her eyes again, she began to rock her hips – very slightly. Marcie picked up the beat – pianissimo andante, to start. But gradually, inexorably, the tempo increased; so did the intensity. Marcie was staring, eyes wide, as if looking for clues from Penelope, whose head was thrown back – eyes shut tight. At every coming together, Marcie let out an 'oof' while Penelope just mewed contentedly. But their rocking soon became pounding, and their pounding thrashing, Their sighs became grunts and their grunts cries – fortissimo allegro! The horizontal bop had morphed into a tarrantella – a wild and frenzied jig – bodies quivering and trembling, glittering and glowing, a spray of sweat forming a mist around them. Everyone else in the room, even those actively engaged, was drawn to pause watch the inevitable. With all other congress on hold, all eyes were on Penelope and Marcie, who, held fast by the rubber bolt, smashed ceaselessly together as they rose to apogee. The room, silent save for the constant bumping and wailing centre-stage, was suddenly rent by blood curdling shrieks, as both Penelope and Marcie experienced obviously mind-blowing orgasms. Marcie's legs kicked and her fingers tore Penelope's arms, now wobbling on rubber elbows. Penelope's arms finally gave way and she collapsed into Marcie's welcoming embrace. Mouth to mouth, they sucked the last whimpering cries from one another, then were still.

A murmur of appreciation swept the room; a few of the others resumed their own carnal activities. Our performers rolled onto their sides, still embracing and let the twitching of their channels gradually expel their latex friend. Dave gathered Marcie up, and, cooing words of praise in her ear, wrapped her in his arms and helped her to a seat. Likewise, giving Penelope muttered words of praise and a comforting hug, I rolled her onto her back, and surveyed the crowd. Many of the group were still watching, as if too tired or too over-stimulated to do anything else. I, too, I have to admit, was somewhat exhausted, but so too was I still aroused; and once a director, always a director. So I smiled over Penelope's enervated body, spread limp on the shag, and asked, with fake innocence, "What else?"

Grace smiled mischievously and purred, "Let me at 'er, will ya?" As she held up her clenched fist ominously, I felt a tingle of amorphous fear, like maybe she was a little too raw – a little too carnal. Still, I'd made the pass, and she'd taken the ball.

"Okay," I assented, basically giving her carte blanche permission to ravish – and, perhaps, ravage – my prized Penelope.

Grace took immediate control, spreading a few of the others around Penelope. "Hold her," she ordered, "Hold her tight." Then, looking down at Penelope, who appeared to be struggling to conceal her apprehension, she added, "And let's not forget to caress her – see if she can be aroused one more time." There was an eerie glint in Grace's eyes as she placed herself between Penelope's knees, and surveyed her tableau. Then she began.

Grasping Penelope's venus mound, Grace twisted and prodded, violently – maliciously. "All right, you little cunt," she hissed, "let's see how well you respond to this." Her manipulation was almost malevolent in its intensity. She stretched and pinched, stroked and separated. Penelope heaved against her manual bondage, her breath coming in gasps at every indignity. Running fingers up her slit, Grace gathered and spread the precipitated influx of lubrication. Dipping, first one finger, then two, then three between the engorged labia, Grace continually bothered and teased Penelope's clitoris. Already Penelope was gasping and moaning and heaving her hips, despite or consequent to the constant violation of her genitals. Tongues and fingers caressed and stroked on the periphery – nipples, ears, hands, limbs – oblivious to the manual assailing of her pubis. And Grace persisted – pushing and prodding, bothering, tweaking – a thumb at her clit, her labia tugged and rent, her vagina opened and invaded.

Grace's body, itself, had acquired a sheen of perspiration, her breath now gasping and ragged, almost complementary to Penelope. She pushed, inserting her fingers with a lewd urgency. Her other hand twiddling with a frantic agitation that was nearly manic. Pushing harder, adding yet another finger, Grace muttered, "How does it feel now – your cunt – is it full enough, eh?" The other participants watched wide-eyed, as they continued to lick – and restrain. Not that Penelope was trying to escape. She just heaved and tossed in an ever-growing arousal – boiling and bubbling – a swelling excitement that seemed to grow uncontrollably. Working four fingers in and out of Penelope's vagina, Grace, too, was caught up in the burgeoning fervour. Tucking her thumb in, alongside her index finger, she pushed again – feverishly demanding entrance, at the same time clenching her hand into a fist.

Realistically, Grace's fist and forearm were no bigger than Marcus' prick, which Penelope had accommodated successfully, nonetheless, I had begun to regret saying anything; in any case, it was too late – too late to stop the current proceedings. To call a halt now might mean losing face with clientele – certainly an undesirable prospect. I silently reprimanded myself for letting it come down to business, at a time like this – still, I watched silently, like the rest of them, hoping things wouldn't get too far out of control – hoping I wouldn't need to intervene. There was a definite hint of sadism in Grace's relentless pushing and forcing. Insistently and adamantly she shoved, until, finally, Penelope's lipped passage – her gateway to heaven – opened and reluctantly swallowed the persistent hand – engulfing Grace's forearm, well past her wrist.

Once implanted, Grace began a slow withdrawal and insertion – a gleeful, if dazed grin spread across her face. Pulling back until the base of her thumb showed, then ramming herself back into Penelope's velvet cavern, more, it seemed, than a foot deep, Grace's eyes glazed. Penelope gasped, "Ooomph!" at every entrance, and drew a quick, whimpering inhale with each retraction. More and more rapidly, Grace's pounding became a frenzied blur – her breath coming in ragged wheezes. Penelope's eyes were wide. She bucked and tossed under her captive hands, although whether through distress or delight was initially unclear. Whatever the underlying sentiment, her bouncing buttocks eventually joined the rhythm of the assault, and, with her breathy moans rising to a whistling pinnacle, she suddenly crested, pushing her abdomen hard against the invading fist and screaming out her arrival. Her arms and legs tensed against the restraining hands, and her back arched to meet and hold the invasive limb. Shaking uncontrollably, Penelope tossed her head from side to side. Grace, flexing her fist deep inside, watched the waves of ecstasy roll over her victim, in echo after receding echo until finally Penelope lay, still impaled – limp beneath the relaxing grips of her captors.

Gazing at her sweat-soaked body, fading in and out of a post-orgasmic trance, I wondered what Penelope was thinking – how did she feel? In some sort of way, she almost seemed to welcome the surprises – welcome the extremes. I didn't understand, and, watching her limp figure lying there, as the evening came to an end, and my mania petered out, I felt more than a little foolish. Sure I had impressed a depraved bunch of degenerates, but what had I done to my own increasingly precious relationship? Had I dealt a body-blow to yet another relationship, for how could an 'arrangement' like this – whatever 'this' was – possibly survive behaviour like that – what I had basically subjected her to? How could it possibly last?

In a daze, we donned our clothing and gathered up our belongings. Taking leave of both colleagues and hosts, wrapping Penelope loosely in a blanket, we finally left – stumbling out of the hotel, into a waiting cab. All the way home, in frantic, perhaps pathetic whispers, I tried to apologize for my insensitivity and aggression, but Penelope would have none of it. Cooing incoherently, she simply closed her eyes and snuggled her head into my shoulder. Try as I might, I couldn't get her to respond; she wouldn't acknowledge my regrets. Finally, she opened her eyes and raised her head. Looking at me with alert, steel eyes, she said, in no uncertain terms, "Stop apologizing! I don't want to hear any more pleas of repentance. They're unnecessary – and unseemly." As my eyelids opened wider, hers sagged closed once more. She muttered, tiredly, "It was all just part of the job." And with a dismissive wave of her hand, she sloughed off any further discussion.

When, at last, I escorted her to her door, she said, almost timidly, "Come in for a bit, eh?"

"Uh, sure. Yeah. Thanks," I responded, somewhat flustered. In all this time, I had never been in her condo. I turned and dismissed the taxi – I could always get another, if necessary.

Once inside, Penelope, shed the blanket in foyer and walked, naked, to her buffet. She poured a short scotch, neat, and, giving it to me, asked, almost shyly, "Would you like to stay the night?" Despite all, I was, for some reason, taken by surprise; for, amazingly we had never actually 'slept' together. I was both flattered and confused. Hadn't she just had more sex than anyone could possibly want? Of course, I accepted and followed her to her room, still a little unsure of myself. Emerging from a quick shower, she bashfully offered me the same. When I came out, she was already in bed. It felt odd to climb between the soft, clean sheets. She extinguished the bedside lamp; we came together in an unexpectedly chaste embrace, and fell asleep that way. It had been a long and eventful evening.

In the quiet of the early morning, awake unnecessarily early, I began to suspect that, maybe, more than surprising her, the outrages of the night before had more or less sealed our 'arrangement' – sealed the roles that we had assumed over the past many, many months – whether or not they were actually director/compliant, master/slave, dominant/submissive, or something else completely. Maybe I had been unconsciously testing the solidity, or integrity of the 'directed-sex' aspect of our relationship.

–– o ––

Just over a month before the second anniversary of our 'arrangement', I said to Penelope, "Hey, hold off on lunch, okay?" She gave me her usual 'What now?'-look. "We're closing the office for the afternoon," I announced, not giving any reasons, "and goin' for a late lunch. Okay?"

"Whatever you say, boss," she answered with an affectionate flippancy.

We arrived and were shown to our table in a dim back corner of Extrapolate, an extremely posh, trendy and expensive restaurant in the financial district of the city. There in the quiet, early afternoon, for a late lunch, the subdued lighting on full white tablecloths, the susurrus of the formal staff gliding among the tables, the whispering of the other guests, all lent an air of the surreal. I ordered a vintage red, raising a toast as soon as the waiter had vanished. "Here's to you, Ms. Lord. To a huge debt, almost retired – an onerous task met with resolve and strength. To you."

"Thank you," she replied as we clinked glasses and sipped, our eyes locked together.

"Actually," I went on, "it's not quite retired. By my calculation, there remains a balance of a little over two hundred bucks." Penelope took my meaning immediately, just as I suspected she would. Setting her glass carefully down, a slight, mischievous smile rose to her lips as she patted them dry with her napkin. Then, without any more ado, without a word, without even checking about for observant staff, she held her dress, and slipped neatly beneath the table linen. With a quick check, myself, I was, perhaps, just slightly disappointed to note that no one was watching.

Expertly, she released my already thickening hard-on, and smoothly swallowed it right to the base. By God, she was talented. Gazing glassy-eyed across the elegant dining room, listening to the quiet murmur of private conversation, I found myself responding rapidly, urgently to her practiced ministrations. Long, slow strokes, laving the entire length of my still growing erection, were punctuated by deep, sudden plunges, my glans banging violently the back of her throat. It was really too much for anyone, so, placing my hands at the sides of her head, I held her tight, fully impaled as my hips bucked and jerked, spewing strings of jism far down her gullet. She received my tribute with nary a sputter, working her suction until I was completely drained. As she let me fall from her lips, I felt her using her napkin to dry my drooping member, before replacing him gently and closing my fly.