Comfort Object (28 page)

“Yes, Jeremy.” I was scared as shit and turned on as hell, sandwiched between two hard bodies, their hands all over me, soothing, stroking, arranging, pinching. With a soft curse, Jeremy added more lube and pushed against my asshole again.

“Open up. Do it.”

I was still fairly new to taking his cock in my ass, but I did my best, driven on by Kyle's hot breath against my ear and Jeremy's fingers torturing my nipples. I took a deep breath, and he pushed the head of his cock in, holding my hips still until he'd slid all the way to the hilt. I moaned softly, but it didn't hurt, not after the initial discomfort. He sighed as he felt me relax; then he withdrew slowly and surged forward again.

“God, yes. Good girl. God, I'm deep inside you. Now we're going to fill both your hungry holes with cock.”

I moaned. My pussy clenched as he blew breath down the back of my neck. Kyle took my waist and eased himself back into me. As he did, Jeremy slowly pulled out. For a moment they stayed still. Then again, Jeremy advanced, dirty, thick stabbing in my ass, as Kyle withdrew. Then Kyle's long cock again, slipping, sliding upward while I felt my asshole again empty out. In perfect tandem, they fucked me, pressed against me, back and forth, back and forth. There was no pain, only a strange, horrible pleasure. I was a just body with holes that existed to be filled, again and again, by hard, insistent male flesh. And my skin tingled, my flesh sung with gratitude to feel this savage completeness. I was so full, so expertly manipulated between them. Their feral grunts and groans sounded in stereo in my ears.

When I was dangerously aroused by the overload of sensation, Jeremy reached around me to finger my clit. I gasped and bucked between them. I was about to lose control.

“Please, please.”

“Please what?”

Please what?
What did I want? To be released? To never be released, to enjoy this torture for the rest of my life?

“Please may I come?” I moaned.

“It feels good, doesn't it?” he said against my ear. “You like being violated like this, filled by two huge cocks?”

“Yes, God…yes…please—Let me—”

“You want to come, you little slut?” He was still pumping away in perfect rhythm with Kyle's delicious thrusts.

“Yes, please let me come!”

“Beg me.”

I tried to piece words together. My mind was gone, but Jeremy commanded attention. “Please let me come. Having two cocks is driving me crazy. Please, please!”

“Try again. You can do better than that.”

“Please let me come! Fuck me hard in both my holes and let me come and milk your huge fucking cocks—”

“That's not bad,” he said. “Say this. 'I need to come because I'm such a cum-happy little whore, and I love having both my holes stuffed with cock—'”

I repeated what he said, the words spilling over each other in desperation. Finally he said, “Go ahead.”

I let go of the breath I'd been holding, and my body tensed. Jeremy held me still, so deep in my ass I could feel his pubic hair tickle against my cheeks. Then Kyle eased in…slowly—
oh God
—and they were both pressed inside me. I clamped down on both dicks, squeezed my thighs, and shuddered. The orgasms that ripped through me sent white brilliant light around the edges of my mind. I came hard, groaning, burying my head in Kyle's neck as if he could ground me in the world and not let me fly off. He groaned too, shuddered and shook under me. Jeremy rocked against my ass and came with a growl and a firm bite on the back of my neck.

I went still. I simply laid still and felt our connectedness. With the orgasm over, I became aware of the base intimacy we shared. I was still gasping against Kyle's chest, and Jeremy's arms were wrapped around me, half to hug me, and half to support himself, I think. We all lay sandwiched together, catching our breath. I finally lifted my gaze to Kyle's, but he was looking past me, staring at Jeremy with an unfathomable look.

At last Jeremy stirred and licked my neck where he'd bitten me.

“One big, happy family,” he said.

We all laughed, and for a moment, I melted for Kyle. I melted for both of them pressed against me body to body. I laughed from the sensation of their deep, masculine laughter vibrating in my bones.

Then I remembered Kyle trying to soothe me with the words, “We know how to do this…”

I thought of Jeremy's last girlfriend, that confident, beautiful, model-like woman. She must have been sandwiched between them just as I was, not once, but many times for them to become so proficient. Had they done this only with her, or the girl before too? Or the girl before that?

How many times would they do this with me?

And did I want them to do it again…and again…use me this way?

Yes.

I really was turning into a whore. But I was no more a whore than Kyle, because both of us performed for Jeremy at his whim.

Jeremy invited Kyle to join us not so much as a sexual partner for me, but a conduit to live out his own sexual kinks. And he didn't only watch, Jeremy would direct Kyle.
Harder, faster. Doggy-style. Pull her hair. Fuck her ass
. And Kyle would comply beautifully. If Jeremy told Kyle to make me come, he would.

* * *

I stretched in bed. Yes, I loved the mornings. My muscles felt slightly strained but relaxed. I could barely remember what day of the week it was, usually. But I knew it had been nearly four weeks of degenerate pleasure now, and we'd be leaving Bangkok soon for a new hotel in Istanbul.

And it had certainly not been all unending pleasure either. There had been plenty of pain, as well as the inconvenience of being more or less trapped within the confines of the hotel and having to ask Kyle for everything I needed.

But Kyle had to give me what I asked for, no matter how much it annoyed him, which created a strange dynamic between us, above and beyond the detached, objectified sex we regularly shared.

Basically Kyle did everything in his power to make me miserable, but all I had to do was go running to Jeremy to get Kyle in trouble in return. We were like siblings locked in an eternal battle, snipping and sniping, and Jeremy was Dad, yelling at us from across the room to cut it out. When he was around we played nice, but when he was away, we were at war, as much at war as people on the same side could be.

Above and beyond the weekly double-penetration extravaganzas and the many instances Kyle was told to fuck me, I got ordered to suck Kyle off now and again just because Jeremy liked to watch me sucking a man's cock. God, the smirks I got then. I wanted to smack them right off Kyle's face.

But oddly enough, there were no extra women brought into our little fold. I guess Kyle was okay to play with us because Jeremy trusted him not to talk; however, if he hired a pro or talked a woman into joining us, she might sell the story to the tabloids. I guess his only choice would have been to hire another full-time girl, and I don't think I could have dealt with that. I think I would have been insanely jealous. Silly, since Jeremy was really only my boss.

I guess at some point, Jeremy just had to stop hiring full-time employees for the sole purpose of getting his rocks off.

While Kyle joined us several times a week, there were many more times Jeremy and I were alone. We fell into a routine that was comfortable and predictable, if somewhat depraved. Sex every morning. Sex in his trailer on the set, if I was there and we could manage it. Sex either before or after dinner, and sex every night. Basically, sex anytime that Jeremy wasn't in public or on camera. No wonder he had to hire a girl. No true girlfriend would have put up with it. I was awash in Jeremy Gray's cum from dawn to dusk.

At least it seemed that way sometimes. In truth, there were some days he worked so long and hard that he fell into bed without even talking to me. Other days, if he didn't have much to do, he'd plan an excursion for us somewhere around the city, to a museum or restaurant or park. He did those things for me, because he wanted me to have adventures while I was with him, and not always have my nose “buried in a book,” as he said.

But I did bury my nose in books when I could, when Jeremy wasn't using me. Bangkok still frightened me. I had no desire to go out into the crowds, the hullabaloo. I got good at the sex through sheer practice. I could give him a blowjob like a high priestess of fellatio. I could eventually take him anally without any lube but what was on the condom. I could take him and Kyle together with practiced, controlled grace. But I just couldn't get used to acting like his girlfriend in front of the cameras, and the flashes constantly going off in our faces. The screams, the fans, the paparazzi. When we ventured out, there was always at least one person who'd jump out at us brandishing a camera or something for Jeremy to sign. My pulse raced and my hands shook even when Jeremy held me close. He never let go of me when we were out in public, but I still woke up in a cold sweat a couple of times a week dreaming about crowds of trampling fans.

Jeremy took it all in stride, though. At least he seemed to. I have no idea how he did it, how he had the energy to work and explore life and be adventurous and brave the crowds of fans and then come home and fuck with the intensity he did. At first I thought it must be drugs. I went nosing around in his room, in his cabinet in the bathroom, in his personal things looking for pills, but there were none. However he managed, I thought, he was good at it. He was good at everything; he could deal with anything. And I finally realized that sex was his drug. Sex was the thing that kept him ticking. Sex was his heroin, and I was the dealer. We were constantly getting “high.”

He would come back to the hotel at the end of the day in a ball of stress and exhaustion, and I'd be ready, without fail, to kneel at his feet and take it all away. He'd sit on the couch heavily, gesturing to me, unfastening his pants, and I'd kneel wordlessly and gracefully between his legs like a courtesan, in one of the five-hundred-dollar corsets he'd bought me.

He'd usually tell me to suck him, but every so often he'd lift me onto his lap and fuck me deep and slow. If he had a really bad day, we'd go straight to the bedroom and play hard: cuffs, spreaders, clamps, toys, whips, belts. Whatever he needed, I let him take it from me.

And this worked for us very well, at least most times.

The day before we left Bangkok, though, he came into the room in a mood. I tensed slightly, as I always did when he was strung really tight. Not that he ever abused me or made me use a safe word or broke his contractual promises. I just knew things would get intense when he was keyed up the way he was.

He didn't say anything, which wasn't unusual, just sat down and snapped at the floor between his legs. When I finished, I expected to be ordered over his lap for a spanking, or told to go in the bedroom to fetch some terrible toy. But he just sat still.