****
We're in a hotel room. Fairly lavish. There's a girl there with us. Not a real girl, obviously, but a young woman. She's a stranger. Maybe someone picked up at a club. Maybe a prostitute I'm paying.
She seems attractive in an obvious way, dressed and groomed and made up to show it.
It feels fairly late. I'm really tired.
I drop down heavily into a padded leather chair, get you to pour me a drink. A whisky, neat, in a short cut-crystal glass tumbler, poured from a decanter available on a side table, liquid smoke coating my tongue in a memory of another place.
I tell the girl to strip and she starts doing it in an elaborate, seductive-dance way. This annoys me so I shout to her, almost a bark, "Just take your fucking clothes off". She stops for a moment, seemingly confused, but then obeys.
You are sitting on the floor to the side of my chair, your head nearly resting on my thigh. I can see you look at her get naked, I can see your jeans bulging with an erection.
The girl's breasts are small but not tiny, round, with a softness that's so strongly implied as to feel palpable. In contrast, her nipples are huge, thick and long, dark, almost purple brown, grapelike.
She's standing there, about six feet away from us, naked and exposed in this nakedness, her heavily made up face and carefully straightened hair somewhat incongruous with her nudity, smooth, olive skinned, waxed or shaved completely hairless apart from her head hair.
She doesn't react in any visible way to my hitching my skirt up, pulling my knickers off, to my hand grabbing your head, pulling you closer, your burying your head between my legs first, then unzipping your trousers and sliding your rigid cock into my cunt. I wrap my legs around you and keep you still there, on your knees in my grasp, my hips making small movements only, my cunt clenching in a slow rhythm.
I look at the girl, she's watching us intently, wordlessly, but her chest is rising and falling in heavy breaths, she's visibly biting her lip and her nipples appear to be really hard, the areolas swollen, the tips even darker.
Her right hand starts to slowly move down to her pubis, her left to her chest. I can hear her gasp.
"No. Don't you fucking dare" I bark towards her and she moans, almost a mewling sound but drops her hands, now hanging limply along her body. There seems to be something odd about her, not just her silence and sexual compliance, but a distant feeling, maybe feral, maybe drugged.
"Come closer!"
She obeys and stands inches away from the armchair in which we're still joined in the sort-of-fucking embrace. I reach up and take one of her nipples between my fingers, squeezing it. She moans again, her eyes close.
I reach between her legs. Her thighs are wet, literally covered in sticky, slippery juices, her cunt dripping; hot. My fingers - two then three slide inside her, I ram them hard and fast, as deep as they'd get and she wails, high pitched sound that could be pain as well as arousal.
"Filthy fucking slut. What are you here for?"
I finger her, hard. She's moaning in reply, "Please... pleasepleaseplease.. "
I let you go and stand in front of her, grabbing a bunch of her hair in my fist, pulling her head back. My hand still mashing her pussy. Her hips arch towards the movement of my hand, and I withdraw it after one hard and fast thrust. She squeals in protest.
I slap her, her head held in place by my holding her hair, my palm smarting from the blow. I push her down on all fours. Her ass is round and firm, and the position she's in means her cunt is showing between her thighs, dark swollen labia and the red, visibly pulsing, fleshy opening. Her hips are rocking and she's making those pained, mewling moaning noises.
I smack her butt. Hard. And again. There's a belt... no... a riding crop on a round side table, next to the spirit decanters. A solid looking tool, not a joke novelty item.
I grab its plaited leather handle and whack the girl's butt with the flapper. A series of short, sharp smacks leaving red welts. She's wailing now, and although I can't see her face fully I can see enough to notice tears flowing down her cheeks, her makeup completely messed up, her lip bitten and bloody.
She makes no move to get away and in fact adjusts her position so her knees are wider. The next swat of the crop lands on her upper thighs and the one after that, on her exposed vulva. I repeat the blow, slightly lighter, alternately dragging the crop across her upper thigh and her pussy and hitting her, seven more times. I stop after that and slide the flapper of the crop fully between her legs, dragging it along her slit now.
She's rocking her hips, literally humping the implement.
"Filthy fucking cumrag, aren't you?" I hiss.
She moans, loud, her thighs closing on the crop. Her whole ass is covered in welts.
I move the crop between her legs and lean down. Her hair is a mess now, sweaty and tangled.
"You came here to be punished, didn't you?"
She moans a sobbing "Yes".
I spit at her, not her face but from behind, so it lands on her back, a thick glob, immediately followed by a smack on her red ass follows, my bare hand hot in contact with the tender flesh.
I'm kneeling on the floor behind her now. I raise my eyes and half turn my head towards the chair to look at you, I almost forgot you were there for a while, but now I want to see what's going on with you, considering that only few minutes ago you had your cock inside me.
My question is unspoken but clear in my eyes, scanning your body, from your rigid cock to your eyes, darkened by arousal and wide open. You're still wearing your shirt even though you're naked below waist.
I smack her butt again, the heat of the whipped skin delicious on my hand, desire pooling between my legs. My eyes never leave yours.
"Turn over, scum whore."
I push her onto her face. She rolls over obediently, her knees raised and spread wide, her bare cunt open and needy. I pick up the crop again, tap her pussy with it, a light strike, then a slide along her slit. Her hips are bucking.
My left hand wanders almost absent mindedly to her nipple, large and fleshy between my fingers. I squeeze it and pinch it, twisting. She screeches, stifled, her back arching up, hips pushed as if begging.
I slide down to floor level next to her and take her fat nipple in my mouth. It's exquisite, rubbery yet warm and responsive, and having it between my lips sends delightful jolts down into my core, then stop and look at you, still tweaking the girl's nipple while I talk.
"I might need you to fuck her for me. But that's later."
After a while I shift between her legs and nearly- lying down start tapping her clit and labia with my hand, rhythmic smacks that are almost a caress. She comes hard, and keeps coming, in convulsions and with loud moans.
I get you to kneel at her side at hip height and watch, as I watch you watching her, looking at her whole body writhe, it feels like she is doing it for you even though she ostensibly just ignores you. She is grabbing her breast very hard, tweaking and pulling her nipples, hurting herself as she is rubbing her cunt, and you start to stroke yourself very, very slowly looking at her. When she comes again, it's loud and graphic, she doesn't stop, her face looks pained but she keeps going, like she was made to do this despite every logical reason not to. After what seems like a fourth orgasm, or a fourth wave of an immense one, she's still going, panting and crying but her body seems to be loving it, her face deformed now by the need, the pleasure, the pain. She is there, in front of us, a pantomime of horniness, an idea of an object made of flesh, a slut incarnate if there ever was one.
I turn to her again, lean down, ram my fingers in her, then replace them with the handle of the crop. It's rough and hard but she clearly needs it rough. She's coming, coming again, and although it's somehow connected to what I am doing, it's not really.
Her want and her need are independent, her own; not focused on me, or on you, we are merely tools of its fulfilment, used as needed to satisfy something that's entirely of hers, not much more than a plastic toy, not much more real than a porn clip on a loop, not more significant than a hooker one might pay to perform a particular service in a particular way that presses particular buttons with a particular intensity.
And as much as she appears to be inhuman in her desperate need, in this greedy abandon, it's not her arousal and her relentless pursuit of sensation that makes her seem so, but her self containment, her entire lack of concern with anybody else unless they can be used to intensify her sensations. It's in the moment of that realisation I recognise something -- somebody -- in her, I recognise an aspect of my own self, the thing that made men stop mid-action, turn away in a mixture of revulsion and surprise once they realised that it really was not about them in any meaningful way. None of this is verbalised at that time, it's more of a split-second awareness, so clear and stark that it adds a sharp edge, a shriek of quick laughter, to my own arousal. I stop doing what I was doing and abandon the girl to her subsiding wave of orgasms to reach between my own legs. I'm not far off. The crumpled, abused body on the floor; your rigid cock in your hand, and my own hungry cunt, the sheer depravity of the scene brings me to the edge, I come fast, quick, deep.
Few minutes on, I get up from the floor; you look up to me and I know what you want so I let you lick my fingers, the greedy mouth closing on them wetly, a moan.
"I'm going to go out for a while. I don't care what happens to her, if she goes, she goes, if she's still here when I come back, it's fine too. You, though, don't leave the room.''
I close the door behind myself, and leave you two there.
What do you do?
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