Holy hell. This was getting better by the second; at least for me, if not Lia. Because she looked a bit scared as Vincent moved on to bind her ankles to the footboard. I was starting to really enjoy myself. But then a thought occurred to me. He had told me that tonight I could listen to Lia, and tomorrow night… I pushed that thought out of my head. There was no way he could make me. No way they could force me…not if I didn’t want them to.
And yet, I was starting to change my mind about that, because as I watched, Vincent stripped out of his clothes. Oh, he was so handsome—too handsome. I stared as he opened up a bottle of lube and poured a puddle into his palm. Lia began to strain against the bindings. I guess she’d thought he was simply going to fuck her. Vincent clearly had his own ideas.
“If you fight, things will go worse for you,” he said.
The finger, which had only been resting on my clit, began to make slow circles, as if with a mind of its own. I wasn’t telling myself to make those circles. I was doing no instructing at all.
I watched, mesmerized, as Vincent jacked his hand up and down his cock, getting the head and shaft all wet with the lube. Then he spread Lia’s asscheeks and ran his fingertips between them.
“No…” she murmured.
“Yes…” he responded.
I watched, swallowing hard, as Vincent got behind her on the bed and used both hands now to spread her asscheeks wide apart—as he pushed the head of his cock into what I could only guess was her tight little asshole.
Lia cried out. Vincent made soothing noises to her under his breath. I imagined him fucking me like that, envisioned him putting me over his lap and spanking my ass and then preparing me just as he was preparing her, and then… Oh, god, I was going to come. I was. Right there in the bathroom, no better than any other peeping Tom. I shut my eyes. I listened to her whimper, and I let myself go.
Quietly, as quietly as I possibly could, I slipped back to my room.
I was still telling myself that they didn’t have to know what I’d done, that there was no way they could force me to reciprocate.
But I didn’t believe me. I’ve never been a good liar.
In the morning, I didn’t leave my bed. I waited for both of my roommates to get dressed, make coffee and head off to their respective offices. Then I tiptoed my way down the hall to snag a cup of joe for myself. I was surprised by what I saw on the kitchen table.
A schoolgirl skirt.
Lia’s schoolgirl skirt.
Pinned to the hem was a note:
If you want to play, you have to dress the part.
What did that mean? Well, I knew what it meant. Put on the skirt if I wanted to have what happened to Lia happen to me. And I did. Sort of. I wanted Vincent to do all those naughty, nasty things to me. But I didn’t want Lia to have the pleasure of watching. So I was torn. And what if the skirt didn’t fit me?
I held up the red-and-black plaid. The hem reached only the tops of my thighs. This was barely long enough to be called a mini.
It wouldn’t hurt to try on the skirt. That wasn’t agreeing to anything. Nobody was home. I stripped off my yoga pants and slid on the skirt, buttoned the side. The skirt seemed even shorter once I had it on. But it fit.
I was about to take the thing off again, when I had second thoughts. Nobody would know if I wore the skirt for a little while. Nobody would know if I went into my bedroom, grabbed my vibrator and made myself come while I had the skirt on. Who would tell Vincent? The skirt? My dildo?
If I couldn’t participate in their little ménage à fuck, I could at least get off at the thought. I went to the bedroom and snagged my toy from the bedside table. With images from the previous night still fresh in my mind, I sprawled on the bed and started to touch myself. I worked slowly, not turning on the vibrator at first, just running the toy up and down between my legs, over my panties, pressing hard on my clit.
Finally, I turned on the motor and slid aside my panties. Oh, god, that felt good. The fabric of the skirt was a little scratchy against my bare thighs, and for some reason, I liked that. There was sex in this skirt. I thought of Lia wearing the naughty outfit. I thought of the way she’d looked when Vincent had punished her. I imagined being the one over his lap, feeling his hand drag up the hem, feeling his palm on my ass. I…
“Thought so.”
Jesus Christ.
Vincent was standing in the doorway of my bedroom. At first, I tried to feign indignation. But indignation—or anything else, for that matter—is a difficult emotion to slip into when you are spread-eagled on your bed with a toy in your twat.
“Don’t stop on my account.”
I stared at him and swallowed hard. I didn’t think I could make myself come while he was watching. And yet I didn’t think I could stop myself from coming regardless of who was watching. Even if that who turned out to be Lia, who stepped into the doorway next to him.