Chapter 8: Saturday

In the morning, Lina and I let Walk sleep in. It was a sunny Saturday, almost cloudless. We went to my suite, and soaped each other in the shower. But it was more friendly, giggly, than sexy.

I put on one of his dress shirts. Lina reached for a robe. I stopped her, “No let’s keep his house pussy naked.”

She laughed, “Of course.”

I started the espresso; Lina set the table. We’d wait until he joined us to start cooking. As we sipped, Lina spoke conversationally, “He is a good lover. Young as he is, he’s my all-time favorite.”

“Me too. Not counting Vanessa.”

Neither one of us mentioned that he hadn’t fucked me yet. Lina understood that he was my favorite because of who he was, how much I loved him, what he could do to my body even without intercourse. It had been more than obvious to her the previous night how aroused he had gotten me, how much in heat I had been.

She shook her head, “When he put the head in you, I thought for sure that was it.”

I nodded, “Me too.”

She shook her head again, “What willpower it must have taken for him to pull out.”

“I know, I know.”

“Are you sorry?”

“It’s complicated, Lina. He has me off balance. You saw me last night — I wanted it so much. Yet even when I was in heat, I was relieved that he didn’t fuck me.”

“But you didn’t try to stop him.”

“Oh, God, no! In fact, babe, I couldn’t have — I wanted him so much, I didn’t have it in me to even try. Christ, you heard me begging for it.”

“He is so lucky. I mean, look at us. You’re the hottest girl in town, and he can have you just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “And me. I’m 32 fucking years old — twice as old as him. All he has to do is call me, and I’ll come racing over.” She laughed, “House pussy.”

Neither of us spoke to our own lovemaking. She’d gone down on me for the very first time. And, probably, the last. Unless Walker wanted an encore performance — and I wasn’t sure I would go for it. Last night had been a magical event, but the sex tape was a one-off so far as I was concerned.

A sex tape with Lina and Walk. A second one with Lina warming me up for Walk. Then, before we called it a night, Lina and I had doubled down on the boy. The only camera was on that tripod, but we smothered him with kissing, stroking, licking, sucking.

Lina straddled him in a reverse cowboy, and I guided him into her. Played with her clit to make sure she came again. When it was time, she pulled off him while I took him in my mouth.

Conscious of the camera position, Lina and I gave Walker one final highlight. We snowballed his cum — which, even for his third time was a considerable load.

And now, here we were, in my kitchen, waiting for his royal highness to make an appearance. The house pussy and the mom. Two women — both mothers in our 30s. I was wearing one of his dress shirts; his house pussy was naked.

He’d fucked Lina. Eaten me, shot cum in my mouth. And here she and I were, calmly discussing it as if it weren’t at all extraordinary to be having sex — willingly, eagerly — on tape with a 16-year-old boy.

Two women, both mothers in our 30s, did, or would have done, whatever he wanted last night. And, between shoots last night, Lina and I were stark fucking naked here in this same kitchen. The more I thought about that, the more extraordinarily it loomed in my mind.

In the past, the few times that Walk and I had been together, just the two of us, it was usually in my bedroom, in the dark, with an ambient glow only from the streetlights on Main.

But last night, not only was I on full display in our well-lit kitchen, so was his other film-pussy, Lina. Of course we were also on full display, and in action, in front of the camera. But, the kitchen scene seemed somehow different. Somehow even naughtier.

How could it be naughtier than the sex acts themselves? Well, it sounds silly, probably even ludicrous. But that’s how it felt to me last night — and still did in the morning light.

In his bed, the three of us were occupied — making love, filming love. But in the kitchen, Lina and I were ... just there. Naked, pleased with ourselves, aware of how sexy we were, openly available for his scrutiny.

I flashed on an image of the whores in Amsterdam who displayed themselves in windows to the street. It wasn’t that public for Lina and me, but it gave me a tingle thinking about it. In fact, just now, I had become aroused — cheeks a little pink, nipples hardening.

Lina noticed. She smiled at me, “Penny.”

“Oh, I was just thinking of last night. You know, between takes, when we took a break for snacks.”

Lina laughed, “I know! I felt so slutty sitting there with you. Showing him everything we had. Knowing, and knowing he knew, that he could do whatever he wanted to us. God, I loved that feeling!”

I shook my head sadly, “Slut.”

She grinned, “For a second last night, I flashed on a slave auction. Like Walk had bid on us and won.”

I laughed, “Well, I didn’t go the slave route, but I guess I had a ... a similar sensation. That you and I were his pussy. That we were baring ourselves to him.” I thought about it, “Telling him without words that he could do anything he wanted to us.”

Lina nodded in understanding, “It was a delicious feeling, wasn’t it?”

“Scrumptious.”

We heard his shower start. I said, “How do you want your eggs, hon?”

“Oh, let’s see. Poached, please.”

Two women, both mothers in our 30s, about to have breakfast with our teenage lover. Just another day in the life.

Interestingly, when Walk did grace us with his presence, he not only wasn’t cocky about the previous night’s performance, he seemed a little shy. He was trying to camouflage it, but I could tell.

He was wearing his white seersucker robe with thin blue stripes. He cupped Lina’s chin and kissed her deeply. He patted her bare butt, “God, you’re sexy.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”