“He put a plug in you,” Milan exclaimed, tapping at the flat circle of latex. “I’ve never done that to you. How does it feel?”
“Uncomfortable.”
“Yes? But you don’t mind anal penetration, do you? I know that.”
“It’s not the same. I don’t try and walk around the streets and sit on a Tube train while I’m getting shagged up the arse, do I?”
Milan laughed but Lydia could see that he was aroused.
“Well, I have to give him points for creativity. Imagination. So he put that in you and what then? You sucked his cock?”
Lydia nodded, burning with shame.
“That explains the knees. And it wasn’t somewhere nice, was it? Where was it?”
“Under the stairwell by the museum.”
“The Museum of London? A public place?”
Lydia nodded again.
“You’ve come a long way, baby,” he pronounced. “From that uptight little new girl I sent to buy a violin string. A long, long way.” He smacked each bum cheek in turn and Lydia felt the plug even more keenly.
Something else happened when palm met flesh—a sound. A melodious jingling from inside her.
“Oh my God, that’s not all!” Milan sounded quite rapturous.
Really, von Ritter had chosen the wrong man to try to drive wild with sexual jealousy, thought Lydia. He could fuck her under a spotlight at the top of the Shard with the world watching and Milan would just bring along the binoculars.
“Let’s see…”
Milan held her pussy lips apart and peered down at her before inserting a finger and curling it around the lower of the two balls.
“You’ve been double-penetrated all the way to my flat,” he breathed.
Lydia thought he was going to pull it out, but he didn’t. He withdrew his finger and gave her clit a thoughtful rub.
“He still hasn’t fucked you?” he said.
“Not in the way you mean,” said Lydia, her voice low and breathy.
She was floating away on the triple-stimulation. Without thinking about what she was doing, she put her own hands to her breasts and began to stroke her nipples.
“He’s fucking insane,” whispered Milan.
He took his fingertips from her bud and rolled her over on her stomach. After pulling her onto her knees, he took hold of the butt plug and warned her that he was going to pull it out, quickly and cleanly.
She bit down on to the duvet and braced herself. She hated this bit.
It came out in a second, but her vacated space seemed to want it back, protesting by clenching as if it still had something to hold on to.
Milan had a solution for this. It involved taking off his clothes and pushing his own cock into the abandoned void. Only the smallest amount of lube was needed to let it glide in, assisted by her recent stretching.
It felt so good to have him there. She was his to use in whichever way he wanted, and a hard, hot tool was a million times better than a piece of flared latex, any day of the week.
“I’m going to make you ding-a-ling,” he crooned into her ear, and he meant it quite literally.
With every forward thrust, the Ben Wa balls chimed sweetly, a pretty accompaniment to a primitive act.