"Wow! Where the hell did you find her? She's off the scale!"
Chris's eyes were wide with horror. He screeched again as best he could through the gaffer tape. Shelley was absent-mindedly stroking the end of the riding crop along the underside of his semi-hard dick, her head cocked towards the muffled noises next door, her eyes staring blankly at the smooth plaster of the wall.
Another giggle from Jane crept through the air to them, and Shelley's face turned back to Chris, a wicked smile on her lips as he continued his futile struggle against the leather straps.
She wrapped her hand around his cock and squeezed.
"Well wouldn't it just be the cherry on the cake if you came while you listened to them?" she smiled up at him as she tossed the riding crop on the floor and slowly repositioned herself between his splayed legs. He struggled some more, cried some more through the layers of tape. She squeezed again, kissed his balls. She was making him harder, he couldn't stop nature taking its course. She licked him from his balls to the tip of his stiffening cock, her eyes fixed on his despairing stare.
"Fuck! It doesn't get any more 'dom' than this," she whispered, before they both turned towards the wall, listening as the bed next door begin to squeak in a clear rhythm.
"I can't believe you're going to cum down my throat while your wife is doing that. This is soooo bad." With that his cock disappeared slowly into her expert mouth. No slurps, no moans, no gasps. She sucked as silently as she could so nothing could come between them and their twisted soundtrack.
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The trigger word Chris that had got implanted in Jane was still working fine, more than a year since their innocently-booked trip to the hypnotist yielded such a debauched extra benefit. "Slut." One little word had brought a huge amount of fun. All Chris had to do was say it and Jane would do anything to sate herself, to please him. Nothing was beyond limits while she felt that hunger. Then three rapid claps from Chris and it was all over -- she would calmly wipe the cum from her mouth, or pick up her panties from the floor, and re-apply her lip gloss. "Shouldn't we get going now darling?"
He had applied her to almost every sex game and act of depravity imaginable. Just the two of them or with others -- once she was under she didn't seem to care who she was with. Bondage, dogging, group sex, exhibitionism, toilet, dirty talk, film-making, threesomes... you name it, they had experimented with it.
Shelley was the fourth escort they had hired for a threesome and each time they were progressing further up the kinkometer scale. She was a professional dom. There would be a period of time when Chris would be bound tightly to the bed, made to watch the ladies as they had fun, occasionally being pleasured himself. If he started giving orders he would be gagged, he was warned. "I decide who cums and when," Shelley's email had read.
The plan (Chris's plan) was that she was to stay with them all night, their bodies still intertwined and slapping against each other when dawn broke. She arrived at 7pm, immaculately dressed and made up, with a suitably large bag containing, he assumed, her tools of the trade.
Jane knew who was coming to visit, but was not yet in 'slut' mode and therefore a little nervous. Upstairs in the bedroom, she finished off her make-up, tied her hair up simply, took a deep breath and went down to meet the guest.
She had enjoyed the previous two threesomes thoroughly, so much so that she needed no persuading to try it again. But why had she suddenly become so promiscuous? What had got into her? It troubled her sometimes. She felt perfectly normal usually, no drifting off to debauched fantasies at her desk -- but then when they began playing she turned into an animal. Perhaps it was down to hormones, Chris had suggested. Maybe. Still, at least she was only suffering an increased sex drive and not depression or worse.
Chris had explained to Shelley that Jane would no doubt be a tad nervous at first, but a few glasses of wine would "loosen her up". They both smiled at the turn of phrase. Shelley sat on the couch, immediately at ease and confident. What a pro, he thought, and went to open a bottle of wine. Soon they were chatting -- the weather, TV, London transport, clothes, lingerie, sex and then -- a few ground rules. Shelley downed the last of her wine and stood.
"Right well I'm going to slip into something less comfortable," she laughed. "Which room?"
"Use ours, the third door."
She turned and picked her bag up from the hall on her way upstairs. They heard the bedroom door click shut and looked at each other.
"Slut," Chris said. And she was away. Within seconds she was in his lap and her tongue was down his throat.
"What do you want me to do to her, lover?" she whispered as she chewed on his ear lobe.
"I think that will be up to you two tonight. I want to be tied up and made to watch."
"Mmmmmmm... you kinky fucker."
"Takes one to know one."
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He savoured the taste of Shelley's pussy on his wife's mouth, the kiss lingering, held in position, hardly any movement apart from him subtly shifting his mouth to seek out the corners where he had yet to tap into the taste of the other woman's sweet juice. His cock was hard and he had yet to cum, the women having pleasured each other right above him and next to him, occasionally squeezing or briefly sucking his cock to let him know that they were aware of his presence. At once point they adjourned to the bathroom and he could hear them giggling, kissing, whispering. For five minutes he strained to hear, catch a clue of what was going on, his cock throbbing, his wrists and ankles bound all too professionally to the wrought iron bed frame.
"How about bringing that in here girls? Isn't that the idea?" he called across the landing.
They reappeared and Shelley picked a riding crop up from the floor and gave him a quick whack across the front of his thighs.
"Remember the rules -- if you give any orders I'll gag you so that you can't do it again. This is your first and only warning. You do it again and..." She made a zip movement across her mouth.
