Game

I twitch over his lap, wanting that decision to be made now.

But he takes his time and then, with his other hand, he takes a bottle of lubricant and uncaps it with his teeth. Blunt stubs of fingertips, slippery with grease, dig into the cleft of my bottom, making it soft and yielding and pliant, ready to be violated. I feel the pressure bear down on my anus, feel the give and the surrender when his thumb breaks through.

‘Nice and relaxed,’ he says under his breath. ‘Are you watching closely, you others? Watching what I’m doing to her? O, what size plug do you think she needs?’

‘A good big one,’ says O maliciously, the cow. ‘Like that one you’ve got there. I think Sophie’s well used to taking things up there.’

‘I think you’re right. Is she right, Sophie?’

‘Yes.’ I jerk my pelvis trying to get the fingers that are resting on my clit back into action.

It gets a consolatory pat, then he releases his thumb from my bum and picks up the plug.

Its lubricated tip glides into the crevice and sits at the twisted knot of flesh it is designed to breach. While it rests there, Mal returns to work on my cunt, stroking my clit with an unbearably gentle touch.

‘Oh.’ A wavelet of panic washes over me as the plug makes its first ease forwards, opening me just a little bit.

‘It’s going in, Sophie. It’s going all the way in. Don’t fight it.’

Fighting it is the last thing on my mind. I embrace the plug; I want to feel that unfeasible stretch, that obscene fullness. I want all of that and more.

The first inch tests my sphincter muscles and doesn’t find them wanting. They retract and grant access, twitching involuntarily.

Mal presses harder on my clit, maintaining a rhythmic stroke. ‘You can take this,’ he says.

‘I know.’

‘Good. You’re doing very well.’

At the pit of my stomach I feel a sharp tug towards orgasm. I work at heading it off – it feels too soon, stimulated though I am. I want to hold on, wait till the plug is in, then get the full sensation all the way through my lower half.

Mal pushes it further but he is excruciatingly slow. When he gets to the painful point, with the widest part of the plug right there at my entrance, he starts to twist it. I go a bit crazy and start humping his fingers. He keeps twisting, keeps twisting while I make incoherent noises of helpless dismay.

‘You don’t get to control this, Sophie,’ he reminds me gleefully. ‘I’m setting the pace. I’m giving you what I think you deserve.’

But he relents and pushes it along, letting my sphincter seal up by increments until the flange rests against it and I am filled. Only then do I let myself sink into the pleasure on offer. His fingers draw out a flood of white heat, lighting up my cunt, and the presence of the plug in my rear enhances the feeling to almost unbearable dimensions.

‘Now, now,’ he mutters, lifting his legs and rolling with me on to the bed. ‘I want you now.’

The sensible arrangement of limbs is too difficult for me in my lust-weakened state. I lie there and let Mal pose me to his satisfaction, finding myself eventually on my stomach with my legs apart and my arms still tied behind my back.

Mal climbs on top, trousers discarded, and pushes his rubbered cock up between my thighs and then into the target. Once he is inside, he closes my thighs again and pushes himself back and forth in the tightness, his balls bumping gently against my skin. Double-penetrated, I slip into bliss, having no other responsibility than to just lie there and take it. Take it, take it, take it.

His abdomen covers my sore, plugged bottom, pressing down on it as he makes his stealthy thrusts. I am a vessel, a receptacle, made to accept cock.

Another one, the last in a long line. How many cocks has it been now?

It’s easily in the hundreds; perhaps I have passed the one thousand mark. If so, I’ll never know, because I don’t keep score. But the thought of all those satisfied cocks pleases me. Fat and thin, long and short, curved and stumpy, all lining up to shoot their loads into my tight dark cavern. They have taught me so much about myself. They have taught me that I need them.

But I never needed the men attached to them, never a one, until now.

When Mal finishes fucking me I will thank him politely and we will part as friends. And then I will want Lloyd. He is the cock-attachment for me.

Mal plays with the plug in my bottom while he fucks me until I roar into a second orgasm, a total wipeout that erases the memories from my brain.

He comes himself and lies down flat on my back, kissing my damp neck.

‘You’re a good girl, Sophie,’ he says. ‘You really work that cunt of yours.’