Guest Privileges Pt. 03 Ch. 07-09

Chapter 7

I expected to feel sore the next morning. I didn't expect to feel serene.

Sunlight spilled through the apartment like a lazy blessing. I lay tangled in soft sheets, head heavy on Ella's chest, Alex's hand draped across my thigh. We were a tangle of warmth and salt-dried skin, but everything felt... clean. Quiet. Like the world had pressed pause.

Ella stirred first. She kissed my forehead, then Alex's shoulder, then slid out of bed without a word. I watched her move through the room.

Alex opened one eye. "Still with us?"

"Mmhm." I rolled onto my back, stretching slowly. "Barely."

He chuckled, voice rough with sleep. "You're a good guest."

"I'm gonna need a wheelchair to get to brunch."

He didn't say anything back, but gently grazed his hand across my ass, giving it an almost-gentle squeeze. It was possessive. Like my soreness made him proud.

I shivered, startled by the blunt intimacy of it all. The way he touched me... We were friends. We weren't in a relationship. We hadn't even kissed before this weekend. Now I felt like he knew a side of me no one else did, that I hadn't even known existed. My eyes drifted to Ella. Of course, she knew that side of me too.

By the time we were dressed and out the door, I still hadn't shaken the feeling.

We walked a few blocks to a quiet brunch spot tucked between two brownstones. It had hanging ferns in the windows and jazz spilling softly through the open door. There were only six tables. We took the one in the corner.

I ordered black coffee and something eggy. Alex got a Bloody Mary. Ella just smiled at the waitress and said, "Whatever he thinks I want."

That answer shouldn't have made my stomach flutter. But it did. Though Alex looked stern. When the waitress left Ella winced like her thigh had just been pinched.

"Do you think I don't know what you want, Ella?" She smiled. "Of course, I'm sorry, sir."

After that we didn't talk about the night before at first. Just clinked glasses, picked at pastries, people-watched in lazy silence. But eventually, the quiet turned thick again. Expectant.

Ella was the one who broke it. "Can we play a game?"

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Here?"

She smiled. "It's not that kind of game."

"I'm listening."

"It's a confessional," she said, brushing her napkin across her lap. "We each say something we've fantasized about. No judgment. No interrupting."

The look in them made me sit up straighter.

"Alright," Alex said, settling back. "Who goes first?"

"I'll start," Ella said. She took a sip of water, composed herself. "I want to be leashed in public. Not obviously. But... somewhere we're known. Somewhere we're expected to behave. I want the risk. I want to know you could pull me aside and make me kneel in the coatroom while the waiter's asking about dessert."

Alex didn't say a word. Just nodded slowly.

Ella turned to me. "Your turn."

My mouth went dry.

"I--" I laughed nervously, but something in their faces made me stop. They weren't teasing. They were waiting.

I looked down at my plate. "Okay."

I took a breath.

"I want to be ignored."

Ella tilted her head.

I continued, voice low. "Like... really used. Bent over something. Taken. While you talk about work or the weather or what you're ordering. Like I'm furniture. Like I'm nothing."

My cheeks burned. My heart thumped so loud I was sure they could hear it.

"I want to see what it feels like," I said. "To disappear. But on purpose."

Neither of them blinked. Alex's gaze was steady. Ella looked almost... proud.

"That's not nothing," she said softly.

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. "I've just never said it out loud before."

Alex leaned forward slightly, voice low. "Do you want it because it scares you? Or because it doesn't?"

My breath caught.

"Both."

He smiled, and for the first time that day, I felt like I might combust again.

"You're braver than you think," Ella said.

I shook my head. "No. Just... tired of pretending I'm not curious."

Alex turned to me. "It's a good fantasy. You can have it. But only if you mean it."

I swallowed. "I think I do."

He nodded just once.

Ella reached across the table, brushing her fingers lightly over mine. "There's no going back, you know."

I squeezed her hand. "I don't want to go back."

The moment lingered. Then the waitress arrived with our food, completely unaware that I'd just told my darkest secret over coffee and eggs.

We ate in silence for a while after that, but it wasn't awkward. It was charged.

Chapter 8

We didn't talk about it on the walk back.

Alex held Ella's hand. I trailed a step behind, mind racing, heart slow and heavy. The sun was high now, warm on my back, but I felt a different kind of heat pooling low--deeper than arousal. Closer to exposure.

"Had I really said that? Out loud?"

When we got to the apartment, Alex disappeared into the bedroom without a word. Ella turned to me, eyes bright.

"You okay?"

"I think so."

She leaned in to kiss my cheek. "Wait here."

She padded down the hall, bare feet silent on the hardwood.

I didn't move.

A few minutes later, Alex called for me. His voice was casual, like he was inviting me to come look at something he found online. But my pulse skipped all the same.

I walked slowly down the hallway and into the bedroom--and froze.

The room had changed.

The curtains were drawn. Candles flickered low. The full-length mirror from their closet had been moved to the foot of the bed and angled just right.

Ella was kneeling on a folded blanket, nude but for her collar. Her back was straight. Hands rested on her thighs. Her eyes flicked to mine and sparkled--but she didn't speak.

Alex was standing by the mirror, sleeves rolled, calm and composed.

"You said you wanted to be used," he said softly. "But I think what you meant was you want to see yourself being used."

I nodded, heart hammering.

"Undress."

I did, slowly, aware of Ella watching. Aware of my reflection watching. When I was fully bare, Alex took my wrist and guided me to the foot of the bed, facing the mirror. He nudged gently. I bent.

"Hands on the mattress. Head down."

I obeyed.

The mirror showed everything--my parted thighs, the round curve of my ass, the flush rising across my back, the slight tremble in my thighs. I looked like someone I didn't fully recognize yet. Raw. Open. Wanting.

Alex stepped behind me.

"Do you see yourself?"

I stared into the mirror and grunted my approval. Alex reached down and grabbed my swollen pussy, so casually. "I couldn't hear that, but it feels like you do and you like it."

All I could do was moan.

"All you need to remember right now is there's only one rule... you are a piece of furniture right now."

He paused for a moment. I trembled.

"Does furniture talk?

"No, sir," I replied, instinctively. Alex's hand came down hard across my ass. Did my best friend just spank me? Somehow even after everything that felt almost presumptive.

"Does furniture move?"

This time I just nodded no, silently.

"Good girl."

I watched in the mirror as he crudely spit into his hand and stroked himself once--deliberate, lazy--and then gripped my hips and pushed inside.

No warning.

No question.

I gasped as his cock slid into my ass with steady, practiced pressure. There was no hesitation. Just ownership. I hadn't expected that. I had given him permission last night, sure, but he took it now as if from here on he was simply entitled to it.

And I let him.

Each stroke sent a ripple through me--my arms shook slightly from the impact, but I held my pose. Because that was the game.

Furniture doesn't move.

He set a rhythm--slow, deep, deliberate. The kind that made me feel claimed. Functional. Like he was getting something done.

And then, without ceremony, he placed the glass--his drink--on the small of my back.

It startled me more than the fucking had. The cool press of the base. The slight slosh as he adjusted it.

A few drops spilled and slid down my side, trailing over my ribs.

I stared at us in the mirror, stunned and aching.

I was being used for everything.

And then--like a spell breaking--Ella stood.

She rose gracefully, crossed the room with bare feet whispering against the floorboards, and moved into the kitchen.

Her absence left a coolness in the air.

I stayed bent, shaking gently with each thrust. Alex's face in the mirror was blank--focused, but detached. Not even watching me now. Just using me.

I heard the clink of ice. A bottle opening. The hush of pouring.

Then footsteps.

Ella returned carrying a rocks glass.

"Whiskey," she said softly, setting it on the dresser beside him. "Two fingers. No ice."

He nodded once, still thrusting into me.

She didn't react. Just smiled and smoothed a hand lightly over his shoulder. "You've been so tense this week. Work still a mess?"

He exhaled--just slightly, just enough that his lip twitched. The first sign that he was getting any pleasure out of stretching my until-recently virgin asshole to the brink..

Alex took the drink, never breaking pace inside me, and sipped.

"I'll call your dry cleaner tomorrow," she said, brushing nonexistent lint from his sleeve. "The shirts came back too stiff."

"Mm," Alex grunted, barely more than a breath.

My eyes fluttered. He was talking about errands. Dry cleaning. While I was bent beneath him, full of him, legs shaking from the effort of staying still.

Ella kissed his jaw. "Need anything else, Sir?"

He looked at her, just briefly, genuinely wondering. "Nope."

Ella's gaze slid to my back--my ass, spread and trembling where his cock disappeared with every stroke--but she didn't meet my eyes.

"Then I'll leave you to it," she said sweetly. She moved back to her blanket and resumed her kneeling position. Like nothing had happened.

The mirrors showed it all.

Me: open, still, gasping.

Him: unbothered, focused.

Her: poised, watching, proud.

He fucked me slower now. Like I wasn't even there. Like I was a toy on autopilot. A warm, wet place to put his cock while the room settled into stillness.

And I loved it.

I whimpered once, softly, barely audible.

Alex's voice was calm. "Quiet."

I obeyed.

The burn in my thighs deepened. My arms trembled. But I didn't move.

He reached forward and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear like he was tidying the room.

And then, without ceremony, he placed the glass--his drink--on the small of my back.

It startled me more than the fucking had. The cool press of the base. The slight slosh as he adjusted it.

A few drops spilled and slid down my side, trailing over my ribs.

I stared at us in the mirror, stunned and aching.

Ella rose, still silent, and crossed the room.

She returned with a napkin, glanced at the glass, then down at me, then up at him.

"You're making a mess on the table," she said sweetly.

Alex didn't stop fucking me. Didn't even blink.

"Clean it up."

She crouched beside me, completely composed, and gently wiped the bourbon from my side with slow, reverent strokes. She dabbed the napkin between my ribs, across the curve of my back, then leaned in and kissed the clean spot once--soft and silent.

"Better," she murmured, returning to her place beside the mirror.

Alex lifted the glass from my back, took a sip, and kept moving inside me.

I moaned, barely able to keep still. But I didn't shift. I didn't speak.

My eyes were glued to the mirror.

I didn't know if he even saw me as a person in that moment.

And I'd never felt more wanted.

After several more strokes, Alex exhaled--low, almost inaudible--and pulled out.

I stayed still.

He stroked himself with one hand, looking down at my back, now flushed and bare. My hips stayed high. My spine arched. I waited for a command, a touch, a word.

Instead, he came.

Thick, hot ropes across my back, my ass, the nape of my neck. I flinched once but didn't collapse. I held.

Silent.

Still.

A table.

There was a pause. He sipped his drink again. Calmly.

Then: "Ella."

She looked up. "Sir?"

"You missed a spot," he said, nodding toward me.

Her eyes lit.

She crawled to me slowly, reverently, and knelt behind me.

No questions. No hesitation.

Her tongue was warm as it traced my spine. She licked up his cum in long, careful strokes--each one more intimate than the last. She moaned softly, like it tasted sweet.

I watched her in the mirror--watched myself held open and still, watched her worship the mess he'd made.

And something inside me unraveled.

I wasn't just being ignored.

I was being honored.

Ella kissed the small of my back when she finished and whispered, "All clean."

Alex leaned back in the chair, finally smiling.

"Good girl," he said.

I didn't know who he meant.

But it didn't matter.

Chapter 9

I was still holding the position. Chest to the bed. Knees wide. Back arched.

Behind me, Ella had just finished licking me clean, slurping up the last drops of warm cumpooling near the small of my back.

"You missed something," Alex said calmly. "Don't forget to clean the table's hole."

Ella looked up instantly. "Yes, Sir."

I felt her shift behind me, hands parting my ass once more. I tensed--but only from anticipation. She spread me open and leaned in without hesitation.

Her tongue was soft at first, then firm--probing. She moaned quietly, like she craved this part. Like this was dessert. Each stroke was precise. Worshipful. She took her time, working me open again just enough to clean every trace.

I watched it all in the mirror--my own face twisted in shock and lust, Ella's head moving between my cheeks with focused devotion.

Alex had already stepped away.

"Enough," he said after a minute.

Ella pulled back immediately, lips shining.

He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor in front of him.

She crawled without question.

He sat down, cock still glistening from my ass. He beckoned her with a finger, and she took him in her mouth--slowly, reverently, like it was sacred.

Then he gripped the back of her head with both hands.

No warning. No easing in.

He started to thrust.

She took it, hands perfectly clasped behind her back.

I didn't move. I stayed bent over the bed, watching, breathing, vibrating with the intensity of it all.

Alex didn't even look down at her. His eyes were somewhere else--half-lidded, distant, like he was adjusting a favorite toy to the right speed and depth.

Ellla gagged, then recovered. Then gagged again, harder.

But it wasn't messy. It was a performance.

Her throat took him deeper with each stroke. Her back arched subtly. Her knees splayed just a little wider on the rug, like she was settling in to be used properly.

I watched the muscles in Alex's arms flex as he held her in place, adjusting the angle, finding a rhythm.

Then, something caught my eye.

A drop.

One small bead of cum, trailing slowly down my side--off my ribs. It reached the edge of my body and fell.

I saw it hit the floor.

Ella had missed it.

The thought filled my head like a whisper: Would she be disappointed if she knew?

Another question followed, quick and strange and hot: Would she still lick it up anyway?

I couldn't stop staring at it. Just a drop. Forgotten. Precious.

Behind me, Ella moaned low around his cock, gagging again as Alex pushed deeper. His hands never left her head. His expression didn't change. He didn't need to look at her. She was doing exactly what she was supposed to do.

Her throat fluttered.

Her lips stretched wide.

I felt my own thighs clench again involuntarily--but I didn't move. Not an inch.

I was the table.

Ella made one last gagging sound, louder this time, her body straining slightly. Her shoulders trembled--but her hands stayed perfectly folded behind her back.

Alex let out a low grunt, pulled her flush against him, and held.

She stayed there, face pressed to his pelvis, taking it all.

He didn't moan. Didn't speak. Just breathed--deep, slow, steady.

Ella didn't pull away.

She knelt. She held.

And I stayed exactly where I was, every nerve burning, knowing I was next--whenever they were ready.