Page 26

When the belt came down, though not particularly hard, surprise mingled with the pain to make her cry out. Yet, even as she moaned and looked to the ceiling, her pussy was clutching Chandler’s cock for dear life.

The next time she made it three movements before the belt came smacking down. Then only once. Both times she cried out, and by the fourth time there were tears falling. At the same time, her pussy was gushing around Chandler’s cock, her muscles squeezing him. It was all so confusing. She closed her eyes tightly and with renewed focus she clenched her cheeks and rode in earnest until she was panting and sweaty.

Then the belt fell against her sit spot—timed so perfectly that she couldn’t believe it. Almost before she could cry out, she felt it: the shattering of an orgasm ripping through her.

Chandler’s hands went to her hips, his caress firm but gentle as he lifted her up and set her down on his cock.

Chyanne felt her focus torn between the two sensations—the biting pain of the belt, and the delicious sensation of Chandler’s cock inside her. She wanted to concentrate on Chandler and making him feel good, but there was also the niggling fear in the back of her mind dreading the next lash.

“Chyanne.”

Her name was a growl on his lips, and drew her attention to Chandler. She gazed into his blue eyes and grabbed a fistful of his curling chest hair. She was careful not to tug—she just wanted to feel as connected to him as possible. Rocking her hips, she got back into a rhythm riding his cock.

She rode him harder and faster than she had any bronco until she heard his tell-tale groan and felt him tighten inside her. Her pussy gripped him, milking him as he spurted hot cum inside of her. Chyanne let go, let herself feel the exhilaration of her own orgasm as delicious pleasure coursed through her and she came for the second time.

When she came back to herself, she wasn’t sure how she’d ended up on her back and in-between the men that had made her scream until her throat felt raw. She’d never been more sated. They had demanded a lot from her and had given her back so much more than she’d ever known was possible.

It’s not love, but it sure feels good. Chyanne drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

Aaron

“You cook?” Aaron asked when he walked into the kitchen to find Chandler at the stove.

“Yeah. Good thing, too, since I’m guessing neither of you do.” He snickered as he flipped a pancake.

“Pancakes and eggs?” Aaron arched a brow.

Chandler shrugged. “Better than goin’ hungry, I reckon.”

“Sure is, Master Chef.” Aaron chuckled as he reached for the bowl of cut strawberries on the counter. He popped one into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. For all his joking, the smell of the pancakes cooking made his stomach rumble. Sex was the kind of work that made a man full in one way, and hungry in another.

“Hey, do me a favor. They found Chyanne’s suitcase and left it just outside the door. Mind bringing it in?”

“Sure.” Aaron strode to the door and opened it, noting the beat-up, old black suitcase. As soon as he picked it up, his brows shot up at the weight.She pack her own barbells or something?He set it down inside and returned to the kitchen to forge for more food.

“Chyanne sure is something else, huh?”

Aaron grunted his agreement as he ate another strawberry half.

“I know Nate assigned Chyanne to me—”

Aaron’s head popped up, suddenly way more interested in the conversation.

Chandler took notice and laughed. “Don’t worry, dude. I think she needs both of us. That was what I was going to say. At least until we figure out the whole Little/sub question.”

Aaron nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I think you’re right. Although… she’s totally more a sub. You get that, right?”

The other man grinned at him. “We’ll see, my friend. We shall see.”

* * *

Chandler

Chandler waited in the quiet, dark room, watching Chyanne. She had to be very tired and sore. Not only had she had a long bus ride from God-knows-where, she had caused quite a bit of mischief. She’d been soundly punished for it, then pleasured, then punished/pleasured. That was a lot for anyone.

Yet, as he stood watching her, Chandler got the distinct feeling that she was not justanyone. That she was more—much, much more.