Brad did incredible things, his fingers and thumb making my cl*tstand hard and juices ooze from between my shaking legs. I gasped, gripping his shoulder and looking gape-mouthed into his smoldering eyes. “Do you like people watching you?” His voice was authoritative, demanding, and my rebellious side tensed at the tone. I protested weakly, my words turning into unintelligible moans, his words ringing true in my slutty core. “Do you?” His voice was now a rough whisper, and I moaned, opening my eyes for a moment, long enough to see another face, another pair of eyes on me. A man walked by slowly, close enough to hear, and I let out a strangled cry despite myself.

His fingers disappeared for a moment; then I heard a ripping sound as my panties became victim to his strength. I sagged against the wall, waves of pleasure growing in time to the vibrating bass, the slow circle resuming around my clit, the fingers sliding back inside my soaking pussy.

“God, you are wet,” he growled in my ear, and I could hear the wetness, the slick sound of his actions. “Almost as wet as I’m going to make that sweet little blonde on the couch.” Opening my eyes wide, I saw carnal activity all around and tried wildly to focus, to see who he was talking about. Perverse snapshots of different possibilities battered my mind. Brad with me, Brad’s hands, cock, mouth on someone else, her pleasure, my possession. My mind desperately tried to grasp on any form of sanity, but the sexual need, the slutty side of me that was in full unadulterated glory, took the thoughts and savored them, the competitive side of me feasting on the challenge. Then I saw her, the young blonde on the couch, her body lying back, perfect cream tits exposed. The sight, the thought, the jealous arousal sent me over the edge, and an explosion of pleasure erupted in my core, my screams bursting out, unable to control myself.

My orgasm was long, hard and insanely good—visions filling my head, my eyes opening intermittently, seeing faces, hearing words, knowing that a room was watching—the knowledge stretching out the orgasm, and I was close to sobbing when it ended, my body collapsed against him, legs useless.

I sagged in his arms, my thighs wet, body quaking. I had just come, in front of this whole room, men staring, my br**sts hanging out, my panties ripped and tossed on the floor. I should have felt like a slut, a dirty whore. But instead I felt liberated, aroused. It was an interesting discovery, to know that I liked being dirty. I wanted to be stared at, pointed to, to have men lining up to f**k me. Inside, I felt a release of some tie, some leash undone, and I knew my descent into sexual awareness was just now starting. I wasn’t sure if I could ever tie it back into orderly place.

Eleven

Kate watched the hooded man as he stood in front of the brunette beauty. She slumped against the wall in front of him, her legs shaking, small br**sts heaving. Her scream had broken through Kate’s mental block and caused her to look over, to see his fingers inside her, his mouth at her ear. Her face a masked vision of orgasmic pleasure.

The image caused Kate to tighten, aroused despite herself, and Mr. Gunter groaned, feeling her body twitch. His hands on her breasts, squeezing and pinching them, moved downward, and Kate winced, shutting her eyes tightly. “No,” she said softly, too softly, and he laughed above her. “No!” She said it louder, pushing on his shoulder, and began to cry a bit in spite of herself, her body shaking and tears beginning the path down her face. She tightened her eyes, and willed herself to be strong.

When she heard it, loud and clear despite the noisy room, she froze, body stiff and rigid. The sound of him unzipping his pants, the rustle of clothing as he pulled out his cock. She glanced down, whimpering slightly, his thin, stubby dick already hard, sticking out like a dagger from his body. He was leaning over, his hands at her opening, preparing it for his bareness, and then he was gone. She blinked her tear-filled eyes, and saw the hooded man.

He had Mr. Gunter by the throat and was pressing him back, against a column at the entrance to the room. He whispered something in Mr. Gunter’s ear, something that made the old man’s eyes go wide in response. Kate sat up, pulling the sheer dress quickly down and standing, the room spinning briefly from the sudden movement. She sat, willing the room to still and searching for the strength to be able to go over, stop him, fix this. Whatever the big man was doing, he had to stop, had to leave Mr. Gunter alone. She couldn’t go back to Russia. Couldn’t go back to her family.

The brunette, beautiful, her eyes still glazed in euphoric pleasure, her skin flushed, sat down next to her, taking her hand. “I tried to stop him,” she whispered. “When he saw your face...” There was a loud crack and they both looked up. The big man stood over Mr. Gunter, his hand bloody, Mr. Gunter limp on the floor. A redheaded lady appeared and spoke urgently with the hooded man. The brunette put her arm around Kate and gripped her tightly. “Don’t worry,” she whispered.

They carried Mr. Gunter away. Kate saw him move, in their arms, and wondered what was going to happen now. The big man appeared in front of her, his eyes dark, and Kate felt a curl below her stomach, a tightening in her body. He bent, a question in his eyes, and when she nodded, he picked her up, cradling her small body against his. He carried her through the party and out the back doors.

* * *

BRAD CARRIED THE blonde, her head curled into his chest, her hand gripping his large biceps. She was Russian, from the sound of her accent. He took her outside, down the side of the pool, and headed to a pool house at the end. I opened the door for him, and we walked inside miniature opulence. The pool house was a baby version of the mansion, identical in style and appointments. There were two bedrooms, and he laid her on the bed in the smaller room. I hung back, not sure what was going to happen next.

Brad’s earlier words, his muttered threat to pleasure the Russian, now, in the elegant light of the bedroom, seemed as insane as the bloodied man that they had carried away. So much had changed in that one instant. He had been standing before me, my eyes struggling to focus, legs trying to stand. Then a sound had come from behind us, a cry. Out of place, asexual in tone. Brad had frozen, his eyes meeting mine, face hardening below his hood, a coldness coming over his entire being. Who he became, in that instance, was almost scary. It was a hardened Brad, the light gone from his eyes, his hands turning unintentionally rough. He had lifted me, helping me find my balance, ensuring that I could stand on my own. Then he had turned, taking in the scene in one glance, as did I. Then he was gone, a blur of movement, violence and protection.

What I had envisioned during the throes of my orgasm, the images of Brad and the Russian that had taken the fire of my arousal and doused it with gasoline, wasn’t this. Wasn’t her lying damaged on the bed, him as her protector. I had actually wanted him to be with her, wanted to see how I felt when his hands touched her skin, when his lips brushed hers, the feeling of possessiveness when I watched his c**k claim her tight body. I had, as ridiculous as it sounds, embraced the opportunity to watch him, to feel that competitive drive as it warped my arousal into new levels. But this, his concern, her vulnerability, was too personal, and I felt the evil tendrils of jealousy snake into my mind. He could f**k her, but he couldn’t care. My psyche wouldn’t allow that, despite the compassion I felt for her.

Lying back on the bed, she stared up at him, confused and wary. He started to speak, his words muffled, then reached up and pulled off the mask.

* * *

KATE INHALED INVOLUNTARILY. The black fabric pulled away to reveal an Italian god. He had olive skin and a thick head of black hair. Strong, handsome features, he would have been too beautiful if it weren’t for the overwhelming strength of his features. The man smelled intoxicating, and reeked of masculinity and sex. He spoke, his voice deep and gruff.

“Beverly said you can stay here. Get some rest. In the morning she will help, find you a new place to stay. It will be okay. Are you Russian?” His voice had gentled but was still dangerous to her, to any clear thoughts in her head.

She nodded. “My visa is almost expired.” Her voice sounded weak, broken, and she hated her stilted English.

He nodded. “That’s fine. Don’t worry.” He brushed his hands lightly, almost accidentally, over her as he pulled a blanket over her body. She pushed herself up, grabbing his shoulder, a question in her eyes, and he shook his head.

“I’m not here for that. I was just trying to help.” He pushed her gently down, his fingers caressing her almost imperceptibly and she inhaled, his touch sending desire in hot streaks throughout her body. He turned, his strong silhouette filling the doorway, and closed the door gently, sending the room into darkness. She lay back and stared at the ceiling, her thoughts jumbled and fighting for attention.

Twelve

We spoke in hushed tones, in the second bedroom of the pool house. Beverly had joined us, hanging up her cell as she entered the room. I paced, worried. “Is that man okay? Did you really need to punch him? Are the police being called?” I asked rapidly.

He leaned back against a dresser, his arms crossed, looking impossibly sexy despite his bloody knuckles. “Julia, everything is fine. That scumbag will be fine, and will not press charges.” His wry tone calmed me down somewhat, but my nerves were still on edge. “Beverly, can you assist her in the morning? Get her clothes and breakfast, give her a ride?”

Beverly straightened, fixing Brad with a glare. “I’m not tossing her out like a lost puppy. She can stay her indefinitely. The guesthouse is available. I can always use someone to help out around the house.”

“If you need my help...”

Beverly waved off Brad’s offer. “Stop that, Brad. You’re a guest! I never should have allowed him to come with her. The invitation was a favor to my husband, and we didn’t know who he was bringing. This is my fault, and I’ll fix it.” She covered her mouth with a manicured hand, thinking, and then walked over to us, kissing me briefly on the cheek and squeezing my arm. “I’ll let you two enjoy the rest of the party. Brad, I expect a bill for your security services.” She winked at him and left the room, closing the door behind her.

I walked over to him and he took me into his arms, holding me tightly, and I relaxed against his chest. I wondered if he was still in the mood. A noise caused me to turn and I rotated in his arms, still pressed against his body.

The Russian stood, now na**d, in the doorway. Her tight body and firm tits were goose-bumped in the cool room. Her eyes were pools of dark want and she stood, unsure, nervous in cheap heels. “I need you,” she said clearly, only a slight accent in her voice, her eyes locked with Brad’s. “Please.” I felt his thickness harden against my body and I stepped aside, watched him walk forward and stop in front of her. Guess that answers my question.

Brad looked down at the girl, his eyes sweeping over her na**d body before coming to rest on her face. Her lips were full and pink, her eyes dark and longing. She licked her lips, her tongue lingering before disappearing in her mouth. He grabbed the back of her hair gently and pulled, tilting her head back so that she looked into his face.

“Why?” he whispered.

She frowned, confused. Her lips moved without speaking for a moment, and just a small gasp of air escaped her mouth. He loosened his grip on her, and she relaxed slightly, then spoke.

“Why what?” The accent was still there, her voice young and sweet.

“Why do you need me?”

“I don’t know. I just, watching you, with her in the other room...” Her eyes darted to me, then returned to his face, her expression searching him to understand. I understood. I knew the effect that Brad had on me, how I yearned for his touch, for the release he could give me. But I also knew what Brad was asking, what he was worried about.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, his hand releasing her hair and traveling down, trailing on her skin until he broke contact, almost brushing her nipples. She sagged a little, exhaling softly, staring into his eyes.

“This isn’t for what you did. I wanted you earlier, thought of you then. Please,” she begged, her small hands reaching up and unbuttoning his top button. “Please,” she whispered again, moving down to the next button, her hands exploring his strong shoulders and sweeping under his shirt.

Yes. This was what I had wanted. I understood his concern, his desire to not take advantage of her vulnerable position. But I wanted my Brad back, I wanted the sex god who had taken my innocence and turned me into this deviant slut. I saw the need she had and my pu**y panted for him to fill it, to be the man who I was falling uncontrollably for.

I took control, making the decision for him, closing the door and locking it, the loud click causing him to look up and meet my eyes. Staring at him, I tugged on one strap and then the other of my red dress, sliding it down my h*ps until it dropped to the floor, nothing but me underneath. Stepping over to a plush chair set in the corner of the room, I sat, facing the bed. Spreading my legs, I ran my hands over my inner thighs, squeezing, then gently teasing my already wet slit. I raised my chin and stared defiantly into his eyes. I know you are in there, baby.

He looked at me darkly, his eyes following the motion of my fingers, then studying my eyes, reading them, my confident stare meeting his. A slow, sure smile spread over his features. He shook his head, looking upward as if to heaven, then down at the petite blonde still grasping his shirt.

He walked her around to the far side of the bed, laying her backward onto it, her bare skin creamy white against the bloodred duvet. He ran his hand down the center of her body, her skin quivering from his touch, and she gasped as his fingers reached the place where her legs met. My gaze felt physically glued to the scene, and I blinked, the intensity of my stare drying out my eyes. I looked inside myself, tried to read the swirl of emotions that filled my core. Had I been right? Was this what I wanted? Jealousy was there, a hint of it, wandering outside the peripheral of my mind, trying to decide if she wanted to join in on this party. But a stronger emotion, lust, was first and foremost. It was like watching a disaster, and not being able to turn away. You know you shouldn’t look, but you ache for it so badly. Yes. I wanted to watch. A perverse, competitive part of me wanted to see him in action, to watch, and then join in the passion. Brad lifted his hand from her body and spoke, his words quiet, commanding. “How many men have you been with?”