“Camille, look at me.” His command wrenched her from an existence that occupied a plane of only twenty fingertips- their fingertips.

The energy to lift the thin layer of skin that protected her eyes was far beyond her. “I…I can’t” The whisper of her voice sounding like a plea. Whether she was begging or pleading she hadn’t the vaguest idea. Was she whimpering for them to stop, slow down, let her breathe, or move a little to left? Who the hell knew? All she knew was that these men had reduced her body to a betrayed bundle of raw nerves, covered by an equally duplicitous epidermis. Somehow during their torture, she had lost Carrick’s dress shirt and Carrick had lost his T-shirt. Somehow both men had managed to keep their bottoms. Or at least she thought Carrick was still wearing his shorts. From his position, kneeling between her legs, with the edge of the bed cutting off his body from her sight…Well, if she had enough gas in the tank to even raise her head to check, she’d guess that he still had his on.

Anyway, Malcolm’s indecent scrap of nothing was just a freaking tease and wasn’t doing much more than keeping the length him imprisoned against the taunt muscles of his abdomen. If Camille had the energy and the freedom, she could come up with a few ways to change that. Evidently these men had superpowers, her two wicked ebony/ivory Wonder-twins pushed her against her limits and even tipped her over the edge a little, yet never over for the steep, steep fall. Never had she felt so simultaneously outward and inward-so out of control, so sexy, so desirable, safe and so ready to pass out.

“Are you telling me, no?” Carrick’s voice was soft with sensual warning and made the soft hairs along Camille’s body stand at attention. If she had the energy, she would’ve shook her head, “no”. Every cell in her being had it’s hands on it’s hips yelling at her to get her lazy ass up and at least tell him “no” in sign language, or something. They were working overtime and she had better damn well do her part to avoid whatever consequences her lack of response may bring.

She gave them the finger. Well, at least in her head.

She felt a sharp nip at the delicate hood of skin that protected her clit. Carrick’s attack on the sensitive bundle of nerves immediately caused her eyes to fly open in shock and her whole body to rear up. Or, it would have is she didn’t have a two hundred plus piece of dark chocolate pressed over her chest doing obscene things to her breasts. Oh and of course, if her arms and legs weren’t loosely bound. Yep, she was laid out like some “come hither” Thanksgiving turkey.

Malcolm took that moment to pause in his oral exam of the fullness of her breasts, smiling at her with heat and hunger in his eyes. Having to add his two cents, he advised playfully, “Baby, you know it’s impolite not to answer when you’re asked a question.” He offered helpfully.

Hardy, har, har!

She glared at Malcolm, while managing to use the reserves of her energy to fold four of her fingers down while leaving the middle one up. This sexy Malcolm with the Speedo and a bad case of indecent exposure was sooo funny…not!

Malcolm was not even a little put out, “A little later, I explain all the way I want you to use that.”

She couldn’t wait to turn the tables, to make him weep. Well, the parts of him that weren’t weeping already. Camille watched as his cock pulsed in response to his desire. A larger potion than the tip of his cock, spilled out over the white strip of spandex. The little slit at its tip cried with eagerness. She wanted to make it feel better, really she did. She’d wipe away its tears with her mouth, protected it with its heat and provide comfort with the talent of her tongue. But mean, meany Malcolm would only hover close enough for her to smell him, not suck him. She was one frustrated woman. Okay, maybe not FUSTRATED, frustrated, maybe more closer to inhibited. Camille released an annoyed sigh.

Catching a flash of pale, feral gold as her body exhaustedly jerked back from the force of her reaction from his toothy warning, Camille was suddenly desperate for the use of her arms. Though someone had somehow pushed a pillow behind her head for comfort, all she wanted was to grab Carrick and give herself a moment to recover from the punishment he was putting on her pussy.

“Someone really needs to teach her some manners.” The mean, meany spoke into the mike of her nipple, cause shivers to break-out all over her body.

“It’s a good thing that we’re here. We’re really good at teaching manners- office etiquette, the proper way to greet royalty, how to make your lover cream all over your tongue and never let drop hit a surface.” The gold one with the big mouth responded.

Camille tried to think up a pity retort, but damn they were right.

“Sweet isn’t she?” Malcolm asked around the dark tip of her nipple that was still in his mouth, looking at his other lover whose eyes peeked between Camille’s legs.

“Mhmmmm.” Carr hummed into Camille depths.

Straining against her bounds, Camille cast a universal evil eye at the man worshiping her breasts and the other between her legs. For the life of her, she didn’t remember how or who decided to restrain her, but she did remember something about Malcolm hissing a warning and swearing some promise of tying her up the last time they brought her to a world shuddering orgasm. She had involuntarily tried to skin him alive by raking her nails across his back.

“Malcolm, honey, can’t you untie me.” She wined in her best baby girl voice.

Malcolm moved over her so that he was a whisper away from her lips. Evidently he had just had his inoculation against the baby girl voice, “Hell no.” he whispered against her lips dragging the tips of his tongue across their surface. “Your nails should be registered as weapons. This way I can concentrate without worrying about needing stitches later.” She assumed that he tried to make his “No” go down a little smoother when he deepened his kiss and systematically ignited her senses and unknown energy resources with his deep kiss. Malcolm’s defined, full lips pressed hotly against hers. Exploring all the recesses of her mouth, he proved his mastery of the art of kissing. Turns out my sweet, honorable, sensitive Malcolm has a mean streak. Mean/Malcolm-Camille tried to puzzle out the oxymoron while she did her best to meet Malcolm’s skillful lips with some artistry of her own. Needy with the want to show them the same devotion she could almost cry, she tugged at her bindings in earnest.

“Mal, don’t let her pull like that, she’ll hurt herself.”

Immediately, Mal released her lips, looking intently into her eyes, “You know I would never hurt you baby, right?” Mal ran his hands along her arms, sublimely encouraging her to release the tension in her arms.

Camille eyes rolled to the back of her head at the feel of Malcolm’s large hands engulf her arms. “I rather think I will hurt myself when you finally let me up and I throw myself on whoever’s available d….” Camille finished with a loud whimper, “…ick!” Oh-so-slowly she felt Carrick lather her labia with the broad, flat, rough surface of his tongue. Realizing that there was more give than she originally thought in her bindings, she slowly rose to the command of each stroke. Haltingly, her body curled-up, the tension in her abdomen making her shake, she caught sight of Carrick lapping at her pussy like it was a bowl of cream. Her body fell back in surrender.

Mal had begun to worry the sides of her neck, finding the soft skin below her ear, on his way in a southerly direction. “Our baby has a dirty mouth.” Mal liked dirty in the bedroom.

"Think of all the dirty things I could do with my arms and hands free.” Camille said softly, licking the outside of the arm that Mal held beside her head to prop himself over her body. “And I’ll describe everything I’m going to do to while I do it.” The promise of bedroom gymnastics was illicit in her voice. Camille couldn’t help but smile when she felt Malcolm tense for a moment. She just knew she had him.

“No, naughty girl.” Malcolm reprimanded before dragging the edge of his teeth against her breasts. She came so prettily. He wanted to chance to watcher her a couple more times before he even considered letting her loose. Shifting his body back down her body, trailing kisses all the way, Malcolm was back at work torturing her with careful, fluttery, little nips around the areolas of her breasts, only to shock her nerve endings by taking long hard pulls from her nipples. Every time she seemed to catch on to his rhythm, he’d abruptly change it with the sharp jerks of pain and pleasure pulled from her body. She couldn’t count how many times she had cum…three…four …four thousand times? Before Carrick’s rude awakening she had inhabited a subspace that only encompassed twenty fingers and two mouths.

The feeling was too painful…too sweet…too much…too little. Her body involuntarily shuddered with the reverberating molecular memory of it. Camille heaved a sigh, she was a goner, and she still had yet to see any dick. Well, she saw a lit bit in passing. Maybe that’s why everyone wasn’t running around like chickens fighting for a place in a threesome. Camille almost head-butted Malcolm when he took another strong pull from her nipple. This shit could kill a person! Camille cast a worried eye to her left arm, realizing she couldn’t feel it. Wasn’t numbness in a woman’s arm an early indication of a heart attack?

Camille wiggled her ass on the bed, simultaneously shifting the way her weight was distributed amongst her bindings. The blood rushed back to her desensitized limb. Okay, it’s not a heart attack… She almost purred in relief as Malcolm backed off the Chinese nibble torture and let his gifted hands caress her breasts, studying her reactions like she was the final exam and he was an overachiever on Crack. Then Carrick began to thrust his tongue into her…They’re just trying to kill me Camille’s head collapsed backward as she ground her teeth, fighting not to scream as they brought her to the brink…Again.

“Carrick and Malcolm if you don’t stop playing, I grantee you that payback will be a bitch.” Camille growled at her men.

Carrick couldn’t hold back his devilish smile. He heard her, and then ignored her. He could do this all night. Making Camille cum could be his new pastime-a hobby, if you will. Watching Malcolm loose himself in her body only inspired him further. Carrick could see that Malcolm was straining to hold himself back. God knew that Carrick understood the feeling. Carrick sat back on his heels and admired her smooth, long legs, then definition of her muscles along the way to the landscaped area between her legs. She had such a pretty pussy. Everything was all well proportioned and tucked in between her succulent lips. Carrick bent down while pulling her behind up to meet his mouth, as he pushed the tip of his tongue deep into Camille’s pussy. The walls of this most secret spot didn’t just contract in response, it fuckin’ quivered. Carrick grinned in response. Nothing else about this woman bowed or bent to anyone, but her pussy quivered for him. I’m in love.

“Pw-wa, Pw-wa, Pweeezeee.” Camille’s pleading pants rasped through the room. Carrick didn’t bother to determine whether she was pleading him to stop, or to continue because with each exhalation her nether lips ground against his mouth. Carrick rolled his tongue along the bundle of fibers that formed into a small fleshy nub, relishing the delicacy of the taste of her floating around in his mouth. He couldn’t help but to nip her again with his teeth, soothing the area with a broad stroke of his tongue. That combination brought her to her toes each and every time. Carrick couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of her body’s reaction his touch, the intensity of what she was feeling drew her body to a bow. Well… a bow that was tied to a bed. Her legs open wide in invitation, her body straining for more, forcing Carrick groan in reaction. Using one hand to hold her weight, he took a hold of himself and took a pull in a futile attempt to ease some of the tension that continued to pool there, the sight of Camille’s long, taunt body coiling and stretching with each touch, was almost a painful reminder of his own body’s need to bury itself in at least one of his lovers. Carrick looked over at Mal, watching him worry Camille’s nipples like a mad evil genius. Carrick felt almost felt bad for Camille. Malcolm had “that” look in his eye. We’re in for a long night. Humming again into Camille’s pussy, the vibration caused her to thrash. He eased off reminding himself of the caution he’d just gave Mal. He didn’t want her to actually break something.

That thought suddenly brought the day they found her on the boat back in focus for him. Seeing her broken body folded into that tiny corner of the bloody stateroom, the terror of praying that they weren’t going to lose her, the weeks of watching her body slowly knit itself back together while he, little by little, began the impossible…falling for her. He eased his mouth off of her, her scent still infused his senses. I could have lost her. This woman who ties me closer to Malcolm in a completely different way than we never considered available-probably the only woman in the world who could have that distinction. His body reacted at the thought. He would have never really gotten to know this infuriating, complicated, amazingly brave woman. His hands cradled her bottom. He could feel Camille blindly arching her body so her pussy could be soothed by making some type of contact with him. The depth of emotions that he was feeling caused Carrick to slide his arms up her body and nestle his head against her stomach. With each breath he fought for control of his feelings. With each of hers, pressed jaggedly against his rough cheek, he prayed for the steadiness to quiet his trembling. Malcolm, and now she were the two cracks in his defenses and he would always protect them with everything at his disposal. Carrick looked up finding Malcolm, as always so in-tuned with him, watching him with a puzzled expression.