Page 70 of Heat Clinic

I slide out of bed and slip my feet into my slippers and go to his room, knocking on his door.

“Sam? It’s me. Can I come in?”

There’s a muffled thump and then the sound of boards squeaking as someone walks over and then the door opens, but it’s Marcus standing there, not Sam.

I look past him and see Sam kneeling on the floor, his bare ass in the air, and Tom positioned behind him. They’re fucking. And that’s not what’s strange—it’s the outfit Sam’s dressed in.

What the fuck is he wearing?

A leather harness with silver O-rings crisscross Sam’s body, and there’s a strap for gripping between his shoulders. A strappy black leather half-mask that looks like a dog’s muzzle covers his lower face. Buckled straps secure it around his head. A pair of leather dog ears decorate the top strap. All of it connects to a thick leather collar around his neck that’s been stamped with his name in it and painted red. A metal milk bone shaped tag dangles from the collar, jingling with every slap of Tom’s hips against Sam’s ass while they fuck on the floor.

“I… I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I stammer, the hand I knocked with dropping to my side.

“You’re not interrupting at all,” Marcus says. “Sam said you could watch. Didn’t you, Sam?”

Sam stares at me and nods, the dog ears flopping with every bucking movement. Tom thrusts hard, and Sam’s eyes close. He drops his head down and moans, the sound muffled by the mask.

Marcus steps aside so I can enter, and after a moment’s hesitation I do. It’s part curiosity and part voyeurism. My sore clit gives a weak throb at the sight of them and the sounds they make. This isn’t my sort of thing, but Sam and Tom seem happy enough with the roleplay and it’s their enthusiasm I respond to. I’m riveted by the picture they make together. Is this how they feel when they watch each other fuck me? Marcus shuts the door behind me and pulls me over to the armchair positioned across from them. He sits and pats his lap, and I climb up, letting him arrange me while I watch Tom and Sam keep going.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Marcus whispers against my ear.

Which one? They both are in their own way. Sam is light where Tom is dark. Broader and shorter versus taller and leaner. Enthusiastic and freckled against maturity and elegance. They make a handsome pairing. A study of contrasts.

“Yes, they’re perfect together.”

Tom grips Sam’s harness handle and pulls, bringing the younger beta up on his knees until his back arches.

There’s a matching silver O-ring around Sam’s cock. He’s swollen and red. A steady stream of pre-cum leaks from his fat head and splatters onto the glossy hardwood as Tom pounds into his ass with hard, smacking thrusts that make Sam whimper. He’s gagged. I couldn’t see it before with him on his knees and his head down, but there’s a hole cut into the boxy muzzle of his dog-shaped half mask and through the opening I see the red rubber ball gag stuffed in his mouth. It’s a dog’s ball. His lips wrap around it, his jaw forced open wide to take it.

“Naughty puppies get taught their lessons,” Tom says, reaching one hand around to stroke Sam’s dripping cock. He squeezes it and tugs, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head.

I shift on Marcus’s lap and realize I’m wet, my folds slick and rubbing against each other as I get more comfortable for our show. I understand why they enjoy watching me get fucked now. Why they’re happy to wait for their turn on the sidelines. I can’t look away.

“What did he do?” I whisper, not wanting to interrupt, but needing to know.

“Our Sam has a bit of a bratty mouth on him, and now he’s learning there are consequences. That his ability to speak is a privilege. One that can be taken away.”

Fuck. I vow to never be mouthy again. Although Sam seems to enjoy it from the way he thrusts into Tom’s hand, his hips slamming back down on the cock buried in his ass. He whimpers around his gag.

Marcus trails his fingertips along my arm and shoulder, the barely there tickling sensation making me squirm on his lap.God, I’m so wet.I came how many times in the car? An impossible number. Yet my body craves more, as if I’m still stuck in the peak of my heat, my carnal appetite endless. What are they doing to me? It’s like I’m addicted to them, their scents, their touch, their praise.

“Sweetheart, I can smell you.” Marcus inhales, his chest rumbling as he sniffs the air.

“I can’t help it. They’re so pretty together.”

Tom looks at us and grins, his green eyes full of dark promises. “Good boy, puppy. You take my cock so well. Don’t come until I say you can or you’ll be punished.” His hand tugs harder, faster, and Sam shudders and groans as fluid dribbles down flexing knuckles.

“I thought you’d be tired,” Marcus says, trailing his fingers down my body. He touches my thigh, then grabs one knee and pulls my legs apart, rucking my oversized sleep shirt up in the process. He hits the seam of my sex and slicks through my wetness, spreading it while he teases me. “No panties, sweetheart?”

“No.” I don’t wear underwear to bed. I bite my lip and sigh around it when he strokes my clit, his touches gentle, until my hips thrust to meet him. To urge him on. Why can’t I get enough of them?

“Look at what you’ve done, naughty puppy,” Tom says, his hips slowing until he stops. “You’ve made a mess in this house.”

I’ve been distracted from the show. Sam’s cum is splattered on the floor in front of him. The milky white droplets starkly contrast against the dark, gleaming wood.

Tom pulls out and slaps him on the ass, then fiddles with the mask. He unhooks and pulls the ball gag out of the opening in the muzzle. “Clean up your mess.” Tom grabs a fist full of Sam’s hair and pushes his face to the floor.

Sam’s pink tongue flicks through the opening of the mask to lap it up. His reward is the pump of two fingers in his ass. Marcus fingers me too, the two of them pleasuring the both of us in tandem as if they’re trying to match one another or compete.

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