A Tide Between

The sea always calms me. It's a quiet sort of companionship, predictable, endless, just out of reach. I sat back in the deep cushions of my garden lounger, one hand curled around the stem of a wine glass, the other lazily stroking the silky throw draped over my legs. The late afternoon sun had started to slide west, washing everything in gold, from the tops of the dune grass to the pale stone of my terrace.

The breeze tugged at the hem of my linen dress, brushing cool air over my tanned thighs. I shifted slightly, crossing my legs in the way I knew drew the eye, not that there was anyone here to see. At forty-three, I'd kept my figure well: slim, but soft in the right places, curves that came from years of Pilates and a little surgical enhancement, good wine, and not giving a damn what anyone thought. My hair, still long and blonde, was loosely tied back, though a few strands danced around my face. Blue eyes behind dark sunglasses. Bare feet resting on a sun-warmed rug. This was my version of peace

From here, I could see everything. My garden rolled out in wide, manicured layers, lavender bushes, polished slate paths, and whitewashed fencing that ended in a gate opening straight onto the beach. Beyond that, the tide was out, leaving behind a gleaming stretch of wet sand and the occasional gleam of broken shells. A few gulls drifted overhead. Otherwise, stillness.

I liked it that way. Silence has been good to me over the years.

I took a slow sip of the Sancerre and let it linger on my tongue, then closed my eyes behind my sunglasses. Forty-three, I reminded myself. Forty-three, successful, alone. Though I never called it that. Solitude suited me. There's a difference between being alone and being lonely. At least, that's what I'd always told myself.

And then I heard them.

Voices, low, laughing, male, cut through the hush. Not close, but not far either. I adjusted my sunglasses and looked toward the beach. Two figures had appeared on the sand, shirtless and barefoot, kicking a football between them with a casual grace that came from youth and ease, bodies that knew how to move.

They were handsome, both of them. Athletic, tall. One had short-cropped hair and broad shoulders, the other wore a snapback backwards and walked with a cocky, bouncing rhythm. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I could hear the laughter. It was deep and unguarded, the kind that makes you smile without realizing.

I tilted my head and watched, trying not to be obvious. They were just two strangers on a public beach. Boys, really. No, men. Young, yes, but very much men. My glass trembled slightly as I set it down on the side table.

I always enjoyed watching people. Not like this though. Not with heat curling low in my stomach.

Maybe it was boredom. Or curiosity. Or something older, deeper. Some need I hadn't quite named yet. Not loneliness, exactly. More like hunger. For what, I wasn't entirely sure. Connection? Attention? Or maybe just the delicious thrill of knowing someone might look at me the way they used to.

They hadn't even noticed me. Not yet.

But I watched them anyway, from the safety of my garden, my kingdom. And for the first time in a while, I wondered what it might feel like to be seen. Really seen.

The ball came out of nowhere, an awkward bounce that bouncing over the gate at the bottom of my garden. It thudded gently to a stop against one of the slate path stones, just a few metres from where I sat.

I looked down over the rim of my sunglasses, amused. A moment later, one of the men jogged up to the gate. The one in the backwards cap. Deej, though I didn't know his name yet.

"Sorry!" he called, his voice bright and a little breathless. "Bit of a wild shot."

He stood just outside the gate, tall and loose-limbed, his chest gleaming with sweat and sea air. His grin was unapologetic. Confident in that way only someone in their twenties can be. Completely at ease in their own skin.

I set down my wine glass. "That's quite an aim," I said, staying seated.

He laughed, running a hand over his head as if considering whether to risk stepping onto my property. "Mind if I grab it?"

I considered teasing him, asking what he'd offer in return, but I didn't. Instead, I nodded, rising slowly from my lounger and walking toward the gate.

"You're lucky I wasn't in the middle of a yoga session," I said as I approached.

"Would've been a hell of a distraction," he replied with a wink, eyes dropping, just for a moment to the curve of my legs as they emerged from the slit in my dress.

I unlocked the gate with a smooth twist of the latch and opened it just wide enough for him to step through.

Up close, he smelled like sunshine and salt and warm skin. He was younger than I'd thought but not boyish. His eyes were sharp, playful. Curious.

Behind him, the other man, Anton, I'd come to learn, stood back on the sand, one hand resting on his hip, the other shielding his eyes as he looked toward us. He didn't smile, but he didn't look away either.

Deej picked up the ball, spinning it in his hands. "Nice place you've got here."

"Thanks," I said. "It's quiet. Usually."

He nodded, clearly wanting to linger. "I'm Deej, by the way."

I smiled. "Tracy."

A beat passed just long enough for something unspoken to pulse in the air between us.

"Well," he said, stepping back toward the gate, "I'll let you get back to... whatever glamorous thing you were doing."

I gave him a slow, amused look. "Sitting in the sun and day drinking?"

"Sounds glamorous to me."

He jogged off with a final grin, vaulting lightly over the short garden fence instead of opening the gate again. Show-off.

I stayed where I was for a moment, fingers brushing the warm metal latch, watching them from behind my sunglasses as they moved down the beach. Deej still laughing. Anton still silent.

They didn't look back.

But they would.

I returned to my lounger, though the cushion didn't feel quite as comfortable as it had ten minutes ago. My skin was warmer. Or maybe it was something deeper.

I told myself it was nothing, just a bit of banter, a stranger retrieving a ball. But my pulse had quickened, and I could still feel the heat of Deej's eyes skimming over my body. Not crude. Just... bold. Like he hadn't been taught to look away.

I used to be looked at like that all the time.

It wasn't about vanity. I'd made peace with aging, even embraced it in some ways. But there's something dangerous about being invisible, especially once you've had a taste of being seen.

And then there was the other one. Anton. Watching, but not in the same way. There was something about the way he stood. Still, grounded, like he was reading the entire situation without needing to speak. Like he was reading me.

I picked up my wine again and took a slower sip this time.

Maybe they were just passing entertainment. Maybe they'd be gone by tomorrow.

But part of me already hoped they'd come back.

Chapter 2 - Ice tea

The next day was hotter.

By late afternoon, I'd retreated beneath the wide parasol on my terrace, a new book in my lap, mostly unread. I kept glancing toward the gate more than I cared to admit.

And then I heard them again.

Laughter, closer this time. The steady thump of feet against sand. I peered over the edge of my sunglasses and saw them both approaching from the west end of the beach. Deej had the football tucked under one arm. Anton walked beside him, his expression unreadable, dark eyes scanning the shoreline... and then my garden.

I waited, pretending to be lost in the page, until the familiar thud of the ball reached my ears again. This time, it rolled with purpose. Slow and deliberate, until it stopped just inside my gate.

I set my book aside.

"Twice in two days," I called out, amused, rising from my seat. "I'm beginning to suspect you're doing this on purpose."

Deej appeared almost instantly at the gate, flashing the same easy grin. "What can I say? We're terrible at keeping control."

Behind him, Anton gave a faint shake of his head, but his lips curled into the smallest of smirks.

I opened the gate again, standing with one hand on the frame. "You're lucky I'm in a forgiving mood."

"Wouldn't want to push it." Deej's eyes slid down my figure, more openly this time, lingering for a beat before returning to my face. "But if I'm already intruding..."

I stepped back, just slightly. "Thirsty?"

He blinked, caught off guard. "Uh... yeah, actually."

"There's iced tea. Or wine, or a beer. I'm guessing it's a bit early in the day for the second option, but I won't judge."

Anton stepped forward now, his gaze locked on mine. "We won't say no."

There was a weight in the way he said it. Not flirtatious. Not even grateful. Just... matter of fact. Like he expected to be invited in.

And maybe, somewhere deep down, I'd been waiting to.

I led them both across the patio and into the shade, the clink of ice already echoing in the pitcher I'd prepared earlier, just in case.

They settled on the wide, cushioned bench opposite my lounger. Deej sprawled comfortably, his legs wide and his arms draped along the back. Anton sat straighter, hands on his knees, his eyes scanning the garden like he was taking stock of the space, and of me.

I handed them glasses, deliberately brushing fingers with Anton first. His were warm, steady. He didn't look away.

Deej raised his glass in a mock toast. "To unexpected hospitality."

I raised mine too, my lips curling around the rim. "To stray footballs."

We drank, and the air seemed to shift, just slightly. The breeze off the sea had picked up, fluttering the hem of my dress again. I crossed my legs, slowly, deliberately, and caught Deej watching.

This time, I didn't look away.

I watched them from behind my glass, pretending to sip. Their energy was magnetic, different, but complementary. Deej filled the space with words, charm, and movement. Anton said little, but there was something grounding about him. He didn't have to perform. He simply was.

And I felt it. God, I felt it.

It had been a long time since I'd let myself want. That raw, uncomplicated ache. I'd built a life that didn't need anyone. A fortress by the sea. Everything in its place, beautifully arranged, quiet, tasteful, controlled.

But they disrupted that.

Deej with his open boldness, the way he looked at me like I wasn't a woman past her prime but someone worth undressing with his eyes. And Anton with his silence, which felt less like reserve and more like a kind of authority. Like he was allowing me to lead for now, but wouldn't forever.

There was a flicker of heat deep in my stomach, the kind I hadn't felt in years. Not from flirting. Not from wine. The kind that made me shift slightly in my seat and feel the fabric of my dress slide across bare skin.

Part of me warned it was ridiculous. They were young, barely into their twenties. What could they possibly want from me that wasn't a game, or a thrill, or a story to tell later?

But another part, the part that had started to wake up the moment I saw them on the sand, whispered something different:

What if they're not afraid of you?

What if they want exactly what you've been pretending not to want?

I glanced over the rim of my glass again.

Deej caught me. He grinned.

I smiled back.

And for the first time in a long, long while, I didn't feel older.

I felt alive.

~~~

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the terrace. The iced tea had turned watery in our glasses, but none of us moved. Deej was in the middle of some story, something about a party that had gotten out of hand, but I barely heard the details.

I was watching the way they sat.

Deej, still spread wide, utterly relaxed, like my garden was his by right. Anton, quiet as ever, but with that same watchful presence. He hadn't said more than a few words since they arrived, but I could feel him in the room more than anyone I'd ever met.

And I decided, then, to test the waters.

I rose slowly from the lounger, setting my empty glass down with a soft clink. Both of their eyes followed me, as I knew they would. I walked to the edge of the terrace, the sea breeze catching my dress, pressing it lightly against my body. I didn't smooth it down. I let it cling.

"I should be offended," I said, glancing over my shoulder. "Two handsome young men in my garden, and not one compliment."

Deej laughed. "Oh, we're trying to behave."

"Don't," I replied, turning back to face them, the wind catching my hair. "It's dull."

Deej tilted his head, grinning. "You want compliments? I can give you plenty. You're a ten, easily."

I walked back toward them, slowly, letting my hips sway more than usual. "Only a ten?"

He chuckled. "Fine. Eleven. Twelve, if you pour me another glass."

Anton finally spoke. "You don't need numbers," he said simply, meeting my gaze. "You already know what you are."

That made me pause. Just for a beat. The way he said it, direct, calm, certain. It was the kind of line a lesser man would deliver with arrogance. But from him, it felt like fact. No seduction. No flattery. Just truth.

I looked at him, holding the silence for a moment longer than I should have, then smiled, slow and feline.

"Well," I said, reclaiming my space between them, "since you're both being so charming, maybe I should reward you."

I reached for the pitcher, pouring more tea, bending just a little too far forward as I did it, letting the neckline of my dress gape slightly. I saw Deej's eyes drop, predictably. Anton's didn't.

He watched me, not the body I was offering.

And that was more disarming than anything else.

I handed Deej his glass with a smile that said I know exactly what you're thinking. Then I turned to Anton, letting my fingers linger as I passed his drink, brushing his hand again, this time with intention.

His fingers curled lightly around mine before taking the glass. Barely a second. But I felt it.

They were both still playing along. Respectful. Relaxed.

But something in the air had shifted.

I was still leading, for now. Still setting the pace.

But I could feel it: they were letting me.

And that thought made my breath catch in my throat in the most unexpected way.

Chapter 3 - A walk on the beach

The tide was low and the beach was wide, the sand still damp and cool beneath my feet. I liked it best at this hour, late morning, before the families came down with their windbreakers and screaming children. The sea was calm, glinting silver in the pale light, and the air carried just enough chill to make goosebumps prickle along my skin.

I wore a black bikini, simple but expensive, and a sheer wrap that barely reached the backs of my thighs. My hair was up, my sunglasses on. I walked like I owned the place, because, in a way, I did. This was my stretch of coastline. My sanctuary.

Which made it all the more unsettling when I saw them again.

Deej noticed me first, of course. He was barefoot, carrying his trainers, shorts hanging low on his hips. Anton was beside him, shirtless this time. Tall, lean, and completely unbothered by the cool air. Chests like plates of armour.

"Hey!" Deej called, lifting a hand. "Didn't know rich people walked their own beaches."

I smiled, slow and unreadable, and kept walking until we met at the edge of the waterline. The sea lapped gently around our ankles.

"Only when they want to be seen," I said.

Deej gave an appreciative look, his eyes moving over me with zero subtlety. "Well, consider us lucky."

Anton said nothing, but his gaze moved differently. Slower. He didn't just look. He took me in. My body, yes, but more than that. My posture. My stillness. The way I didn't flinch under the attention.

I turned slightly, the breeze catching the wrap and tugging it loose. I let it flutter.

"So," I said, eyes on the horizon. "Is this your usual route, or are you following me now?"

"Total coincidence," Deej grinned. "Happy one, though."

I glanced at Anton, curious to see if he'd add anything. He didn't. But there was something in the way he stood, shoulders square, head tilted just so that made me feel oddly... inspected.

It was thrilling. And infuriating.

I decided to push.

I reached up and casually untied the wrap, letting it slip from my hips and drift to one hand. Just standing there now, bare except for some small pieces of bikini, on my own beach, between two much younger men. I felt every inch of my skin heat with their attention.

"You know," I said, "a lot of women my age would be self-conscious in a bikini around you two."

Deej snorted. "They'd be insane."

"You're not self-conscious," Anton said.

It wasn't a question. It was an observation.

I met his gaze. Held it. "No," I said. "I'm not."

We stood like that for a moment, three silhouettes at the water's edge, the sun climbing higher behind us. I felt powerful, exposed, electric. I wasn't sure if I was teasing them, or myself.

Finally, I broke the silence. "Enjoy your walk, boys."

I turned, slowly, and began to head back along the beach. I didn't look over my shoulder.

But I knew they were watching. An extra wiggle in my bum.

And I knew something had changed

Chapter 4 - The BBQ

It had been my idea, of course. A casual invite. Nothing serious. "If you're around next weekend, I'm having a little barbecue."

I said it like it was nothing. Like they were just anyone.

But when Saturday came, I was very aware of what I wore: a floaty sundress, low at the back, no bra, my surgically enhanced 34EE's still pert. Barefoot on the patio, wine glass in hand, the scent of grilled meat drifting through the garden.

Deej arrived first, carrying a six-pack and wearing a grin that said I was hoping you'd ask. Anton followed a minute later with a bottle of dark rum, quiet and unreadable as ever but his eyes lingered just a fraction longer on me this time.

The afternoon passed easily. We ate, drank, laughed. The sun sank low over the sea. I moved among them like a hostess, but the energy was different now. More charged. I felt it in the way Deej touched the small of my back when he passed me a drink. The way Anton sat close, closer than before, without saying a word.

And when the sky turned violet and the fairy lights flicked on, someone suggested a game.

"Truth or dare," Deej said with a wicked smile. "Or maybe strip poker, if you're feeling brave."

I laughed, pretending to scoff. "Do you always try to undress your hosts?"

"Only when they dress like that," he said.

I smiled, sharp and slow. "Careful. I play to win."

And I did. Or at least, I told myself I did. But as the games began, truths traded, dares issued, clothes removed in good humor, I realized something was shifting again.

I was still the one setting the tone. Still choosing the rules.

But they were bending them. Pushing, slowly, deliberately.

Anton, when dared to whisper something into my ear that would make me blush, didn't flinch. He leaned in close, his breath warm against my skin, and whatever he said made me laugh, too loudly, just to cover the way it made my thighs press together under the table.

Deej, bold and playful, dared me to let him tie a scarf around my wrist "just for a round." I let him. Smiling. Teasing.

But something about the silk brushing my skin made my breath catch.

I wasn't out of control.

Not yet. But I could feel it coming.

And I wasn't sure if I wanted to stop it.

Chapter 5 - The dream

The house was quiet again. The party had ended hours ago, the last of the laughter and footsteps fading into the dark. I'd tidied half-heartedly, then given up, letting the wine lull me to bed with the sound of the waves brushing the shore.

But sleep didn't come easily.

I shifted under the sheets, warm and restless, skin still tingling from the way Anton had whispered against my ear. The way Deej's hands had felt when he wrapped the scarf gently, almost reverently, around my wrist.

And then...

I was dreaming.

The garden was lit by moonlight, soft and unreal, the sea barely a hum in the distance. I was on the lounger, reclined, wearing the same dress from earlier, only now it was looser, like it had slipped down my shoulders on its own.

They stood over me.

Anton at my head, looking down at me like he could see everything I was trying to hide. Deej knelt beside me, fingers trailing up my calf, slow and teasing.

I tried to speak, something flippant, something to take back control, but the words melted before they formed.

Anton reached down, his hand sliding into my hair. Not rough, not yet, but firm. Grounding. Deej's mouth was at my thigh now, open, warm.

I felt surrounded. Owned.

And yet... wanted.

There was no shame. No hesitation. Only heat. Only surrender.

Their bodies moved around me like a rhythm I didn't know I'd been waiting for.

I arched, gasped, begged, but for what, I wasn't sure. More? Less? Control? Release?

And just when it built to the edge of something overwhelming... I woke. Sheets twisted. Breath shallow. Skin damp. The room was dark. Empty. Safe.

But I could still feel them. Taste the heat of their mouths on my skin. Hear Anton's low voice. See the way Deej had looked at me. Hungry, amused, patient.

I turned onto my side and pressed my thighs together, not ready to let it go.

Not yet.

Chapter 6 - A few days later

It had been three days since the barbecue.

Three days since Deej's hands had tied that scarf around my wrist. Since Anton had leaned in and whispered something I still couldn't stop hearing in my head. Since I'd dreamed. No, felt, what it might be like to give in to both of them.

I'd told myself it was the wine. The heat. A trick of nerves and imagination. But I knew better. Every time I closed my eyes, it came back: the weight of their attention, the sound of the sea behind them, the feeling of being surrounded, owned, undone.

And now I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I tried to busy myself. Emails, calls, a few chores. But the silence in the house only amplified everything. I found myself standing at the kitchen sink, staring at the scarf still lying folded on the counter, untouched since that night.

I didn't hear the gate.

Just the knock on the back door.

I turned, already knowing.

Anton stood there. Shirtless again, God, did he own shirts? his skin catching the sunlight, a lazy confidence in his posture. Deej was just behind him, carrying a bag, grinning like this was all perfectly normal.

"Hope it's not a bad time," Deej said, stepping through without waiting. "Thought you might need company."

I hesitated for half a second too long. "It's never a bad time," I managed.

Anton's eyes scanned the room like he remembered it better than he should. I realized I was barefoot, in just a soft camisole and shorts, comfortable and relaxed, but far from guarded. My nipples pressed lightly against the fabric. I didn't cover them.

"You've been quiet," Deej said, setting the bag on the counter. "We were starting to think we'd scared you off."

"Hardly," I said, forcing a smile. "I've just been... catching up on sleep."

Anton's gaze locked onto mine then. "Rough dreams?"

I blinked. My breath caught, just slightly. He knew. Or guessed. Either way, I hated how easily that one sentence slid beneath my skin.

"Something like that," I said, turning away, reaching for the bottle of wine I hadn't planned to open until dinner. "Drink?"

"Always," Deej said, hopping onto a stool at the island. "We brought snacks. And cards."

I poured slowly, my back to them, my heartbeat too loud in my ears. I could feel them behind me again, one watching, the other waiting. I knew exactly where they'd be standing without having to look.

I handed out the glasses and leaned back against the counter. "Cards again?"

"Unless you're scared of losing," Deej teased.

"I don't lose," I said automatically.

Anton took his glass and brushed my hand again--just lightly, just enough. His thumb grazed the inside of my wrist before he pulled away.

My pulse jumped. Right where the scarf had been.

I was still in control. Still standing.

But something in me had already knelt.

The game was simple, just a lazy version of blackjack played with loose rules and half-hearted scoring. But the air around the table was anything but relaxed.

Deej dealt with a flair that was all show, all confidence. Anton leaned back, slow and deliberate, watching us both with that quiet intensity of his. And me? I sat between them, one leg crossed over the other, wine in hand, trying not to squirm under the weight of their attention.

I'd changed nothing about my appearance, hadn't even thought to, not really. But now, sitting here, I was hyper-aware of the camisole clinging to the curve of my breasts, the way the soft fabric of my shorts rode high up my thighs when I shifted. My skin still held the heat of the afternoon sun, and I could feel a thin sheen of warmth collecting at the small of my back.

Deej noticed.

Of course he did.

"Hot in here, huh?" he said, eyes flicking down my chest before returning to the cards.

I tilted my head, smirking. "You're welcome to take something off."

"Oh, don't tempt me."

Anton didn't laugh. He was too focused. Not on the game, on me. Every move I made seemed to register with him. The slow way I lifted my wine glass. The way my tongue darted out to catch a drop. The way my fingers tapped the table when I was thinking.

"You're not playing to win tonight," he said quietly, after I folded on a hand I could have taken.

I glanced at him. "A girl's allowed to enjoy herself, isn't she?"

He said nothing, but his eyes darkened.

Deej leaned in then, his arm brushing against mine. He smelled like citrus and salt, like sun-warmed skin and whatever cologne he wore just for effect. "What if we raised the stakes?" he asked. "A little dare with each hand?"

I raised a brow. "Are we twelve?"

"Come on," he grinned. "You're not scared."

Anton watched me from the other side of the table, his expression unreadable.

I sat back, slow and deliberate, my legs uncrossing and re-crossing. Their eyes both dropped at once, just for a second, but it was enough. I felt it like heat licking up the insides of my thighs.

"I'm not scared," I said. "But I don't play games I don't control."

"That's the fun part," Deej said, smiling wider. "Seeing what happens when you don't."

The room held still for a second. No music. No waves. Just the hum of tension, the flick of cards, the rustle of movement.

I looked at them both then, feeling the thrum of that dream still echoing in my chest. These weren't boys I could flirt off with clever lines. They weren't going to be led the way others had been.

They were waiting. For me to give in. Just a little more.

And the truth was: part of me already had.

The first dare was harmless.

Deej lost a hand and, with his usual theatrical flair, stood and did a clumsy little striptease to take off his t-shirt. His body was exactly what I remembered from the beach, lean muscle, broad chest, skin so dark it was almost had a blue hue to it.

He caught me looking.

"Your turn to lose, Trace," he teased, dropping back into his seat, his abs flexing with the movement.

I smiled, but it felt like a warning. "Careful. I don't bluff."

Anton dealt the next hand. His fingers were long, sure, and deliberate, like he'd been watching, waiting for the right moment to draw something out.

I lost. Barely.

Deej leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Alright then. Dare: take off your top."

I arched a brow. "Really? That's the level we're playing at?"

"You can say no," Anton said softly.

The way he said it, quiet, almost polite. Made it feel like more of a challenge than Deej's bravado ever could.

I set down my wine, unhurried. Then, without breaking eye contact, I lifted the hem of my camisole and pulled it over my head, letting it drop onto the chair behind me.

No bra. Just my skin, flushed from the wine and the heat, nipples tight in the cool air. My enhanced 34EE's being viewed for the first time by someone other than my surgeon.

Deej sat back with a low whistle. "Damn."

Anton didn't react, not outwardly. But his eyes never left mine.

I picked up my wine again, taking a sip like nothing had changed, even though everything had.

Another round. Another loss.

This time, it was Anton.

He stood slowly and tugged his jeans lower on his hips, just enough to flash the waistband of his boxers before sitting back down. He didn't break eye contact, not once.

The next hand was mine to lose again, and I could feel it, this slow, seductive tipping of power away from me, toward them. And I let it happen.

"Dare?" I asked, eyes flicking between them.

Deej grinned, then whispered something to Anton, who nodded once.

Deej turned back to me. "Let one of us kiss you. Anywhere."

There was a beat. Just silence. Heat.

I felt the ache low in my belly, the kind that came from being watched, not touched. I could end the game. Laugh it off. Call it a night.

But instead, I said: "You'll have to choose."

Deej stood, but Anton's voice stopped him.

"I'll do it."

He rose, moved around the table, and stopped in front of me.

No jokes. No teasing.

He leaned down, his hand cradling the back of my neck, and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just below my collarbone.

His lips were warm. His breath hot. He lingered. Not long. Just enough to let the moment stretch.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine, not asking permission, not apologizing. Just knowing.

I let out a slow breath.

And smiled.

The game was still on.

But I wasn't sure I was still winning.

The next hand was quiet.

No jokes. No one filled the space with chatter. Just the sound of cards flicking and hearts beating faster beneath skin.

I should have been watching the cards, but I wasn't. I was watching them.

The way Deej's tongue slid across his lower lip as he studied his hand. The way Anton's fingers tapped the table in that steady, deliberate rhythm that made my stomach tighten. The air was thick now, dense with the scent of wine, sweat, and something unspoken that trembled between all three of us.

And I lost again.

Of course I did.

Deej leaned back, lips quirking into a slow grin. "Final round," he said, voice low. "Let's make this one memorable."

Anton tilted his head, considering. "She's already given us a lot."

"That's why this one should be hers," Deej said. He turned to me, his tone shifting, playful, but sincere underneath. "You get to dare us. Both of us. One thing. Together."

I raised an eyebrow. That was unexpected.

A flicker of power returned, brief, bright, seductive. I could end it here. Make them do something silly. Break the mood and reclaim the upper hand.

But the words came before I could stop them. "Come stand behind me," I said.

They looked at each other, then at me.

Neither moved at first.

Then they did.

Deej rounded the island to my right. Anton to my left. They stood close, too close, heat radiating from both sides, their bodies crowding the air behind my chair.

I could smell Deej's skin, warm and citrus-sharp. Anton's presence was quieter, heavier. Their nearness made my spine straighten and my thighs press together instinctively beneath the table.

My breath caught.

"You said one thing," Deej murmured beside my ear.

"Didn't say what it had to be," I whispered back.

And then, I reached back.

My fingers brushed Deej's thigh, high and firm. Anton's wrist, cool and strong.

I didn't look at them. Didn't need to.

I just held that moment, me seated between them, half-naked, heart thudding, my hand touching both of them at once.

I said nothing else. Did nothing else. But it was enough.

The silence was electric.

And when I finally stood, slow, deliberate, tugging my camisole back over my head, I didn't apologize. Didn't explain.

"I think that's enough for tonight," I said, voice calm, composed.

But inside?

Inside I was already on my knees.

~~~

The house felt too quiet once they were gone.

I wandered through the rooms barefoot, glass in hand, hearing only the low hush of the sea beyond the garden. The moon hung above the water like it had been watching the whole night unfold. Maybe it had.

I sat on the edge of the bed, still dressed in the camisole I'd pulled back on for modesty's sake, but the fabric felt pointless now. My skin still remembered every look, every brush, every dare.

I wasn't used to losing control. Not in games. Not in life. I was the one who owned this house, who signed the cheques, who gave the orders and decided when things ended.

And yet... I hadn't ended anything.

Not the game. Not the tension. Not that final moment, with both of them behind me, their warmth pressing against my spine like a claim. I could've walked away at any point. I could've laughed it off, told them to grow up.

But I hadn't.

Because I didn't want to.

God, I wanted to know what came next.

I looked at myself in the mirror. Hair a little messy. Lips still parted. Eyes wide, not with fear, but with something closer to hunger.

I thought about how Anton had touched the back of my neck. How Deej had leaned in, bold and reckless. How easily they'd slipped into place around me, like they already knew where they belonged.

And I hated how much I wanted it. Not just the sex. Not just the thrill. The surrender.

That was what haunted me.

I pulled back the sheets and slipped beneath them, but sleep didn't come. My body still hummed. My thoughts looped endlessly: what they were thinking, what they were planning, whether they knew how far I'd already gone for them without them even asking.

And then I remembered Anton's words: "She's already given us a lot."

He was right. And I suspected he knew I'd give more.

Not because they'd take it.

But because I wanted to hand it over.

Chapter 7 - The message

The morning after was deceptively calm.

I made coffee the way I always did, grinding the beans, boiling the water, pouring slowly, deliberately. Like the ritual could smooth the pulse still thudding behind my ribs.

I hadn't heard from them.

Part of me hoped they'd wait. Part of me feared they wouldn't.

It was just after ten when my phone buzzed.

Deej:

Hey beautiful. Us again. You busy this afternoon?

Anton followed seconds later:

Come out and play. Wear something sexy. A little daring. Something just for us.

My heart kicked hard in my chest.

No question mark. No option, really. Just a time, and an assumption that I'd say yes.

I stared at the screen for a long moment, the words blurring slightly as my mind raced ahead.

What would I wear?

Why did I care so much?

I'd told myself I was still the one holding the reins. But this, this simple, casual command had me halfway up the stairs before I'd even thought to reply.

Me:

Time?

Deej:

2pm. We'll come to you.

I paused in front of the mirror, phone still in hand, already imagining their eyes, their silence, the weight of whatever idea they had brewing. They'd clearly been talking. Planning.

And now, they were pulling me into it.

I ran my hands over my hips, across the hem of my robe, thinking of all the lingerie I never wore for anyone but myself. Silks and satins I'd once thought were armor, now feeling more like offerings.

Something sexy. A little daring. Something just for them

~~~

I stood in front of my open wardrobe, the message still lit on my phone beside me. Wear something sexy. A little daring. Something just for us.

The words pulsed like a heartbeat in my head.

It wasn't just about clothes. It was a test. A signal. They wanted to see how far I'd go.

And I intended to show them I wasn't afraid.

Still, I lingered over my choices. My fingers trailed across silk blouses, slinky dresses, heels I hadn't worn in months. Everything suddenly felt like a weapon or a surrender.

I chose the red set. Not crimson. Not the obvious red.

This one was deeper. Rich, wine-dark silk with a matching lace thong and sheer panels that offered more than they hid. The kind of lingerie that whispered seduction without shouting. The kind I'd worn before, but only in mirrors never in front of anyone I wasn't already in control of.

They wouldn't see it all, not at first. But I'd know it was there. I wanted them to wonder.

A dress, then. Simple, short, low in the back. Light enough to float in the breeze if we ended up outside again. I laid it out on the bed, along with delicate gold earrings and the barely-there heels that made my legs look endless.

Then I showered. Not rushed. Not distracted.

I took my time, letting the water run hot over my skin, sliding my fingers through my blonde hair, over my breasts, down my thighs. I shaved, exfoliated, moisturized, every movement slow, almost ritualistic. Preparing. Offering.

By the time I stepped out, my skin glowed.

I stood in the mirror again, towel wrapped around me, watching steam drift across the glass.

What was I doing? I could still cancel. Say I was busy. Change the game.

But I didn't want to. I wanted them to see me like this. Made ready. Willingly.

I slipped into the lingerie, the silk cool against freshly shaven skin, the lace hugging every curve. The dress slid over me like water. My perfume, white amber and sea salt, was just subtle enough to be noticed only up close.

A swipe of lipstick. Barely-there mascara.

I looked finished. Poised.

And yet, under the surface, I felt like I was already undressing for them.

The clock read 1:52. Eight minutes.

I poured a glass of wine, sat on the edge of the sofa, crossed my legs, and let myself wait.

Because this time... it wasn't my move

~~~

The doorbell rang at exactly 2 o'clock.

I didn't rush. I walked slowly, deliberately, the sea breeze floating through the open windows behind me, teasing the hem of my dress. My heels clicked softly against the tiles as I moved.

I opened the door.

Anton stood in front, dressed in charcoal joggers and a fitted black t-shirt that stretched across his chest like a second skin. Behind him, Deej leaned casually against the rail, sunglasses tucked into the neck of his tank top, that familiar smirk playing on his lips.

"Damn," Deej said, eyes sliding over me without apology. "You really listened."

"Did I get it right?" I asked, light, playful, but my heart was drumming.

Anton's gaze was steady. "More than right."

They came in without asking. Something about that thrilled me.

I led them to the back terrace, where the sea glittered beyond the edge of the garden. The air was warm, salt-sweet, the breeze making the fabric of my dress flutter like it might lift with one well-placed gust.

They didn't sit. They stood there, framed by light and ocean, and watched me for a moment that felt too long.

Finally, Deej broke the silence.

"We've been talking," he said, casually, but his eyes said otherwise. "About the game. About you."

"About what you need," Anton added, softly but firmly.

I opened my mouth, some reflexive protest on the tip of my tongue, but Deej raised a hand.

"Not like that," he said. "Not taking anything from you. You've given enough already."

Anton stepped closer. "But we want to give you something. A... break. From being in charge all the time."

"A chance to let go," Deej added, leaning forward. "Let someone else guide you."

My stomach fluttered. They weren't asking for sex, not yet. That was too easy. Too expected.

They were offering something far more dangerous: submission. A shift in power that I couldn't disguise with clever words or quick wit.

I took a sip of wine, steadying myself.

"And what does that look like?" I asked, voice low.

Anton's eyes moved over me, appraising, but not crude. "We start small. Today. You do what we say. No pressure, no pushing. Just trust."

Deej grinned. "Think of it as... letting us run the afternoon."

I stood very still. My body was already answering, heart racing, heat pooling low in my belly. My mind was slower, still clinging to control.

But it was slipping. And I was letting it. I met Anton's gaze first, then Deej's. Then I nodded.

"Alright," I said. "I'm listening."

Anton reached into his back pocket.

When I saw the scarf, deep grey silk, familiar in texture and intent, my breath caught. The same one from the card game. But this time, it wasn't a dare.

It was a choice.

He stepped behind me, slow and unhurried, the way a man moves when he knows he's in control.

"Hands," he said softly.

I didn't move right away.

Part of me hesitated, not from fear, but from the sheer thrill of it. My fingers twitched, and I felt Deej watching me, his grin quieter now, more focused. There was no laughter between them now. No teasing.

Just intent.

I lifted my hands behind my back.

The silk was warm from his pocket, but it turned cool against my wrists as he wrapped it around, knotting it tight enough to hold, loose enough to tease. I could pull free if I really wanted to. That knowledge made it easier to surrender. Made it sexier, too.

Anton leaned in, his lips just brushing my ear. "You trust us?"

"I do," I whispered.

Deej stepped forward then, closer than he'd been all afternoon. He tilted my chin up with two fingers, studying my face like he was learning something new.

"You don't need to do anything," he murmured. "Just let it happen."

He slipped one strap of my dress down my shoulder. Slowly. Tenderly. Like I was something delicate. Precious.

The heat in my body surged at the contrast, how gently they were treating me, and how fully I was giving myself over.

Anton guided me toward the lounge. I thought they'd push me down, take control of the moment. But instead, they made me kneel. Not with force.

With presence. I was only 5'6", both of them clearly over 6ft tall.

Deej settled onto the sofa in front of me, legs spread, arms resting on the back like he was already claiming the room. Anton sat behind me, on the floor, his chest brushing my back, his hands stilling my movements, grounding me.

"Close your eyes," he said.

I did.

Deej leaned forward and spoke low, like a secret meant only for me. "This isn't about what you do, Tracy. It's about what you feel."

I felt fingers on my neck, gentle but firm. One hand slipped the other strap down. My dress pooled around my waist. Cool air brushed my skin. I shivered.

"You're beautiful," Anton murmured behind me.

"Too used to being in charge," Deej added. "We're going to change that."

I didn't speak. I couldn't.

I just knelt there, half-undressed, wrists tied, heart thudding, heat building, and for the first time in years, completely unguarded. Not owned. But offered.

And as Deej's fingers slid slowly up my thigh, and Anton's lips brushed the back of my neck, I knew I wasn't just playing anymore. I was giving in.

My knees pressed into the soft rug. The silk held my wrists in place, but it was the weight of their presence that truly stilled me.

I should've felt ridiculous.

A 43-year-old woman, wealthy, accomplished, entirely capable, kneeling on her own floor with her hands bound behind her back while two men half her age circled like they already owned me. But I didn't feel ridiculous.

I felt seen.

Every breath, every twitch of muscle, every inch of skin uncovered, none of it was lost on them. And in that attention, I felt something I hadn't allowed myself in years:

Relief.

I didn't have to lead. Didn't have to entertain, or charm, or calculate my next move. For once, I didn't have to be the sharpest mind in the room. I could just be.

Their silence wasn't passive. It was watchful. Intent. Anton's hand slid slowly up my spine, not to provoke, but to soothe, to center me in the moment. Deej hadn't moved in several beats, and I knew without looking that he was watching my face, studying every flicker of emotion that crossed it.

They weren't rushing. They weren't demanding. They were holding me there. Present. Honest. And the truth was this: I wanted this. Not just the touch. Not just the flirtation.

The surrender.

That word used to sting, used to suggest weakness. But in that moment, tied, half-naked, heart open and skin humming, it felt like power. A different kind. One I'd always denied myself.

Anton leaned in, breath warm at my neck. "Still with us?"

I nodded, barely.

Deej brushed his thumb along my cheek. "You're doing beautifully."

That surprised me. The praise. The softness of it. I swallowed.

Something had shifted, and I could feel it in my core. This wasn't just about seduction anymore. This was a step into something deeper. Something I might not be able to undo. And I wasn't sure I wanted to.

Deej leaned in, and for a moment I thought he might kiss me. But he didn't.

He traced his lips along the edge of mine, exhaling slow and warm. The restraint was maddening. It made my lips part in instinct, made me chase a kiss that never quite landed.

Behind me, Anton's fingers grazed the curve of my waist. Then lower, palming the swell of my hip, steadying me. I couldn't see him, but I felt him: the warmth of his body at my back, the pressure of his hands guiding my posture subtly straighter. He wanted me proud in my surrender.

Deej's thumb slipped beneath my chin, tilting my head up.

"Look at me," he murmured.

I did. And what I saw nearly undid me. Not arrogance. Not hunger. But possession.

The kind that came without threat. The kind that asked for nothing but promised everything.

Then he touched me.

Not rough, not demanding, just the slow glide of fingers over the lace edge of my bra, following the line of my breast, circling, pausing.

"You wore this for us?" he asked.

I nodded. It was all I could do.

He slipped the lace down and cupped me fully, skin to skin. I gasped, less at the contact, more at how exposed it made me feel. Kneeling, hands tied, dress falling away, and his palm warm and sure around the part of me I guarded most. Gently brushing my nipples. Making them erect.

Anton's hands slid further now, smoothing along my thighs, then back up, parting them with a silent nudge. He was slower, more methodical, like he was studying me by feel.

"You're trembling," he said near my ear.

"I know."

"You like this."

I couldn't deny it. Didn't even try.

"Yes."

Deej's other hand joined the first, pulling my bra fully down, baring both breasts now, the sea air licking across my skin like a second set of hands. He bent low, his mouth brushing one nipple, then the other, tongue flicking just enough to make my back arch.

My wrists twisted in their silk bonds. The knot held.

I was soaked. I could feel it, could feel the heat pulsing between my legs, feel Anton's knowing hands trailing dangerously close. But they didn't push further. They hovered. They teased.

Anton slipped one hand beneath the edge of my thong, fingers resting against that damp, swollen ache, but he didn't move. He just held me there.

And in that stillness, I came undone.

Not with a scream, not with a cry, but a soft, shaking moan that started in my chest and spilled out like confession.

Deej kissed my throat. Anton's fingers finally moved, one stroke, just enough to echo what I was feeling, and then they stopped.

They let me come down slowly.

My head fell forward. My arms, still bound, trembled behind me. I felt entirely naked, even in the pieces I still wore. Not just undressed. Unraveled. Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to. Because they both knew. That was only the beginning.

No one rushed to untie me.

Anton's hands stayed resting at my hips, grounding me, while Deej stood slowly, his eyes still on mine, his expression unreadable, except for the heat simmering just beneath.

The sea murmured in the background. The breeze shifted.

And I knelt there, flushed, bound, aching, but still. Not broken. Not taken. But claimed, in some quiet, irreversible way. Anton brushed my hair back gently, then pressed his lips to the side of my neck. Just once.

Deej's fingers lingered at the edge of my jaw. "We'll let you breathe," he said softly.

And with that, they stood. Walked a few paces toward the open terrace doors. Neither looked back.

But they didn't need to.

They'd left their mark.

And they'd be back.

~~~

The house was quiet again.

The scarf lay on the coffee table, folded neatly. They'd untied me without a word, without a fuss, just a brush of fingertips across the knot, a steady hand at my elbow as I rose to my feet.

And then they were gone.

No lingering glances. No promises.

Just absence.

I stood barefoot in the lounge, my dress clinging in creases, my skin still flushed in places I could feel without touching. The sea had grown darker, clouds rolling in, breeze cooling against the heat they'd left behind.

I walked to the window, arms folded tight against my chest. Not out of shame. Just to hold myself together.

It had been... overwhelming. Not in volume, not in force. But in meaning. The way they looked at me. Touched me. Gave me no decisions to make. It was a different kind of intimacy than I was used to. One I hadn't realized I wanted.

My body still buzzed from it.

I poured a glass of wine with shaking hands. Sat on the edge of the same sofa where I'd waited for them earlier that day. The irony wasn't lost on me, how in control I'd felt then. How undone I felt now. But not weak. Never weak. Just... softened. Open.

And already wondering what they'd want next. My phone chimed.

I almost didn't look--part of me wanted to savor the stillness, the quiet tension that still wrapped around me like the scarf had. But I reached for it anyway.

Deej:

Next time, wear black. Something sheer. No bra.

We're not done with you yet.

The message pulsed on the screen. Simple. Direct.

And utterly thrilling.

My thighs pressed together involuntarily. I didn't reply.

But I stood. Carried my wine upstairs. And opened my wardrobe.

Already wondering which dress would make me feel most exposed.

Chapter 8 - Dressing for them

The message echoed in my head all night.

No bra. Black. Something sheer. I didn't respond. I didn't need to. They knew I would obey.

The next day, I woke early. Not from obligation, my schedule was blissfully empty, but from anticipation. I lay in bed for a while, listening to the tide roll in, my body still tender in places where their touch had lingered.

The house felt different. Warmer. Less mine, somehow. More ours.

By mid-morning, I was in the shower, the water hotter than usual, cascading over my skin like memory. I shaved slowly, luxuriously. Applied my favourite body oil while still damp, the scent of jasmine and saltwater rising in the steam.

When I stood before the mirror, I took my time. I dried my hair with care, teasing it into loose waves that swept over my shoulders, golden and soft. A touch of mascara, just enough blush to make it seem like I hadn't tried. Then came the dress.

I pulled it from the back of the wardrobe, one I hadn't worn in years. Black. Slippery silk. Sleeveless, with a plunging neckline and a slit that ran nearly to the hip. It clung in all the right places, fell in ways that would catch the light, and left very little to the imagination.

And I was bare underneath. Completely. No bra. No knickers. Just skin, and silk, and the weight of their gaze I hadn't yet earned. When I turned and checked myself in the mirror, I didn't look 43. I looked... expensive. Dangerous. A woman who knew the value of her body and was choosing to give it over.

The slit revealed the line of my thigh when I walked. My breasts moved freely under the fabric, bouncing, nipples faintly visible if I turned just right. It was daring. It was their idea. But the decision to wear it? That was mine.

I stepped into heels, thin-strapped, sharp, confident and walked a slow loop through the bedroom, feeling the brush of silk between my legs with every stride. My thighs were already slick again. I smiled.

By the time the doorbell rang, I didn't even flinch. I was ready. The doorbell rang once. Not urgent. Not impatient. Just a single tone, deep and low, like they knew I'd already been waiting.

I stood for a beat in the hallway, pulse thrumming in my neck. My heels echoed on the wooden floor as I walked to the door, the slit of the dress slipping open with every step. My breasts moved freely beneath the silk, nipples brushing fabric in time with my breath.

I opened the door slowly. And there they were.

Anton in a dark t-shirt that clung to his chest like it had been made for him. Deej in a short-sleeved button-down, open at the neck, sleeves rolled to show his arms. Both casual. Both intent. Their eyes swept over me in silence.

Neither said a word. But I saw it, the flicker in Deej's eyes, the twitch in Anton's jaw. A shared moment between them. A silent, male acknowledgment of what they were seeing. Of what I had given them.

"You followed instructions," Deej said finally.

"I did."

Anton stepped in first, brushing past me close enough for his hand to graze my hip. It wasn't an accident.

Deej followed, eyes still locked on mine.

"You've been thinking about us," he said, low.

"Yes."

He circled me slowly as Anton moved into the lounge. His fingers skimmed my shoulder, down my spine. He stopped just behind me, close enough that I could feel his breath at my ear.

"No bra."

I shook my head.

"No knickers."

"No."

A hum of satisfaction rumbled from his chest.

"I like that you listened," he said.

"I liked listening."

The words came out softer than I expected. Honest. Vulnerable.

He moved to face me again, slower now, his gaze dropping to the swell of my breasts beneath the sheer silk. He didn't hide his arousal. He wanted me to see it.

"Spin," he said.

I turned slowly, the slit opening fully as I moved, revealing the curve of my thigh, the bare cheek beneath. I heard Anton's voice from the sofa behind us.

"Come here, Tracy."

I turned toward him. Walked slowly. Each step deliberate. Each brush of fabric against my bare skin a reminder of how exposed I was.

He patted his thigh.

"Sit."

I didn't hesitate.

I crossed the room and lowered myself into his lap, the dress riding high, his hand steady at my waist. Deej came to stand behind me, one hand sliding over my shoulder, the other stroking the inside of my thigh. They hadn't even kissed me yet.

But I was already gasping inside. And they knew it.

Anton's thigh was solid beneath me, his hand spreading wide across my lower back, anchoring me in place. The silk of my dress clung between us, damp now, impossibly thin. Deej's fingers had found the inside of my thigh again, teasing, circling, maddeningly slow.

"You're already wet," he murmured at my neck.

I didn't deny it. I couldn't.

His fingers slipped higher, brushing my pussy at my centre. Just one touch, but it sent a tremor through me. I bit my lip, instinctively grinding against Anton's thigh.

"No hiding now," Anton said, his voice low. "Not after what you wore for us."

I felt Deej's hand slip between us, parting me with the most feather-light stroke, barely there, but devastating. He knew exactly how to touch me, how to draw it out.

I tensed, hips rising slightly.

Anton's hand came down suddenly on my thigh, a sharp tap, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me who was in charge.

"Not yet," he said.

I whimpered. But they weren't cruel. They were deliberate.

Deej circled again, slick and slow, then pressed two fingers inside me. I gasped, clutching at Anton's shoulders for balance. My head dropped back against Deej's chest.

"Let go," Deej whispered. "You don't need to hold anything in anymore."

And I didn't. His fingers curling inside of me.

I came hard, quiet but shaking, pressed between them, completely overwhelmed. My thighs trembled, hands digging into Anton's shirt, Deej's fingers still stroking me through it, until I sagged against them, breathless.

Anton kissed my temple.

"Good girl."

The words shouldn't have thrilled me the way they did. But they did. Something in me bloomed at that. I pulled myself together slowly, still perched in Anton's lap. I could feel how hard he was beneath me. Deej had stepped back slightly, his shirt stretched tight across his chest, his jaw clenched.

"You've had yours," Deej said, voice low. "Now you watch us take ours."

I didn't move. I didn't speak. I just looked at them.

Anton shifted beneath me, adjusting himself through his jeans. Deej stepped closer again, his eyes locked on mine as he began stroking himself through his trousers, slow, measured, letting me see every beat of arousal.

Anton unzipped. Took himself out. He was thick, dark,, huge, glistening already.

He didn't ask me to touch him. He just looked at me while he did it. Both of them stroking themselves as they looked at me, studying me.

I watched, breath shallow. My dress still clung to me, parted at the thighs, breasts rising and falling in the low light. I was soaked, flushed, spent, and utterly theirs in that moment.

Deej came first. Silently, jaw clenched, hand firm, release shuddering through him as he watched me watching him. His white cum splattering my dress, standing out. The warmth of it seeping through the thin material.

Anton followed seconds later, breath held tight, hips lifting slightly beneath me as he spilled across his stomach and my thigh.

So much cum from them both.

Neither of them touched me during it. They just used the image of me, dressed for them, trembling from them, as their trigger.

And when it was over, and the room was quiet again, I still hadn't moved. Because I knew this was only the start

~~~

I didn't know how long I sat there, still in Anton's lap, the weight of everything we'd done wrapping around me like a second skin.

The silk dress clung damply between my legs, streaked with evidence of both pleasure and power. My thighs were parted, my chest bare where the dress had slipped open, and I didn't move to fix it. Anton's arms circled my waist gently. His cheek brushed against my hair.

"You breathing okay?" he asked, voice low.

I nodded, barely.

He tightened his hold for just a second, then relaxed it again. "Good."

Deej returned a moment later with a warm, damp cloth. He crouched in front of me, his big hands unhurried, his expression softened, not less dominant, but gentler. He wiped me clean, his eyes on mine the entire time.

No teasing. No command. Just... care.

My throat felt tight. I didn't know why. Maybe it was the release. Maybe the silence after such noise. Maybe the way they looked at me, like they'd uncovered something fragile beneath the silk and sweat and power plays, and weren't afraid of it.

"You did well," Deej murmured.

My voice came out hoarse. "You didn't even touch me much."

He smiled faintly. "Didn't need to."

Anton brushed his fingers over my bare shoulder, lingering.

"You gave us more than enough."

They didn't rush me to move. Deej helped me to my feet eventually, steadying me as I smoothed the dress back into place. It didn't cover much, but it was enough to remind me I could walk again. Breathe again.

I stood barefoot on the hardwood floor, hair mussed, flushed, still humming with the kind of satisfaction that wasn't just physical. I felt... held. Not owned. Not discarded. Just known.

Anton adjusted his shirt. Deej disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, which I took gratefully.

We didn't say much else. No plans. No pressure.

Just the sound of waves outside, wind teasing the glass, and the steady thrum of something unspoken lingering between us all.

They left not long after, without drama. Deej kissed my cheek. Anton ran his hand down my back before stepping into the night air. And I stood at the door in my black silk dress, skin still warm, throat tight again.

Because I already knew, I'd never be the same.

Chapter 9 - Alone again

The house felt bigger once they'd gone. Empty, not in a sad way, but echoing. Every footstep tapped louder than usual. Every gust of sea air through the open terrace door carried the scent of salt and silk and memory. I padded barefoot into the kitchen, poured another glass of wine, and leaned against the counter.

They'd seen all of me now. Not just the skin. The softness. The part I usually dress in confidence and control. And they didn't flinch. If anything... they took more.

The image of Deej's fingers between my thighs, Anton's voice murmuring "good girl", their release washing over me like a claim. It flickered behind my eyes with every blink. I could still feel the fabric of that dress clinging to me, like a second skin of consent.

And when I closed my eyes? I didn't just remember it. I relived it.

The way Anton held me after. The careful way Deej cleaned me. Not a single word spoken out of place. Not a single move they didn't own. I hadn't just followed instructions. I'd wanted to. Still wanted to.

My hand slid across the counter, slow, remembering how it felt to surrender completely. No negotiations. No strategy. Just... trust. And pleasure.

The old version of myself, the one who hosted perfect garden parties and wore designer heels like armor, would've scoffed at this. But that version of me wasn't standing here anymore.

I looked at my reflection in the oven's glass. Hair tousled. Dress askew. Lips swollen. Legs slightly parted. I looked like a woman who'd been used. And loved every second of it. I didn't even want to shower. I just wanted to fall into bed with the scent of them on my skin. Let the silk wrinkle beneath me. Let the ache settle deeper.

I didn't know what they'd want next. But I knew I'd say yes.

~~~

The morning after passed like any other.

I made coffee. Opened the tall windows in the lounge. Let the sea breeze roll through the house. My body ached in that slow, secret way, a whisper of the night before in every stretch, every shift. I wore a soft robe, nothing underneath. My skin was still tender. Still aware.

But outwardly, I moved with my usual grace. I even answered a few emails, watered the plants on the terrace, made polite conversation with the woman walking her golden retriever just beyond the garden gate.

To anyone watching, I was just Tracy again. 43, elegant, collected, the woman who always had a plan. But beneath the surface, I was waiting. For the next ripple. It didn't come that day. Or the next. Just silence.

No message. No knock. No instruction.

It almost made me wonder if I'd imagined the whole thing. But I hadn't. That silk dress was still draped over the arm of the chair where Anton had helped me out of it. I'd left it there on purpose. A reminder. A promise.

By the third day, I started to feel restless. Hungry. Not just for sex. For them. For their direction. Their eyes. Their approval.

I tried to busy myself. Pilates. A drive into town. Lunch with an acquaintance who couldn't stop talking about her new kitchen. I nodded, smiled, even laughed when appropriate. But my mind was elsewhere. My pulse too.

That night, I poured a glass of wine. Watched the sunset from the terrace. And then, finally, my phone buzzed.

1 New Message - Anton

I opened it with trembling fingers.

You'll need three things: a blindfold, an overnight bag, and your trust.

We'll pick you up Friday night.

Wear heels.

My breath caught. No location. No further explanation. Just that. Three things. And my trust. I stared at the screen, heart thudding, wine forgotten in my hand.

Whatever they had planned, it wasn't just about the house anymore. Not just games in my lounge or dares over drinks. This was new. This was bold. And it thrilled me. Because they already knew the answer. Yes.

Chapter 10 - Anticipation

By Thursday evening, the words of Anton's message were etched into me.

A blindfold. An overnight bag. And your trust.

It wasn't the blindfold or the bag that made my stomach flutter. It was the trust. They weren't just pushing boundaries, now they were removing the frame altogether.

Friday morning, I stripped the bed and put on fresh linen, even though I wouldn't be sleeping there. I opened my wardrobe and stared at my choices far longer than usual. This wasn't like dressing for a dinner party or a tease on the terrace. This was... unknown.

I took a long, hot shower. I shaved everywhere. Conditioned everything. Massaged oil into my skin until it glowed. I needed to feel right. Like myself, but the version they wanted to peel open.

The overnight bag lay on the bed, half-packed already. I added:

● Black lace underwear. The delicate set I rarely wore because it was too easy to ruin.

● A slinky wine-coloured slip dress. Simple, soft, perfect for being unwrapped.

● Heels. Strappy. High enough to make a statement.

● A silk blindfold. Dark navy. One I'd bought impulsively months ago and never used--until now.

No pyjamas. I hesitated, then added a second pair of knickers. Not because I thought I'd need them, but because I wanted to show them I thought ahead. My hands trembled slightly as I zipped the bag.

I looked at myself in the mirror, hair tied back in a loose bun, skin still flushed from preparation, a soft satin robe hugging my body. I didn't look nervous. I looked ready. But inside, my thoughts flickered between a dozen possibilities. Would they blindfold me before I even got in the car? Would they take me somewhere private... or somewhere I could be seen? Would they keep me waiting again?

My phone stayed silent all day. No follow-up. Just the clock ticking down.

At 6:15 p. m., I slipped into the wine-coloured slip dress. No bra. No knickers. My heels clicked confidently on the hardwood floor as I moved through the house, double-checking everything.

At 6:55, I stood by the window, looking out at the drive. At 7:00 sharp, headlights turned in through the gate. My stomach flipped. I picked up the bag. Took one last breath. And stepped out into the night

~~~

The car was already waiting when I stepped outside. Sleek. Black. Tinted windows. The back door opened as I approached, and for the briefest second, I hesitated. Then I climbed in.

Anton sat in the driver's seat. Deej was already in the back, beside me. The door shut with a quiet, final click. I was enveloped in low light, leather seats, and the subtle scent of them--clean, masculine, and unmistakable. Neither spoke right away.

I adjusted my dress, trying to smooth the hem over my thighs. It barely reached. I felt naked. Offered. The car pulled out of my drive, and I felt the shift, like something had clicked in place.

"Good girl," Anton said quietly, eyes on the road.

Deej didn't look at me. He just reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the blindfold. The same one I'd packed. My breath caught.

"How did..."

"You left your bag unzipped," Deej murmured. "You wanted us to take it."

He held it between two fingers. Not asking. Not forcing. Just waiting. I held his gaze, then gave the faintest nod. He leaned in close, brushing my hair back with surprising gentleness, and slid the blindfold over my eyes.

Darkness.

I heard the faint click as he tightened it behind my head. His fingers grazed my neck in the process. My lips parted, but I didn't speak. The car was silent now except for the sound of the road beneath us and the low thrum of the engine.

I couldn't see them. But I could feel both of them. Deej's thigh pressing against mine. Anton's presence, quiet but commanding from the front.

Without sight, everything was amplified. My breath, the racing of my heart, the cool leather against my skin, the way the slip dress clung between my legs.

"Hands on your lap," Anton said softly. "Palms down."

I obeyed. I could feel the tension in my fingertips, in my thighs, in the way my pulse fluttered at my throat.

"Good," Deej said near my ear. "Now keep them there. No matter what."

I nodded, small, uncertain. The car ride stretched long and quiet. Minutes passed. Maybe more. Time melted in the dark. Then, somewhere between motion and anticipation, I felt it: Deej's fingers, slow and deliberate, brushing the inside of my thigh.

Not to arouse. To remind me of what I'd given. Of what I'd promised. And what was still to come.

Chapter 11 - The arrival

The car slowed. I felt the curve of the road change beneath us, gravel crunching under the tires, and then stillness. The engine cut, Silence. A door opened. Then another. I stayed still, blindfolded, just as they'd told me. Hands flat on my lap. Palms tingling. The back door opened beside me.

Warm fingers closed around mine, Deej, I was sure of it, and guided me out of the car. The cool night air kissed my skin, my nipples tightening instantly beneath the thin fabric of the dress.

"Step forward," Anton's voice said quietly. "We've got you."

They took one arm each, steady but unhurried, guiding me across what felt like a stone path. The sounds changed, no more breeze, just soft ambient silence, enclosed. A door opened with a low creak. Indoors now. I heard it shut behind us. Then soft lighting. Footsteps on wood. Their hands fell away. I stood in silence, blindfolded, heart hammering. Deej's breath was near again, warm against my neck.

"You're safe," he murmured. "But you're not in control."

I didn't reply. I couldn't. Because that word, control, was already dissolving inside me.

Anton circled me slowly. I felt him more than saw him. A hand skimmed down my spine, fingers brushing the curve of my backside through the silk. Not possessive. Inspecting. I felt like an offering. I was.

"We're going to untie the blindfold in a moment," Deej said, "but when we do... you don't speak unless we tell you."

A pause.

"If you want to say no, you say it loud and clear."

I nodded.

Anton's hands reached behind my head. The blindfold loosened. I blinked as soft golden light flooded my vision. We were in a private space. wood floors, warm amber lighting, high windows. Sparse but elegant. One large leather armchair, a low table, and in the center... a wide chaise with plush cushions and a single loop of black silk draped across it. I turned toward them slowly. Deej was unbuttoning his shirt, calm as ever. Anton was watching me. I still didn't speak. Because something in their eyes told me, whatever this was, it wasn't just a game anymore.

It was their world and I'd just stepped fully into it. Anton stepped closer, his expression unreadable but charged.

"You know what we want," he said, voice low, steady. "One last thing tonight."

Deej stood nearby now, shirt gone, arms folded, silent but intense. Both of them waiting. Watching. Anton's eyes flicked over me, down to the silk dress still clinging to my body. Damp at the hips. Wrinkled at the waist. Bare beneath.

"You decide how," he said. "But we finish with you, on your knees."

My breath caught. That was it. No more words. No instructions on what to touch, where to kneel, how to begin. My move. And somehow, that was even more commanding. I let the silence stretch a moment longer, letting them see the ripple of surrender run through me. Then, slowly, I walked to the center of the room. The heels made every step deliberate, sensual. The silk whispered around my thighs as I moved.

I stood between them. Turned to face Anton first. Slid the straps of my dress from my shoulders and let it fall, no flourish, no hesitation. Just skin. Bare, deliberate skin. I didn't look at them right away. I felt them. Their attention heavy, heated.

Then, knees lowering to the soft rug, I looked up at them both. My hands rested on my thighs. Chin lifted. Waiting, but not passive. An invitation wrapped in intent.

Anton moved first. He unzipped, stepped forward, one hand brushing my hair back before guiding me to him. I took him in my mouth slowly, eyes locked on his, letting him feel every warm inch of my intention. Not rushed. Not teasing.

Worship.

He felt just just as big, if not bigger, in my mouth then he looked. The warm, solid feel of his cock in my mouth feeling natural and something I'd long since missed.

Deej came behind me, his hand caressing my back, down to the curve of my backside. I could feel him watching, listening to the sounds I made. The wetness. The rhythm. His breath caught when Anton's did.

Then they traded places.

Deej's hands cupped my face before he slid into my mouth, deeper, thicker, bolder. I matched his pace, letting my hands trail up his thighs, my nails pressing lightly into his skin as I worked. Anton's hands now rested on my shoulders, firm, grounding me. As his Deej began to fuck my mouth.

I could feel their tension build. Every inhale sharper. Every groan deeper. I pushed myself further, taking Deej just a little deeper, hollowing my cheeks. His fingers tangled in my hair. I felt Anton's grip tighten on my shoulders.

And then. Deej came, deep, gutturall groans, his fingers clenched in my hair as he emptied into my mouth. I held him, taking it all, tasting him, swallowing the salty delight.

Anton then moved in front of me, stroking himself, a sharp breath breaking from his chest as he came. Hot and heavy across my chest. A stream of cum running between the valley of my boobs.

Then quiet. The room buzzed with aftershock, their breath loud in the stillness. I remained kneeling. Exposed. Claimed. But powerful in the silence they'd given me.

Anton reached for a towel, gently wiping my skin. Deej knelt beside me, brushing hair from my face, his voice soft in my ear.

"You did that."

I smiled faintly. Because yes, I did. The room had stilled.

My skin still tingled from the taste of them, Anton's cum across my chest, Deej's weight in my mouth, the tremble in their thighs as they'd finished. I could have remained on the floor forever, basking in that quiet power, the way they looked at me. But they weren't finished.

Anton offered his hand and I took it. He pulled me gently to my feet, his other hand resting on my hip, the towel he'd used still warm in his grip. He wiped the last trace of himself from my skin, but there was nothing cleansing about the gesture. It was tender. Intimate. Deej stepped in behind me, his chest pressed to my back. I felt him already stirring again, hardening against me. I should've felt used, emptied. Instead, I felt... wanted.

"Now," Anton murmured, voice like velvet, "we make you come."

I exhaled, a slow, shuddering breath.

They didn't rush. They guided me instead, Anton walking me backward toward the chaise lounge, Deej's hands sliding down my waist. When the back of my knees touched the edge, I lowered myself down without instruction, legs parting instinctively.

Anton knelt between them. His mouth met me without hesitation. Soft at first, gentle strokes of his tongue, slow spirals around the most sensitive parts of me. One of his hands held my thigh, the other braced at my waist, keeping me open, exposed. He knew what he was doing. He listened to my breath, the way it hitched when he flicked, when he circled, when he sucked.

Deej sat behind me on the chaise, pulling my back against his chest. His hands roamed, fingertips on my nipples, pinching, teasing, stroking down to my stomach. His lips brushed my shoulder, my ear, murmuring filth and praise in equal measure.

"You taste so good on him," Deej whispered, voice husky. "You know that? You're soaking. So ready."

I gasped, hips bucking. Anton growled low and held me firmer. I was coming undone. Faster than I meant to. Faster than I wanted. But it was too much, his mouth, Deej's voice, their hands, the way they made me feel like a prize and a possession all at once.

My orgasm hit like a wave. A sudden, wild crash. I cried out, thighs trembling, fingers tangled in Deej's arm behind me. Anton didn't stop not until I was gasping, too sensitive, pushing his head away with a shaky breathless laugh.

But even then they still weren't done. Deej rose behind me, pulling me up with him, turning me gently toward Anton, who now stood and took me by the waist. He kissed me deep, raw, tongue tasting of me..

And then he turned me toward Deej.

"On your knees again," he said.

I obeyed. But this time it was different. This time, they knelt too. One on each side of me.

Their hands on my skin, their mouths on my neck, my breasts, my thighs. Pressing, worshipping, stroking until they were both hard again, cocks pressing against my hips. No competition now. Only hunger. And release.

I reached for them both, one hand on each, stroking in rhythm. They kissed me, Anton deep and slow, Deej biting my lip, gasping my name into my mouth. Their hands tangled in my hair, fingers laced through mine, bodies shaking against mine. And then they came again.

Anton first, head bowed, jaw clenched, his orgasm shuddering through him, splashing hot cum across my bum.

Deej followed moments later, groaning into my mouth, his cum spilling over my hand and stomach. We stayed there like that, sweaty, tangled, breathless. Spent. Connected. No more words. Just the quiet buzz of bodies that had fully given in

~~~

I rolled onto my side beneath cool linen sheets, the scent of them still around me. Anton's sharpness, Deej's warmth. My hand slid across the bed. Empty now. They were gone. But not far, I guessed. Sunlight filtered through wide wooden slats across the high windows. The room looked different now, still minimal, still quiet, but touched by morning. Peaceful. Real.

And yet, nothing about me felt ordinary. I was bare beneath the sheet. Skin flushed, mouth tender, wrists still slightly red where the scarf had pulled.

I could still taste them on my lips. I sat up slowly, every movement reminding me of the night before. My nipples ached. My jaw was tight. My legs still trembled when I stood. But more than that, I was full. Not just with memory. With change.

This wasn't a night I could laugh off, or file away under "fun but temporary." It wasn't a thrill I could keep boxed away, only to revisit in fantasy. No, this had opened something. Being watched. Guided. Given to them. The way they'd taken their time. The way they'd made me perform, then turned around and made me feel. No woman in control could ignore that. No part of me wanted to.

I walked slowly to the mirror above the low dresser and stood there, looking at myself. Hair tangled. Neck marked. Chest still with remnants of the night before I hadn't cleaned off. I didn't flinch. I didn't fix it. Because this was part of it now. This was me.

My fingers touched the silk scarf draped across the back of a chair. I brought it to my lips, kissed it without thinking. And in that small, involuntary gesture, I knew.. Next time, I wouldn't hesitate. I would wear the blindfold. I would tie the scarf myself.

And I would ask: What do you want me to do tonight

Chapter 12 - My offering

Three days passed. Three days of slow mornings, careful showers, and wandering the house barefoot, the silk scarf never far from reach. I touched it like a worry stone, looped it around my wrist while sipping coffee, draped it over my bare thigh as I read. But I didn't hear from them.

Not a message. Not a word.

And still, I wasn't waiting. I was building. Replaying every breath, every whisper, every moment between us. The way they'd made me unravel. The way they'd held me in their hands and remade me as someone who could kneel and offer everything without fear.

By Friday night, it had grown into a quiet need that filled my chest and crept down between my thighs. A pulse I couldn't ignore. Not desperation. Not even desire. Conviction. I lit candles. Every room soft in amber and shadow.

I showered, slowly, luxuriating in every stroke of the sponge across my skin. I shaved. I moisturized. I chose a sheer, champagne-colored slip with no knickers beneath. Nothing binding. Only invitation. And then, I prepared the room.

The long low ottoman in front of the fire. The scarf in one hand. A second one, darker and longer, in the other.

I tied the first around my wrists, tight, but not enough to cut off sensation. Then I folded to my knees, letting my body sink into the pose they loved. Back straight. Shoulders relaxed.

I blindfolded myself with the second scarf, knotting it behind my head with fingers that barely shook. And I waited. But not passively. Because this time, I was the one calling them to me.

I'd sent the message fifteen minutes before:

"Come to me. I'm ready. I'll be waiting exactly how you left me."

No reply. But I knew they'd come. I could feel it in the air, the shift in pressure, the tension winding through the stillness. And when I finally heard the sound of the front door creak open... I didn't move. I stayed still. Waiting, bound and blind, on my knees in the firelight. Theirs.

The front door eased open with a low creak, then closed again with a soft click. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Hard soles on polished wood.

The kind of footsteps that announce possession. That fill the air like a scent. I couldn't tell whose they were not yet. But the sound alone curled around my spine like breath. Still, I didn't move. Knees steady. Back arched. Head bowed just enough.

The blindfold stole the room from me, but not the weight of presence. I felt them enter. Not just into the house, but into the space I'd made for them. The air shifted, thickened. A pause, just inside the door. Were they watching me already? I imagined their eyes, how Anton's would narrow, sharp with pride and hunger. How Deej's mouth would twitch into a smile, teeth catching on his lower lip.

No words yet. Just breath. Just the floor creaking under their steps as they moved in. I heard one of them set something down, a bottle maybe, or a bag and then another step closer. Then stillness again. No voices. No command.

They were watching. Taking it in. Letting the moment settle. And inside that silence, my pulse throbbed. Between my legs. In my wrists, bound tight behind me. Across my chest, where the night air kissed bare skin beneath the slip.

I swallowed, my lips parting around a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Still they said nothing. They didn't have to. My whole body was listening now. Listening... and yearning. The silence deepened. And then they moved.

I heard the brush of fabric. Shoes slipping off. The faint rustle of a jacket being laid aside. Still, no words. Only footsteps circling me now, slow and soundless across the floor. I couldn't tell if it was Anton or Deej, or both. My blindfold didn't allow for guessing. It only forced me deeper into the stillness of my body.

Then, a touch.

A single fingertip, trailing down the back of my neck. I exhaled sharply. Another touch this time a palm, resting on the slope of my shoulder. Warm. Confident. It didn't press or push, only settled there, claiming the moment. The slip's delicate strap was moved aside with care. Then the other.

The fabric slid off my shoulders and pooled at my waist, baring me completely above the knees. Cool air met my breasts, and so did two hands, bigger, darker, steady. One cupped, the other grazed, brushing over the sensitive rise of a nipple until it peaked. I trembled.

My mouth opened, unthinking, but no sound came out. No protest. No invitation. Just need. Lips followed fingers, slow, deliberate. Hot breath against my collarbone. A kiss against my sternum. Then lower, between the swells of my chest. The pressure of a mouth I couldn't see, circling my nipple, tongue flicking. Sucking. Bolts of electricity sparking through me.

My breath hitched. Another hand cupped the back of my head, fingers slipping into my hair, not guiding, just holding me there. Present. Grounded. As if to say, you are exactly where we want you. And I was. A second body moved behind me.

Bare skin brushed my back. Thighs against my calves. Strong hands slid around my hips, pulling me back into warmth and firmness. Someone's chin touched my shoulder. Stubble. Breath. A pause, long enough to make me ache. Then their hands moved together. One teasing a breast, thumb circling lazily, cruelly. The other trailing down the inside of my thigh.

I moaned soft, unsure, nearly voiceless. No words came from them. Only rhythm. One body against my front. One against my back.

The slip was eased down past my hips, pooled at my knees, and their hands met between my legs. A single finger explored slowly, thoroughly. Then another. Wetness spread, shared, savored. My pussy aching for more.

Still silent. Still waiting. And I knew, they were preparing me again. Not for a performance. Not even for pleasure. For surrender. Total, wordless, willing

The fingers between my thighs withdrew, slick and slow, leaving a trace of emptiness that made my breath stutter.

A shift in front of me, bare feet, strong thighs. The weight of a presence unmistakable. The way the air changed when Anton moved. He was close now. Standing just before my bowed head. His hand slipped into my hair, firm this time. Guiding. Positioning. I opened my mouth. He didn't hesitate.

The first touch of his cock on my tongue was warm and heavy, his tip pressing between parted lips, not forcefully, but unrelenting. A silent command I accepted, sinking my mouth onto him inch by inch, letting him fill the space he'd claimed. My wrists were still tied behind me. I couldn't hold him. Couldn't guide. Could only receive.

His hips moved forward slowly, sliding deeper. My lips stretched around him, cheeks hollowing. The weight of him, the scent of him it was all-consuming. I couldn't see him, but I didn't need to. I felt his approval in the way his fingers curled in my hair. In the low, muffled breath he let out above me. His cock slipping easily in and out of my willing mouth.

Behind me, Deej's hands steadied my hips. He didn't speak either. But he moved in sync with Anton, brushing his chest against my back, grounding me with his body while I knelt, blind and bound, my mouth full of the man in front of me.

Anton began to thrust, slow, controlled. Not punishing. Not gentle, either. Just deliberate. Claiming me in silence, one motion at a time. My jaw relaxed as much as it could. Saliva slicked his length. He hit the back of my throat and paused there, letting me feel the full depth of it, then pulled back. Again. And again. Spit dripping from my mouth and down onto my boobs.

Pushing himself deeper and deeper. No rush. No mercy. Deej's hands slid up my ribs, then back down, finally resting on my thighs. His thumbs traced circles on my skin as if calming a fire, not stoking it. Anton's breath grew heavier, but he didn't falter.

He kept the pace, precise and maddening. My lips were stretched, my face wet, my knees aching against the floor, and still I didn't move. His big heavy balls gently slapping my chin on occasion.

Because this was mine to bear. Mine to give. They weren't forcing this. I had offered. And they were taking what was theirs. My name wasn't spoken. But it didn't need to be. Every breath, every thrust, every finger on my skin told me the same thing:

Good girl

Anton's hand tightened in my hair. Not rough. Just final.

His hips moved with purpose now, sharper, deeper. Each thrust deliberate, driving into my mouth with the confidence of a man who knew exactly how far I'd go for him. And I went. I let him have me.

My lips sealed around his thick cock, cheeks hollowing, breath coming in hot, shallow bursts through my nose. I felt the tremor building in his thighs, the subtle tension as his control edged toward surrender. Still no words. Just breath. Just sound. And then... stillness.

He buried himself to the hilt, pressing deep against the back of my throat. I gagged once, only lightly, held steady by the grip on my hair.

He came. Hot and thick. Pulse after pulse.

I swallowed instinctively, blindfolded and bound, letting him empty himself inside me as if this had always been my purpose. His fingers flexed in my hair, holding me there, not cruelly but fully. As if I belonged there.

When he finally withdrew, slow and slick, I stayed exactly as I was mouth open, breath shaking, chin wet. His hand slipped from my hair, and for a beat, the silence returned. Thick with heat. Heavy with what had passed between us.

Then Deej moved. Still behind me. Still waiting. One hand on my hip, the other sliding between my legs again, his fingers now bold and confident. He'd waited long enough. Now he would take what he wanted. The taste of Anton still lingered on my tongue, warm and salty, the heat of it settling in my chest as I caught my breath.

But there was no pause. No retreat. Deej stepped in behind me and the energy shifted. Anton had taken me with precision. Deej moved with hunger.

I felt it instantly in the way his hands closed around my hips, bigger, rougher, needier. He didn't whisper or hesitate. His breath came hot against the back of my neck, a low, guttural growl barely restrained in his throat.

Then he pushed me gently yet firm, hand on my hip, one on my shoulder, bending me over on my knees. My shoulders down into the rug, my head turned to one side.

I gasped as he ground into me from behind, hard and bare, sliding himself along the line of my ass, between my thighs, slick, desperate, claiming. Not cruelly but not gently either. My wrists were still tied, my knees wide, my back arched, and he pressed into that shape like it was his to finish.

No teasing. No slow buildup. Just heat and friction and skin. He was deep inside of me, naked and bare, nothing between us.

He was panting now.

His hips thrusting, fast and raw, his cock sliding between my thighs again and again. I moaned in uncontrolled pleasure,, mouth still wet, forehead lowered in surrender.

There was no rhythm anymore. Only need. His need. And I gave it to him. Kneeling, bound, blindfolded. His good girl, his toy, his outlet. A growl tore from his throat, deep, broken and then I felt it. The sudden, pulsing release.

Hot spurts across my lower back, my ass, my thighs. Messy. Marking. Stream after stream, pulse after pulse. He didn't hold back. He pushed into me with one last grinding thrust, spilling himself with a raw, hungry sound that made my skin tighten and my heart race.

And then he stilled. Breathless. Leaning into me, forehead against the back of my neck, his hands still locked to my hips like he didn't want to let go. I knelt there, dripping with both of them, my mouth wet, my skin streaked, my body humming with submission. Still no words.

Only the fire's quiet crackle... and their satisfaction all over me. They were still close. I could feel their breath, Anton's slower now, steady, just behind me. Deej's heavier, still letting his final shudder work its way out of him.

But neither moved. Neither spoke. They just let me remain, kneeling, wrists tied behind me, blindfold still in place, the silk clinging faintly with sweat.

I could feel the cum drying on my skin where Deej had cum himself. Thick trails cooling down the small of my back, across my thighs. The scent of both of them hung in the air, heady and male and unmistakably mine now. I had no way of cleaning myself. No way of wiping my mouth or shifting my position.

I was still. Exposed. Ruined. And yet... never more complete. There was no shame in it. No panic. No fear. Only a strange, heavy calm that settled over me like a second skin.

I felt emptied and full at once, stripped of everything but the soft, molten center of myself that I never let anyone see. The part that needed to give. To serve. To be claimed. This wasn't some fantasy anymore. Not something I could fold neatly into a dream and walk away from in the morning.

I was theirs. And they'd taken me without apology. I shifted slightly on my knees, enough for a twinge of ache to flare in my thighs, a reminder of how long I'd held the position. The silk around my wrists had tightened just a little during the motion, firm and unyielding.

I welcomed it. The pressure. The restraint. The quiet. They were letting me stay here, in the center of it all, as if they knew I needed just a few more minutes to exist in this space. To absorb what had just happened. To feel it.

I didn't need a kiss. I didn't need a word. I just needed them to keep me here a little longer... Tied. Bound. Theirs.

Chapter 13 - My quiet joy

The house was quiet again. The kind of stillness that came only after something had shaken it to its core.

I lay on top of the covers, wrapped loosely in a robe I barely remembered them slipping over my shoulders. The silk felt cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the fire that had raged there hours before.

My wrists bore soft red marks where the scarf had been knotted. I couldn't stop looking at them. I ran my fingers over the tender skin, lightly, reverently. Not with regret. Not even surprise. Just... wonder. That had happened. And I had wanted it. No--that wasn't the right word. I had craved it.

Every second, from the message to the blindfold to the moment I felt Anton slide into my mouth, had awakened something in me that hadn't stirred in years. Maybe ever. A hunger. A peace. A wicked, feminine pride in the way I'd given myself, so utterly and without demand.

They hadn't asked for words. And neither had I. My body had spoken for me. And the way they'd used it... the way they'd taken me... it had filled something that nothing else could. I had been their toy tonight. Tied. Helpless. Marked. And I'd loved it.

It hadn't made me feel small. Or weak. It had made me feel alive. More than that, it had made me feel wanted. Not just for how I looked, or what I owned. But for what I was willing to offer. Willing to surrender. I exhaled slowly, closing my eyes.

The scent of them still lingered faintly in the sheets. My thighs were still tender. My lips still tingled with memory. And my mind... was already drifting forward. Wondering what they'd ask of me next. What more I might give them. And how deeply I'd enjoy doing so

Chapter 14 - The one who caves

Three days passed. Three long, quiet, maddening days. I told myself I was fine. That I didn't need to hear from them. That I wouldn't chase. I had other things to do: meetings, errands, small talk over rosé with bored women from the tennis club losing that spark in their life..

But everything felt distant. Like I was playing a part, going through the motions with a polite smile, while inside something coiled tighter with every hour that passed. I checked my phone too often. Left it screen-up on the table beside me. Volume on. Just in case. But nothing came. Not from Anton. Not from Deej.

The silence wasn't cruel. It felt deliberate. Measured. Disciplining. I caught myself staring out the window more than once, eyes on the garden, on the waves beyond. Remembering the heat of Deej's body behind me. The weight of Anton in my mouth. The way they hadn't even needed words to take me apart.

I wanted that feeling back. Not the act--not exactly. But the ownership. The surrender. The way I'd felt so right in the middle of all that chaos. And now, in the quiet of my house, I felt wrong. Too clean. Too untouched.

I shifted in my seat, legs crossing, uncrossing, my hand hovering over my phone once again. They were waiting. I knew they were. Waiting to see how long I could last. How long I could pretend I was still in control. I stared at the blank message screen for a long time before typing.

Just one line.

Tell me what to do next.

No greeting. No punctuation. Just need.

I hit send. And sat very still. Heart racing. Pride cracked. Silence broken. Let them come for me

~~~

I watched the message sit. Delivered. Unread. Hours passed. I told myself I didn't care. That it didn't matter. That maybe they were busy. Out. Sleeping. Laughing at some pub with someone younger, easier, someone who hadn't begged with her body the way I had.

I walked the length of the kitchen five timesMade tea I didn't drink. Put on music. Turned it off. Turned it back on. I kept checking, casually at first. Then obsessively. A flick of the wrist, a tap of the screen, that now-familiar stab of disappointment. Still unread. Still nothing.

The longer the silence stretched, the more I felt it in my chest, not panic exactly, but something tighter. Something sharp-edged, desperate in a way I wasn't used to feeling. Had I been too bold? Too eager? Had they changed their minds? No. No, this was them. I could feel it. They were doing this on purpose. Making me stew. Making me ache. Making me want. It was brilliant. Cruel. Perfect. I didn't know whether to curse them or thank them.

By the second night, I found myself lying awake, fingers between my thighs, not touching, just resting there. Teasing myself with the idea of release, but not giving in. Not until they said I could. I was theirs now. And they knew it. So I waited. Burning. Hoping the next vibration on my phone would finally break me

The phone buzzed at 2:14 a. m. Not loud. Not startling. Just a soft tremble against the nightstand that cut straight through the quiet like a needle. I was awake. Of course I was.

Lying on my side in the dark, robe still loosely knotted, sheets kicked off hours ago. My skin was too warm, and I'd given up trying to cool down. The need had spread like something molten beneath my skin, wrapping around my ribs, sinking low into my belly.

I didn't lunge for the phone. I reached for it slowly. As if rushing would break the spell. The screen lit my face with its pale glow, and I saw it:

Anton.

One message.

Be ready by 5. Nothing underneath.

That was it.

Five words.

And yet they undid me completely. No "hello." No "missed you." No hint of where or why or what. Just a command. A time. A condition.

My breath caught. My nipples tightened under the thin robe. I sat up slowly, the message burning into me, glowing brighter than the screen itself. Three hours. No sleep now. I wouldn't need it. Just time To prepare. To surrender again.

Because the moment I saw those words, I knew: they hadn't just read my message. They had heard me. And now... They were calling me back

~~~

By 3:00 a. m., I was standing in front of the mirror. Completely bare.

I let my robe slide off my shoulders and fall to the floor. Cool air kissed my skin, and I felt every inch of it, nipples hardening, thighs brushing together, the faint shimmer of anticipation like perfume on my pulse points.

Nothing underneath. That's what they'd said. So I chose only one thing. A long black trench coat, silk-lined, tailored, tied loosely at the waist. It hinted. Concealed. Tempted. My skin against the lining made every step a caress. Every movement a whisper.

I left my hair down. Soft waves. Clean, freshly brushed. I applied just a hint of gloss, the barest suggestion of mascara. Enough to feel seen, but not enough to pretend I was still in control. Because I wasn't. Not now. Not anymore.

The clock crept toward five with cruel, deliberate slowness. I walked barefoot from room to room, unable to sit still. The house was dark except for the kitchen light. I left it on, dim, casting a low amber glow across the marble counters and wide glass doors.

Out beyond the garden, the sea was still black. The sky was beginning to pale. When the sound came, the click of the front door, I didn't move. They hadn't knocked. They didn't need to. I'd left it unlocked, just as I'd been told.

Leather soles across hardwood. The soft hush of movement. They didn't call out. Didn't ask where I was. They knew. The coat clung to me like a second skin as I stood at the edge of the kitchen, hands loose at my sides, breath shallow.

And then... Anton appeared first. Deej just behind. Both dressed in black. Eyes on me. No words. Just the door closing quietly behind them, shutting out the world. And sealing me in. Exactly where I wanted to be. They said nothing at first.

Anton's eyes swept down my body, slow and unhurried, his jaw tight with approval. Deej tilted his head, that small smirk I remembered curling at the corner of his mouth. His gaze lingered longer at the knot of my coat, at the skin just barely visible at my collarbone.

Neither rushed toward me. They moved like they had time. Like they owned time. And me. Anton circled to my left, Deej to my right. I stayed still, heart pounding, hands hanging at my sides like they didn't belong to me anymore.

A fingertip slid along my shoulder, Anton. A palm brushed my hip, Deej. And still, no words. Just breath, and heat, and the tension of knowing they could do anything they wanted to me, and I would let them.

Anton moved behind me and unknotted the belt of my coat with one smooth pull. The fabric parted. Cool air swept between my legs. I didn't move. Didn't breathe.

The coat hung open just enough to tease, but they didn't pull it off, not yet. They let it frame me like a presentation, a living invitation.

"Good," Deej murmured at last, his voice low and thick. "You remembered."

Anton stepped in behind me, chest against my back. "Now," he said, his lips close to my ear, "you get both of us."

He untied the coat completely, slipping it down my arms with unbearable slowness. It pooled at my feet. I was naked again. Open. Owned.

"On your knees," Deej said.

I sank without hesitation. They flanked me, one on either side. Anton undid his belt. Deej did the same. The sound, those soft metallic clicks, lit me up from the inside. Triggered.

Anton held himself in one hand, already half-hard, brushing the tip against my cheek. Deej took my hair in his grip, guiding my mouth toward him.

"Use your hands for him," Deej said, breath hot, "while you take me."

I moaned before I even opened my lips. Then I took Deej into my mouth. He groaned. Low. Rough. Primal.

I wrapped my fingers around Anton, stroking in time with the rhythm they began to set. One of Deej's hands was in my hair. Anton's hand cupped the back of my neck, firm but steady.

They didn't rush. They didn't compete. They shared me. Perfectly. Every breath. Every thrust. Every groan that filled the kitchen was theirs. And I, kneeling, stretched between them, mouth and hands full, felt only pure, perfect surrender

Their rhythm deepened. Controlled at first, then losing refinement, giving way to something raw. Anton's breathing quickened, his hand tightening in my hair. Deej's hips flexed forward, his voice a low growl each time he slipped deeper between my lips. The taste of them, warm, insistent, undeniable, flooded my senses.

I was shaking with it. Swapping from one to the other, enjoying them both in my mouth. From the pleasure, the pressure, the heat of being used so perfectly by both of them.

Deej's voice broke through first, a sharp exhale as his fingers tensed. "Fuck... Tracy." He pulsed on my tongue. Thick. Hot. I swallowed, trembling, letting the sounds he made roll through me like reward.

Anton followed seconds later.

His body stiffened under my hand, and he let out a sharp breath as he came, hos cum splattering against my face as I turned to enjoy the taste, warm and urgent.

For a moment, it was quiet. Just the hum of my breath, still kneeling, skin flushed, every nerve lit like a live wire. And then I looked up. Deej grinned. Anton reached down, brushing a strand of hair from my face with surprising tenderness.

"You're not done," Anton said, already half-hard again.

Deej knelt in front of me, two fingers lifting my chin.

"Round two," he said, voice gravelly. "Get on the table."

I stood, slow, legs unsteady, heat pulsing between my thighs. The coat lay forgotten. The kitchen table, cold wood, wide and solid, waited. We'd shared drinks here and now they were about to share me. I climbed up. Laid back. Opened my legs.

Because whatever came next, I was theirs for it. And they knew exactly what to do with that The table was cool against my back, but the heat rising off my body made it irrelevant. They didn't waste time.

Anton came to one side of me, fingers trailing up my inner thigh, watching the way I squirmed under his touch. Deej stood between my legs, his eyes locked on mine as he undressed with deliberate ease. Shirt off first, then belt, then everything else. That body of his full of energy. I watched every inch of him become bare. Hunger sharpened.

I reached out for Anton without thinking, my hand wrapping around him again, hard, heavy, already slick from earlier. He hissed through his teeth, leaning over to kiss the inside of my wrist.

"You want both of us," he said, voice low.

I nodded.

"No," Deej cut in, stepping closer. "Say it."

I swallowed. "I want both of you."

"How bad?"

"Enough to give you anything."

Deej's hands gripped my hips and pulled me to the edge of the table. I gasped as the cold air hit my pussy, open and dripping for them.

"Then hold on," he growled.

And then he was inside me. Thick. Deep. Naked. Filling me with one hard stroke that forced my breath out in a broken moan. I arched. Cried out.

Anton kissed my neck, brushing strands of hair away from my damp cheek as Deej began to move, slow at first, but with a rhythm that promised ruin.

Anton's fingers found my lips, teasing them open before sliding two fingers into my mouth. I sucked on them greedily, still tasting the last round on my tongue.

"You're ours now," he said. "You know that?"

I nodded again, lips around his knuckles, my body trembling under Deej's every thrust. But they weren't done layering me in sensation.

Anton moved a hand and slipped down between my breasts, over my belly, and found my clit. One touch. I shattered. Crying out, muscles clenching around Deej so tightly he groaned and slammed deeper, harder.

"Fuck--yes, Tracy. Just like that."

My whole body bucked. I lost sense of time. But they didn't stop. Anton took control, lips to my shoulder, and Deej pulled out.

They switched. Anton rolling me over. Seamless.

Anton slid into me from behind, stretching me again, his thrusts harder, deeper. More controlled. Deej stood in front of me now, taking my face in both hands, staring into my eyes like he could see every thought I was too wrecked to speak. I whimpered against his chest, lips trailing over his skin.

"Keep going," he said to Anton. "She's not done."

And she wasn't. I wasn't. Not until Anton groaned low in my ear, his body jerking as he came deep inside me. Filling me up. hands holding me still as I convulsed again with another climax that rolled up from my toes and drowned me.

And then, just like that, Deej lifted me into his arms, laid me back onto the table again, and took what he needed one last time, hard and urgent and overwhelming. When he came, his mouth was on mine. My name on his lips. The moment crackling with heat and something deeper beneath it. His cum adding to Antons deep inside me, spilling out.

And when it was over, all three of us stayed there for a long moment, skin against skin, breath slowing, the world finally quiet again. But nothing about me was quiet anymore. Not after that.

The table had cooled beneath me, but I didn't move. I couldn't. My body hummed, used, stretched, satisfied beyond anything I thought I could take. But even in that haze, I felt them stir around me. Not done. Not yet.

Anton leaned over me again, fingertips tracing small circles across my hips, soothing and steady. Deej sat at the edge of the table, legs spread, sweat glistening along his chest, his hand brushing a damp strand of hair from my face.

"You still with us?" Deej asked, voice quieter now. Rough, but gentler.

I nodded, slow.

Anton's lips touched my shoulder. "One more."

I didn't need to ask. I opened my legs again. No demand. No urgency. Just an invitation.

Anton came to me first, his touch slower now. Reverent. He kissed down my stomach, over my hip, then lowered himself between my thighs with a patience that burned more than the frenzy ever had. His tongue slid over me, soft at first, then deeper, firmer. I arched up into it, hand in his hair.

Deej moved behind me, lifting my torso gently, holding me against his chest as Anton worked between my legs like he knew me, every reaction, every tension point, every shiver.

Deej kissed my neck. His hands roamed my body, slow and greedy, like he wanted to memorize the shape of me. I came again. Quiet. Long. The kind that leaves your mouth open but no sound escapes.

Anton looked up at me from between my thighs, his mouth wet, his eyes dark with pride. Then Deej lifted me fully, turned me in his lap, and sank into me from behind.

This time, It was slow. Deep. Possessive.

He held me there, arms around my waist, and fucked me like he wasn't proving anything anymore, just claiming what was already his. Anton stood in front of me, cock already hard again. I took him into my mouth without being asked.

They moved with me, around me, through me. Every part of me was theirs. And when they both came, it was quieter this time. Less heat, more weight. A deep, final grounding.

Like marking a spot in the sand before leaving it behind... but not forgotten.

~~~

Afterward, they helped her dress. Kissed me softly. Said nothing more. And then they were gone. The house felt still again. Too still.

The echo of the front door closing behind them had barely faded, and yet their presence clung to the walls. To my skin. To the damp warmth between my legs that hadn't cooled even as I slipped into a long, cleansing bath. I lay there, letting the water lap over my thighs, my nipples just grazing the surface.

Sore. Satisfied. Ruined in the most exquisite way. And underneath all that--something else. Anticipation. Because I knew this wasn't a one-off. It hadn't been for some time now. It had become a pattern. They would appear. They would take. They would leave. And I would wait. Wait for the next text. The next look. The next time I was told to kneel, to open, to give. And every time, I did.

For days, then weeks, it continued. Like a hidden rhythm stitched into my life. Sometimes it was just one of them, Anton showing up first, a whisper of control in every step. Sometimes it was Deej, cocky and playful until the tone turned serious. But more often, it was both. Always together when it mattered.

My house became theirs in small ways at first. A hoodie left draped over a chair. A toothbrush in the downstairs bathroom. Trainer soles by the back door, coated with grains of beach sand. I should've said something. But I didn't want to.

And then, two weeks in, a new message:

"We're moving in. You've got space--and we've got plans."

No asking. No hint of negotiation. Just fact. The next day, they arrived with bags. A few boxes.

A single speaker that filled the kitchen with bass-heavy music while they unpacked like they belonged there--because by then, they did. I stood at the kitchen island, barefoot in a soft robe, watching them.

Anton caught my gaze.

"You're not just a plaything anymore, Tracy."

Deej smirked. "You're ours now. Full time."

And the way my stomach flipped, the way heat rushed to my cheeks and lower still. I didn't argue. Because it was already true