Bastard Life

“Take off the counterpane.”

The boys were ahead of them. Not that the two couples were racing, but the blond stud was already on his back, head on the white-slipped pillow, slim hips arched. His dark-haired lover crouched between his thighs, licking that tender skin, working slowly to the blond’s impressive hard-on.

Somehow Lia knew exactly how that would feel.

“Come on, baby. Help me with the counterpane.” Ry was in a hurry to catch up. Lia could tell. Still, she turned to him, confused by his request.

“The what?”

“Bedspread,” he said, his British accent stronger now that he was aroused. “Who knows how many people have shot their load onto those ugly watercolor flowers.”

“How many do you think?” Lia asked as she helped him wrench back the heavy quilted comforter—abloom in gaudy burnt orange and lemon yellow blossoms. She was looking at the boys again. For the first time in her life, she wished she had a cock—and she wished that the dark-haired Romeo was sucking her, right down to the root. She could almost feel his full lips on her skin—pretty, cupid-bow lips.

Ry gripped her chin and forced her to face him, his own lips bending into a half-smile. “Slut.” He elongated the word, really hitting the “l.” “That’s your favorite part, isn’t it? Thinking about all the other people who have fucked in this bed.”

“One of my favorite parts.” She pulled her chin out of his hand and stared back at the other couple, who didn’t appear to mind in the least—the blond was tall and fine-boned, the darker one well-muscled, with tattoos scrolled over his skin. She’d hardly ever paused to notice gym rats before, but this guy did something to her. She watched the naked wrestling on the other bed—and she sighed out loud when the one with the chestnut hair hissed under his breath:

“Roll over.”

That was something Ry said to her, in just the same way:

“Roll over. Show me that sweet fucking ass of yours.”

Now, she watched as the top started to rim his lover. Fucking god. More than talking to Ry about who’d abused this hotel room before, she liked seeing what the two boys would do.

Her heart pounded at the way the brunet roughly pulled apart the blond’s cheeks and licked in a tight circle around that tiny pink bud. She clenched her  own thighs together. Ry had never done that to her. Nobody had. But she desperately wanted to own that experience, a tongue against her there. Wetness. Warmth. She thought that the sensation alone might make her come. Would it feel like Ry was suckling her clit? Would it make her feel like a boy?

The brunet didn’t wait to see if rimming would make the blond come. He gripped a bottle of lube from the faux walnut bedside table and poured a shivering handful between the lean man’s taut cheeks. Lia moved forward. She wanted to be as close to the action as possible. She watched hungrily as the dark-haired boy slid one hand over his own rigid cock, lubing himself up, before pressing just the head against the blond’s hole.

Right then, Ry grabbed her. 

It was as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment—as if he knew what was going to happen next. His touch made Lia groan. All morning, she’d been thinking of this situation. While working in her sterile little cubicle downtown, she’d fantasized about what Ry had told her, where he’d wanted her to meet him for lunch.

Not to eat. But to fuck.

From outside, she could hear the noontime traffic. Through a crack in the window, she could smell the fried calamari sizzling in the kitchen of the downstairs café. But all that mattered to her were the people in this room.

Ry pushed her down on the bed and ripped her pleated violet skirt to her waist. She wasn’t wearing panties—he’d told her not to when he’d instructed her to meet him at this hotel, on a Thursday at noon. This was the sort of thing Ry did from time to time. Keeping her off guard. Keeping her guessing.

The boys had already been going at it when she walked into the room, and she’d looked from them to Ry and back to them again, catching the grin on Ryland’s face—seeing that he knew how excited she already was.

They didn’t know the boys’ names. But names didn’t matter. All that mattered was watching them—she and Ry on one bed, the dynamic duo on another.

With her skirt pulled up to her ass, naked skin beneath, her pussy pressed hard against the crisp white sheets. She focused intently on the men—oh, the noises that they made. Those were almost as sexy to her as what they were doing. But then Ry did exactly what she’d fantasized about moments before. He slipped a pillow under her hips to raise her, parted the cheeks of her ass and pressed his tongue to her hole.

Jesus fucking Christ. 

Why hadn’t she let him do this before? He made one spiral, and then another. She shut her eyes for a moment, because the wave of pleasure was almost too extreme—then opened her eyes and stared down at the forest green carpeted floor—speckled with bits of lint. Ry slid one hand under her waist and touched her clit.

“Oh, baby. You’re so wet. Look how wet you get when I lick you here.”

Her cheeks burned as shame flooded through her. She couldn’t speak. Ry’s tongue between her cheeks turned up so many different emotions inside of her. Is that why she’d never let him do that before?

He licked her again, then moved back and pressed the ball of his thumb to her asshole. He didn’t push it in, he simply rested his thumb against her. She waited. He didn’t move. She waited another second. He was as still as she was. Finally, Lia couldn’t stand the tease. She was the one to push back, to thrust back, so that his thumb was inside of her and she was panting. 

“You want it, don’t you, you little slut,” he said. She loved when he talked to her like that. His accent made her feel exceptionally dirty. She had no idea why. Her eyes went back to the boys. The top was fucking the blond now, and at a rapid speed. She saw things she hadn’t noticed at the start. The blond’s nipples were pierced, his chest was waxed, smooth and bare. The brunet had a tattoo of an anchor on one shoulder, a 40s style tattoo that made her want to trace the outline with her tongue.

“What are you thinking?” Ry asked, but she hook her head. He gripped onto her curls and pulled back hard. A shudder ran through her. His thumb was out of her ass now, and she could feel the head of his cock against her. Poised. Ready.

“What are you thinking, Lia?”

“That I’d like to lick him,” she said. Her breath was coming faster now. “That I’d like to be him,” she continued, unable to hold back as he pushed his cock into her. She wanted it all, and all at once. She wanted to be the boy on top, licking the blond’s hole. Then fucking him. She wanted to be the blond, getting rimmed, getting fucked. She wanted to touch them, crawl into their bed, be a part of the game. Turned inside out by the way they moved, the way they fucked.

There was a picture on the wall. A sailing print. Gold frame. The room had that antiseptic smell of cheap cleaning products—but beneath the scent was the odor of so many other guests who had romped here before.

But they hadn’t been doing this, Lia thought. They hadn’t been fucking in tandem like she and Ry and the duo on the other bed.

It wasn’t a race—she knew that—but now the couples were moving beat for beat. Ryland was deep in her ass. The brunet was fucking the blond to the same exact rhythm. Their groans were a background melody. 

Their very breathing was in synch.

When the movie ended, Lia came. Ry’s cock was deep in her ass, and his fingertips stroked her clit, stretching out her orgasm.  She sighed and pulled off him—feeling dirty and used and clean and set free. Ry reached for the remote control and turned off the porn channel. Through the bathroom door, she could see those familiar cheap white towels—nearly threadbare. Too thin to be much use. She’d shower anyway, then head back to work—her ass sore, her body humming. 

Ry said, “Next time, we’ll take out an ad. Describe exactly what we want.”

She looked at him, then at the dark box of the TV screen, and she nodded.

Because next time it was going to be for real.—For BastardLife by Alison Tyler