"Eventful: The Birthday Surprise."
by Noopster
(This is a continuation of The Boutique).
---
DISCLAIMER:
This story is a work of fiction, based on nothing real or plausible at
all. Fantasy is legal and this is all made up. Thanks for reading.
---
"I just don't know if I can go through with this," Lily whispered, tugging at the sleeve of her dress. She was perched on the ottoman at the end of the hotel bed, knees pressed together, foot tapping a nervous rhythm she couldn't quite hide. "Maybe I should just… drop the whole thing."
The past few days in New York had been a blur of interviews and photo shoots, that brittle smile plastered on for hours at a time. There was no hiding from Ashley, though.
"Is that why you've been avoiding me all morning?" Ashley said, immaculate in her pristine white robe.
Lily glanced out the window.
"Look. You've been second-guessing this for forty-eight hours, but Charlie's birthday is tonight. The reservation's confirmed, the champagne's ordered, and I had that lingerie from Maison de Plaisir delivered to your apartment yesterday."
"I know, I know." Lily closed her eyes. "It's just… what if Charlie looks at me differently afterward?"
Ashley laughed. "Isn't that precisely the point?"
Lily's gaze dropped to the floor. "Walk me through it again. Every detail."
"Okay. Dinner at Lumière, we're done around ten. We go up together, we get ready. Twenty minutes later you greet him at the door in the Maison set. Trust me, that's all it takes to blow his mind. I'll wait in the bedroom, and from there you let me steer."
Lily almost wanted to climb under the duvet and never come out. "But when he actually walks in—do I just stand there? Is it awkward if I'm already—" She trailed off, blood rushing hot into her face.
Ashley grinned, all slow satisfaction. "Wow, you're really freaking out." She set her phone down. "You'll be in the lingerie, obviously. You greet your husband looking like a Penthouse cover and act surprised to see me. You let me do the talking. Then all you need to do is look pretty and follow my lead."
"And then what?"
"You want the mechanics? Who touches whom first?"
Lily nodded, her voice dropping. "I've never been with a woman. And with Charlie watching…"
"Don't overthink it. We'll start with each other. I'll kiss you first, slowly, so he can process what he's seeing. Then I'll get you comfortable. Once you're warmed up, we bring him in—or he just watches. Whatever feels right in the moment."
"What if I freeze? What if I don't know what to do with my—"
"You won't." Ashley traced a finger along Lily's collarbone. "I'll take the lead. Let him watch how beautiful you are when you surrender."
Lily's breath caught just as her phone buzzed: CAR AT CURB. On the way?
"Shit—I'm already late for this Sirius gig." She lurched off the ottoman, nearly tripping over her own shoes, and grabbed her bag.
"Go knock 'em dead."
"Another glass of wine?" Charlie smiled across the candlelit table, the white cloth glowing under the low light, the remains of his coq au vin barely touched.
"I think I've had enough." Lily traced the rim of her half-empty glass. Across the table, Ashley was radiant in a fitted black dress, talking to Charlie about his new production company, every so often brushing her foot against Lily's ankle beneath the cloth just to watch her squirm.
Ashley checked her watch, then gave Lily a subtle nod. "Charlie, your wife and I need to freshen up before we bring out your surprise."
Charlie's eyebrows rose. "Should I be nervous?"
"Terrified." Ashley stood, gathering her purse. "Fifteen minutes. Suite 1412."
Lily rose on unsteady legs and pressed a quick kiss to her husband's cheek, inhaling his familiar cologne. "See you in fifteen." She slid the spare key card onto the table.
Walking away, she felt his eyes on her back.
"Breathe," Ashley murmured, linking their arms at the elevator. "You're as white as that tablecloth."
The elevator rose smoothly. "Once we're in the suite, we'll—" Ashley began, and stopped as the doors slid open on the fourteenth floor.
A tall, distinguished man stood there, ice-blue eyes, a suit sharp enough to cut. For a split second Lily thought she'd hallucinated him. But no—Valentin Koval, in the flesh.
She'd met him at the French embassy, after too many glasses of champagne, Marie gushing that he was "family," her most trusted friend in the world. He'd kissed her hand that night and given her a slow, almost unsettling smile that stayed with her for days.
"Mademoiselle Lily." His voice was deep, touched with a faint Russian accent.
Ashley inserted herself with an easy smile. "And you are…?"
"Valentin Koval. An advisor of sorts. I work closely with Marie on… selective matters." He didn't take his eyes off Lily. "You look beautiful tonight, Mademoiselle Collins."
Lily's heart doubled. "Thank you." Her palms were sweating. Ashley wasn't helping; she was fighting a smirk.
"What are the odds?" Lily managed. "New York's huge and we end up in the same elevator."
Valentin's lips quirked. "I'm not a guest here. Some matters for the embassy require discretion. Hotels like this are… useful." He watched her flush as if her skin were see-through.
"You were in Paris again last month, no?" he said, and something beneath the innocent question made her pulse hiccup.
Ashley raised an eyebrow. Lily couldn't look away.
"You made quite the impression at the embassy," Valentin continued. "Marie talked of little else the next morning."
Lily's throat tightened. "That night was a little… overwhelming."
"Yes," he said. "Overwhelming."
The doors opened on their floor. Valentin stepped aside, dipping his head as she passed, close enough that his breath brushed her ear. "I hope your evening goes well, Mademoiselle Lily. And wish your husband a happy birthday for me."
Lily froze for half a heartbeat. He knew Charlie's name. He knew about Paris. If he worked that closely with Marie—and there had been cameras in the Ambassador's office that night, that little blinking LED above the bookshelf while the Ambassador had her bent over his desk—then he could have watched all of it. Every second.
"Okay, wow," Ashley whispered once they were out of earshot. "He's… something."
Lily didn't answer.
The suite door clicked open onto a living room of floor-to-ceiling windows and, through an open doorway, a king bed under crisp white linens. A bottle of Veuve Clicquot chilled in a bucket, three flutes arranged beside it.
"Oh my God," Ashley said, tossing her purse down and heading for the minibar. "The second he stepped into that elevator, he practically stripped you bare. And you were literally trembling. I thought you were going to grab my hand like we were in a haunted house."
"Shut up!" Lily forced a laugh. "I barely remembered him. And I wasn't flirting. He was just being weird."
Ashley came back stripped to a cobalt-blue lingerie set. A lace balconette bra in deep royal blue, scalloped along the cups, the straps so thin they looked decorative, little bows pinned at the front like an afterthought. Beneath it, a matching high-waisted garter belt, lace cut away at the center in a sharp inverted V that bared a wedge of bare stomach, its satin straps already clipped down to the tops of her boots. The panties were a scrap of the same lace, knotted at the front, sitting low on her hips. And the boots—glossy patent leather, the color of a midnight ocean, pulling over the knee to mid-thigh on a heel that made her taller than Lily had ever seen her. "Alright. Charlie'll be up here any minute."
Lily stood frozen, fumbling at her blouse. Ashley crossed the carpet without waiting for permission and started unfastening the buttons herself, working down with impatient fingers. "We have like six minutes. Lose the clothes."
There was something weirdly intimate about being undressed by her best friend, like boundaries had stopped meaning anything. Ashley tossed the blouse onto the chair and stood there, impossibly poised, tan and strong, and Lily realized she'd stopped breathing.
"Hey, you're panicking." Ashley caught her chin between two fingers and tilted her face up. "You want to rehearse? I could kiss you right now. Get the jitters out before your husband walks through that door."
Heat whooshed up Lily's neck. "That's… I don't know." It didn't sound like a no.
Ashley stepped closer, her lips hovering. "Just relax." Then she kissed her. A real kiss, soft and insistent, her hand sliding up to Lily's cheek to hold her in place. For a second Lily just stood there, stiff in her cotton bra, but then Ashley's tongue slipped past her lips and she found herself opening for it, no hesitation at all. She squeaked into Ashley's mouth, which only made Ashley smile harder. "That's it," Ashley whispered, and slid Lily's skirt down her hips, letting it pool at her ankles.
Her perfume was dizzying. Lily's hands flailed, then landed on Ashley's shoulders for balance. Ashley's mouth was on hers again, harder, and her hands went straight to the bra clasp, flicking it open. It hit the floor. Lily gasped into the kiss as Ashley dragged the pink panties down her thighs, slow enough to make her squirm. Ashley's palms slid down and squeezed her bare ass, making her yelp. "God, you're beautiful. So fucking cute when you get like this." She broke the kiss, voice taunting again. "But save it for the show, princess. Charlie's gonna die when he sees you in the honeycomb set."
She tossed the yellow lingerie at Lily's chest. For a second Lily just stared at it, the memory of Maison de Plaisir hitting her with dizzying force: the ruined panties, the champagne, George's cum streaking her stomach, her own knees shaking as she came in front of a stranger.
"That's a fresh set, straight from Maison," Ashley said, arms folded under her mesh-wrapped breasts. "I'm not covering replacements if you let another guy ruin it before the night's over."
"You're relentless," Lily sighed, working the cups into place. The silk pulled her breasts up and together, nipples hard and visibly poking through the lace. She bent to slip the panties on; they rode up instantly, disappearing into the cleft of her ass. "God, I look like a porn star."
The words hung in the air, and Ashley didn't correct her, which was its own kind of answer. She didn’t look like herself. She looked like a fantasy someone else had dreamed up after too many late-night Google searches.
The honeycomb lace was thinner than it had any right to be, the unlined triangle cups doing almost nothing to hide her nipples, which were already hard, pressed up against the floral fabric, light pink and obvious, every ridge of them showing straight through the lace. The panties were worse. High on the hip and almost nothing across the back—a scrap of lace that had already found the cleft of her ass and settled in, splitting the two cheeks and leaving the rest of her bare above the band. She turned to check herself and there it was in the glass window: round and pale and lifted by the platform heels, the lace disappearing between her cheeks, the tops of the stockings biting little pink dents into the backs of her thighs just below. She flexed, almost without meaning to, and watched her own ass shift like it belonged to somebody else.
Then the choker—a thin gold band with a small pendant settling into the hollow of her throat. The stockings were almost pretty, until she noticed the angry pink lines digging into her thighs where the bands squeezed tight, leaving her half worried the marks would never fade. And nobody could miss the shoes. Four-inch yellow platforms that made her ass pop and her calves tense with each shaky step. She could barely stand up straight, let alone walk.
"Just wait 'til he see you getting fucked in it." Ashley's eyes glittered. "Charlie's gonna cum in his pants before he even gets them off you. Or maybe I'll beat him to it."
"Ashley! Gross."
"That's exactly what we're doing tonight, bitch. Or did you think we were going to hold hands and sing Kumbaya?"
A knock made Lily jump. "Shit. That's him. It's only been ten minutes."
Ashley gathered her champagne and headed for the bedroom. "Men. Always early when you least want them to be. It's showtime, Lils. Get the door and make it enticing."
"Wait—what do I say to him?"
"You don't say anything. You show him what he's about to enjoy. Then you bring him to me." She winked and disappeared.
Another knock.
"Just a second!" She ran her fingers through her hair, pulled the door open, and posed against the frame.
"Surprise," she sang, the word catching in her throat.
Charlie stood frozen in the hallway, hand still raised, eyes traveling slowly down the length of her body.
"Lily?" His voice was confusion and something else. "What's… happening?"
"Happy birthday." She stepped back to let him in. "I thought we could try something different tonight."
.jpg)
"Do you like it?"
"It's very… yellow." He set his wallet on the side table. "Where's Ashley?"
Lily didn't answer. Not straight away.
She'd rehearsed this in the car, but now she couldn't remember a single word of it. "Have a drink first," she stalled, and caught his sleeve before he could walk past her, steering him toward the sofa.
"Uh, what’s going on, babe?"
"Sit," Lily said, her voice higher than she intended, hands fluttering nervously as she pushed him down onto the white cushions.
"Let me just… pour you a drink," she managed, grabbing the bottle and yanking it out of the ice bucket. It almost slipped out of her sweaty palm and clinked against the glass, the bottle neck chipping the rim. "Whoops," she said, forcing a giggle, trying to act sexy. She bent too much at the waist and felt the silk wedging in deeper with every panicked move.
She turned with a full flute, teetering on her heels. "Cheers," she said, and tried to lean in close, letting her nipples brush Charlie's sleeve as she handed him the glass. But her hand was shaking so hard some bubbles spilled over, running down her wrist.
She gasped, shaking champagne from her hand, wrists trembling as she offered the flute to him again. "Sorry. Here," she managed, trying her best to keep her smile playful, but it came out crooked, desperate.
.jpg)
She perched herself awkwardly on the sofa, the yellow silk biting high into her thigh. God, she felt ridiculous, like some amateur wannabe pornstar, boobs nearly spilling out, and Charlie just… stared.
Then, desperate for a reaction, she reached into the champagne bucket and fished out an ice cube, drops of water already falling onto her bare skin. She brought it to her lips, rolling it between her fingers before flicking out her tongue to lap at the cold surface, her eyelids heavy as she tried to make the movement look practiced, confident. She circled it around her mouth, then traced the melting cube slowly across her lips, letting the coldness sting before sucking softly with a little pop. A fat drip ran down her chin. She forced a giggle. "Want a taste?"
Charlie's face barely moved. Was he even paying attention? He took the flute from her hand, the cold glass brushing her trembling fingers, and brought it to his lips. One hesitant sip, like a guy at a required office party. “It’s good,” he said, but it was obvious he didn’t care what it tasted like. He just stared at her, up and down, eyes lingering on her bare legs and the yellow lines digging into her skin, but not once did he reach for her or even smile.
Lily felt her cheeks burn. So much for sexy champagne seduction. She wanted the floor to swallow her up, but instead she set the bottle down—definitely not her smoothest move, droplets of water spattering across her wrist and the sofa—and forced herself to keep smiling.
She reached for his hand and, before she could change her mind, pulled him gently to his feet. “Come on,” she tried to say playfully, but her voice was so thin she almost didn’t recognize it. The heels made her wobble and the panties bit hard into her ass, but she managed to lead him past the giant windows and down the hallway, heart pounding in her ears.
He opened his mouth just as they reached the door but she silenced him with a finger to his lips. "No more questions. Just trust me." Then she opened the door.
Ashley was reclined against the pillows, flute in hand, cobalt lace stark against the white sheets. Charlie's eyes landed on her and he froze in the doorway.
"Charlie." Lily stepped in front of him, voice gentle but shaky. "This is your birthday present. Both of us. Together."
The words hung there.
"A threesome," she clarified. "Ashley and I want to be with you. Tonight."
His mouth opened and closed. He took a half-step back, his hand finding the door frame.
"You want…" he managed.
Ashley rose from the bed. "That's right, Charlie. Your wife and I have been planning this for weeks." Her eyes locked with Lily's—a silent command—and before Lily could brace, Ashley's hand was behind her neck, pulling her in. Their lips met, gentle at first, then deep. Lily's eyes fluttered shut, a small sound escaping her as Ashley's tongue traced her lower lip. Champagne and lipstick.
When they broke apart, Lily turned to gauge Charlie. He was frozen, eyes wide and unreadable.
Ashley didn't hesitate. She crossed to him, hips swaying, set her flute on the dresser without looking, and pressed her lips to his in a quick, decisive kiss. He was stunned silent. She then turned back to Lily with a confident smile.
"Come." She took Lily's hand and led her to the bed.
Charlie stood a few feet away, expression undecipherable, eyes bouncing between the yellow lace and the blue mesh. Ashley perched Lily beside her at the foot of the mattress. "Just breathe," she said, squeezing her fingers. "Charlie, you sit down right over there. We'll go slow. I'll kiss your wife. You just watch."
Charlie's expression flickered—confusion, arousal, something harder to name. He loosened his collar and walked, mechanical, to the armchair against the wall, and sat.
"Perfect," Ashley purred. "We'll give him something worth watching."
"Don't worry about him," Ashley whispered. "Let's focus on us." She cupped Lily's face, let her anticipate it, then kissed her—soft, insistent, tasting faintly of champagne. It deepened naturally. Lily heard herself moan, her hands moving to Ashley's shoulders.
"That's it," Ashley said softly. "Let yourself feel it." Her hand slid up Lily's ribs and cupped a breast through the lace. Lily's body tensed, and then Ashley's thumb flicked over her nipple, slow then faster, and the rest of the world faded.
"Just relax. Be in the moment with me." There was something hypnotic in it, the squeeze and release, teasing the hard bud until Lily whimpered, her spine arching, not caring if Charlie heard. "Open your mouth wider," Ashley whispered. "This time I'm going to massage your tongue with mine."
Lily complied, and Ashley began a slow, sensual press, circling and coaxing. Lily caught Charlie shifting in his seat, breathing heavier. She was aware of the tremble in her legs, the bare ache between them, every brush of lace on her nipples. Then the clasp snapped open and her bra fell away. She moved to cover herself but Ashley pinned her wrists and turned to Charlie.
"Beautiful." Ashley's gaze traveled over her bare chest. "Don't you think so, Charlie?"
Her lips brushed the swell of Lily's breast, then closed over the peak. The wet heat sent a jolt straight to Lily's core. "Oh my God," Lily whispered, fingers threading into Ashley's hair. Ashley hummed against her, moved to the other nipple, and rolled the first between her fingers.
"Look at your husband while I do this."
Lily turned her head and caught Charlie's gaze. Of course he was watching, his eyes locked on Ashley's tongue circling her nipple. She wondered if this was the look he'd had the night she sent him the video of the Ambassador fucking her from behind until her words came out in sobs instead of sentences. Had he watched it in one shuddering rush, cock in fist, unable to stop? The thought made her legs tremble. Her best friend's mouth on her, her husband watching—did it turn him on, or was he picturing that other night, another man's hands bruising her hips while he could only watch?
Ashley's mouth clamped down again and Lily let out a small, animal whimper.
"Now get rid of this for me," Ashley whispered, tugging her own strap off her shoulder. Lily's hands fumbled with the clasp, then popped it, and the blue mesh slid away. Skin, goosebumps, the frantic beat of her own heart.
"Your turn." Ashley cupped her own breasts in offering. "Show Charlie what that pretty mouth can do."
Lily hesitated. Charlie had leaned forward, breathing hard, still fully clothed. "He's enjoying the show," Ashley said. "Don't keep him waiting."
She stood close, her nipples dead-center in front of Lily's face—darker than expected, hard and proud. Lily reached out, put her hands on Ashley's hips, and pressed her lips to Ashley's skin. Her first real taste of a woman. Soft and warm and different. She dragged her tongue up and felt Ashley shiver under her hands. Was that good? God, she hoped so.
Ashley guided her hands down, and suddenly Lily's palms were full of her ass—round, tight, filling her hands obscenely. She squeezed, timid at first, then harder. "Don't hold back. Get greedy." Ashley's fingers wove into her hair and guided her mouth to the jut of her nipple. "Open." Lily closed her mouth around it and sucked, the way Ashley had done to her. The sound Ashley made was unmistakably approval.
"Oooh, that's it, baby girl." Ashley arched, feeding her more. Lily bobbed her head, lips stretched wide, tasting sweat and perfume and something purely feminine—and the fact that Charlie was sitting right there watching every second made her dizzy.
Except he'd almost vanished, except for the sound of his breathing. He hadn't moved at all, still planted in the chair, hands folded, eyes flickering from Lily's mouth to Ashley's breasts. But he looked… less than alive. No hungry stare, no restless shifting. A glassy, careful attention, like he was watching a medical demonstration and trying not to offend anyone.
Lily's cheeks went stiff. Was she doing it wrong? Wasn't this supposed to get any straight man hard?
Ashley must have noticed, because she went from teasing to aggressive in a heartbeat. She pushed Lily down flat, swung a leg over, and straddled her. The room smelled of sweat and sex and flowers. She leaned down and took Lily's nipple in her mouth, sucking and biting until it ached, pinning her wrists to the pillow, hair falling everywhere. 'This is happening,' Lily's mind spun. Every time she twisted her head to check, Charlie was still dead-faced. Her confidence shriveled, replaced by shame.
Ashley was also watching Charlie—the way a predator watches a wounded animal. She'd seen that dead face before on men, and it meant one thing: he was dying inside and didn't know how to ask for what he wanted.
"Hey, birthday boy." Her voice was honey and challenge. "You just gonna sit there all night, or do you want to come over here and fuck us?"
Charlie blinked, dazed, like he'd snapped awake. Sure enough, his slacks were tented, even though he looked like he'd rather be dead than caught staring.
"You're over there watching like we're on some pay-per-view channel while your little wife is desperate for it." Ashley grabbed Lily by the throat—a soft squeeze, more for effect than anything—and mashed their mouths together, biting at her bottom lip until she gasped.
But the gasp hadn't come from Lily. It came from Charlie, raw and animal.
Ashley looked sideways, lips still pressed to Lily's, and thought about what Lily had told her once, after a bottle of Sancerre: the laptop history, the endless late-night swipes through cheating-wife forums. "He's obsessed with those cuckold sites," Lily had confessed, cheeks pink. And then, smaller, that she'd shown him the video—the Ambassador slamming into her ass while she sobbed and came. He couldn't keep his hands off her for days. "And then it just… fizzled. Now it's like it never happened." The laptop wiped, the forums gone from his history, and any time she joked about "her little video" he changed the subject or went mute.
That was when Ashley realized that Charlie was just too ashamed to admit what he really wanted, even to himself. She'd seen it plenty of times—men who wanted their wives taken apart, used like a dirty toy for someone else's amusement. They never said it out loud. But the second you got them in a room with their wife in another man's hands, the mask slipped. She saw that same silent panic on Charlie's face now. And she knew exactly what to do.
"You hear your husband over there?" she said. "He loves seeing you like this."
Lily whimpered, thighs clenching, body arching beneath her. Ashley dragged her nails down Lily's ribs, straight to the strip of yellow lace between her legs. Lily gasped, hips bucking into her hand. Soaked—the honeycomb glued to her hot, wet pussy. Ashley's eyes darted sideways. Charlie's knuckles were white on the armrests, mouth open, saying nothing.
Ashley bent in, so close Lily felt her breath on her ear, hot and sweet and mean. “You see him?” she whispered. “You want to find out just how wild we can make him get?”
Lily swallowed. Her heart was racing so hard she was sure every single person in the suite could hear it.
“He’s not going to say a word. But if you let me, I can make him watch you do things he’s never dared ask for.” Ashley’s hand flexed on Lily’s thigh. She squeezed, hard enough to leave marks. “We can give him a show he’ll remember every single birthday. But I might have to get a little rough. You want that?”
Lily tried to answer but her voice didn’t come out, so she just nodded. Her cheeks burned. She couldn’t meet Charlie’s eyes. Couldn’t believe how wet she got just thinking about it.
Ashley grinned. “That’s my girl.”
Ashley threaded her fingers into Lily's hair and pushed her face into her chest, smearing the nipple against her lips, dragging it down over her chin and back, using Lily's mouth to amuse herself. "Suck it, princess." Lily's mouth stretched wide around the swollen bud. She whined, cheeks hollowing, and the grip at her scalp sent a hot rush straight to her core. She clung to Ashley's hips for leverage.
Ashley's gaze slid sideways, sharp as a switchblade. Charlie's face was flushed, hands clenched, eyes gone dark and hungry at the sight of his wife manhandled. Ashley grinned and gave Lily's hair another little twist, just to be sure she was reading him right. Then she yanked Lily's head back by the fistful of hair. Lily gasped, mouth open, lips glistening, throat bared. Ashley swirled her tongue over her own lips, gathered a thick pool of spit, and let it drip straight into Lily's open mouth.
Lily choked, eyes wide. Charlie made a low, broken sound.
"Swallow it."
Lily's throat bobbed. She swallowed it all, never breaking eye contact.
Charlie stared, transfixed—the bulge straining against his pants, the frantic way his eyes devoured every bit of her humiliation. There it was: the real Charlie.
Ashley didn't say a word. She spun Lily onto hands and knees on the white duvet. Lily teetered on all fours, hair falling in messy waves around her face, ass arched high, the thong stretched tight between her cheeks. She gasped at how exposed she was.
Ashley leaned over her back, mouth at her ear. "He doesn't want to see you pampered. He wants to see you ruined, manhandled, used. That's what he really needs." Then, louder: "He wants to see you treated like a fucking slut."
Her palm came down hard.
SMACK.
Lily yelped, and the sound echoed through the suite. She didn't even have time to breathe before the next slap landed, harder. SMACK. SMACK. Each hit stung like fire, the thin lace digging in as her body jerked on the duvet. She buried her face in the mattress, hands gripping the bedding.
"Look at your little wife laid out like a bitch in heat. You ever see her ass this pink?" Ashley's voice was mean and musical, the play-pretend innocence gone. "You gonna sit there, or pull that sad cock out and finally do something about it?"
The chair creaked. "Do it, Charlie. Take it out. Stroke it for us." Her hand cracked down again, the blows echoing. Lily tried to clench her thighs; Ashley caught her and spread her knees wide. The next slap landed across both cheeks and Lily moaned, face burning, the heat in her pussy sharper and more obvious.
Then a rough hand dug into the delicate lace and jerked.
RRRIPPP.
Air hit her wet, flushed slit. Lily gasped, ass up, dripping, exposed to both of them. She tried to squeeze her thighs together; Ashley slapped them apart, rocking her forward, naked except for the honeycomb shreds barely clinging to her hips.
"God, look at this." Ashley pulled the remnants aside, showing how slick and pink her lips were, her thumb pressing between the swollen folds, smearing Lily's own mess over the ruined lace, holding her open for Charlie. "You're soaking, Lils. You needy little slut, you can't even pretend you don't love this." She dragged a finger slow along the parted lips, exposing the pink that throbbed and clenched around nothing. "You having fun, birthday boy? This is your wife's cunt. Sopping wet just from being called a whore."
Lily gasped, her legs shaking as Ashley's fingertip circled her clit.
Ashley ran her sticky fingers up Lily's spine in one long, unbroken streak, as if to remind everyone in the room who owned her. The only sound was Charlie's ragged breathing.
She spread Lily's cheeks wider with both hands. "You see how wet she is? And this is just foreplay." A low laugh slipped out. "You should've seen her when she first tried this on at the boutique." She leaned in, lips at the small of Lily's back, pitched so Charlie heard every syllable. "There was a guy watching—some random warehouse worker, couldn't keep his eyes off her. She put on a show for us and got so wet she practically ruined the panties. Even let him watch her touch herself."
Lily whimpered into the sheets. Charlie's breath caught. "Wh-What do you mean?"
"Oh, you have no idea, do you?" Ashley spread her fingers wide and yanked Lily’s cheeks apart, putting everything on display. The yellow thong was torn, dangling like a joke, and Lily’s pussy was so slick it glistened under the hotel lights, her swollen lips flushed and quivering, the trimmed patch of dark hair wet against her skin. Ashley’s thumbs dug in, spreading her farther, harder, until her asshole was winking open and her pussy was split and trembling, pink and sopping, so exposed that Lily almost sobbed into the duvet. "There was a guy at the boutique. Nothing special, just a boring warehouse worker. And your pretty wife let him stare at her in her slutty lingerie while I stroked his cock. She couldn't get enough." She raked her nails along the ruined lace and stretched Lily's lips wider, sliding up and down the glossy seam like she was opening her up for inspection. "He said her cunt was 'plump and wet and so pink,' and you know what Lily did? She bent over and let him look at her asshole."
Lily's pussy clenched, leaking onto Ashley's fingers. She could not speak.
Ashley smiled, cruel and victorious. "You hear that, birthday boy? She's dying for it." Her thumb worked slow circles against the slippery hood of Lily's clit.
Then Lily heard it—the zipper ripping down, the rustle of suit pants. Charlie's cock slapped into his palm, thick and flushed, already leaking. He gripped the base and started jerking, rough and selfish, eyes glued to her.
Ashley's laugh was loud and sharp, slicing through the ragged sounds from the armchair. "Jesus, you two are pathetic." Both fingers jabbed into Lily at once, without mercy. "You can't even talk," she sneered at Charlie, "Is that your birthday wish? Want to watch your little wife get used like a cumrag?" Her two fingers hooked, knuckles-deep, curling with every thrust so the heel of her palm slammed Lily's clit over and over. Lily's whole body shook on the mattress, hair stuck to her damp cheeks and her mouth open, but it was the way her pussy swallowed those fingers, sucking them in, that got Ashley to cackle. "Your precious little Lily is so desperate for cock she'll let a random employee stare at her holes. She'd probably love it if you invited another man to wreck her right now, wouldn't you, princess?"
Lily squeezed her eyes shut, the humiliation only making her wetter, soaking the ruined lace, running down her thighs.
"That warehouse guy stood three feet from your wife, staring at her tits and cunt through this exact set while she fingered herself for him." Charlie's hand was a blur. "The poor man jizzed all over her stomach. Covered her. She stood there and let it drip all over her and made herself cum for him." Lily's head jerked up; Ashley shoved it back down. "She loved it, Charlie. She came so hard she almost passed out."
Charlie grunted, desperate, and got up so suddenly the chair slammed backwards. Lily and Ashley both braced—for him to dive between Lily's thighs and fuck her—but he didn't even bother getting undressed. He towered over them, hand on his cock, face red and wild, barely human, eyes fixed on the way Ashley had Lily split open.
He grabbed a fistful of Lily's hair and yanked her up so fast she gasped, folding around the pain. The next thing she knew she was kneeling in front of him, face flushed, mouth open. He didn't say a word. Just shoved the angry red head of his cock right up in her face and stroked it, hard and fast, like he needed to punish her for every filthy thing he'd just heard. She tried to look up and meet his eyes, but his grip was so tight her whole scalp prickled and she couldn't move, could only kneel there like a prop while he jerked himself over her.
Ashley blinked. For once, no snarky line. Charlie's knuckles turned white on the shaft, jaw clenched, spit at the corner of his mouth. The head was already dripping, angry red, brushing Lily’s lips. Her eyes widened, panic and excitement both spiking as she realized what was about to happen.
“Let her suck it, let it slide down her throat,” Ashley said, voice throaty and sharp, some note of command trying to cut through the haze. “Put it in her mouth, Charlie. She’s begging for it.”
But he barely seemed to hear. The hand in Lily’s hair tightened, cruel, forcing her to tilt her chin up, like he was posing her for a camera she couldn’t see. Ashley reached in, fingertips grazing her scalp, trying to steer Lily’s head, but Charlie’s grip was iron and already exactly where he wanted her. For a second, their hands collided, and for the first time all evening Ashley pulled back, as if the rules had changed and she’d missed it.
She tried again: “C’mon, make her gag for it.” No answer. He only stared down, punishing himself from base to tip, faster and faster, like every second of jerking off in secret had been building to this.
Charlie's cock slammed against her lips, the crown angry and slick, and then, just as she braced to swallow him, he pulled it away, thrusting out of reach and stroking himself even harder as he hovered right above her flushed, desperate face. Nothing she did mattered—not the way her hands clung to his thighs or how her mouth opened wide, tongue trembling, ready to serve. He gave her nothing to hold on to. The only sensation was the grip in her hair, his fingers tangled at the very root so her head was locked in place, tilted up so she couldn't glance away or even blink; she was reduced to a display, a living mannequin for him to ruin whenever he felt like it.
"Keep your eyes open." His voice was raw, not a request but a command. Her eyelids fluttered at the force of it, the tears already starting, lashes wet and trembling as she forced herself to keep looking up into those black, furious eyes. The head of his cock painted lazy circles down her nose, across her cheeks, and every time she moved closer it retreated again, like he was taunting her for even daring to try.
The first stream caught her cheek, hot and thick. He didn't moan or shout. He just bared his teeth and let it fly, the sound that came out of him more growl than pleasure. The next spurt hit her right in the open eye, burning and blurring her vision, making her squeeze her lids shut and forcing a tear to roll down her cheek in a line of spit and cum. Charlie was relentless, groaning above her, not even bothering to aim, just pumping his cock in savage jerks and letting load after load shoot across her with total disregard. It stung, warm in the corner of her eye, dripping down the side of her nose and collecting at the edge of her mouth
Lily knelt there, dazed, still shaking, as Charlie emptied every last drop onto her stunned face. He wiped the tip against her cheek, then her lips, then dragged it slowly through her hair like he was cleaning a paintbrush, leaving a slick, sticky streak from her jaw into the tangled wave of dark hair across her breast.
For a full ten seconds, while he caught his breath and stared at her as if he'd never seen her before, no one said a word.
Then, just like that, he seemed to remember he wasn't alone. He tucked himself back in, clumsy, his cock still half-hard and glossy, and cleared his throat. "Thanks for the… present," he managed, not quite meeting either of their eyes. Then he walked into the bathroom, suit pants halfway down, leaving Lily kneeling on the carpet, face dripping and hair and cum in her eyes. A bright streak of cum slid down her chin. She forgot how to move her arms, gazing numbly at the ruined honeycomb scraps around her hips while the world tilted sideways.
Ashley's bare feet padded over the rug. She stared down at Lily, lips parted, a flicker of genuine shock, maybe delight, and mouthed the words: "What the fuck?"
Lily blinked back. For a second it was just silence. A droplet of cum slid down her chin, pooled in the shadow of her collarbone, then in the valley between her pale breasts. Another rolled to the tip of her nipple and hung there, glistening, obscene.
Ashley glanced at her own hand—palm absolutely soaked, fingers slick with Lily's juice—wiped them down her thigh without hiding the mess, and crossed to where Lily knelt. "You want some help cleaning up?" Her voice was casual, tinted with something more complicated. She offered a fancy hotel napkin with her clean hand.
Lily studied her own reflection in the mirror over the bar—the cum stripes on her cheeks, the mess everywhere. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, trembling. "No. I'd rather be alone for a minute," she said, voice tiny and raw.
Ashley let the napkin drop on the side table. She watched Lily for a second, then a faint, twisted smile curled across her lips. "At least now you know."
"Know what?"
Ashley gave her a long look, the kind that started with pity and ended somewhere darker. "That he wants you like this, on your knees. Just not with me."
Lily nodded, too wrecked to speak. One last droplet of Charlie's cum slid off her chin and landed on the hotel carpet with a soft, obscene plop.
"Text if you need anything," Ashley said, turning to go.
"Thank you," Lily croaked. "For tonight. For… everything."
Ashley's smirk went soft, almost sad. She paused at the door, eyes raking over Lily's disheveled hair and the drying mess on her cheeks. "He won't say it. He'll never say it." She pulled the door open. "Only it's not just him, is it."
With that, she was gone.
---
.jpg)
TO BE CONTINUED…
Comments
Post a Comment