Caro

"Spread yourself for me, caro."

Gabriella sits behind me, on the floor. She is still dressed, albeit just in a black nightgown and a soft-looking white cardigan.

I came over late. When she opened the door to greet me her long curly hair was, hastily pulled back with a hairband. I could see the deep tan of her cleavage. The swell of her breasts dipped downwards underneath the sheer silk nightgown; she wasn't wearing a bra.

I reach behind myself and grab at my cheeks, displaying myself for her. My upper body rests against the tabletop. The cold glass against my cheek sends a chill through my nipples and the tight muscles of my abdomen. Gabriella might still be dressed, but I do not deserve that comfort.

This, she decided, is the punishment for my catching her unprepared.

"Such a beautiful ass." Her voice is dark and dusky, but her manner is kind as her hand moves up and down the back of my leg. "Not just firm, but nearly hairless. Did you shave yourself, for me, or do you come by your beauty naturally?" I hear a soft rustle behind me, her shifting errant curls of hair behind her ear. "Either is appealing, in their own separate ways."

"I've never shaved myself," I say.

"No, you haven't," she says. Her fingers, their heat barely perceptible against my burning skin, trace against my still-soft cock, and brush through my thick, wiry pubic hair. "You are a natural man."

There is a gentle press of flesh against me, between my cheeks, and I feel a rush of air, her inhale. "You have a very masculine odor, did you know? You've showered, I hope."

"I did, but... I rushed straight here. It's a long walk, and—"

"This is a subtle compliment, you could not wait." One of her hands squeezes around my flaccid cock and begins a slow stroke, her other gently wards mine away from my opened cheeks.

I loosen my grip and my tensed buttocks cinch against her pressing nose. Her cheeks rest against the flush skin of my ass and her tongue slowly extends. Just the tip, at first, but soon it edges into an elusive and tender kiss. My body shudders against the table, my shoulders clench.

Gabriella's nails dig into my skin. Her breath is a heated wave across my hidden places, "You understand what comes next, caro?"

My hands, freed from exposing myself, grip the edges of the table so hard my knuckles hurt. "I think so..."

She stands, and moves away. I can't tell what I miss more: her soft embrace around my cock, or the soothing warmth of her tongue. "You do, I think, or you would not grip the table so."

Her heavy breasts pool across my back as she leans atop me, as if she could pin me by their weight alone. I swear I can feel her nipples, hard, through the smooth fabric of her gown. Her hips slowly grind against my upturned ass. I close my eyes...

"You are a good boy," she continues, "to grip without command. It means you understand what is expected of you. You are good boy, too, to come to my house so late at night, to come to the house of the woman who will not let you fuck her, but whom you so graciously allow to fuck you."

She gives me no warning other than the verbal. As one hand grips into the short hair at the back of my head, the other spears two fingers into my waiting hole. I grunt—with discomfort, more than surprise. My knuckles turn white. I swallow, and focus on accepting her inside of me. Her fingers are wet—slick with lube, not spit, for how easily she enters me. Just a bit of pinching tightness, just enough for the breath to catch in my throat, and then she is inside me.

"It is just a little pain. You will get used to it."

I do, but not easily. Her fingers sink into me up to their first knuckles. They test me, attempting to spread apart, the ring of my ass clenches, and resists, no matter how deeply I inhale. My body is powerless to stop her, though it surges with the attempt. Quickly, I hardly notice the pain at all.

Her fingers, within and without, have worked me to an immediate hardness. My cock wedges against the underside of the table, my hips shift—not to escape her, but to provide friction. Even the cold, rigid touch of the table's edge against my burning erection is dizzying. My cock aches with need. I can feel the pulse as it surges with want. With each deep press of her fingers my dripping shaft spills its sticky need, wasted, down the front of its fat head.

She has not waited for me to adjust. Her strokes are firm inside of me. My body relents, accepting her forceful plunge. She finds my button, the walnut lump of my prostate. The moan that spills out of me is instinct, not thought, and my cock lifts, brushing itself it futile humps against the bottom of the table.

"You are beautiful," she whispers. Her teeth close around the rim of my ear, and her hips roll against my body, pantomiming the fuck her fingers are laying into me. My cock smears its sticky substance against the table bottom. It twitches despite my efforts to keep it still. "How long has it been, since you last came?"

"A... a week."

"A week!" she says. "Was it painful, to wait so long?"

"Y-yes," I answer in my cock's stead, its frantic shudders inaudible beneath the pounding in my head, below the soft swish of her nightgown across my back.

Her nipples, hard as ice, but warm as fire, trace sensitive lines up and down my tensing body. "Say my name, and I will allow you your reward."

It comes out in a rush, my head dizzy, my dick a seething column of ache. "Gabriella..."

She jams her fingers down onto my inner button and a strangled, shameful yelp surges out of me. My cock fires like a primed cannon, smearing its spunk in thick jets against the underside of the table. Wet blasts against the glass, a week's worth of orgasms spilling out at once, sticky bursts, everything I'd saved for her.

Her body is still atop me, the whole weight of her heavy and unmoving, and I must bear it. My lungs struggle to draw breath, my eyes cross and relax, but still I can't see straight.

Her lips leave my ear, and she strokes my tender insides until, by touch, she feels my quaking is complete. My cock has softened. Its retreat drooling the scant remainders of its climax down my sack and across my thighs. I groan out my discomfort, and my legs tremble to the point of collapse, when she withdraws her fingers from my clenching tunnel.

She presses small kisses between my shoulder blades. Her fingers, the ones that have so-claimed me, dip into the pebbled sweat at the small of my back, and stroke me kindly, until my breathing has slowed.

"Did you enjoy this?" She asks.

"Y-yes."

"Did you dream of me, those nights when you did not allow yourself the pleasure?"

"Yes," I say, "always."

"Then I am content."

The doorbell buzzes. I barely hear it, over my daze—the ringing in my ears and the dull ache inside my hidden spot, where she has spread me open. She places a washcloth by my head.

"Here, for when you have found the will to stand." She wags a manicured finger between my eyes, adopting an uncharacteristically playful smile. "It is important to clean your messes."

She leaves me. I wait until my legs stop trembling, until my body loses some of its leaden feeling. I sit on the floor and wipe the washcloth at the underside of the table. The cloth is dry, leaving deep smears against the glass, hardly cleaning it at all. I lean forward, mindful of my duty, and do my best to wipe up the small pool of spunk my bursting cock left on the hardwood floor beneath the table.

"Please stand, caro, and greet our guest."

My shoulders cinch, my heart seizes all the way up into my throat. Without warning, my head begins to swim.

It feels like hours until I get the courage to look. When I turn at the waist, I see Gabriella, arm entwined with a tall man whose hair is long, black, and curled, like hers. He is dressed in black slacks and a blue shirt. His skin is richly tanned. His eyes are dark.

I stand, but gracelessly. My heart had yet to calm down, and the presence of another man now has it straining against my chest. On reflex, my hands cover my flaccid cock, instinctually converting the washcloth they hold into a loincloth.

"Caro! Your modesty is not appreciated. Reveal yourself, and then greet our guest as I asked."

"I—"

She turns to him, hair a wave of dark curls, a curtain that keeps her emerald eyes from me. "Sig. Jonathan," she says, "forgive his manners. As you can see, he's but a very young man."

Jonathan removes himself from Gabriella's arm and takes a step towards me. He smiles, and his deep brown eyes regard my face with a twinge of humor, the sincere, generous kind rarely found in Gabriella's countenance. "Youth is as ample an excuse for ignorance as any other," he says.

I let my hands drop to my sides. My cock is revealed once more, still dripping the last bits of its shuddering climax down my skin, the pearly liquid spread across my upper legs and thighs. I find my head lowering, my chin reflexively dipping, just an inch. "Good evening," I say.

"Yes, good evening," Gabriella says. "Soon to be a wonderful evening, I expect."

Briefly, she moves to face Jonathan, but sways a lazy arm through the air towards me. "As you can see, my young man has been a very good boy for me, tonight, and he has been justly praised for it." Now turning to face me, Gabriella's hand reaches behind her, to firmly squeeze the obvious bulge in Jonathan's slacks. "Do you see what your feint at modesty has done?" She asks me. "He cannot help but be aroused by your state. You are a strong boy, but you are also a very bad one, to draw such a reaction out of an honorable man.

I try not to look as her slender hand, with its painted nails, encircles Jonathan's growing bulge, and urges it towards further stiffness.

I nod, my neck stiff, incompliant.

"You did not say it, caro," Gabriella says. "And if you did not say it, then I can not be sure you understand it."

"I am bad," I say.

"But what sort of bad, I wonder?"

I tip my gaze down to the floor. "I am a bad boy."

"Yes, you are." She sweeps her nightgown close to her legs, and kneels before Jonathan. Even as Gabriella opens his zipper, Jonathan's eyes stay riveted to mine; they've never left me. My nipples harden in the cold air. I draw in a breath—a lustful one? a covetous one?—as she uses both hands to slowly pull him loose from his slacks. He is thick, turgid with need, his cock just a shade darker than the olive complexion as his skin.

Jonathan parts his lips in silent moan as Gabriella's embrace his cock. Her nostrils flare and she sinks her head down onto his impressive length. His eyes droop to half-lidded, and his hand swirls gently through the hair at her temples. A sharp pain grips my heart.

"What are you envious of, caro? Is it this prick?" she asks, after she's removed her lips from his length, leaving the base of it stained gaudily by her lipstick. Her hand works Jonathan's spit-wet dick with careful motions, but she has eyes only for me. "You are no small boy, but he is so very much larger. How will you take him, I wonder?"

"What?" I swallow, my lips suddenly dry, my throat parched. "I-I can't—"

Her dark eyebrows raise with piqued curiosity. "And why can't you?"

"I mean I haven't—"

Her chin dips forward, spilling her luscious, curled hair across her face. "If you haven't," she says, firmly, "then you do not know if you can't."

Jonathan, still dreadfully silent, patient, quiet like a stone, roves his eyes along my body, and there is no escape but to look away, and down, to where Gabriella runs her nose across the length of his cock, and inhales his scent.

"Are you jealous of my lips, as well?" That small, familiar smile of hers, tinged with playful sadism, edges her lips slowly upward. "They have touched his prick, but never yours. In my heart, that might stir a terrible envy."

"I'm not—"

"You are," she says. Her cheek traces through his thick bush, springing out from the fly of his pants. "But it need not always be so. If you are a good boy, an obedient boy, then perhaps you will know the touch of my lips, too, someday."

A subtle draft blows through the apartment from some open window in some other room. I shiver out my shoulders against the chill of the air running along my naked back. My hands clench at my side as my body remembers the shame of its exposure. My cock has retreated to just a little nub, hiding in its veil of dense pubic hair. My cum has dried and feels coarse against my sensitive skin. I bite my tongue.

Gabriella paces over to a large armchair, red and plush. "It is a good boy, who knows when to be silent. Here, come." After she sits, she tucks her nightgown up, above the crest of her round, full ass, revealing the thick and shapely curves of her thighs, and the teal of her panties already—and obviously—moist. "Sit."

Jonathan never seems to tire of his silent observation, no matter that his ravenous eyes have explored every inch of my body twice over by now. I obey Gabriella's command, though it's hard to move when even her words can drive such a weight into me. I cross the room in uneven steps to sit in front of her and rest my head against the inside of her leg, as I have done countless times before.

Leaning forward, her breasts swaying gently above my head, Gabriella extends her hand and pats affectionately against my tailbone. "But you must raise yourself to greet him, caro."

So far past the ability to look her in the face, I keep my eyes riveted on the deep, rich color of her legs as I raise myself to all fours.

"Yes," she says. Her hand cups my cheek, her soft and pampered palm rolling across my stubble. "Jonathan, be generous with the lube, and mindful of my boy. He is not as experienced as you."

I hear the squirt of liquid behind me. Soon I feel the embrace of Jonathan's hands around my hips. There is a warm pressure as his cock slips up and through my cheeks, slick with lube that his seething hardness smears across my skin. For a moment, I feel the touch of crinkled skin, his heavy balls, sway lightly against my own, which retreated up against my body as if they were cold.

His hands are callous and strong, not at all like Gabriella's. His hips rock against me. His hands grab me by my cheeks, squeezing them around his sweltering-hot cock, availing himself of my nervous tightness to build himself to further, firmer erections. With each thrust of himself through the makeshift tunnel of my cheeks I feel him growing larger, and he is already so impossibly large...

There is a slight pressure each time his engorged head swipes across my cowering entrance. But each time, it's just a passing sensation. I hold my breath, and for a time, he fucks me like this—against my body, not in—and I am almost able to convince myself that I can take it.

But when his hips lean into me with a true force, one aimed towards spreading me open, all the air I've been holding in my lungs slips out with a fearful gasp. "I can't." Scrambling forwards against Gabriella's body, seeking her protection, I say, "Please, I can't..."

Behind me, for a breath, Jonathan stops. It's barely a relief: he's paused in fucking me, but still I can feel the pulse of his cock against me like a hungry viper, my body its prey.

Gabriella quirks a brow at me as she slumps downwards in her chair, relaxing her shoulders and letting her body unwind. "Do you not listen when I speak?" Her bare foot tickles its toes across my firmly planted hands. "You believe can not only because you have not."

Gripping my cheeks with her palms, Gabriella guides my face between her legs. The spicy tang of her arousal is overpowering. I shut my eyes. The curled texture of her pubic hair presses through her thin undergarments. She is wet, deeply wet. Just the scent of her clogs my throat, and dizzies my head.

"See how your actions have enchanted me, caro." Her fingers hook behind my ears and guide my nose to the richest spot of her wetness. "Inhale deeply of my scent; you may use it to remind yourself of what you are."

The air is so thick with her aroma that I fear I might choke. I press my face against her. My nose delves deeper, wedging the soft fabric of her panties into her cunt. Her scent claims me as much as her hand, which strokes through my hair in soothing motions.

"Yes," she says, "drink it in. It is a subtle reminder of my passion for you."

It is not subtle. It cloys the inside of my nose. Jonathan's hips shift against me. It's the only notice I'm given before the fat head of his cock spears itself into my body. It presses against my tensed portal until my fearful clenching relents, and it slips inside, and past. I let out a strangled yelp, but Jonathan's cock is still, once it has claimed that searing inch of me.

"Relax," he says, "the hard part is over." His strong hands stroke across my back as Gabriella's had, and they are just as gentle as hers. His nails dig sharp lines into my skin, and my body lets out its tension in a wriggle. My stretched hole squeezes around his invading dick, but it squeezes not in pain or fear, but encouragement.

He waits moments that feel like hours. The only sound in the room is the soft heaving of my breath as I struggle to adjust, but there is no way to feel comfortable against this fullness. His shaft is soft and spongy, compared to the toys that Gabriella has used to take me, but underlain with an unrelenting firmness like a steel rod. He is so hot that I fear it might scorch my insides, if he lingered too long within me. My shoulders seize. My hands dig their nails down against the hardwood floor.

Gabriella's hands brush eagerly through my hair. "He is ready. Take him, Jonathan."

The thrusting is metered, but quick. Just two stabs of his hips and he is deep inside me in ways that even Gabriella has never been. I scream, and halfway through the scream becomes a moan.

His hands grasp around my hips again, this time for leverage, so that he may slam into me more fully, stretch my body to the limit, and then to the limit past that, and then again, until I wonder if there is any limit at all.

Gabriella guides me to her sopping cunt, brushing my face against soft silk of her panties, made sodden by her desires. "Kiss me," she says. "Kiss me, and I will know that you understand your place. What's more, I will know you love me for it."

I press my lips against her slick dampness. I stab my tongue at her through her panties. Her body releases a convulsive shiver, her perfect nails dig deep welts into the skin behind my ears. She moans; Gabriella has never moaned, at least not in my presence.

Jonathan begins to grunt. I realize that I have, without any will of my own, begun to fuck my hips back towards his. His hand, pressed down atop the small of my back, forces me to bear his weight. He is an animal—the alpha—and I am his right. With each forward sway his heavy sack slaps against my skin, silently asserting his claim over me. My own balls sting with the assault, and my cock stiffens of its own accord, even through the aching soreness of my recent orgasm. Was that only minutes ago? It feels like hours, or even years.

"Would that you could see the blush on Jonathan's face, caro." Gabriella whispers, as if it's for only me to hear. "It matches your own quite nicely. And how the hair curls around his shoulders as he throws himself into you." She lifts her eyes. "Jonathan?"

"Yes?" He asks, between bursts of breath, in the fraction of a second before his hips plow back into me.

"Is he a good boy, my caro?"

The world sears out of his throat in a coiled snarl. "Yes."

"Is he a wonderful boy?"

Again, "Yes."

"Will you emit your need into his body? Will your prick suffuse him with your affection?"

"Yes."

"But my boy may need attention. Will you tend to him, with your mouth, after your own desires are suited?"