Banging Rebecca Read online

  Even more importantly, you don’t know how I got here.

  I’ve got plenty of time to think things over. They’ve left me alone, and I can hear the low rumble of their voices, but I can’t discern what they’re saying. I tense my arms and tug, but that just makes the bindings tighter. I thrash on the mattress to see if I can create any slack. Sean’s tied me down enough times for me to know that this is useless, and I wind up coated in a sheen of sweat, feeling ridiculous for trying to get free.

  I don’t want to get free. I only want to know what my options are.

  Sean didn’t want options. Sean wanted me and him—him and me—every dawn after a gig, every evening before rehearsal. He wanted me bent over the seat of his Triumph. He wanted me spread out on the deck of his patio. Or in the bed of his truck. He had a way about him, that quiet, soothing way that somehow went against the image he portrayed on stage. There was nothing fast about him when he wasn’t playing the drums. Everything was slow, methodical. The way he tied me down when he fucked me, fingers carefully working the knots. The way he buckled the ball gag between my lips. Never rushing. Never even seeming to fully heat up.

  Low key, like I said.

  And then there was Derrick. On stage, the man was a feline, stalking, crawling even, strutting for the crowd—Iggy Pop with those six pack abs. An aberration with his long silver mane of hair, even those he’s barely thirty. He had that super star ego, and a body like a statue come to life. When he sang the hardcore songs, everyone in the places moved to the beat. But when he sang a ballad, all the girls got still.

  Why did I even notice? Why did I pay attention?

  Not because of the way he was on stage, but the way he was off. The tantrums and the ranting, the fast motion of his temper. I liked the heat of him. That’s the truth. The fucking throb of him. And when he brushed past me once, and I felt his breath on my neck, I knew I was going to let him take me.

  I think he screwed me first to get at Sean. To say, Look here, buddy. I got her, too.

  The second time? I think because he liked me. He liked the way I tasted when he went down between my legs. He liked the purr I made when I came, legs tight around him, hair spread out on his pillow.

  The third time? We were at a party in Malibu. Fucking under the light of the moon. There was romance. Words were said. Love might even have been murmured.

  And the fourth? That’s when he found out I was still fucking Sean after. He thought he’d won me. I mean, I guess that’s what he thought. I’d had no intention to choose one man over another.

  That’s why they’re staring out at the canals of Venice, and I’m strapped down to the bed with a blindfold covering my eyes. That’s why they’re having a pow-wow about not only what makes a band work, but what makes a girl work. A girl like me. A girl with needs.

  Things could have gone so differently. Derrick could have dumped me. Sean could have moved on. How many girls at their gigs would put out willingly? How many vixens would climb happily into either boy’s bed? But I sensed something between these two from the start. The love-hate relationship that makes the band what it is. Electrifying and mesmerizing. Their chemistry draws the audience to show after show. I wanted all of that power—and I wanted it for myself.

  Derrick kept trying to interrupt me when we were talking. I said, “Look, I’m sorry if I let you down.”

  “The fuck you did,” he growled. “What were you thinking?”

  “What were you thinking?” was Sean’s low retort. “You knew she was my girlfriend.”

  I liked that they weren’t fighting. I liked that we were all in the room together. I felt that we could do something, salvage something, from the ashes I’d created. Really, I felt that I could ultimately give them what they wanted.

  That’s what I said. That’s why I’m not driving in my car down the 10 Freeway, out one boyfriend and one fling, off to a bottle of whiskey in an nearly empty apartment. I said, “Look, I’m sorry. I liked you both. I didn’t do things right, and I know that. I was dishonest, and I know that, too. But can’t we… you know? Can’t we work something out?”

  Sean got the deal first. He understood the implication in my offer, as I knew he would. He was the one to let his lips go up, in that trademark half-smirk, half-smile to say to Derrick, “Wait here, for a second. Just wait,” while he took me to his room and tied me down on the bed and chose his favorite blindfold from the drawer. And he was the one to whisper in my ear, “I don’t know what’s going to happen, slut. But I believe you’re going to get what’s coming to you.”

  And now, they’re out there, looking at last sparkle of sunlight on the water, and Sean’s explaining to Derrick what makes a girl like me tick. He’s saying the words that need to be said.

  Oh, god, here they come. Footsteps on the creaky floor. They’re either going to let me free and tell me to go fuck myself. Or they’re going to take me once more, for old time’s sake, and then push me out the door. Or… and this is the “or” I have my heart set on, we’re going to form a partnership.

  But shit, I know that scent—damn it all to hell—here’s Sean with the ball gag.

  “You got yourself here, right where you wanted to, didn’t you?”

  A headshake from me that becomes a nod.

  “I’ll buckle you up, then, as you’re unable to do the job yourself.”

  And the taste, that taste you can never get used to. Rubber and poison. But he’s kind. He removes my ability to speak and gives me back my sight, because in one magic move, the blindfold’s off, so I can feel my eyes, so wide, staring from Sean to Derrick, from the lion to the handler. The front man and the wizard behind the scenes.

  “We were going to start by fucking you in the dark,” Sean says, and his voice is so cold I can hear the crushed ice. “Make you guess which cock was inside of your holes.”

  I look from him to Derrick, who is leaning against the wall, gazing back at me with an expression of sick satisfaction.

  “I suggested that we punish you if you couldn’t tell which cock was which, but you’d like that too much, wouldn’t you, slut?”

  His mouth comes close to my ear then, so that Derrick can’t hear, as he says, “It’s not rape if you consent, right?”

  And I think back to the night when he and I shared our fantasies. The dark ones. The scary ones. And I know Sean is about to give me what I have always wanted the most.

  Now, he backs off, and he’s in his professor mode. I can tell.

  “She likes a little pain,” Sean says, “to start her off.”

  Derrick’s eyes are cautious. We’ve fucked four times. But we’ve never done anything truly dirty. The dirt was in the cheating. The dirt was in the game. Now, he sees. Now, he knows. I couldn’t choose him, because Sean gives me what I want. But Sean sees the way Derrick looks at me, there’s a connection. Three points to a triangle—although I was never very good at math. He reaches for the frat paddle, one of his favorite devices, and starts to spank me. Hard and fast, with power behind each blow. I have this coming to me, at the very least.

  That doesn’t minimize the pain.

  When tears begin to leak from my eyes, he hands the toy over, and says, “Your turn, D.”

  Fear shines bright in Derrick’s gray eyes, and I can see that he’s not sure. Not sure that he wants to hit me. No. Not sure that he knows how. That’s the thing. Derrick likes to be in charge. he knows how to do everything. Sean’s grin spreads. He takes the paddle back, and he moves slowly, like someone in an instructional video.

  “This. You smack her like this.”

  The stroke is strong. And there’s pain. But the situation has dulled my senses. I hardly feel the blow. It’s like when someone’s spanking you while fucking your ass—you know the palm’s meeting your skin, but your mind is processing a whole different sort of drama.

  Derrick watches, nods, takes the paddle from his drummer, and strikes firmly, connecting perfectly. Then again. And again. I can tell how much he’s enjoying punish
ing me for failing him, for letting him down, but I am watching Sean. I am watching Sean watching Derrick.

  “Try this one,” Sean says, taking the paddle and handing over a crop.

  Derrick’s eyes are gleaming. His breath is coming fast. He takes off his shirt now, so I can see his hard, flat belly, and then he uses the crop. I am writhing on the bed. The pain is intense, but the pleasure from two men working me over, two men paying total attention to me, is addictive.

  Yet I see what I thought I saw at the beginning. I see the connection between the boys. Sean, with his hand on Derrick’s arm, suggesting, maneuvering. Then Sean, with his hands on Derrick’s jeans, pulling them down, moving his mouth close to Derrick’s ear, and saying, “Take off the gag, now. Let her get your cock all wet, man. Let her suck you.”

  Derrick undoes the buckle quickly. He’s in front of my mouth now, and he doesn’t say a word. He starts sliding his beautiful cock between my lips. I suck him automatically, as I feel the weight shift on the bed, Sean getting behind me, shifting me so that he can fuck my pussy while Derrick fucks my face. There’s a deliriousness in the act for me. I’ve given up everything. This is the definition of total abandon.

  Or almost total.

  I sense what’s going to happen before the boys do. Or at least, before Derrick does. I have far more faith in Sean’s filthy mind than in the lead singer’s.

  When Derrick’s cock is all wet from my mouth, Sean moves back. “You fuck her,” he says. “Fuck her hard. Fuck her like the pig she is.”

  Derrick does what Sean says, he doesn’t waste a beat. He’s on the bed behind me, spreading my slippery nether lips open with his fingertips, driving his steel-like cock inside of me. And then I hear the sound—a noise I think I’ve been waiting for, a whisper, a come-on, but not in my ear.

  This is Sean, soft, steady, never rushing. This is Sean behind Derrick, telling him what he’s going to do. Telling him how it’s going to be. And oh, fucking god, I would reach my hand between my legs and touch myself if I could. I would jerk my clit and come in a second. Because Sean’s telling Derrick… oh, wait… hear, listen for yourself:

  “You want it, don’t you, man?”

  The bed is quiet now. Nobody’s moving.

  “Just say you do. Say the word.”

  Nothing. Derrick’s stopped moving. I’ve stopped breathing. The world’s stopped spinning.

  Sean’s behind him, and I know Sean’s fingers are on Derrick’s broad shoulders, that his mouth is on Derrick’s neck, that he’s ready, that he’s poised.

  “Say the word.”

  For once, Derrick’s not the front man. For once, his need to rule the stage has evaporated.

  “Yeah,” he says. That’s all he says. And now Sean’s off the bed, to the shelf to get the lube, and Derrick’s pulled out of me, but he’s next to me on the bed, and I feel his fear again, and I love him a little bit more for having that fear.

  “Let her go,” Derrick says, and I turn to see what Sean thinks about this. He doesn’t say a word. He unlocks the cuffs, unties the leather straps.

  “Do me,” Derrick says, and I am liquid. I push back on the edge of the bed, to the far corner of that California King, and I watch as Derrick is bound down. Sean uses the same cuffs, the same ties. But he doesn’t put in the gag, doesn’t use the blindfold. Now, there’s lube, and there’s sweat, and Sean is ready once more, right behind Derrick. And Derrick says to me, “Hold my hand.”

  My heart dips, and I grip his hand in both of mine, and I squeeze tight, and I know that we’re in this together. This whole funky, kinky, sweaty, dirty mess of it. Sean has Derrick’s cheeks spread apart, and he has his cock ready, right there at the hole. And I move slightly, so I can wrap my fist around Sean’s shaft, and I am the one who makes the connection. I am the one who forces that first thrust.

  And oh, dear god, what have we become? We’re sex incarnate. We are what your mother warned you about. What can happen when you take the lid off the box, when you set the sinners free.

  I move back, and I hold Derrick’s hand, and I kiss his sweet face, and I lick his full lips. He is in that space, dear fucking lord, do I know that space. Where the pain is so strong at first that you don’t know whether you can continue. That pressure at your hole, that sensation of being ripped apart. And then Sean is moving, slipping in the lube, filling Derrick’s ass, and I see the change. I see the shift in Derrick’s eyes as he feels the pleasure, and I want to lick every bit off of him. I want to devour him. I have never been this close to a man being fucked before, so close, I am nearly inside of him. I touch him everywhere, my palms stroking his body. My lips moving from his cheekbones to his jawline. I taste his skin, his sweat, his soul.

  Sean is moving to a rhythm that makes sense. He is starting with easy, straight strokes, but I know he’s going to speed up the song. I know he’s going to kick that beat. Derrick groans, and shudders, and I slide off the bed. I am at his side. I move one hand under his body. He’s got more slack in his bindings than I had. Sean’s made sure. I wrap my small hand around his large cock, and I grip him while Sean fucks him.

  How did we get here? From that one night at the bar, when Sean saw me through his curls to this hot spot in hell where anything is possible.

  Sean croons, “Say the words, man. Tell me that you like it.” That’s my Sean—needing to talk and needing to hear. This is the one constant in our relationship. He never is quiet, and unless I’ve got a gag on, he won’t allow me to be silent, either.

  I have one hand on Derrick’s dick and the other between my own legs. I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on in my life. Derrick shuts his eyes. I watch him. He doesn’t think he can speak, but I know from past experience that Sean always gets what he wants. “Say it, D.”

  There’s a low moan first. The lead singer’s lost his ability to front. Derrick’s trying to find his words. Then, “Please, Sean. Just keep fucking me. Please, keep fucking me.”

  I come on that. Pinching my clit so hard, grinding my thighs together. And I feel the moment when Derrick stiffens, know that he’s going to cover my fingers with his spend. Know from the look in Sean’s eyes that we’re all going to climax in seconds of one another. Sean waits, lets Derrick groan and arch, lets him pound the mattress with his hips and dirty my palm. Then he bucks once more, twice more, and pulls out. He shoots on Derrick’s back, and I can’t help myself, I trace my Derrick-sticky fingers in the thickness. I want both of their essences on my skin.

  Sean’s eyes find mine. I can feel him watching. I wonder if he saw this scene when he first spied me at the club. If he knew somehow that I’d be the girl to bridge their gap. Because hadn’t they really wanted to fuck each other this whole damn time?

  I was just the catalyst. The match to strike the flame.

  The “and a one, and a two” before the rocking begins.

  Called a “Trollop with a Laptop” by East Bay Express, a “Literary Siren” by Good Vibrations, and “over caffeinated” by her favorite local barista, Alison Tyler has made being naughty a full-time job. Her sultry short stories have appeared in more than 100 anthologies including Sex for America, Liaisons, and Bedding Down. In all things important, she remains faithful to her partner of 15 years, but she still can’t choose just one perfume. Find her night or day at alisontyler.com.