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“Watch,” I said. “Just watch. Please. I’m not sure I could cope with more.”
Zoe grinned and sat back in the armchair, tucking her bare feet under her. “A front row seat. Brilliant.”
Elena had me on the bed in minutes, face down, hips lifted. The cuffs, the pillow, the lube. Zoe pulled her chair up to the end of the mattress with her prosecco, her dress hitched up round her waist, and I realised she wasn’t wearing any knickers and was touching herself, slowly, with two fingers.
“Talk him through it,” Zoe said. “I want the commentary.”
“He’s very tight.” Elena’s voice was calm, businesslike, and utterly filthy. “I’m going to put two fingers in. See how he opens up? He’s so good at this. Aren’t you, Mark? Tell Zoe.”
“I’m good,” I said, into the pillow.
“Louder.”
She slid the strap-on into me slowly, and I moaned. The two of them looked down at the long, hard line of my body taking it. Zoe’s breathing was loud. Elena drove in deeper, her hand on my back, and said, “Now, Mark, you’re going to hold it for the audience.”
I tried. I really tried. But I could hear Zoe’s wet fingers, and feel Elena’s eyes, and the tightness hit me all at once like a train.
I came untouched in forty seconds, with a yelp.
There was a silence. Then Zoe began, solemnly, to clap.
“Forty seconds,” Elena said, withdrawing, with an air of enormous disappointment. “Is that a record?”
“I think it’s a personal best,” said Zoe.
I hid my face.
Ending 14 of 16: Front Row. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.