The first taste hit Pat like a shot of whiskey—salt, musk, and something darker. Him. Another man’s cum, thick and bitter, coating Laura’s skin, dripping from her like she’d been used for his pleasure. Pat groaned against her, his tongue working in deep strokes, lapping at her swollen lips, her clit, and the messy slit of her ass where cum still leaked in slow pulses.
Laura rocked her hips, grinding down, her fingers tangled in his hair. “That’s it, baby,” she cooed, her voice rough. “Clean me up.”
Pat obeyed.
His tongue speared into her, dragging out Martin’s cum, swallowing it down like communion. The cage dug into his aching cock, the metal warm and cruel, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered but the weight of her on his face, the slick slide of her against his mouth, and the way her thighs trembled when he sucked just right.
Her fingers found his balls, cupping them, rolling them gently. For two weeks, he had endured denial, with his cock soft and useless while she teased him, edged him, and locked him away for tonight. His hips jerked, his trapped dick throbbing in its prison.
Laura chuckled, her breath hitching as he swirled his tongue over her clit. “God, you’re desperate, aren’t you?” Her nails scraped lightly over the cage, just enough to make him whimper. “Martin fucked me so good, baby. So deep.” She rocked harder, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I had to beg him to take my ass just so my poor pussy could have a break.”
Pat groaned, the sound muffled. His tongue worked faster, greedier, like he could lick the memory of Martin out of her.
Laura’s laughter turned breathy. “Fuck, just like that—” Her fingers tightened in his hair, her hips stuttering as she rode his face. “He stretched me open, baby. Made me take every inch. And when I came, he just… kept going.” Her voice cracked. “Made me come again.”
Pat’s entire body coiled tight with need. He didn’t care that it wasn’t him inside her. He didn’t care that she was praising Martin’s cock, Martin’s skill. All that mattered was the way her thighs clenched around his head, the way her breath hitched, and the way she was his—even like this, even now.
Her fingers dug into his scalp. “I’m close, baby. Make me come.”
Pat redoubled his efforts, his tongue flicking, his lips sealing around her clit, sucking hard. Laura’s moan filled the room, raw and unfiltered, her body tensing as she ground down, her pussy fluttering against his mouth.
Then she was coming, her juices flooding his tongue, her body shuddering as the last of Martin’s cum oozed out, thick and warm. Pat swallowed it down, his world narrowing to the taste and sound of her. When her legs stopped twitching, Laura collapsed forward with a gasp, her weight pressing him into the carpet.
The kiss was slow and deliberate—Laura’s tongue sweeping into Pat’s mouth, sharing the taste of herself, of Martin, and of the night’s sins. Then she pulled back, her thumb brushing his lower lip. “Come on, baby. We need to talk.”
Pat followed, his legs unsteady, his mind still hazy. The Safe Zone was quiet, the velvet drapes muffling the casino’s chaos. Laura led him past the snack table, past the showers, to a corner they’d never used before. The punishment area was designed to give wives a place to correct unwanted behavior. Pat had seen it before but never used it. Most cucks didn’t need it. Most wives didn’t bother.
Laura led him to a pillory in the center of the area.
“Hands in,” she ordered, tapping the stocks.
He knelt first, his knees pressing into the padded mat, his ass exposed, his cage dangling over the carpet. The pillory yawned open, and he leaned forward, resting his neck in the lower groove, his wrists sliding into the upper slots. Laura secured the latch with a quiet click. Not tight enough to hurt. Just enough to hold.
She crouched behind him, her fingers trailing down his spine, over the latex still clinging to his back. “Comfortable?”
Pat exhaled. “Yes, Mistress.”
Her laugh was soft, almost affectionate. “Good.” She gave his ass a light smack, then stepped away. A drawer slid open and closed, her heels clicking on the floor. He heard her lick her fingers before the first one breached him, slow and sure, pressing past the tight ring of muscle. His breath hitched—not in pleasure, not yet, but in the sharp stretch of it. Laura worked him open with methodical strokes, her thumb circling his entrance while her index finger crooked inside him, searching.
And then she found it.
Pat’s entire body jerked when her fingertip grazed his prostate, the sensation too intense, too immediate. It was different from the denied, aching need of his caged cock. The feeling was something else—deep, spreading warmth, a slow unraveling from the inside out. His toes curled against the mat.
Laura’s voice was steady, almost clinical. “Breathe, baby. Relax. This isn’t punishment. I need you to have a clear head.”
He obeyed. In. Out. The pressure of her finger didn’t let up, didn’t tease. It worked, firm and unrelenting, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.
Pat exhaled, forcing his muscles to unclench. The pressure didn’t ease—circular, methodical, like she was tuning an instrument. His cock twitched in its cage, but there was no pleasure, just the slow build of something else—something that coiled tight in his gut, warm and inevitable. His thighs trembled. His mind went fuzzy, then blank, then—
Laura’s other hand found his hip, grounding him. “Martin asked me many questions tonight,” she said, her voice even, almost conversational. “Not the usual bullshit. Not, ‘how far can I go?’ or ‘what do you like?'” Her finger pressed deeper, and Pat’s breath hitched. “He asked about us. About how we work. What you get out of this, what I get out of this.”
Pat’s breath came faster, his body betraying him with little spasms that weren’t quite pleasure, weren’t quite pain. Just—pressure. Building. Coiling.
“He wants to be part of our dynamic,” she said. “Not just a bull. A partner. Someone who comprehends the rules is essential. Someone who can…” Her finger twisted slightly. Pat groaned, his hips jerking. “…give us what we need while taking what he likes.”
Her touch slowed, dragging the sensation out. Pat’s vision blurred. His cock, still caged, still hard, his balls aching, heavy, and full.
“He’s dominant,” she continued, “but not in a performative way. Not cruel. Just knows what he wants.” Her finger twisted again, and Pat’s mouth fell open, a soundless gasp escaping him. “He’s competent. Very good in bed. And he’s honest. He told me flat-out he’s not interested in a relationship and wouldn’t even have the time or energy to try to ‘steal’ me away from you. And I believe him.”
Pat’s entire body locked up. The warmth in his gut spread, radiating outward, his muscles tensing not in climax but in something bigger, something that started in his spine and flooded his limbs with heavy, boneless relief. His cock twitched in desperate need as his balls emptied, his cum pooling below his cage on the mat.
Laura didn’t stop. She kept rubbing and pushing until Pat’s body sagged against the pillory, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps. The release wasn’t an orgasm. It was an unclenching. A reset.
Only then did she pull her finger free.
Pat stayed slumped forward, his shoulders resting against the wood, his body humming with aftershocks of something that wasn’t pleasure but wasn’t not pleasure, either. Laura wiped her hand on a towel from the nearby stand, then unlatched the pillory. His arms dropped limply to his sides.
Laura guided Pat to the sofa, his legs still wobbly. He collapsed into the cushions with a sigh, his body loose and heavy. She curled into his side, her head resting against his shoulder, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest through the latex.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she murmured. “I know we planned your first orgasm for later. But I needed you here for this. Not distracted. Not horny. Just—you.”
Pat exhaled, his arm wrapping around her automatically. The post-nut haze was still thick in his veins, his thoughts slow and syrupy. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it.”
Laura tilted her head up, her gaze serious. “I want to give Martin a real chance.”
Pat’s fingers stilled against her arm. “You think he’s different?”
“I know he’s different.” She shifted, turning to face him fully, her knees tucked under her. “He’s not some kid looking for a thrill. He’s not a wannabe alpha who’s going to ghost us after a month because his ego can’t handle the rules. He’s—” She hesitated. “He’s good at this. And he’s honest.”
Pat studied her face. “Honest, how?”
Laura didn’t flinch. “He told me flat-out he’s not looking for a relationship. He doesn’t want to ‘win’ me. He just wants to play within the boundaries we set. No games. No power struggles.”
Pat’s brow furrowed. “And you believe him?”
“I do.” She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “He’s a lawyer, baby. He negotiates for a living. He knows how to read a room. How to read people. And he’s not the type to waste time on something that doesn’t fit his life.”
Pat exhaled through his nose. “So, what’s the catch?”
“No catch.” Laura squeezed his fingers. “But there’s a reality check. He travels. A lot. Weeks at a time, occasionally. And he’s not going to be some on-call bull we text when we’re bored.”
Pat rubbed his thumb over Laura’s knuckles, the latex squeaking softly. “Alright,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “We try it. See how it goes. If he’s full of shit, we bail.”
Laura’s smile was slow and satisfied. “Thank you, my love.” She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek before pulling back. “There’s one more thing.”
Pat raised an eyebrow.
“Sarah and I are teaming up for an event in a few minutes,” she said, her tone shifting—lighter, almost playful. “It’s called Double the Fun.”
Pat groaned, but there was no real protest in it. “Of course you are.”
Laura’s grin turned wicked. “But after that?” She tilted her head, watching him. “I was thinking we should skip the rest. Let’s take Martin home and see how he handles us together.”
Pat’s cock twitched in its cage, the metal biting just enough to remind him it was there. He exhaled, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”
Laura’s eyes gleamed. “Good.” She stood in one fluid motion, then grabbed a towel from the stand and tossed it at him. It landed in his lap with a damp thwack. “Clean up your mess, slave. I’ve got a bull to return to.” She gave Pat a wink and turned away, walking toward the door.
Pat blinked at the towel, then at the glistening puddle beneath the pillory. His own cum, thick and embarrassing, was already starting to soak into the mat. Heat crept up his neck, but he didn’t argue. He just grabbed the towel and leaned forward, wiping at the mess with methodical strokes.
The upstairs bar was a different beast from the Safe Zone’s quiet. Thick carpets swallowed footsteps, the air smelled of aged whiskey, and the lighting was low enough to hide the worst of the Bulls’ predatory grins—though not all of them. Martin sat at the far end, one elbow propped on the polished mahogany, his fingers loose around a tumbler of neat scotch.
Laura spotted him immediately.
The way his gaze lifted when she approached—slow, deliberate, like he’d been expecting her but wouldn’t assume—sent a little thrill down her spine. She’d left him splayed out in that cabana, his cock still half-hard, his breath ragged from the way she’d ridden him into the mattress.
“Miss me?” she purred, sliding onto the stool beside him.
Martin’s lips quirked. “I was waiting to see if you’d reconsider.”
Laura laughed, reaching for his drink. She took a sip, the burn of the scotch sharp and smoky on her tongue. “Reconsider what? The best fuck I’ve had in months?”
Before he could retort, a familiar laugh cut through the murmur of the bar. Sarah’s arm slung around Laura’s shoulders a second later, her hips pressing against the stool as she leaned in. “There you are, slut. I was starting to think you’d bailed on me.”
Laura grinned, twisting to face her. “Please. You know I’d never leave you hanging.” She gestured to Martin. “Sarah, this is Martin. Martin, Sarah—my very dear friend.”
Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. She gave Martin a slow, appraising once-over—tailored slacks, the way his shirt stretched just right over his shoulders, and the quiet confidence in his posture. Then she smirked. “Well, well. Laura, you’ve been holding out on me.”
Martin didn’t flinch under the scrutiny. Just lifted his glass in a silent toast before taking a sip.
Laura rolled her eyes. “We literally just met tonight.”
“Mhm.” Sarah’s gaze flicked between them, sharp and knowing. “And yet here you are, introducing him. That’s new.”
Laura ignored the jab, turning back to Martin. “Sarah and her husband, Mark, are old friends. We met them years ago at a swinger party in Vegas.” She grinned at the memory. “Mark was the only guy in the room bigger than Pat, and Sarah was the only woman who could make me blush.”
Sarah snorted. “Bitch, please, you wished you could blush. I had to teach you.”
Martin’s smile widened, his finger tapping once against his glass. “So, a similar dynamic?”
Laura nodded. “More or less. Though Sarah’s…” She glanced at her friend, searching for the right word.
“Less subtle,” Sarah supplied, grinning. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I like my hubby a bit more restrained than Laura does hers. And I believe in shared fun.”
Martin’s eyebrow arched. “Shared?”
Sarah’s grin turned feral. “Gangbangs, trains, double penetration, you name it. If it involves multiple cocks and a camera, I’m there.”
Martin laughed and gave Sarah an appreciative nod.
Laura bit her lip to hide a smile. Most Bulls either got weirdly competitive around Sarah or turned into stammering messes. Martin just observed, as if he were filing the information away for later.
Sarah straightened, clapping her hands together. “Alright, enough chit-chat. We’ve got an event to get ready for.”
Martin’s glass paused halfway to his lips. “Event?”
Laura shot Sarah a look before turning back to him. “It’s called Double the Fun. Sarah and I signed up for it weeks ago.” Laura traced a finger along the rim of his glass. “It’s a… tag-team auction. Bulls make offers—what they want and how much they’re willing to pay—and Sarah and I pick the winner. Or winners.” She smirked. “Then we put on a show. Live feed to the bar downstairs, audio included.”
Martin’s eyes flicked to Sarah, then back to Laura. “And you’re telling me this because …”
“Because I promised you exclusivity tonight,” Laura said, holding his gaze. “And I keep my promises. So I’m asking if you’re okay with me doing this.”
Martin’s gaze flicked to Sarah, then back. “I’m more than okay with it.” He took a slow sip of his drink. “In fact, I’m intrigued.”
Sarah grinned. “Oh, good. Because we’re about to make some poor bastards very happy.”
Laura laughed, but Martin’s hand found her thigh under the bar, his fingers squeezing just enough to make her breath hitch. “Just one question,” he said, his voice smooth. “How much to buy both of you for the night?”
Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Oh, fuck yes. I like him.”
Laura swatted at Martin’s chest, but she was smiling. “Down, boy. One thing at a time.”
Sarah grabbed Laura’s arm, hauling her off the stool. “Come on, slut. We’ve got fifteen minutes to get camera-ready, and I know you haven’t even started on your makeup.” Sarah’s laughter echoed as she dragged Laura down the hall. “Good thing I packed my fuck-me lipstick.”
The shower had been quick and brutal—Pat scrubbing at his beard until the water ran clear, the scent of Martin’s cum replaced by the sharp, antiseptic tang of the casino’s cheap soap. Now, back in the latex, the number 32 still clinging to his chest like a brand, he adjusted the cage with a grimace. The metal was warm from his skin, the weight of it familiar, but his mind was elsewhere.
Now he was back at the poker table, his tower of chips a silent testament to Laura’s earnings. All of it. He had turned every dollar Laura made tonight—John’s two grand, Felix’s five hundred, and Martin’s twenty thousand—into this. A small fortune in plastic discs, ready to cash out. Ready to take home.
John sat three seats down, his usual swagger replaced by something jagged—his fingers drumming against his chip stack, his jaw clenched like he was chewing glass. The man had money. More than he’d had earlier. More than sense, clearly. His glare was a physical thing, sharp enough to cut. “Look who’s back,” he sneered, his voice rough. “Thought you’d tapped out, cuck.”
Pat didn’t rise to it. Just stacked his chips with deliberate slowness, the plastic clack-clack-clack filling the silence. “Nah. Just taking a break.”
John’s laugh was bitter. “Bet you needed a cry.”
Pat exhaled through his nose. One. Two. Three. “Sure, John.”
The man’s face twisted. “You don’t even care, do you? Just sit there like a fucking eunuch—”
The PA system crackled to life.
Mistress V’s voice purred through the speakers, smooth as honeyed venom. “Ladies and gentlemen, cucks and bulls, whores and winners—our next event is about to begin!”
The screens flickered. Then, there they were. Laura and Sarah appeared side by side in the auction preview photos. Laura wore the red lace teddy that Pat had bought for her last Christmas, while Sarah donned a black corset that barely contained her curves. Both of them were grinning, their lips glossed, their eyes bright with the thrill of the hunt.
“Our dynamic duo, the incomparable Laura and Sarah, is up for auction in Double the Fun!” Make them an offer they can’t refuse, and I promise you, they won’t!” Mistress V’s laughter echoed. “Bulls, get your wallets ready. Cucks—get your tissues. This one’s going to be messy.”
John’s entire demeanor shifted.
His spine straightened. His fingers stilled. His gaze locked onto the screen like a man possessed. Then—slow, disbelieving—his head turned and his eyes locked on Pat. “Well, well,” he breathed. “This evening just gets better and better.”
John’s grin split his face, gold tooth glinting under the casino lights. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled like a villain in a bad movie. “What’s the matter, cuck? Cat got your tongue?” His laugh was a wet, ugly thing. “Or should I say—*wifey* got your tongue?”
Pat blinked. “What?”
John’s smirk deepened. He spread his arms wide, addressing the table like a preacher. “Gentlemen, our boy here’s been holding out on us.” His finger stabbed toward the screen—toward Sarah, her hips cocked, her smile sharp as a blade. “That’s not just some random whore up there. That’s his wife.”
Pat’s jaw clenched. His fingers curled into fists under the table, the latex squeaking. “John—”
“Oh, save it. Don’t even try to deny it—I saw you two earlier tonight on the staircase.” John stood, his chair scraping back. He scooped up his chips, the plastic rattling. “I’m going to go upstairs, buy that bitch at auction, and fuck her until her voice is gone.” His grin was all teeth. “Would you like that? Or do you want to beg me not to?”
Pat didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just met John’s gaze, steady as a metronome, not giving John the emotional breakdown he so clearly sought. “Knock yourself out.”
John’s chest heaved. For a second, Pat thought he’d swing. But then—with a snarl—he turned on his heel and stormed off, his chips clutched in his fist.
The table held its breath as Pat slowly stood up, excused himself from the others, and walked away in search of Mark.
Pat spotted him hunched over a Wheel of Fortune machine, his massive shoulders tense, his fingers jabbing at the spin button like he was trying to punish it.
“Muffin.”
Mark didn’t look up. “Not now, Pat. I’m on a streak.”
“Yeah, a losing one.” Pat grabbed his arm, yanking him away from the machine. “We’ve got a problem.”
That got his attention. Mark straightened, his brow furrowing under the harsh casino lights. “What kind of problem?”
Pat exhaled through his nose. “John. That gold-toothed prick from earlier? He thinks Sarah’s my wife.”
Mark blinked. Then—slow, dawning horror. “Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah.” Pat rubbed the back of his neck, the latex squeaking under his fingers. “He’s heading upstairs to bid on her. He said something about “fucking her until her voice is gone.”
Mark’s jaw clenched. For a second, Pat thought he’d storm off, but then the big man exhaled, his shoulders slumping just slightly. “Sarah can handle herself.”
“I know.” Pat pulled out his phone, thumbs hovering over the screen. “But we should warn them. Just in case.”
Mark nodded, already fishing his phone from his pocket. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
—
The dressing room mirror reflected two women who looked ready for war—Laura’s red lace teddy hugging her curves like a second skin, and Sarah’s corset cinched so tight her tits threatened to spill over the black satin. Their phones buzzed in unison, Pat and Mark’s warnings lighting up the screens.
Laura skimmed the message, then looked at Sarah. “How do you want to handle this?”
Sarah snorted, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “He can want all night long.” She leaned in, checking her lipstick in the mirror. “We don’t have to pick him.”
“Exactly.” Laura adjusted the strap of her teddy, the lace biting into her skin just right. “But let’s make him sweat first.”
The stage lights hit them like a spotlight in a heist movie—bright, unflinching, and designed to expose. Mistress V sauntered toward them, her stilettos clicking against the polished wood, her sequined corset catching the light with every step. The crowd below was a sea of hungry eyes—bulls in tailored suits, cucks in latex, all of them leaning in like wolves scenting blood.
Mistress V’s voice cut through the murmur. “Alright, gentlemen—and I am being generous with that term—this event is simple.” She gestured to Laura and Sarah, her nails glinting. “These two lovely ladies are offering a package deal. You tell them what you want, you tell them how much you’re willing to pay, and if they like your offer.” She grinned, all teeth. “Thirty minutes on the clock. Starting the second, they say yes.”
A Bull in the front row—young, flush with cash, and bad decisions—shouted, “What if they don’t pick anyone?”
Mistress V’s laugh was a purr. “Oh, darling. They will.” She turned to Laura and Sarah, her eyebrow arched. “Ladies, you may begin.”
Laura stepped forward, her hips swaying just enough to make the lace ride up her thighs. “Alright, boys. Let’s hear it. Who’s first?”
The bids came fast.
“Three hundred for a blowjob from each!”
“Six hundred for a threesome—me in the middle!”
“Six hundred to watch them eat each other out!”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Boring.” She scanned the crowd, her gaze landing on a Bull near the back—older, silver at his temples, his suit screaming money. She crooked a finger. “You. What’s your offer?”
The man didn’t flinch. “One thousand. Both of you. On your knees. In the dungeon.”
Laura’s lips twitched. “Tempting. But not really our vibe.”
Then—him. John pushed through the crowd like a bull in a china shop, his gold tooth glinting under the stage lights. His grin was all teeth. “Fifteen hundred and I get to fuck Sarah.”
Laura didn’t even look at him. “Next.”
The next bid came from a quartet of Bulls—young, loud, their cologne a noxious cloud of cheap ambition. One of them, a wiry guy with a smirk that screamed trust fund, stepped forward. “Two thousand,” he called out, his voice cracking just enough to betray his nerves. “For all six holes.”
Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. She leaned into Laura, her voice a stage whisper. “That’s not bad.”
Laura didn’t take her eyes off the group. “It’s not great, either.”
Sarah smirked. “True.” She turned back to the Bulls, her hips cocked. “Any more room in the budget?”
The wiry one hesitated, glancing at his friends. One of them—broader, with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass—shrugged. “Twenty-five hundred?”
Laura shook her head. “Nah. Next.”
The wiry guy’s face twisted. “You’re joking—”
John pushed forward again, his voice a growl. “Two thousand. To fuck Sarah.”
The crowd murmured. Laura didn’t even glance his way. “Pass.”
Then—him. Martin, leaning against the back wall like he owned the place, his glass of scotch untouched in his hand. His voice cut through the noise, smooth as aged whiskey. “Three thousand. To fuck you both.”
Laura’s pulse jumped. She met his gaze, her lips curling. “Tempting.” She let the word hang, let the crowd lean in, and let the tension build. Then—slow, deliberate—she winked. “But no.”
Martin didn’t react. Just took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers.
An older Bull near the front—paunch straining against his dress shirt, his comb-over valiantly fighting gravity—raised a trembling hand. “Uh, ladies?” His voice was reedy, uncertain. “Would you, uh… play with each other? I’d pay for that.”
Sarah blinked. Then she burst out laughing.
Laura didn’t hesitate. She grabbed Sarah’s face, her fingers tangling in her friend’s hair, and yanked her into a kiss—hot, wet, all teeth and tongue. The crowd erupted. Cameras flashed. Someone wolf-whistled.
When she pulled back, Laura’s lips were swollen, her breath coming fast. She grinned at the old man. “Sweetie, we don’t charge for hobbies.”
The crowd lost it. The old man turned the color of a ripe tomato, a bulge clearly visible beneath his paunch.
John wasn’t done. He shoved through the front, his gold tooth glinting under the stage lights. “Four thousand,” he snarled. “To fuck Sarah.”
Laura finally looked at him. “You do realize this is a package deal, right? You don’t get to pick and choose.”
John’s grin was all teeth. “I’m not interested in you.”
Sarah’s laugh was sharp. “Oh, honey. Pass.”
Martin didn’t move from his spot at the back. His voice carried, though—cool, unhurried. “Four thousand five hundred.” He swirled his scotch, the ice clinking. “And I’ll bring friends.”
Sarah’s head snapped toward him, licking her lips. Her eyes narrowed, assessing. “What kind of friends?”
Martin’s smirk was slow and knowing. “The kind who know how to share?”
Laura’s fingers twitched. That was a great offer. And she knew Sarah would be all for it. She opened her mouth—
John’s voice cut through the murmur like a chainsaw. “Ten thousand.” His chest heaved, his gold tooth flashing as he grinned up at them, wild-eyed. “For a train on Sarah’s ass. But I go first.”
Then—Sarah’s laughter, bright and sharp as broken glass. “Oh, fuck yes. SOLD!”
Laura’s head whipped toward her. “Sarah—”
But Sarah had already dropped to all fours right there, her corset riding up, her ass on display, and the black lace of her thong nothing more than a flimsy barrier. The crowd surged forward like a wave, the bulls shoving past each other, their suits rumpling, and their ties already loosened. John was at the front, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his fingers fumbling with the lube bottle like it was his first time.
Laura didn’t move.
She stood there, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold. The timer on the screen above the stage ticked down—**29:58… 29:57…**
Mistress V sidled up beside her, her sequined corset catching the light. “Are you alright, darling?”
Laura didn’t take her eyes off the chaos. “Transfer it all to Sarah’s account.”
Mistress V’s eyebrow arched. “The entire ten grand?”
“Every penny.” Laura’s voice was steady. “She’s earning it.”
John finally got the lube open. He squirted a glob onto his fingers, then smeared it onto Sarah’s entrance with rough, impatient strokes. She hissed, her back arching, but she didn’t pull away.
Laura crouched next to her, her voice low. “Are you good?”
Sarah’s laugh was breathless. “Fuck yes.”
John didn’t wait. He lined himself up, his cock already glistening, and pushed in with one brutal thrust.
Sarah’s gasp was raw, her fingers clawing at the stage, but her face was glowing as she grunted into the microphones for the audience downstairs. The crowd roared.
Laura stood back and watched, her lips curling as John’s hips stuttered, his rhythm already sloppy, his breath coming in grunts. Amateur.
Martin approached, his scotch still untouched in his hand, his suit immaculate. His voice was a murmur, just for her. “You’re not participating?”
Laura’s gaze flicked to him. “He didn’t pay for me.”
Martin’s smirk was slow. “That means your cute butt is mine again, right?” He nodded toward Sarah. “Crawl under her. Eat her out while she gets fucked.”
Laura’s pulse jumped. She didn’t hesitate.
She dropped to her knees, then lower, sliding underneath Sarah’s trembling body. The stage lights burned overhead, the crowd’s noise a distant roar. Sarah’s pussy was right there—swollen, glistening, her scent thick and musky. Laura didn’t tease. She sealed her mouth over her, her tongue dragging through Sarah’s folds in one long, slow stroke.
Sarah’s moan was guttural, her hips jerking. John’s rhythm faltered, his cock slipping out halfway before he shoved back in with a grunt.
Laura didn’t stop.
She worked Sarah with deep, relentless strokes, her fingers digging into her friend’s ass cheeks, spreading them wide. The next bull was already waiting, his cock in hand, his eyes hungry. The timer ticked down—**27:12… 27:11…**—as John pulled out with a wet pop, his cum already dripping down Sarah’s thighs, onto Laura’s face.
The wiry kid took his place, his cock twitching as he lined up. He didn’t even bother with lube—just spat on his palm and rubbed it onto Sarah’s stretched hole before shoving in.
Sarah’s moan was muffled against the stage.
Laura didn’t let up. She sucked Sarah’s clit between her lips, her tongue flicking in tight, merciless circles as the bull’s balls bounced on Laura’s forehead. Sarah’s thighs trembled, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The kid lasted all of thirty seconds before he was groaning, his hips stuttering as he came inside her.
A flash of light blinded her briefly before the next bull positioned himself behind Sarah.
Laura didn’t stop. Didn’t breathe. Her tongue worked Sarah’s clit in tight, relentless circles, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of her friend’s ass, holding her open.
John’s voice cut through the noise like a rusted blade. “Get the fucking angle right, man! I paid for this shit!” His shadow loomed over them, his breath ragged, his gold tooth glinting as he barked orders at the cameraman—a lanky guy in a black polo, his expression bored as he adjusted the tripod with slow, deliberate movements.
Laura ignored him.
She sealed her lips around Sarah’s swollen folds and sucked, hard. Sarah’s back arched, her moan was raw and guttural, and her body trembled like a live wire. “Fuck—fuck—don’t stop—!” Her voice cracked, her hips jerking as the bull behind her groaned, his rhythm stuttering as her orgasm made her clench.
John snarled, but the cameraman finally sighed, shifting the lens toward Sarah’s ass, the angle perfect for the feed downstairs. “Happy?” he muttered, his voice dry.
“Fuck yeah—” John’s grin was all teeth. “I want to see that gaping ass with cum oozing out of her.”
Sarah’s moan was a broken thing, her body shuddering, her orgasm already cresting again, her voice a ragged “Yes—yes—fuck!” into the mic.
A hand slid up Laura’s thigh, fingers brushing against her soaked pussy. She froze for half a second, her breath hitching, before she glanced down.
Martin.
He crouched beside her, his suit still immaculate, his tie loose but not undone. His fingers glistened—*her* juices, slick and thick, coating his skin. He didn’t speak. He just brought his hand to his mouth, his tongue dragging along his fingers in one slow, deliberate stroke, his eyes never leaving hers.
Laura’s pulse spiked.
Martin didn’t break the silence. He just unbuckled his belt, the leather sliding free with a quiet snick, then his zipper, the teeth parting with a whisper. His cock was already hard, thick, and veiny, the head flushed dark. He didn’t stroke himself. Didn’t tease. He just gripped the base, positioning himself at Laura’s entrance, his free hand finding her hip, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh just above her lace teddy.
Laura didn’t stop eating Sarah out.
She kept her mouth sealed around her friend’s clit, her tongue circling as Martin pushed in—*slow*, inch by inch, stretching her open with a burn that bordered on pain. Sarah’s moan hitched, her body tensing as she realized what was happening, her voice a ragged “Fuck—fuck, Laura—” into the mic.
Martin didn’t rush.
He sank into Laura with measured strokes, his cock filling her in a way that made her vision blur at the edges. She gasped against Sarah’s pussy, her hips rocking back instinctively, taking him deeper.
John’s voice was a distant snarl. “What the fuck—?”
The cameraman sighed, adjusting the angle again, the lens zooming in on Laura’s face—her swollen lips, her glazed eyes, the way her tongue never stopped moving even as Martin bottomed out inside her with a quiet groan.
Sarah’s laugh was breathless, her body trembling as the bull behind her fucked her rough and deep, his balls slapping against Laura’s forehead with every thrust. “Oh my god—” Her voice was a wrecked whisper. “You’re such a fucking slut—”
Martin’s rhythm was relentless.
Not fast. Not slow. Just deep, his cock dragging against Laura’s walls with every stroke, his hips rolling in a way that made her toes curl. She moaned into Sarah’s pussy, the vibration making her friend’s body jerk, her orgasm crashing over her again, her voice a broken “Fuck—yes—fuck—yes!” as the bull behind her groaned, his cock pulsing inside her.
Martin’s breath hitched.
His fingers dug into her hip, his cock swelling inside her, his rhythm stuttering just slightly as he bottomed out, his balls tight against her. Laura could feel that he was close; his body coiled like a spring, his control fraying at the edges.
She reached down to grab Martin’s hips and pulled him forward.
Martin didn’t hesitate.
His hips snapped forward, his cock burying itself to the hilt as he came with a quiet, guttural groan, his cum flooding her in thick, hot pulses. Laura’s vision whited out, her orgasm crashing over her, her body clenching around him as she muffled her moan against Sarah’s thigh.
The bull behind Sarah pulled out with a wet pop, his cum dripping down her ass and onto Laura’s face. Sarah almost collapsed forward, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but the next bull grabbed her hips and slammed his cock down her stretched asshole. “Holy—fucking—shit!”
Laura didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
She stayed there, Martin still buried inside her, his cock softening slowly. Her tongue was still busy somehow, still lapping at Sarah’s folds as a cock pistoned in and out of her friend’s ass. The crowd’s noise was a distant roar. John was still bitching at the cameraman, his voice a nasally whine, but it didn’t matter.
The gong’s deep clang cut through the haze like a blade.
Laura froze, her tongue mid-stroke against Sarah’s trembling thigh. The stage lights flickered—once, twice—then died, plunging them into sudden darkness.
Mistress V’s voice boomed over the PA, smooth as oil on fire: “Ladies and gentlemen, the train has arrived at its final stop.”
John snarled in confusion. “The fuck was that?”
The cameraman finally lost his patience. “Dude. Your time’s up.” He gestured to the timer—**00:00**—flashing red on the screen above the stage. “The show’s over.”
John’s face twisted as he turned toward the stairs.
Sarah groaned, pushing herself up on shaking arms. She shot Laura a grin, her mascara smudged, her lips swollen. “Are you good?”
Laura nodded, her body still humming, Martin’s cum dripping down her thighs.
Laura’s legs wobbled as she pushed herself up, her lace teddy clinging to her sweat-slicked skin, Martin’s cum already cooling on her thighs. She shot Sarah a look—her friend’s corset was half-unlaced, her hair a wild mess, and her grin all teeth as she swayed on her heels.
Martin didn’t move. Just leaned against the stage’s edge, his shirt still immaculate, his tie loose around his neck. His gaze raked over them—slow, deliberate—like he was memorizing the way Laura’s lips were swollen and the way Sarah’s ass still glistened with cum.
Laura swallowed, her pulse still thrumming in her throat. She stepped toward him, her hips swaying despite the tremor in her knees. “We’re hitting the showers,” she said, her voice rough. “Do you want to come home with us after?”
Martin’s smirk was slow. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Sarah whooped, her laughter sharp and bright. “Oh, fuck yes!” She grabbed Laura’s arm, her fingers slick with sweat and someone else’s cum. “Look at you, already recruiting!” She leaned in, her breath hot against Laura’s ear. “Slut.”
Laura swatted at her, but Sarah dodged, her grin widening as she stumbled toward the shower door, her hips swinging. “Mark’s waiting for me downstairs!” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Laura rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. “That leaves nothing off the table.”
Sarah’s cackle echoed down the hall as she disappeared around the corner.
Martin’s hand found the small of Laura’s back, his touch warm through the lace. “Are you good to walk?”
Laura exhaled, her body still humming. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
His fingers traced the edge of her teddy, just above the curve of her ass. “Then let’s get you cleaned up.”
