Page 61 of Roulette: The Madam

“Don’t do that, Roulette,” he groaned, “Don’t insult me.”

My hand fell onto the bed. I never saw him coming. I never noticed his movement. But, suddenly, his knees were on the floor and his tongue was against my flesh. I almost burst from pure adrenaline. My legs lowered, crowding the space between his ears and my thighs.

“Un unnn–” he commanded, “Open back up.”

His lips were wet and so was his tongue. I obliged, refusing to be defeated within the first five seconds of the dream I’d suffered through many nights. It required every ounce of strength within me, but I managed to spread my legs to his appeasement.

“Uhhhhhh–” The first moan forced itself from my throat with promises of bringing company.

Chino’s warm mouth hovered over my breast, breathing down on me with labored, deep breaths. He pushed the thick strap aside with his teeth and then buried my pebbled nipple in his mouth. Involuntarily, my head fell back onto the bed and my eyelids joined. My stomach imploded as my spine curled.

Israel’s tongue twirled around my clit before he sucked it into his warmth. And, once it was secured, the twirling continued. My body rocked against the sheets. Gratification was pounding my center. Every inch of my body grew sensitive.

“Fuuuuuuuuck.”

Two men.

Four hands.

Six legs.

The bulge in Israel’s slacks didn’t go unnoticed. His pace made so much sense now. He was accommodating his third leg. Carrying it around the city couldn’t be an easy task.

“Yessss–”

Chino moved from one nipple to the other. He was no longer clothed in black joggers. They were at his waist, his dick was hard, and my mouth had pooled with saliva. Though I was done with its owner for the choices he’d made, his dick had nothing to do with our beef. Not tonight, anyway.

It was an accessory to the tragedy. Chino was the mastermind. It had little choice in the matter, which I took into account as it pled its case with its stiffness.

I used my right hand to pull it into my mouth. Chino’s entire body softened against me. His nerve endings began to rejoin one another.

I massaged his balls as I bobbed my head, taking him deeper in my mouth with each stroke of my throat. He was so familiar to me. For six years I’d been learning what makes him cum, collapse, groan, moan, wince, shrink, expand, and weak to his knees.

For six years I’d studied him like a weekly exam. For six years… and it meant absolutely nothing at this moment. Because, though it was Chino’s dick down my throat, it was Israel’s face I was seeing as I allowed saliva to coat his skin.

“Shit, baby–”

Just as his voice became a distraction, Israel pulled me back into the moment, drowning me in pleasure. I slowed the strokes of my mouth to a creep as he slid two fingers inside of me. He turned them upward, finding the ridges that would send me into an abyss.

“Yesssss. Uhhhhh— yessss.”

He didn’t nibble. He didn’t bite. He didn’t poke at his food. He ate. And, he ate well. He held my clit hostage, internally and externally, building my anticipation and inclination at once.

My breath hiked in my chest. I struggled to release it as my secretion began its way to Israel’s mouth. My entire body tensed as I exploded. Lava flowed from my volcano, staining his beard, mustache, and fingers.

“Isrrrrrraaa— Ohhhhh– fuc— I’m cummmm— Ummmm.”

My well had sprang a leak. I soiled the bed beneath me and the man in front of me. His face and clothes consumed my ejaculation like a washcloth.

Once.

Twice.

Three fucking times.

Four fucking times.

“Please,” I begged, unable to manage any longer. My suffering was real.

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