Iris and Her Protégé

Iris and Her Protégé

Book nine. The same autumn. Iris is 29. All other characters are above 18.

DISCLAIMER: There's depiction of CNC, cheating, gangbangs, degradation, breeding, and breastfeeding in this story. Please be warned.

Kandice

At ten past eleven on a Tuesday in the last week of September, the forty-first floor was dark except for Iris's office, and Iris had not been home in a week.

She had been in New York, then Milan, then in this chair, with an issue closing around her and a flight to Paris on Sunday for the shows. Her daughter was asleep in Lake Forest, and Iris had said goodnight to her on a screen from the back of a car. At twenty-nine she was the youngest senior vice president Aisle had ever had, and some weeks that was exactly what it cost.

Kandice was on the floor by the window with the layouts spread around her in a fan, in her stockinged feet, her shoes kicked under the couch. Twenty-three, from London, the assistant market editor Iris had hired in June. Petite, a black bob cut sharp enough to sign with, a white shirt buttoned to the throat. A boyfriend called Oliver, in London for the month. Since the summer she had been Iris's, and the whole floor knew it, and since Barcelona she had known everything else too. The basement, the three men, the glove on the desk. Iris had told her in the hotel bed, afterward, with Kandice's head on her chest.

Kandice squared a stack of proofs and looked up.

"You should go home," she said. "Just for tonight. I can finish the--"

Iris looked at her.

Kandice closed her mouth. The pink came up out of her collar and she looked back down at the proofs.

"Come here," said Iris.

Kandice got up and came around the desk. Iris pushed the chair back, took a handful of the black bob, and put her on her knees. She opened her skirt herself, one-handed, and shoved it up over her hips: black lace, the stockings she had put on in Milan, and the smell of a week of wanting it. She drew the lace aside with two fingers and pulled Kandice's face into her.

Kandice went at it as though she had been waiting all night, which she had. Iris kept her hand in her hair and her eyes on the dark window, the city below it, her own reflection in the glass with her mouth open. It didn't take long. She came with her thighs clamped on Kandice's ears and her heel drumming on the carpet, and held her there through the end of it, and then a little longer, because she could.

When she let go, Kandice sat back on her heels, flushed to the throat, her lipstick gone.

Iris was still breathing hard. She pushed the hair off her face.

"Halloween," she said. "We're going to the basement."

---

The Waiver

She had been asking since Barcelona, in the middle of September.

Not aloud, at first. In notes. A yellow sticky on the corner of a layout sent up for sign-off: Is it true about the desk? One in the internal mail, in a padded envelope marked CONFIDENTIAL: What do they call you? One on the lid of the coffee Kandice brought in every morning at quarter past eight, in tiny black felt-tip around the rim: Please.

Then aloud. Kneeling on the fashion-closet floor with Iris's fingers in her mouth. Bent over the arm of the white couch with her skirt around her waist. In the back of a car from O'Hare, her head on Iris's shoulder and the driver's eyes in the mirror, barely a whisper: please, take me, I'll be so good, please let them have me.

Iris said no. Iris said we'll see. Iris said nothing at all and watched what that did to her, which was everything.

On the Thursday a week before Halloween, she called her in at seven.

"Shut the door."

Kandice shut it. Iris dropped the blinds.

"You still want to go," Iris said.

"Yes."

"You want three men you've never met, each of them twice your size, to do every single thing I told you about in Barcelona."

Kandice lifted her chin. The pink was already rising out of her collar. "Yes, Iris."

"Then you'll ask properly. You work at a magazine. Nobody in this building does anything without paperwork." Iris swung her monitor around. On it was the standard release Legal sent out forty times a season, the one every model signed before a shoot. Release and Waiver: Use of Likeness. "You're going to write it."

Kandice started toward the chair across the desk.

"Not there."

Iris rolled her big leather chair back, uncrossed her legs and patted her thigh.

---

Kandice sat in her lap facing the screen, stiff and light as a coat, her back pressed into the soft swell of Iris's pillowy breasts. Iris could feel her heart going through the white shirt. She hooked Kandice's ankles outside her own and let her knees fall open, and Kandice's bare thighs went with them, wider, until the black skirt was up around her hips and her legs hung off either side of Iris's lap.

She still had the knickers on. She'd collected them at six, said thank you, and stepped into them in front of the desk. Iris slid a hand down her belly, under the skirt's waistband, found the cotton soaked through, and drew it aside.

There she was: hot, swollen, slick to the creases of her thighs. Iris set two fingers either side of her clit and held them there without moving.

"Go on," she said in her ear. "Use of body. Change the heading."

Kandice deleted Likeness. Her fingers shook on the keys. She typed Body.

"Good. Now the first clause."

Kandice typed, very slowly. Iris read it over her shoulder.

1. I consent to engage in sexual activity with the persons named below.

"Sloppy," said Iris.

Kandice's fingers froze.

"Engage in sexual activity. Is that what's going to happen to you? Is that what you lie awake thinking about while Oliver snores? Engaging?" She took her hand away altogether, and Kandice whimpered. "Delete it. Write what's actually going to happen."

Kandice deleted it.

That was how it went. It took an hour and a half. Whenever Kandice typed something soft and careful, anything with consent or activity or engage in it, Iris's hand went still or went away. Sloppy, she'd say, or no, or is this what they taught you in London, and Kandice would delete it. And whenever she typed the true thing, the thing she'd typed into a search bar at nineteen in Clapham with the curtains drawn, Iris's fingers came back and slid into her and curled.

She learned fast. She always had.

I may be called anything, she typed at clause four, and stopped.

"Such as?"

I want to be called everything. I am a slut, a whore, a hole, a fucktoy, a piece of meat.

Iris had three fingers in her now, wet and loud in the quiet office, the heel of her hand pressing hard on her clit. "And?"

Kandice's hands hovered over the keys. She was trembling all over. Then she typed it one letter at a time, as if each one hurt.

I am rape meat.

Iris pulled her fingers out. Kandice sobbed. Iris held them up in front of her face, glistening to the knuckle, and pressed them under her nose.

"Smell that. Go on, breathe it in. That's what you smell like, typing up a legal document on your boss's lap. That's the smell of rape meat." She pushed them into Kandice's open mouth. "Clean them."

Kandice sucked them clean. When they came out, she put her hands back on the keyboard without being told and typed, on her own:

I am Mommy's rapedoll.

Iris looked at the screen and didn't say anything.

Then she put her hand back between Kandice's legs, put her mouth to the side of her throat, and bit.

---

Clause two Kandice wrote by herself. For the duration of this night I waive the right to be asked. She stopped, let out a breath, and said to the screen, very quietly, "He asks. Every time. Are you all right, darling? Is this all right? Every single time." Then she finished it. I will not be asked if I am all right. I will not be asked if I want it.

Clause three was a list of holes. Clause five was the one about no. She typed that one with her eyes shut and Iris's thumb circling her clit. When she reached please don't, she came, without warning and without permission. Her head fell back on Iris's shoulder and both palms slapped down on the keyboard, and a line of nonsense raced across the page: jjjjjjjjjkkkkkkk;;;;;;;.

Iris let her finish. Then she took Kandice's chin and turned her face to the screen.

"Look at that. Look what you've done to your contract." She let go. "Delete it. And you didn't ask."

"Sorry. I'm sorry, Iris..."

"You will be."

Then Iris reached around her with both arms, Kandice caught between them, and typed clause six herself. She typed it slowly, and Kandice watched every letter land.

6. Except one word. If I say red, everything stops, at once, no questions, and nobody will be angry with me.

She took her hands off the keys.

"That one isn't yours," she said. Her voice had changed. It wasn't the voice that said sloppy. "Everything else on there is yours. You wrote it, you meant it, you can have every word. That one's mine. You don't cross it out and you don't edit it. And if you ever need it and don't say it, because you're being good, or brave, or you don't want to spoil things, I will never take you anywhere again. Understand me?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

Kandice turned her head on Iris's shoulder and looked at her.

"Red," she said.

Something settled in Iris when she heard it. Nine years on the roller coaster, and she had never once asked herself who kept it on the rails. That's me now, she thought.

"Good slut," she said. "One more. I'll dictate."

7. I understand that in the morning I am going to work.

Kandice laughed, wet, half a sob, and Iris felt it go right through her own chest.

"Now the top," said Iris. "First thing they'll read. Tell them whose idea this was."

Kandice wrote clause one. I am here because I want to be. I have asked Iris to bring me. I have been begging her for a month. Then, unasked, she scrolled up to the heading, and under Release and Waiver: Use of Body, in brackets and italics, she typed the name it would carry for the rest of her life.

(Rape Meat Waiver)

---

Iris printed one copy on Aisle letterhead, on her own printer. It came out warm. Kandice reached for the pen on the desk.

"No."

Kandice stopped.

"You don't sign it here. You don't sign it for me." Iris folded the sheet in three, creasing each fold with her thumbnail, and slipped it into the inside pocket of her bag beside the lipstick. "You'll read it to them. Out loud, standing up, in front of all three of them, every word. Then you'll sign it in front of them, and I'll witness it."

Kandice was still in her lap. Iris felt her clench hard on nothing.

"What are you telling Oliver?"

"I... I hadn't..."

Iris took Kandice's phone off the desk and put it in her hand. Then she slid her own hand back under the skirt, two fingers inside, and left them there.

"Text him. Now."

Kandice held the phone in both hands. Iris dictated into her ear, and Kandice typed, thumbs slipping.

Iris needs me at the bridal expo in Indianapolis on Thursday. Overnight, sorry darling. Back Friday for work. Love you x

"Send it."

She sent it. They watched the screen. The three dots came up almost at once.

Of course. Don't let her work you too hard. Love you too x

Iris laughed into the side of Kandice's neck. "Oh, I won't," she said. "Not me."

That night, over the dishes, she told Mark about the same expo. He said good for you and asked if she wanted the car.

Before she let Kandice go, Iris pushed up the white shirt and wrote across her belly, just above the waistband, ONE WEEK.

Each morning after that, in the executive bathroom with the door locked, she rubbed the number out with her thumb and wrote the next. SIX. FIVE. FOUR. Kandice wore it through the cover meeting, the market appointments, the accessories lunch. She went home to Oliver in it and slept beside him in the dark with it on her skin.

On the last morning it said TONIGHT, and Kandice didn't go to work.

---

The Hotel by the Interstate

They drove down at noon in Iris's car, the costumes in garment bags across the back seat as if they were off to a fitting.

Two hours of flat brown fields, grain elevators, billboards for injury lawyers. Kandice barely spoke. She sat with her hands pressed between her knees and watched the cut corn go past. Every few miles she turned to look at Iris. Iris drove in her sunglasses and didn't look back.

She hadn't pumped since six that morning. On purpose. By the time they came off at the exit with the truck stop and the outlet mall, her breasts were hard and hot and swollen under the cashmere, so heavy she drove with her shoulders pulled back to carry them. The pads in her bra were soaked. She could smell herself, sweet and warm, faintly like vanilla. So could Kandice. Iris saw her nostrils flare.

The hotel was the one she always used. Third floor. Two queen beds no one would sleep in, a window onto the parking lot and the water tower, and a long mirror on the wall facing the beds. For eight years she had dressed for that basement in this room, or one just like it.

She put her bag on the desk and turned, and Kandice was right in front of her, staring at her chest. Two dark circles were seeping through the gray cashmere.

"Iris," Kandice said. "You're..."

"I know what I am."

Kandice's hands came up. Iris caught both wrists.

"No."

"But you're so full, it must hurt... please, let me, I'll be so careful, I'll only..."

"They're not yours tonight." Iris held her wrists and looked down at her from her full height, and let her see how much it hurt and how little she cared. "Not yet. You'll get them when I say, and when I say, it'll be in front of them." She let go. "Take your clothes off."

---

Kandice stood naked at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind her, exactly as she stood at Iris's desk.

Iris circled her, the way she had in the fashion closet, with the gold lipstick tube in her hand. The tight pale body. Tits too much for that frame, ripe, firm and riding proud on her ribs with hardly a sway, the nipples small, dark and puckered in the air-conditioning. The narrow waist. The ass. The bare cunt, plump and pink and already wet. She'd been wet since about the second grain elevator, Iris knew. On her belly, faded almost to nothing: TONIGHT. Iris looked her over the way she looked over a sample before a shoot, and thought, quite plainly: good enough to eat.

"On the bed. On your back."

Breasts first. Iris knelt over her and pressed the lipstick in hard enough that the red would stay, the letters running across both breasts and dipping into the warm cleft between them, the tube bumping over each stiff nipple. MOMMY'S RAPEDOLL. Kandice watched it go on upside down, lips parted.

Then down her belly, over the ghost of TONIGHT: a long thick arrow pointing to the bare mound, and above it, USE ME.

"Turn over."

Kandice rolled onto her face in the bedspread. Iris sat back on her heels and took in that ass. Firm, round, peachy and absurdly large on such a small body, her plump cheeks pressed together, her cunt barely visible, hidden under all that. She bent and breathed in between them, the way she breathed in the knickers every evening at six. Kandice whimpered into the bedspread.

"You stink," Iris said. "You've been dripping in my car for two hours. They'll smell you from the stairs."

She wrote a word on each cheek, big, pressing hard enough to dent the flesh, until the lipstick was a flat stub. RAPE on the left. MEAT on the right.

Kandice's hips lifted off the bed on their own. Iris slapped her once, hard, across both words, and she sank back down.

Last, high on the inside of each thigh near the crease, Iris drew a short straight line, like the top of a column, and left the skin below it bare.

"What's that for?" Kandice asked into the bed.

"Counting."

---

Then it was Iris's turn.

She pulled the sweater over her head. Her nursing bra under it was plain black cotton, wide in the straps, the cups straining and both pads soaked through in two dark rings. She unhooked the flaps one at a time, watching Kandice watch, then the back, and let it fall. Kneeling up on the bed, Kandice made a noise as if she'd been punched. They came free and swung, enormous, hard and hot with everything she hadn't pumped, the skin stretched shiny and veined faint blue, the wide nipples gone a deep dark rose and beading white at both tips. It was all over Kandice's face: she wanted to fasten her mouth on one breast and drink until Iris pulled her off by the hair. Iris lay back and their weight settled on her ribs. Kandice climbed astride her belly, light as a cat, holding a fresh lipstick.

She wrote MOMMY across the tops of them. Her hand shook so much the first M came out crooked. The lipstick dragged and pressed on the tight skin, and as she drew the Y across the left one, the pressure was too much. A fat bead of milk swelled at Iris's nipple, broke, and ran down through the red letters in a thin white line.

Kandice stopped breathing. Her tongue touched her lip.

"Don't you dare," said Iris.

Kandice whimpered, and didn't.

Iris reached over to the nightstand for her phone.

"May I..." said Kandice. "One more?"

"What?"

Without answering, Kandice bent and drew a small looping red K on the point of Iris's right hip, the way she initialed a layout before it went up for sign-off. Then she sat back on Iris's belly and waited to be slapped for it.

Iris studied it. She let it stay.

Then she called Frank.

She put him on speaker and propped the phone upright in her cleavage, wedged into the warm, milky valley under MOMMY. Kandice, sitting on her, went utterly still. It rang four times.

"Iris."

His voice filled the room. Low, level, Midwestern, unhurried. A voice like a big hand set down on a table. Iris felt Kandice's thighs clamp her ribs.

"Frank."

"You on your way?"

"Nine o'clock. I'm bringing somebody."

Silence. Iris could hear the pipes ticking behind him, and Stu saying something, and Ray telling him to shut up.

"Who."

"A girl from my office. She works for me."

"How old."

"Twenty-three."

More silence.

"Does she know the rules?"

Iris looked up at Kandice. Kandice was staring at the phone as if it might bite. Her nipples stood out hard. Iris felt something hot and wet spreading on her belly where Kandice sat, and knew exactly what it was.

"She knows the rules," Iris said.

"She want it?" said Frank. "Or do you?"

"Ask her yourself."

"I will." A pause. Then lower, with the thing in it Iris had first heard on a steel desk nine years ago: "Bring her."

He hung up.

Kandice let out a breath that shook her whole body.

"That was him."

"That was Frank."

Iris reached between them into the wet Kandice had left on her belly, a slick little pool in the hollow of her navel smearing the bottom of her own lettering. She brought her fingers up and smelled them, eyes on Kandice's.

"Look at you. You're dripping on me. You've soaked me. From his voice." She wiped her fingers across Kandice's mouth. "You haven't even seen him."

"Iris, please, touch me, just once, I can't..."

"No. Nobody touches you till you've read it." She tipped her off. "Get dressed."

---

They dressed each other in front of the long mirror, and it took an hour.

Montse's brief first. Iris knelt and held it open, and Kandice stepped in, one foot, then the other. Iris drew it up her legs: the oxblood silk, the black lace curving high over her hips, and at the front the silk-edged oval that framed her bare swollen cunt and hid none of it. The arrow pointed into it. USE ME sat just above. Iris turned her around. The brief cut high across the bottom of her ass, and the lace ended exactly where the red began, so RAPE and MEAT sat above it like a label over a price.

Then the rest. Kandice was Velma; the black bob was already right. An orange turtleneck so tight her breasts strained the knit. MOMMY'S RAPEDOLL showed through faintly if you knew to look, and her nipples showed through whether you knew or not, because there was nothing under it. A short red pleated skirt that barely covered her and swung when she walked. Orange knee socks. Flat red Mary Janes.

Kandice did Iris. The purple mini dress, long-sleeved, tight as a glove. She had to work it over Iris's hips with both hands, and at the chest it simply wouldn't zip. They stood at the mirror laughing at it. Kandice pulled. Iris held her breath and her breasts together with both hands, and it went, closing over them and pushing them up and together into two great swells and one deep, soft cleft that the purple knit strained to hold, the fresh pads already darkening. Sheer lavender stockings with a lace top that showed when she sat. Purple heels. A green chiffon scarf, which Kandice knotted at her throat with great care, up on her toes to reach. The long red wig with the heavy fringe.

Daphne and Velma stood side by side in the long mirror of the hotel by the interstate and looked at themselves.

One thing left. Iris took the black-framed glasses from their case, plain glass in the lenses, and slid them onto Kandice's face, settling them on her nose with a fingertip.

"There," she said. "Now you can see what's happening to you."

She took the waiver from her bag and unfolded it for Kandice to see one last time: the letterhead, seven clauses, the blank line at the bottom. Then she folded it back along the same creases and put it in her purse.

Outside it was getting dark. The water tower's red light had come on. A few miles down the road, three men were waiting in a basement.

"Come on," said Iris, and picked up her keys.

---

Halloween

The building was quiet that year. Halloween fell on a Thursday and the parties had all been the weekend before. The basement corridor smelled as it always had, of floor wax, burnt coffee and the laundry room. The pipes ticked overhead. Kandice walked behind Iris, gripping her hand hard enough to hurt.

All Iris had told Frank was that she was bringing a girl from her office.

In her purse, folded in three, was one sheet of Aisle letterhead.

The door at the end of the corridor stood ajar on a line of yellow light. Iris didn't knock. She never had.

---

Three heads came up.

They were older. They were always older now, and she noticed it every time, the way you notice your own face in a photograph. Frank was forty, gray through the dark hair at his temples and in his stubble, reading glasses pushed up on his head. Ray was thirty-two and broad as a door, finally grown into all that length. Stu's beard was half silver.

Ray had made an effort, in his way: white sweater, orange ascot, hair combed forward. Stu wore a green T-shirt three sizes too small for his chest, brown flares, and a stick-on goatee he hadn't got on straight. He was eating a sandwich.

Frank was in his work shirt. Frank was always in his work shirt.

They saw Iris, and their faces did what they always did. Then they saw who was behind her, and Stu set his sandwich down on the desk with great care.

"Boys," said Iris. "This is Kandice."

Kandice stood in the doorway in her orange sweater and red skirt and glasses, looking at them.

Iris knew what she was seeing. She had seen it herself nine years ago, from a treadmill. Three men who were not boys and never had been. Big, weathered, tattooed, filling the whole low room. Stu's chest splitting the seams of the green T-shirt, his forearms as thick as Kandice's calves and furred dark. Ray's hands hanging at his sides, each as big as her face. Frank leaning back in his chair with his inked forearms on the armrests, square and heavy and still, watching her with those level brown eyes. Kandice was five foot one. She could have stood under Ray's arm without ducking.

"Hi," Kandice said, in a very small, very English voice.

"Jesus," said Stu faintly. "She's from London."

"She's from my office," said Iris. "She works for me. And she has something she'd like to read you."

She took out the sheet of paper and handed it over.

---

Kandice read it standing in the middle of the floor in the desk-lamp light, the letterhead in both hands. Her hands shook. Her voice didn't. It was the voice she used to present at the March cover meeting.

AISLE

RELEASE AND WAIVER: USE OF BODY

(Rape Meat Waiver)

I, Kandice, twenty-three years of age, of sound mind, being under no pressure and having asked for this in writing, agree to the following for the night of October 31st.

1. I am here because I want to be. I have asked Iris to bring me. I have been begging her for a month.

2. For the duration of this night I waive the right to be asked. I will not be asked if I am all right. I will not be asked if I want it.

3. I am to be used in every hole I have, by every man in this room and by Iris, for as long as they like and in whatever way they like.

4. I may be called anything. I want to be called everything. I am a slut, a whore, a hole, a fucktoy, a piece of meat. I am rape meat. I am Mommy's rapedoll.

5. Anything I say, including no, stop, and please don't, is to be ignored.

6. Except one word. If I say red, everything stops, at once, no questions, and nobody will be angry with me.

7. I understand that in the morning I am going to work.

Signed, and witnessed by my Senior Vice President.

After each clause she paused, took the lipstick Iris held out, and initialed the margin. At the bottom she signed with a big looping red K, and Iris signed beneath it.

Halfway through clause four her voice broke for the first time, on meat, and she had to go back and start the sentence again. Over by the key cabinet, Ray made a noise in his throat like he'd been hit.

When she finished, nobody spoke. Stu was staring with his mouth open. Ray had both hands over the front of his trousers and his eyes on the orange knee socks. Iris watched Kandice's face: crimson from the glasses to the turtleneck, wet with tears, her back very straight. She had never looked so happy.

Frank stood up.

He came and stood in front of her, took the paper from her hands, and read all of it himself without his glasses. Then he handed it back.

"Clause six," he said. "Read it again."

She did.

"Again. Just the word."

"Red."

"Look at me when you say it."

She looked up at him. A long way up. "Red."

He studied her the way he studied everyone the first time, one eye and then the other, steady as a level. Iris saw him find what he was looking for. The corner of his mouth moved.

"All right, then." He folded the waiver once and tucked it into his shirt pocket.

Then, without another word, he bent, put a shoulder into her middle, and picked her up over it, her red skirt in the air and her flat red shoes kicking, and carried her across the room.

---

He did it exactly as he had done it to Iris on that desk nine years before.

He set her down on the edge of the steel desk among the work orders, put a palm on her breastbone and laid her back. He flipped up the red pleated skirt, and stopped. Montse's oxblood brief, black lace curving over her hips, and at the front the silk-edged oval with her bare cunt pouting through it, pink and wet. Above it, in red, Iris's arrow and USE ME. Frank looked at it for a long moment, and Iris, who knew that look, could have said the rest for him: he wanted his face in that oval until the girl forgot her own name. Kandice felt him looking and lifted her hips an inch off the steel, as if she were inviting him.

"Well," said Frank quietly. "Somebody's been to a good tailor."

He pulled his chair in between her knees and sat, the way he always did. He took an orange knee sock in each hand, spread her wide, and set her flat red shoes on the edge of the desk.

Kandice lifted her head, puzzled. She'd expected to be fucked.

"Lie back, sweetheart," said Frank.

He looked at her. Then he put his mouth on her.

Iris knelt up on the desk by Kandice's head, pinned both her wrists above her on the steel, and watched her discover what Iris had discovered at twenty-one. Iris had been licking her for two months. She had never had this. Frank buried his whole face in her. One broad rough lick from bottom to top. Then he spread her with both thumbs through the oval in the silk and pushed his tongue up into her, deep, his nose on her clit, his stubble rasping the insides of her thighs above the socks. He growled into her. Her hips came off the desk, and his forearms locked over her thighs and held them down.

"Oh my God," she told the ceiling pipes. "Oh my God."

"Told you," said Iris, holding her wrists. "Didn't I tell you?"

She moved both wrists into one hand and used the other to push the orange sweater all the way up to Kandice's collarbones. A hundred times she'd seen those tits and they still surprised her on that small frame. Even flat on her back on the steel they stood firm and proud, just pointing at the pipes, MOMMY'S RAPEDOLL in red across her pale titflesh, and her nipples stiff and hard. They jumped every time Frank's tongue went in. Iris took one nipple between finger and thumb and squeezed, harder and harder, watching Kandice's face come apart. Then she bent down over her upside down, the red wig falling around both their faces like a curtain, and kissed her open mouth while she sobbed into it.

Frank found her clit, closed his lips around it and sucked, strong and steady. She came within a minute, sobbing, bowed off the desk, orange socks kicking either side of his head. He didn't stop. He eased off only until she quit shaking, then went back, gentler, built her up and took her over again. And a third time, glasses knocked crooked, face streaming, wrists straining in Iris's grip.

He sat back and wiped his mouth on his wrist.

"She's ready," he said.

---

The Spit Roast

They put her on her hands and knees on the blue mats.

Stu got behind her. He'd dragged the green T-shirt off over his head, and Kandice looked back over her shoulder and saw him. The barrel chest, furred dark and silver. The thick arms. The belly hard and round as a keg. The tattooed knuckles. He was twice as wide as she was. He knelt behind her, flipped the red pleated skirt up over her back and set his two big hands on her ass. They covered nearly all of it, and she pushed back into them.

"God almighty," Stu said, reverent. "Would you look at that. That's a peach, that is."

Ray stood in front of her. The sweater and ascot were gone, the ink climbing the side of his bare neck, the costume trousers open at the fly. He took his cock out, darker at the head and rising off his belly in that curve, and Iris knew full well what it could do. Long. Long enough, with the curve, that Kandice, looking up at him from all fours, went white and then scarlet.

"Open up, Velma," said Ray.

Iris went to Frank.

He was back in his chair, rolled out from the desk where he could see the mats. She climbed into his lap facing him, red wig and purple dress, and hiked the dress up around her waist. His hands came up and closed on her bare ass above the lace tops of the lavender stockings, and sank in. She reached between them, undid his belt, found his cock thick, hot and rock-hard, and sat down on it.

All of him, by degrees. She sank down the whole heavy shaft with her mouth open against his, felt him reach the very end of her where no one else ever had, and they breathed out together.

"There she is," said Frank against her mouth.

She kissed him and rode him, deep and rolling, arms around his neck, the green scarf trailing on his shoulder. Then they turned their heads, cheek to cheek, and watched.

On the mats, Stu took Kandice's hips and pushed in.

Iris watched Kandice's face as it happened. Stu was the shortest of the three and by far the thickest, and Kandice was tiny, and he had to go slowly. Her mouth fell open and stayed open. Her eyes went huge behind the black frames. Her back arched, and a long high astonished wail came out of her. Ray cupped the back of her head and fed his cock into her open mouth, and the wail went around it.

Within a minute they had the rhythm. They'd been stuffing Iris airtight together for almost a decade. Stu drew back and drove in, his hips cracking into that round ass so it shook, and the force pushed Kandice forward onto Ray. Ray held her there with a fist in her bob, then eased back, and she slid back onto Stu. Back and forth between them, spitted, mouth and cunt both full, glasses bouncing on her nose, her perfect tits swinging loose under the orange knit.

Stu couldn't keep his hands off them. Iris had known he wouldn't. He reached under her and shoved the sweater up to her armpits, and out they tumbled, swinging, red letters across them. He filled his hands and squeezed and groaned like a man in church.

"Oh, there they are. Look at these. Frank. Frank. You seeing these?"

"I see them," said Frank into Iris's ear, and thrust up into her so hard she gasped.

"They're beautiful," Stu said, kneading them, rolling the dark nipples between his thick fingers, still fucking her. "Perfect. Look at 'em sit up. There's my girls. Hello, girls."

"They're not your girls," said Iris, breathless, from Frank's lap.

"They are tonight," said Stu. "It's in writing."

Ray was in her throat by then. Iris watched the way you watch something you've had done to you and know from the inside. His hand rested on the back of Kandice's head. Not forcing, just holding, as he'd learned to. And she took him, that long curve sliding down further than Iris would have believed such a small mouth could manage, her throat working around him, spit roping from the corners of her mouth down her chin. Her glasses had slipped to the tip of her nose. Her eyes were streaming. Her fists were clenched on the blue mat.

"Look at her," said Iris, and heard her voice shake. She was riding Frank harder now and couldn't help it. "Look at my slut. I told you, didn't I? Look at her take it."

"I'm looking," said Frank.

He kissed her, a hand on her nape under the wig to keep her mouth on his, and fucked up into her while she rode him. They watched Kandice together over each other's shoulders, and Iris felt something open in her chest that she hadn't known was shut.

Kandice came first. Stu's thick cock grinding into her, Ray's long one in her throat, Stu's hands crushing her tits like stress toys: she came so hard her arms buckled and she went down on her face, ass in the air. Stu held her up by the hips and kept going while she moaned and cried into the mat. He followed a minute later with a shout, buried to the hilt, shuddering, both hands still full of her. Ray pulled out at the last second and came across her face, long and white over the glasses and her cheek and her open mouth, and she licked at it blind.

Watching that, Iris came on Frank. Forehead pressed to his, his name in her mouth. Her milk let down with it, both sides at once, and two dark circles bloomed through the purple knit. Frank glanced down at them, and back up at her.

He hadn't come. He never did, the first time. He lifted her off, legs trembling, kissed her, and set her on the arm of the couch.

"Later," he said.

---

Mommy

She let them have her milk.

She sat on the couch with the purple dress peeled to her waist and the soaked bra unhooked, and two of them knelt on the floor in front of her, one on each of her supple breasts. Stu on the left. Kandice on the right, in her orange socks and shoved-up sweater, the red skirt around her waist, Ray's cum drying on her glasses.

Stu had waited a year for this. He latched on and drew deep and greedy, beard rasping her skin, eyes shut, and she let down for him at once in a hot rush. Kandice took the other side, and Iris felt the difference immediately. On the left, Stu's great hungry pull. On the right, the small mouth she knew so well by now, quick desperate swallows, a hand coming up to hold Iris's nursing breast to her face.

Iris rested a hand on each head and looked down. A big gray-bearded man and a small black-haired girl, drinking from her. MOMMY in Kandice's lipstick across her magnificent chest. Her milk on both their chins.

Ray was on the floor at Kandice's feet. He'd eased off one red Mary Jane and was cradling her foot in both huge hands, the orange sock damp from an hour on the mats. He pressed his face to the damp sole, breathed in salt and cotton, and groaned. Kandice twitched, giggled around Iris's nipple and spilled milk down her chin. Then Ray drew the sock off with his teeth. Her toes were painted light pink, and he took them into his mouth one by one and sucked. Kandice moaned out loud, letting go of the nipple to do it. Iris put it back in her mouth.

"Drink," she said. "He's busy."

"Mmmmph," said Kandice.

Ray worked his way up. He was thorough about everything he loved. Her calf, the back of her knee. Then he came up behind her where she knelt, lifted both her arms straight over her head and held them by the wrists in one hand. He put his face into the soft bare hollow of her armpit, still damp from the mats, breathed her in, and licked.

Kandice squealed into Iris's breast and jerked, and milk went everywhere.

"Ray," said Frank mildly from his chair.

"I'm not doing anything," said Ray, muffled, and moved to the other one.

---

Then Frank stood up.

He came to the couch and looked down at Iris, the two of them still at her swollen tits and Ray behind Kandice, and very nearly smiled.

"Move," he said to Stu.

Stu moved. Frank went down on one knee in front of her, slowly, the way he did everything, and took her left breast in his hand, and put his mouth to it. This had always been Stu's, not his, and he didn't drink the way Stu did. He drew long and slow and steady, his stubble rough on her skin, his eyes on her face the whole time, and she let down for him a third time, thinner now, an ache with less behind it.

Then there was nothing left. The tight, hot ache let go of her all at once, and her breasts settled against her ribs, pillowy and loose, so yielding now that Frank's hand sank into the one he held. Her shoulders dropped. Her head went back against the couch. She had been feeding grown men and a grown girl for half an hour, and her whole body was loose and humming and done.

Frank lifted his head, licked his lip, and looked at her.

"That's enough of that," Iris said, and he very nearly smiled again.

"I want that ass," he said. "Hers."

So they filled every hole she had.

Iris peeled Montse's brief off her first, the oxblood silk soaked dark around the oval and clinging, down her thighs and over the one orange sock, and dropped it on Frank's desk. Stu lay on his back on the mats, his chest bare and silver, and they lowered Kandice onto him facing him. She sank onto that thick cock with a groan, and her tits came down into his face, and he buried it in them and didn't come up for air. Ray knelt at her head, holding her bob in both hands like reins. Frank knelt behind her.

Iris knelt beside him with the bottle of slick from the desk drawer. She poured a cold clear stream down the crease of Kandice's ass between RAPE and MEAT, spread it with her fingers and worked it in, one finger, then two, while Kandice moaned with Stu inside her and Ray's cock at her lips.

"Anyone been here?" asked Frank.

"No," Kandice whispered.

"Mommy has," said Iris. "Twice. With her fingers."

Frank took his cock in his fist. Kandice looked back over her shoulder, and her eyes went enormous behind the glasses. Frank's was the biggest of the three, thick as her wrist, dark, the heavy vein running up its underside. She was the smallest thing Iris had ever seen anyone put it to.

"Breathe out, sweetheart," said Frank.

She breathed out. He pressed. Iris watched the broad head against that tiny slick pucker, and the ring beginning to give, opening, stretching, going white at the edge. Kandice let out a long high shaking cry, and Ray slid his cock into her mouth to muffle it. Then the head was in, and Frank stopped and held still and let her feel it.

Then the rest, an inch at a time. Stu was already packed into her cunt underneath, so every inch of Frank had to push its way in past him. Iris saw Stu's face change.

"Jesus Christ," Stu said, muffled, from deep within Kandice's cleavage. "Frank. Go slow. She's so small..."

"I know it," said Frank. "Hold still."

When he was all the way in he laid one big hand flat between her shoulder blades, over the red letters, and she vanished under it.

Iris got down by her face and counted for her, touching each place with a fingertip so she'd know. The stretched lips of her cunt around Stu: one. The ring of her ass around Frank: two. Her cheek, where Ray's cock pushed it out from inside: three. "Every hole," said Iris. "Clause three."

Then all three of them moved, and Kandice was gone. Iris watched her go. Stuffed in cunt and ass and mouth, a small pale body between three huge dark ones: Stu's furred belly under her, Frank's heavy hips behind, Ray's long thighs in front. Her bob in Ray's fists, her tits in Stu's beard, her back under Frank's hand. She couldn't move. Every sound she made was smothered. Her toes curled and uncurled as waves of pure sexual bliss wrecked her petite body.

Iris lay down on the mat beside them and put her lips to Kandice's ear.

"Look at you," she whispered. "Rape meat. That's what you signed. That's what you are. Three of them inside you and you're dripping. Your boyfriend's asleep in his nice flat and you're getting fucked in a basement like a sow." She laid her palm on Kandice's cheek, over Ray's cock moving inside it. "What are you?"

Ray pulled out of her mouth so she could answer.

"Mommy's," Kandice gasped. "I'm Mommy's rapedoll. I'm Mommy's rapedoll, I'm Mommy's rapedoll, I'm..."

She came. Iris felt it through the mat.

Behind her, Frank went completely still. He looked at Iris across Kandice's back with something in his face Iris had seen there only once or twice, ever.

Then he started moving again.

---

Up

In the end Ray did it because he could.

Kandice lay where they'd left her on the mat, curled on her side, Stu's cum sliding out of her, breathing like a sprinter. Ray bent down, hooked his hands under her arms, and straightened up.

She rose off the floor as if she weighed nothing, which was nearly true. He held her out at arm's length the way you'd hold up a dress on a hanger to look at it. Her feet, one still in its orange sock, dangled a foot above the mat. She clutched his wrists and stared at him over crooked glasses.

"Huh," said Ray, considering her. "Lighter than my toolbox."

"Put her on it," said Iris.

He drew her in. Her legs wrapped around his waist on their own and didn't meet. Held there, she came up to the middle of his chest, her face in the dark hair between his pecs, her crossed ankles resting on the top of his ass. He spread one big hand under her, RAPE under his fingers and MEAT under his palm, and that alone held her up. With the other hand he fitted her onto his cock like a fleshlight. Then he let go and let her sink.

Nothing stopped her but him. Every inch of that long curved cock slid up into her in one go, her own weight carrying her down it, deeper than she could ever have taken it on her back, until she was sitting on the root and the curve pressed somewhere inside her that made her eyes go blank. Her mouth hung open against his chest. She made no sound at all.

Then he walked.

He carried her across the basement on his cock, every step jolting up into her, and set her back against the steel door of the key cabinet. A hundred keys jangled on their hooks. He held her by the ass and lifted her, all the way, until only the head was inside. And let her drop.

The keys crashed. Kandice screamed.

Again. He fucked her like that against the cabinet, lift and drop, lift and drop, working her whole body up and down his cock. Her head knocked back against the steel. Her tits flew up and slapped down. Each drop punched a noise out of her. Her arms had gone around his neck and she clung to him for her life.

"Stu," said Iris. "Help him."

Stu came up behind Ray, Ray turned, and between them they made something of her that she could never have dreamed up, Iris thought, in a hundred nights in Clapham with the curtains drawn.

Ray took her by the backs of the thighs and turned her in the air so her back lay against his chest. He hooked her legs over his forearms, spread wide to the room, and slid back up into her ass. Kandice cried out. And in front of her, at exactly the right height because Stu was the short one, Stu stepped between her open legs, set his thick cock to her cunt and pushed.

They held her up in the air between them and fucked her.

She looked like something they'd lifted down off a shelf. Iris had always known Kandice was petite. She had never seen it like this, with nothing to measure her by but the two of them. Ray's forearms under her thighs were as thick as her calves, roped and dark-furred, and her pale legs draped over them, splayed wide. Stu's chest was twice as wide as her back. He could have closed one hand around her waist. She was all white and smooth and narrow, they were all hair and ink and bulk, and she was pressed between them with only her face and one socked foot showing, like someone caught in a crowd at a concert. Except that both of them were inside her.

No part of her touched the floor. Iris circled them and looked. The orange sock pointing at the ceiling over Stu's shoulder. The other bare foot kicking. Two cocks in her at once, one long and curved, one short and fat, stretching her between them, the men's hips meeting through her. Her breasts, squashed against Stu's chest, sat right at the height of his mouth. He didn't have to bend at all. He buried his face in them and sucked.

Iris moved in close, between Stu's shoulder and Ray's elbow, pressed against all three of them, her breasts firmly pressing into Kandice's purple knit. She took Kandice's face in her hands and kissed her. Kandice's mouth was slack and wet and wide and she could barely kiss back. Every time the men drove up, her teeth knocked Iris's lip. Iris kissed her through it, deep, tasting Ray on her and the salt of her tears, and felt every thrust pass through that small body into her own.

She turned Kandice's face to hers.

"Look at me. Your feet aren't on the floor. Do you understand that? You're not standing. You're not even lying down. You're being held. You're a thing they're holding up so they can fuck it." She slid her thumb into Kandice's mouth. "Like a doll."

Kandice came in mid-air, with nothing to push against and nowhere to go. Iris watched it travel out through the ends of her. Toes curling. Fingers clawing at Ray's forearms. The whole small body locking rigid between them and then shaking and shaking while they held her and kept going.

Iris knew that face. She'd seen it on the little screens at the exit of every roller coaster she'd ever ridden, the photo they snap on the big drop. Eyes wide, mouth open, hair everywhere, screaming, and perfectly safe.

When they'd finished, Ray lifted her off both of them the way you'd lift a sleeping cat off a cushion and handed her across to Frank.

Frank slung her over his shoulder.

She hung there upside down, bob swinging, cheek against the small of his back, her ass beside his ear. He considered it: two round red-lettered cheeks, pink from the men's hips, still shining with slick. He turned his head and bit the one that said MEAT, hard. She yelped.

"Couch," said Frank.

---

Ass Up

He sat down in his chair at the edge of the mats and set Kandice on her knees in front of him. Iris knelt beside her.

"Both of you," said Frank. "Heads down."

They put their heads down side by side on the blue mat, on their elbows between his open knees, cheeks almost touching, asses up behind them for the room.

Iris knew how it looked. She'd seen it from the other end, years ago, in the mirror in this room. Two women on their knees, backs dipped, asses high and offered.

Side by side they looked completely different, yet equally fuckable and obscene. Iris was all curve. Her long pale back ran down into the waist she'd worked for and then flared wide into hips and an ass bigger and softer than they'd been at twenty-one. Round, heart-shaped and plush over hard muscle, spilling over the lace tops of the lavender stockings, it shuddered if anyone so much as breathed on it. Beneath her hung her tits, plush and pendulous, swaying with every breath, her nipples grazing the mat.

Kandice was a whole size smaller everywhere. A narrow white back with every knuckle of her spine showing. A waist Stu could have closed one hand around. And then her ass beside Iris's: hers was firm, round and bouncy, with RAPE and MEAT smeared across both cheeks. Her full D-cup tits swung beneath her too, the nipples drawn up hard.

Between their thighs, on full display, the two cunts. Iris's full and rose-red, lips swollen thick and hanging open, clit standing out of its hood. Kandice's small and bare, its pink gone dark with use, puffy, still stretched a little from the men, a white thread hanging from her. Both of them dripping on the mat.

And in front of their faces, rising from Frank's open work trousers, the cock both of them had been thinking about all night. Dark, veined, the fat head glistening with saliva and pussy juice, and still hard, because Frank hadn't come yet. He was saving it.

"Go on, then," said Frank. "Help yourselves."

Iris took his cock in her fist, turned the head to Kandice's mouth and fed it to her. She watched Kandice's lips stretch around the shaft and her eyes lift over it. Then Iris took him back and had him herself, sank down as far as he would go, the way she'd learned in this same chair, and let the head sit in her throat. Then she gave him back to Kandice.

Then both at once. A mouth on either side, lips meeting around the shaft, sliding up and down it through each other's spit, kissing each other with it between them. Kandice licked down to his balls while Iris took the head. Frank leaned back with a hand on each of their heads and gazed down the two curves of their backs at their asses. He let out a long breath through his nose.

Their mouths kept finding each other. They couldn't help it. Kandice's lips would slide off the shaft onto Iris's, and they'd kiss with the head of Frank's cock pushed between their cheeks, tongues over it and over each other, tasting him and themselves at once. Then Iris would take him back in and Kandice would duck to his balls. Kandice's small hand found Iris's hanging breast and squeezed, and her fingers sank in deep, the warm flesh giving around them.

Behind them, Stu and Ray knelt.

"Who d'you want?" said Stu.

"Doesn't matter," said Ray. "We're switching."

Stu took Iris and Ray took Kandice. Iris felt Stu's big hands spread her, the familiar blunt head, then that short thick stretch shoving into her, and she groaned around Frank. Beside her, Kandice choked on him as Ray went in.

The men fucked them side by side at different speeds, Stu short and heavy and grinding, Ray long and slow and deep, while Frank's cock passed from mouth to mouth. Then Ray caught Stu's eye and tipped his head, and both men pulled out, came around and changed places. Now it was Ray in Iris, that long familiar curve reaching the end of her, and Stu in Kandice, and Kandice squealed around Frank.

Then they changed holes.

Ray drew out of Iris's cunt, set his slick head to her ass, and pushed in. Beside her she felt Kandice go rigid as Stu did the same, forcing that small stretched ring open for the second time that night. Iris put a hand on the back of Kandice's neck to hold her face on Frank. "Take it," she said. "Take it. It's what you're for." With her other hand she spanked her, hard, across MEAT, in front of all of them, and again.

They went around. Ass to ass now, Stu in Iris and Ray in Kandice, then the reverse, pulling out of one woman and straight into the other. Iris lost track of who was in her, or where, or how long since the last change. She knew only that she was always full, and that whenever one of them left her the other was already there. Every so often Stu reached under and weighed a swinging breast from each of them, one in each hand, the soft one and the firm one, and moaned. Ray kept a hand on the sole of Kandice's bare foot, curled behind her on the mat.

Each time a man pulled out of Kandice, Stu picked the lipstick up off the mat and added a mark to the column on her inner thigh. Iris heard her counting. She lost count at eleven.

"Look at the two of you," said Frank quietly. "Look at that."

Iris came first, Ray in her ass, her cheek on Frank's thigh, Kandice's tongue on the cock in front of her nose. Kandice next, with Stu in her cunt. Then again almost at once when Ray took over her ass, sobbing into Frank's balls. After that she was coming more or less constantly, and Iris stopped trying to tell.

"All right. Stop there," said Frank.

Everyone stopped. Frank leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Put her on her back. Iris, get on top of her. Other way around."

Iris knew what he wanted. He'd taught it to her on this mat years ago, the two of them head to tail with their faces buried in each other, and it was still his favorite sight in the world. He'd never seen it like this.

Ray laid Kandice on her back. Iris climbed over her on hands and knees, facing the wrong way, set a knee either side of that small black-haired head, and lowered herself.

She was a size bigger than Kandice in every direction and felt it as she settled. Her soft, supple thighs closed around Kandice's ears and shut out the room. Her ass hung over Kandice's face and filled the whole sky. Her tits came down onto Kandice's flat belly and spread there, warm and heavy. Under her own belly she felt Kandice's tits give, and the two hard nipples press up into her. And in front of her face, framed between Kandice's open thighs, one in an orange sock and one bare, was that small swollen cunt. The smell came up at her: her girl, the men, an hour on the mats, hot and sharp and thick as a hand over her nose. Iris put her face in it and breathed.

"Look at that," said Frank, barely above a whisper.

Then she ate her.

She ate her the way Frank did, because Frank had taught her: whole mouth, no hurry. One long flat lick from bottom to top, tasting all of it, the men's salt and Kandice's sweetness under it. Then her lips around the small hard clit, sucking steady and strong, her tongue flicking under the hood. Kandice jerked under her and her knees came up. Iris hooked her arms under Kandice's thighs and locked them, as Frank would have, and held her open and didn't let her escape.

And beneath her, Kandice found her.

Iris felt small hands take hold of her ass, a cheek in each, too small to cover them, sinking into the softness and spreading her. Hot ragged breath. Then that clever tongue she'd trained herself, reaching up into her. Broad and flat, licking the whole fat slit of her, lapping at her clit, then pushing up inside as deep as it would go, Kandice's nose pressed into her. Kandice moaned into her and Iris felt it travel up through her body. Iris moaned back. Each of them felt the other's sound arrive.

They ate each other on the blue mat with three men watching until both of them were shaking and grinding, mouths sealed on each other, faces soaked.

Frank crooked two fingers at Stu and Ray. Then, because he was Frank, he reached behind him for the bucket of hot towels from the laundry room and tossed one to each of the men. "Wipe down first."

Stu came around and knelt at Kandice's head. Iris felt the mat dip behind her, then his big hands on her hips, spreading her above Kandice's face, and the blunt head of him pressing at her. She felt Kandice's tongue stop.

"Watch," Iris said into Kandice's cunt. "Watch it go in me."

Stu pushed. Iris stretched around that short thick girth and felt it from both sides at once: the cock opening her from behind, and an open mouth an inch below, breathing on her, watching. Kandice had never seen it from there. Iris heard her gasp. Then the small tongue came back, wild now, everywhere. On Iris's clit. On her stretched lips. On Stu's shaft where it disappeared into her. On the heavy balls swinging against her own forehead. Stu swore and shoved all the way in, and Kandice licked the place where they joined.

At the other end, Ray knelt between Kandice's open thighs in front of Iris's face, his long curved cock in his hand.

Iris took his cock from him. She held it an inch from her eyes, then lowered the fat curved head to Kandice's small swollen cunt herself. She spread Kandice with two fingers and guided him in, and watched every inch from closer than she had ever watched anything. The head pressing. The small pink lips stretching around it, thin and tight and white at the edge. The long shaft following, and following, more of it than looked possible, until his balls rested on Iris's chin. Kandice made a sound into her that Iris felt in her teeth.

Ray began to fuck her, slow and deep. Iris put her mouth back on Kandice's clit, right above him, and sucked, and felt his shaft slide wet against her lips on every stroke.

That was how they took them. The two women locked head to tail, eating each other, and the two men fucking them over each other's faces. Each thrust Stu gave Iris drove her down onto Kandice's mouth. Each thrust Ray gave Kandice pushed her up into Iris's. The four of them rocked on the mat as one thing, and Frank sat over it in his chair, watching, and said nothing at all.

Once, Iris drew Ray out by the root, took him into her own mouth wet from Kandice, tasted her on him, and fed him back in. Beneath her she felt Kandice reach up and do the same with Stu: draw him out of Iris, suck him clean, put him back.

Then they changed holes again. Stu drew out of Iris's cunt and set himself at her ass, directly over Kandice's eyes, and pushed, and Iris felt Kandice watch the ring of her stretch and give and swallow him. At the other end Ray pulled out of Kandice. Iris held Kandice's cheeks apart for him with both hands and watched that tiny pucker open around the long curve. She spat on it to help, and kept her tongue on Kandice's clit all the way in.

They came like that, nearly together, men in their asses, mouths on each other's clits, until Iris couldn't tell her own climax from Kandice's. She felt Kandice pulse against her lips at the same instant she clenched around nothing above Kandice's face, and they screamed into each other.

The men were close. Iris could hear it. Stu's breathing had gone ragged. Ray had gone quiet, which was worse.

She lifted her mouth from Kandice.

"Don't," she said. "Either of you. Don't you dare. Hold it."

Stu groaned like a man being robbed. "Iris..."

"I've got a use for it," said Iris. "Later."

Frank was looking down at her, his cock still wet with spit and both their lipsticks, looking as close to pleased as Frank ever looked.

Then his eyes went to the harness, in its bag by the desk.

---

The Chain

She'd been saving the harness.

Kandice lay on her back on the mat in the wreck of her Velma costume. Glasses gone, sweater bunched around her neck, red skirt around her waist. Cum on her face and tits and running out of her, red writing from her throat to her one remaining sock. Iris stood, stepped out of what was left of the purple dress, and buckled the black harness on in front of everyone. Kandice watched every buckle close.

Ray said something that sounded like a prayer.

She knelt between Kandice's knees, set the thick dark curve to her and drove it in. Kandice's back came off the mat and she screamed. Iris fell forward onto her hands over her and fucked her the way she had in Barcelona, long and deep and hard, her heavy tits swinging over Kandice's face on every stroke.

Then she felt Frank behind her.

His hands on her hips, holding her still on the downstroke, deep inside Kandice. Cold slick. His thumb, then the broad hot head of him, then the slow push into her ass that she knew by heart, all the way in. She was full of him behind while she was buried in Kandice in front, and the whole thing locked together. Frank in Iris. Iris in Kandice. A chain.

He began to move. When he drove into Iris, it drove Iris into Kandice. When he drew back, so did she. He was fucking both of them. Iris could do nothing but kneel there between them and be the link. She heard herself making a sound she hadn't made since she was twenty-one.

Ray took Kandice's feet, both naked now, and took turns sucking them. Stu took her tits in both hands. Kandice lay under it all with her arms flung over her head and her eyes rolled back, and took it.

"What are you?" Iris gasped into her face.

"Mommy's rapedoll..."

"Louder. For them."

"I'm Mommy's rapedoll!"

Frank came in Iris's ass with his face buried in her neck and a groan rising from the bottom of him. She felt it, hot and deep and pulsing, and came so hard she drove the strap into Kandice to the hilt and held it there. The word came out of her the way it always had, the way it had the first time, on his desk.

"Daddy."

And beneath her, in the same instant, eyes wide open and fixed on Iris's face:

"Mommy..."

For a while nobody said anything.

---

Bred

Stu and Ray had been holding it for an hour. They'd wiped down again with hot towels while she watched; Frank was particular about that.

Iris unbuckled the harness and let it fall on the mat. Kandice lay where she'd been left, on her back, arms still flung over her head, thighs fallen open. Her bare cunt was swollen and red, gaping a little, wet to the knees. The column on her left thigh had run out of room, and Stu had started a second. Frank sat back in his chair, spent, trousers open, eyes half closed, watching.

The other two stood over her. Stu's cock had gone purple. Ray's stood against his belly, shining, twitching every few seconds on its own.

"Go on," Iris told Kandice. "You've wanted to say it all night. It's all over your face. Tell them."

Kandice looked up at the two men. Then at Iris.

"Please," she said.

"Please what?"

"Please come in me." Her voice cracked. She reached down, spread herself with her fingers and held herself open for them, red and wet and gaping. "In here. Both of you. Inside. Please. I want it in me. I want it to take."

Stu made a noise.

"Say it properly," said Iris.

Kandice was crying now, her hips lifting off the mat toward them, and she said it.

"Breed me." The cut-glass voice in ruins. "Please, please breed me. Fill me up. Rape a baby into me. I don't care whose. I want to be bred like a cow, like a sow, I want you to come in me till it takes, I want to walk into the office on Monday with it in me, please, please, I'll do anything, put a baby in me..."

Stu was on his knees between her legs before she finished. He folded her back by the knees until they touched her shoulders, her lettered ass lifted off the mat, and drove all the way into her in one thrust. She screamed yes. Ray knelt at her head and pinned her wrists. Stu fucked her with no rhythm and no care left, an hour of holding back coming out of him in short brutal strokes, his belly slapping her thighs, his face red. Under him Kandice sobbed breed me, breed me, breed me in time.

"Please. In me. Please, Stu, please..."

Iris watched until she saw it on his face. The mouth going slack. The eyes losing focus.

Then she laid her palm flat on his chest.

"Stop, Stu."

He stopped. Nine years he'd been doing what she told him. He stopped with his whole body shaking, buried to the root, and looked at her as if she'd shot him.

"Now get out of her."

He pulled out. Kandice wailed. It was the worst sound Iris had heard from her all night, worse than anything with meat in it. A raw, betrayed howl, her empty cunt clenching on nothing, her hips chasing him off the mat.

"No. No, no, please, no, put it back, please..."

"You?" said Iris. "Bred?" She lay down on her back beside her, shoulder to shoulder.

She saw Stu take them in. Two women on their backs on the blue mat, side by side, written on from throat to thigh. Iris long and white and soft, wide hips, full thighs, her heavy tits sliding sideways off her chest and spilling, warm and yielding, against Kandice's arm. Kandice half her size beside her, narrow and tight, her tits standing proud even flat on her back, ribs showing as she sobbed, her cunt red and gaping between spread thighs. One for breeding, his face said, and one for whatever was left.

Iris drew her knees up and let them fall open, lavender stockings, her bare fat cunt between them still open and dripping from an hour of Stu and Ray. "Don't be stupid. Nobody breeds a doll. You don't get babies. You don't get anything. You get used." She hooked a hand around the back of Stu's thick neck and pulled him down. "In here."

Stu fell on her.

He went into Iris in one long shove and came almost at once with a roar that rattled the keys in the cabinet. Buried as deep as he could reach, grinding, his whole weight on her, his face jammed into her cleavage. She felt the thick hot pulses, one, two, three, four, so much that she felt herself fill. Beside her Kandice was screaming and fighting Ray's grip on her wrists. Iris turned her head and looked at her from six inches away while Stu emptied himself, and let her see it on her face.

"Every drop," said Iris, as Stu groaned. "Mine."

Stu rolled off. Iris didn't close her legs.

Iris turned her head and looked up at Ray.

Kandice twisted to look up at him. "Ray. Ray, please, you, please, not her, me, I'm begging you, I'll do anything you want, I'll let you do anything, my feet, anything, please, come in me..."

Ray looked down at her. Then at Iris.

Iris shook her head.

He let go of Kandice's wrists, came around, knelt between Iris's thighs and slid that long curve into her, through Stu's, to the end, slick and hot and unhurried. Kandice lay beside them with her hands free and didn't move. She didn't reach for him. She lay there holding her own empty cunt open with her fingers, watching him fuck Iris, and wept.

Iris turned her head on the mat. Then she reached over, took Kandice by the nape, pulled her face close and kissed her, deep and open-mouthed, while Ray fucked her. Kandice kissed back, crying into it. Iris held her there, faces together, Kandice's tits pressed to the side of her own wet one, so Kandice felt every one of Ray's strokes pass through her and heard every sound it drew out.

"Feel that?" Iris whispered against her mouth. "That's what you wanted. That's what you're not getting."

Ray didn't last. He had nothing left to last with. Six long strokes, seven, and he pressed his face into Iris's throat and shuddered and came deep in her, long slow pumping pulses on top of Stu's, until it was running out around him onto the mat.

He drew out. Iris lay a moment with her knees up and her eyes closed, full and warm, both of them inside her, feeling it begin to slide.

Then she sat up, got onto her knees and swung a leg over Kandice's head.

"Your turn," she said. "Clean me."

She sat down on Kandice's face.

She felt it the instant she landed: Kandice's open mouth, and the gush going out of her into it. Two men's worth, thick and hot and salty, the loads Kandice had begged for, running onto her tongue. Kandice choked. Iris didn't lift. She sat harder, ground down, and felt Kandice swallow, and swallow again, and then Kandice's tongue pushing up into her to lick it out.

"That's it," said Iris, reaching down to fist Kandice's hair. "That's as close as you'll ever get. That's all you're for. You don't get bred. You clean up after me." She rocked on her face. "Get it all. Every drop. Inside too. Go on. Lick it out of me."

Kandice licked her clean the way she'd learned under the desk and in the fashion closet and on the bed in Barcelona. Long flat strokes from bottom to top. Then her tongue up inside, as far as it would go, and her lips sealed on her, sucking it out, swallowing. Iris felt her sobbing into her the whole time, and felt her hips lifting off the mat.

Iris reached back without looking and slid a hand between Kandice's legs.

Soaked. More soaked than she'd been all night. Iris pushed two fingers in and worked her clit with her thumb and ground down on her face, and Kandice came under her almost at once, howling into her, her mouth full of the cum she'd begged for and been refused.

Iris came on her face a minute later, still full of the men, still being licked clean, head thrown back, the red wig sliding off.

When she finally lifted off, Kandice's face was a mess. Wet from brows to chin, shining, smeared with lipstick and cum and tears, mouth open, eyes dazed.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Iris looked down at her and didn't answer for a while.

Then she picked the stub of lipstick up off the mat and, on Kandice's flat belly, under the arrow and USE ME, wrote in capitals:

EMPTY.

---

After

Afterwards they looked after them. They always did.

A clean shop towel, then another, warm from the hot tap in the laundry room. Bottles of water with the caps already off. Stu found Kandice's glasses under the desk, polished them on the green T-shirt, and set them back on her face crooked, then straightened them. Ray found both Mary Janes and one orange sock and gave up on the other. Frank washed Iris's face with the towel, as he had when she was twenty-one. Then Kandice's, carefully, his big thumb under her eyes, watching her the whole time.

"All right?" he said.

It was the first time anyone had asked her all night. Kandice looked at him, and at the waiver sticking out of his shirt pocket.

"I'm brilliant," she said, in a voice like a very small bell.

The corner of Frank's mouth went.

They put the two of them on the cracked vinyl couch under the one old wool blanket, naked except for the writing. It was everywhere by now, smeared and doubled, the men's hands added to theirs, not a clean inch left on either of them. Kandice lay with her head on Iris's breast. Iris rested her cheek on Kandice's hair.

Velma's black glasses sat folded on the corner of Frank's desk. Beside them, in the pocket of an old baseball glove, something small and blue caught the lamplight once and went still.

"I have to be at work in eight hours," Kandice said into her breast.

"I know," said Iris. "So do I."

"I'm going to be late."

"You're going to be on time," said Iris, "and you're going to sit very carefully, and the April lingerie layouts are going to be on my desk by ten. And if they're sloppy, I'll send them back."

Kandice laughed, a small cracked sound, and closed her eyes.

Look at her, Frank thought from his chair, watching the blonde head and the black one on the couch under one blanket. Nine years. And she brings us one of her own.

He got up, switched off the desk lamp, and left them the light from the corridor.