Chapter 6: Couple’s Night Part Two: Double’s Domination

Warning: The two characters and their friends introduced to this part and their story with Bianca arch has heavy racial overtones. If this is upsetting, please skip this chapter. It is not the locus of the story, just a fact of the ultra-privilege and the elitist casual hatred of some of the wealthy in our society. I typically do not like giving warnings like this as they act like spoilers but given the content and the lack of any type of ftag on this website for racial overtones, or what can be construed race play type dialogue, I am giving everyone a heads-up. This in no way represents my personal views, in any way shape or form.

From somewhere across the room, Don made a sound that was half laugh and half something else. Bianca heard Frank’s voice answer it, low and easy, the two men talking over her the way men talked over furniture.

Karen’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp as a blade. “Don’t hog her, Lacey. We have all afternoon.”

Lacey’s mouth curved, slow and deliberate. She didn’t look away from Bianca when she answered, her voice light, almost playful. “I don’t know, Karen. I might have to kidnap her. Put her in my kennel, she’d go real nice next to our Asian slut.”

Bianca’s breath hitched. The words landed like a slap, the casual cruelty of them stealing the air from her lungs. Lacey meant it. The realization coiled in her gut, cold and heavy. She hated that her body betrayed her, hated the way her pulse jumped, the way her fingers twitched against her thighs like they were already bracing for the next command.

She pulled her hands free, pressing them flat against her knees. The gesture was small, useless. The only thing she could control.

Lacey watched her do it. “Where’s Carmen?”

Karen took her time answering, as if the question were a riddle and she wanted to savor the suspense. She looked to her right, where Carmen still knelt, chin lifted and eyes glazed with equal parts anticipation and resignation. “Carmen is right here,” she said, patting the cushion beside her with a deliberate, summoning motion. But Lacey’s gaze flickered to Bianca and did not let go, and for a moment it was unclear whether the answer had landed at all.

Frank saw the opportunity before anyone else did. He had Karen on his lap, her skirt bunched indecently high and the smooth arch of her thigh visible to the world, but his attention was already shifting to the contest at hand. “No, no, Lace,” he said, voice booming in the way of a man who had never been told to moderate it. “You and Don get first draft pick. It’s only fair you are our guest, and we have these two for the whole year. Karen and I we’ll take whoever’s left.”

He winked at Don, who grinned in the manner of someone who had picked the winning horse without even knowing the odds. Don was already moving around the coffee table so that the geometry of the room shifted. Lacey, never relinquishing Bianca’s attention, patted the open space beside her. Bianca hesitated. It was a new configuration, and she had not been given the map in advance.

“You heard the man,” Karen said, snapping her fingers at Carmen. “On your feet, babe. Don’t let the boys down.” The command was affectionate but edged in a way that brooked no argument. Carmen rose and moved to Karen’s side, settling beside Frank, who greeted her with a stage-whispered “Atta girl,” and a proprietary squeeze around the waist.

The group was paired now: Don and Lacey with Bianca, Frank and Karen with Carmen. The room was split down an invisible axis, two mirrored images of compliance and waiting nerves. Bianca was intensely aware of the symmetry and the fact that she had become Lacey’s focus, the way a ball became the only thing on a court at the moment of serve. After all, Bianca was the one that was hyper-successful and her true rival, Carmen, had always been her trophy wife. Bianca had always been gorgeous in her own right, despite cropping her hair, if anything it made her more exotic to some, Don included it seemed.

Lacey watched her, eyes narrowed just enough to suggest that whatever was about to happen was already happening somewhere in her mind. “Let’s make this interesting,” she said to Don, who nodded in immediate and enthusiastic agreement. He took Bianca by the shoulder and nudged her down until she was flat on her back, head angled toward the edge of the ottoman. The move was gentle but unambiguous. Bianca felt herself go, felt her back hit the upholstery, felt her knees drawn up and parted for the viewing pleasure of the room.

On the other side, Frank had Carmen in a matching pose, legs splayed, ankles in his beefy hands. He leaned down and said something low into her ear, and Carmen responded with a shaky laugh that sounded like the first volley of a difficult match forced but determined.

Lacey kicked off her heels with a practiced flick and crawled onto the ottoman, knees pinning Bianca’s arms like bookends. The weight of her settled deliberate, a claim staked in front of the room. She leaned down, hair spilling like a curtain, sealing them in their own dim booth. “You have no idea how many nights I lay awake,” she murmured, breath warm against Bianca’s lips, “imagining this exact second, your uppity beaner mouth finally where it belongs, tongue flat, licking my clit like you were born to do it.”

Bianca couldn’t answer; her mouth was dry, and the knowledge of what was coming next had already begun to short-circuit her ability to speak. She watched as Lacey reached down and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt, sliding it up until the curve of her ass was bared to the room. The panties were gone, discarded sometime in the shuffle. Beneath her, Bianca could see the pale, perfect geometry of Lacey’s thighs, the faint sheen of sweat from the August heat, and the promise of what she was about to be made to do.

“Hold your ankles,” Lacey said, loud enough for the room. “Both of you.” The command was meant for Bianca and Carmen, and the two women obeyed in unison, grabbing hold and pulling their knees back in a pose that was instantly and humiliatingly familiar. The missionary position, but performed as an act of compliance one of those gestures that rendered you a thing to be used.

“You know the rules, don’t you?” Don said to Bianca, voice edged with laughter. “If you let go, or if you tap out, we’ll get out the car battery. Isn’t that right, Frank?”

Frank laughed, a sound that shook the frame of the couch. “That’s right, Lightning. Best two out of three.” He gave Carmen’s ankle a little shake to punctuate it. “Winner gets bragging rights, The woman who cums three times first has to entertain the guys tomorrow, all seven of us.”

The threat was a joke, mostly, but Bianca could see the way Carmen’s eyes widened at it, and she knew it had landed with the same weight on both of them. Bianca’s grip tightened around her ankles, the muscles in her forearms going corded and white-knuckled.

Lacey positioned herself so that her knees pinched Bianca’s arms in place, then slid forward until her pussy hovered directly above Bianca’s mouth. “Last chance to beg off,” she said, her expression gone soft around the edges in a way that was almost gentle. “But I think you like it too much for that, don’t you?”

Bianca didn’t answer, because there was no answer that wouldn’t make her sound ridiculous, or worse: honest. She kept her mouth shut until Lacey lowered herself the remaining inch, until the weight and heat of it cut off the rest of the room and left only the taste of Lacey’s cunt and the rhythm of Lacey’s breathing as she ground down.

She could hear Carmen beside her, the choked, wet sounds of Karen’s thighs around her face, the way you heard the next court over through the chain-link fence. Across the room, Don and Frank had produced their cocks already hard, already gloved in that faint, pre-game smear of lube or spit or some blend of both and were lining them up between the legs of the women they’d been assigned.

Lacey grabbed a fistful of Bianca’s hair and forced her face up into it, not with violence, but with the implacable leverage of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. “Don’t pace yourself,” she said. “This isn’t a marathon. You want to show them you have no self-control over that pussy. Come on baby, I want you to come buckets for us. The thought of your uppity ass being gang banged is turning me on. Don babe let’s turn this bitch into a climax machine so hard she makes that date tomorrow with the guys” She said giggling.

The only answer Bianca could give was the one Lacey wanted: she opened her mouth and licked, tasting the sharp, immediate salt of sweat and the fainter, muskier note of Lacey’s arousal. She let Lacey ride her face, let herself be guided by the micro-adjustments of hand and thigh and the subtle, greedy roll of Lacey’s hips. It was a competition, but not the kind with a trophy at the end; it was the kind where you either won or you lost yourself.

On the other side of the ottoman, Carmen was being smothered by Karen, whose control was more theatrical, more deliberately cruel. Karen slapped Carmen’s thigh for emphasis, then shifted her weight to grind down, muffling Carmen’s attempts at breathing and turning every exhale into a tight, desperate gasp. “That’s it,” Karen cooed. “Show the guests how a lady eats pussy. Open, honey.”

And between the legs of both women, the men pressed forward, cocks sliding home in long, slow thrusts that sent involuntary ripples up their bodies. Bianca felt the first push of Don thick, insistent, unhurried and the sensation collided in her chest with the weight of Lacey above her, the two points of contact merging into a single, overwhelming sensation.

She was aware, distantly, of the sounds her own body made: the wet, obscene slap of skin on skin, the muffled grunts of Don as he bottomed out, the hiss of Lacey’s breath as she came closer to the edge with every grind. The world narrowed to the triangle of hair and skin and sweat that Lacey had made for her, and Bianca lost track of time and pride and everything but the need to keep up, to not be the one to give in.

They went at it for what could have been minutes. Bianca’s jaw ached; Lacey ground much harder than Karen did, and she missed the comparative gentleness. Her tongue had gone numb from overuse. She could already feel the deep, purple bruises Lacey’s thighs were stamping into her cheeks. Every time she tried to shift or relieve the pressure, Lacey just rode harder, pinning her naked body in place. At one point, Lacey reached down and pinched Bianca’s bare nipple, hard enough to make her vision flash white. Bianca yelped, a sound immediately smothered by Lacey’s cunt, and the jolt made Don’s cock twitch inside her, a thick, possessive pulse that left her trembling.

“Don’t get lazy down there,” Lacey said, voice tight with effort. “If I don’t come first, we start over.” The idea was so preposterous, so humiliatingly unfair, that for a split-second Bianca almost laughed. But then she realized Lacey meant it, and the laughter died in her mouth.

Next to her, Carmen was flagging. Karen had both hands tangled in Carmen’s hair, and she was using them as reins, jerking Carmen’s head back and forth as she gave instructions. “You want to breathe?” Karen said, “Then make it worth my while bitch, I will let your pass out and start over again.” Carmen redoubled her efforts, fortunately being a predominantly lesbian bisexual meant she was good at eating pussy. Karen’s was no different. Karen came first.

Bianca felt it happen before she heard it the sudden, total clench of Karen’s thighs around Carmen’s head, the sharp intake of breath that Karen tried to shape into something composed and failed, and then the long, shuddering exhale that was nothing like composure at all. Carmen made a muffled, triumphant sound against her that Bianca registered somewhere in her chest, a small, private flicker of something she had no clean name for.

Then Lacey’s fingers dug into her scalp and the flicker went out.

Lacey was close. Bianca could feel it in the way the rhythm changed, the long grinding circles breaking into something shorter and more urgent, the way Lacey’s thighs pressed harder against her cheeks with each pass. Bianca’s jaw ached all the way up into her temples and her tongue had gone to something like numb, but she found the angle she’d been working and held it, held the pressure steady the way you held a shot through the follow-through, past the point where it felt like it was doing anything, just because you knew the physics required it.

Lacey made a sound that was not the social sound. It was the real one, involuntary and low, and Bianca felt it vibrate through the inside of her thighs.

Don’s hand came down flat on her hip at the same moment, his rhythm deepening in that way that meant he was getting close too, and the combination of it Lacey above her and Don between her legs and her own hands white-knuckled around her own ankles collapsed the last of the distance between what her body was doing and what she was willing to admit her body was doing.

She came. She came hard and yelled inside Lacey’s cunt holding her hostage.

She came before Lacey did, which she had not planned and could not have stopped, and the sound she made was swallowed by Lacey’s cunt and never made it into the room, which was the only small mercy the afternoon had offered. Her grip on her ankles went rigid, her whole spine arching up against the weight of Lacey above her, her hips driving back against Don’s thrust in a single, involuntary roll that made him grunt and grip harder.

Lacey followed her by approximately four seconds.

She felt that too the clench and release of it, the way Lacey’s whole body went still for one suspended moment before the shudder moved through her, the sound she made that was nothing like the laugh and nothing like the social voice and everything like the truth of a body that had been building toward something and had finally arrived at it. Lacey’s hand loosened in her hair, the grip going soft without releasing entirely, and she rode the last of it in long, slow pulses that Bianca felt against her face like a tide going out.

Then Don finished, with a rough, guttural sound and both hands clamped on her hips, and the room was briefly, blessedly quiet except for the sound of breathing.

Bianca hadn’t even caught her breath before Lacey’s hand landed sharp across her cheek, the slap more goad than punishment but ringing with the feedback of genuine irritation. The sting forced Bianca’s eyes open, vision swimming with tears and post-orgasmic haze, and all she could see was the triumphant scowl on Lacey’s face her lips parted, her nostrils flared, the bones of her jaw clenched tight in a way that said there would be no mercy, not this round and not any that followed.