Cuckware 3
Celia’s ass bounced every time Francis thrust into her, the sound a constant clap clap clap. Celia still had her face buried in the bed. She moaned louder and louder.
—Now—Francis ordered, looking at Lori, who hadn’t taken her eyes off them.
Lori started moaning even louder than Celia, like the squeal of a pig about to die. Her breathing began to fail her, or the air wasn’t enough for the orgasm she’d just had, either way. Her vision started to blur.
Clap, clap, clap.
—Ce...—she tried to say before she ed out.
When Lori came to, she was still sitting, her hand still inside her vagina. She pulled it out slowly, every movement hurt, she felt like her hand, if it could, would have reached her insides.
Celia was on the bed naked, face down, snoring, her ass was red.
—You’re awake—Francis said. He was under the covers—. Too bad you ed out.
—W-What did you do to her?—Her mouth was dry, sore from all the screaming the night before.
—You mean her ass?—Francis laughed—. Celia insisted I spank her. She’s a bad girl, but you already know that.
—Can you leave?—Lori asked between sobs.
—Of course. Celia and I have a lot of work, but I’d like to have breakfast first. It’s tiring, you know... Could you make us something while we get ready?
Lori got up right away. Every step tore a little at her crotch.
She struggled to grab the pans. They were on the top shelf. Normally Celia got them down for her.
She started beating milk and eggs.
Clap, clap, clap.
She heard them leave the room. Her crotch got wet. It hurt. Still, her hand moved toward it.
—No—she ordered, and for a moment she was able to go back to beating.
—Harder—it was clearly Celia’s voice.
Clap, clap, clap.
Lori squeezed her thighs. But her hand had beaten her to it. It was already there. Rubbing over the fabric of her shorts. The same shorts she’d been wearing since the day before.
—Please—she begged her own hand—. Not now.
Her hand ignored her. It pushed two fingers in. The pain was so sharp she ended up on the floor.
When she managed to get up, her right hand was shaking. She pulled it out of her shorts. Her fingers were glistening. She wiped them on her pants.
She turned on the stove. Put butter in the pan. Waited for it to sizzle. Then she started pouring imperfect circles of what she’d been beating.
The smell of butter and vanilla filled the kitchen.
She flipped the pancakes with the spatula.
Stacked several on a plate. Grabbed another plate for the second stack. Poured syrup. Not too much. Celia didn’t like it soaked.
She went upstairs with the tray. Two plates. Two forks.
When she entered the bedroom, Celia was back in doggy position, Francis thrusting into her. She didn’t seem to have pupils, she was drooling, and she didn’t even seem to notice Lori was there.
—Smells good. You can leave it there—Francis pointed to the nightstand next to the bed.
Lori set down the tray. Her hands were shaking. The clap clap clap didn’t stop.
—Another favor—Francis said, still thrusting—. Celia’s going to have a hard time eating. Can you feed her?
She took a deep breath. Got on her knees. It was hard. Her crotch was burning.
She took a pancake with her fingers. Broke it into small pieces. Brought one to Celia’s mouth.
Celia didn’t open her mouth. Her face was still buried in the bed. The moans came through her teeth.
—Celia—Francis said, without raising his voice—. Open.
She opened her mouth immediately.
—God—Celia moaned—. You’re fantastic.
Lori put the piece of pancake into Celia’s mouth. She chewed without looking at her.
Lori put in another piece. Her hand was shaking.
Clap clap clap.
Celia moaned again.—Harder please—Celia begged.
Lori felt her other hand move. She didn’t stop it. She didn’t have the strength anymore.
She pushed her fingers over the shorts. The fabric was wet.
She put another piece of pancake into Celia’s mouth. She chewed, moaned, said “like that,” “I adore you.”
Lori squeezed her thighs. Her fingers moved on their own. Harder. Deeper. The pain rose up through her belly. But she couldn’t pull her fingers out.
—God...—Lori whispered. But she didn’t know if she was saying it to Francis or to Celia or to her own hand.
Celia opened her mouth again. Waiting for more pancake.
When they finished, Francis gestured for Lori to leave the room.
She sat outside in the hallway, exhausted, and fell asleep a short time later.
She only woke up when the door opened. Celia was wearing a short skirt, the kind she sometimes wore when they were alone together.
They looked at each other. Celia’s mouth opened just enough to say: I love you. Her eyes were tired.
—See you another day, Lori—Francis said, taking Celia’s hand.
She stood there staring at the door for a while. Then she went to the kitchen. The pancakes were already cold. She threw them in the trash. Then she sat on the floor, her back against the refrigerator door. She cried.
Later, she took a shower.
The water burned her crotch. She soaped herself slowly. She washed her hair twice.
When she got out, her phone was vibrating.
It was Celia.
An image.
Lori opened it without thinking. Or thinking too much. She wasn’t sure.
Celia was kneeling in the office bathroom. There was a towel on the floor. Celia’s mouth was open, her lips stretched around Francis’s cock.
But what caught Lori’s eye was her smile. Celia’s eyes were looking at the camera. And she was smiling. With her mouth full. Like she was posing for a vacation photo.
There was cum on her face. On her cheek. A little on her eyebrow. She wasn’t trying to clean it off.
Lori felt her stomach tighten. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to close the image.
But she didn’t close anything.
Her hand was already going down. Again. Always again.
—No—she whispered.
But her hand didn’t listen.
She came in less than a minute. She moaned like an animal. And then she stayed still, her fingers still inside, staring at the photo.
Celia was still smiling.
Celia came back around midnight. When she got into bed, she smelled of cheap perfume and her hair was a mess.
They both stayed on their side of the bed.
That went on for a couple of days. Celia left early, came back late, disheveled, tired. Neither of them talked about it.
Lori masturbated thinking about everything Francis and she must be doing in the meantime.
One day she came back from the supermarket with bags in her hands. The door was slightly open.
—Celia?—she called.
No one answered.
She left the bags on the floor. Walked toward the bedroom. The door was open.
Celia was sitting on the bed. Naked. Her hands were tied behind her back with rope. Nothing else. Just her hands. The rope wasn’t thick. It didn’t seem to be digging in.
Francis was beside her, lounging against the headboard. He looked at Lori like nothing was wrong.
—Hey—he said.
Celia didn’t say anything. She didn’t look at Lori. Her head was down. Her tits hung. Her breathing was slow.
—What is this?—Lori asked.
—A game—Francis said—. Celia wanted to surprise you. She knows you like this kind of thing.
Lori stepped closer. She wanted to untie her, but before she could, Francis leaned toward her. He whispered in her ear.
—You’re a sadist, Lori.
She shook her head.
But her crotch began to get wet.
—I have more rope for her legs. Want to put it on her?
Celia turned to look directly at her. And after so many days, she finally said something: Please. She looked like a little kid asking for candy.
Lori took the rope and went to her legs. Celia started to tremble. Lori began wrapping it around her. Turns out she didn’t know how to do it. She tightened it as best she could without hurting Celia.
—Harder, harder—Celia said, like a tantrum that seemed like it might end in tears.
—I told you—Francis said, lounging against the headboard—. Celia’s a masochist.
Lori didn’t answer. She tightened the rope one more time. Celia let out a moan.
Lori let go of the rope. Her hands were shaking.
She stepped away from the bed. Took a step back. Another.
She dropped into the chair next to the bed.
Celia was still there. Sitting. Naked. Her hands tied behind her back. She wasn’t looking at Lori. She wasn’t looking at Francis. She was staring straight ahead. With her tits hanging. Her breathing was slow.
No one said anything.
Francis grabbed the remote. Turned on the TV. A stadium roared. People shouting. A game.
He put a hand behind his head. Watched the screen.
Lori was sitting.
Celia didn’t move. She just breathed. Her ribs showed with each breath.
Lori couldn’t stop looking at her.
There was nothing to look at. Just a naked woman, tied up, still. But Lori couldn’t look away.
Her crotch was burning. Again. Always again.
She shifted in the chair. Crossed her legs. Squeezed her thighs.
It didn’t help.
She slipped her hand inside her shorts. Her fingers found the way on their own. They didn’t need her to tell them anymore.
Celia blinked. Nothing else. A slow blink.
Lori moaned softly. Barely a thread of sound.
Francis didn’t look at her. He kept watching the game.
Lori’s fingers moved. Slow at first. Then faster. Wet. Hot.
Celia looked at her.
Lori froze. Hand inside, fingers still.
Celia didn’t say anything. Didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. She just looked at her.
Lori kept moving her fingers. Slower now. With Celia watching.
—Goal—Francis said. He barely moved on the bed.
Celia kept looking at Lori. She didn’t blink.
Lori bit her lip. Felt herself getting close. Wanted to stop.
Celia’s eyes didn’t move away.
Lori squeezed her thighs. Her fingers moved on their own. Faster. Deeper.
Celia kept watching.
Lori came. She couldn’t hide it. It was a long moan.
Francis didn’t turn around.
Celia did. She looked at her. And then went back to staring straight ahead.
The game was still on TV.
That night, after Lori got out of the shower, she found Celia in bed, naked again. Her hands were tied with thick ropes this time, and her legs were spread open, tied to the bedposts.
Francis was lounging against the headboard. He wasn’t saying anything. He was looking at his phone.
There were two metal clamps on Lori’s chair.
He picked one up. Opened it with his fingers. Closed it in the air. It made a metallic click.
—What are those for?—Lori asked. But she already knew. She didn’t want to know. But she knew.
—Try them.
—No—Lori said.
—Put it on me—Celia interrupted, drooling.
Lori felt her legs go heavy. She picked up the clamp. The metal was cold. It weighed more than it looked.
She knelt on the bed. Celia’s legs were open. Everything was open. She couldn’t look there, so she looked at Celia’s tits.
—Which one?—Lori asked.
—The left—Celia chose.
Lori opened the clamp by squeezing the ends. Her fingers were shaking.
She brought the metal tips to Celia’s nipple. It was erect. You could tell.
She brushed the skin. Celia tensed up.
Lori closed her eyes. Opened the clamp. Let it go.
The click was small. A metallic snap.
Celia screamed. It wasn’t a moan. It was a clean scream.
Lori opened her eyes. The clamp was hanging from Celia’s nipple. The skin around it had turned white.
Celia was crying. That got Lori wet. She wanted to touch herself while watching her wife cry. She hated herself.
Lori looked at Celia. Her eyes were closed. She was biting her lower lip.
—Put the other one on me—Celia said. Her voice trembled as much as her body.
—No—Lori said.
—Put the other one on me—Celia repeated, and this time she opened her eyes. She stared right at her—. Now.
Lori ed that time Celia had to get a vaccine. She spent a week complaining about the little bruise the nurse had left.
Lori picked up the second clamp. Her whole body was shaking.
She brought it to the right nipple.
Brought the tips close. Touched the skin. Brushed the pink areola around it.
—Just fucking do it—Celia said, impatient.
She closed the clamp. The click was the same. Small. Metallic.
Celia didn’t scream this time. She gasped. A deep sound, from her chest. Then she went quiet. All you could hear was her breathing. Fast. Chopped.
The two clamps hung there. Stretching her nipples. The skin around them white.
Celia cried silently. The tears didn’t stop. But she didn’t ask for them to be taken off.
Lori sat in the chair and started touching herself.
The game was still on TV. Francis turned up the volume a little.