Cake by Lucie Snow
(this story and other erotic tales appear in our collaborative book project “erotica: volume two”, with artist Kim Manning and writers from across the globe. )
I’m the first to arrive at the hotel bar, sore and marked but still not sated from three days with my lover, W. I feel both unprepared and anxious to return to my husband’s arms. Of course, W will be here tonight as well—a hand-off of sorts. My chance to have my cake and eat it too.
I’ve tried to erase the traces of W. Indeed, I am smooth and clean, in a beautiful dress made solely of thin ribbons of silk held together by lace bands. But no bathing or lotion could hide the bite marks on my neck and breasts, the handprints on my ass. A bruise is still blooming on my cheek where W pinched it hard after his farewell caress as he left this morning. And, of course, there are still the welts J left on my cheeks and thighs before sending me off to W. I think they use my body to send each other messages. “I took her here.” “This spot likes pain.” Perfume can’t hide my scent either. I reek of anticipation.
I order a drink and sit at a small table towards the back. The bar itself is dark and its atmosphere heavy. It was made for these kinds of assignations, a cliché. I wiggle in the chair trying to see if there is any way to press my throbbing clit against the edge while I wait. This is how J finds me when he arrives. His smirk from across the room tells me he knows exactly what I am up to. I blush. He pauses at the bar to order himself a drink and, I think, to prolong my chagrin. Then he comes to me and kisses me deeply, as if searching for traces of W. He pulls back, presses lightly on my bruised cheek, and we smile at each other.
W arrives almost immediately, straight from his studio. He looks messy in comparison to us, ink stains on his hands and clothes. I love this; I know he rushed to be here. I inhale as he approaches, wanting to know if I am still lingering on his skin, if he has been smelling me all day. I want that. I watch him shake hands with J and then they embrace. W turns to me and kisses me—not deeply, but not like an acquaintance either, our tongues briefly touching with a jolt of frisson. His hand squeezes my hip where he knows the imprint of his teeth has turned it purple. I wince. J notes it all.
The waiter ambles over and J orders a drink for W and a second one for me. As he shuffles off, J looks into my eyes, his face stern, and tells me to give W my panties. I flush and feel my bare nipples strain against the slightly scratchy lace of my dress. The waiter returns just as I’ve worked the little scrap of fabric over my hips. I freeze. J and W are both looking at me. I cannot help my bubble of laughter when they both give me simultaneous stern looks. And so, I continue, waiter be damned. The panties drop to my ankles. I bend forward and retrieve them, pass them to W under the table. Our fingers briefly dance. J turns to W and asks how the panties smell. W takes them to his face and inhales, never taking his eyes away from mine. “Like sugar.” He and I smile at each other. Our code. Then he turns and presses them under J’s nose. I can see his fingers press into J’s lips and I am wet.
W and J sip their drinks; mine is empty almost immediately. I watch their mouths move but have no patience to follow the conversation. I want those lips on my skin, between my legs, sucking my clit. At last J stands. We head to the elevator a troika, me in the middle. The doors shut and I move towards W. J’s hand on my belly stops me. He frowns at me and slowly shakes his head. You can guess the game—it’s one I know all too well. He wants me panting for it. I already am.
Inside the room, the men walk over to the small table by the window and take a seat. I’m standing in front of them as they pull out their cocks and start stroking. I am mesmerized by the motion, by the bodies I’m dying to reach out and touch. J’s voice snaps me back. “Take off your dress—leave your shoes on.” “Turn around.” “Bend over and grab your ankles.” I comply quickly. (“See how good I am,” I think. “Reward me; touch me.”) I can see myself from their perspective so clearly. My ass decorated with fading stripes from J and fresh bites and bruises from W, the dark pucker of my asshole on full view. Swollen pouty pussy lips pushing out between my thighs, less of an invitation than a plea.
I hear the friction of hands on cocks, a slightly slapping sound. “Come take him in your mouth,” J tells me. I rush to, unsteady in my eagerness. I place my hands on the chair arms and bend from the waist, ass in the air, mouth open. W groans and spreads his legs wider, sliding forward in his chair. His hands grab my hair and twist. J is behind me now, sinking his fingers into my waiting pussy to feel my desire and then replacing them with the hard and full thrust of his cock. It unbalances me and I topple forward. Our rhythm briefly broken, we disengage. Mouths and hands still connecting anywhere they can reach; the men pull off their clothes and one of them scoops me up. My heels are the only article of clothing in use in the room as we tussle to the bed.
W sits with his back against the headboard, legs spread, and pulls my face back down to his crotch, hands back to my hair. J takes me from behind again, his hands forcing my hips to move in sync with the rhythm of his thrusts. They are both pulling me to their own beats. For a moment I catch my breath, heart fluttering at the loss of control. Almost as quickly, the friction starts to work its magic. I will myself to relax. To surrender. As I shudder and give in to sensation, I hear a chuckle overhead and realize they are looking at each other as we fuck. The image sends a pulse of desire through me, and I can feel my cunt juice leaking down my thighs. I open further.
J cums with a series of shorter, fast strokes, his pelvis pressed hard against my ass cheeks. He sighs and pulls out. In response, W pulls out of my mouth and slides under me to take J’s place in my pussy. We kiss and I wonder if he tastes his precum.
W is fucking me now, his hands constricting my ribs while he looks into my eyes, when I feel J slide a finger into my ass. I gasp and W shudders. Looking over my shoulder I can see J stroking himself again with his left hand while his right pistons back and forth into me. The sensation is exquisite and building faster than I am prepared for. I gasp and cry as J slides another finger into my ass and W and I cum together in great crashing thrusts. We are babbling— me saying “yes,” W saying “no”— as we collapse into one. As J’s fingers slide away from me, I catch his face out of the corner of my eye. He is watching me with a little smile playing at his lips. Tomorrow it will be just the two of us again. And I know better than to expect a respite. My smile answers his.
