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[achilles]

Well, you don't need to know, do you? ( said in a cajoling tone, a don't worry your pretty little head, princess. ) That's what your Daddy's for.

( reaching forward, he plucks the toy out of her fingers, ruffling his opposite hand through her hair, both paternal and demeaning. he holds the tapered end in front of her mouth, laced with enough implication that what he wants almost goes without the spoken instruction, )

First, you get it wet.

( before pressing it to her lips, waiting until he can push the bulk of it inside her mouth. daddy's favorite toy pressed up against her lips — it almost looks like a pacifier, which is enough to have ash smiling, bending in to kiss the end of it, nipping at her nose playfully before pulling away.

acting a little like he forgot gwen was even there, he gives his attention elsewhere, to a small side table that sits a casual bit of clutter — a fifth of scotch, a tabbed bible, reading glasses, lube. the latter he scoops up, clutching in his hand, pressing his elbow to the arm rest and dropping his chin on his knuckles, eyeing gwen with a detached, analytical look. after a beat, he carries on. )

Turn around and press your cheek to the floor.

[internship]

[ Gwen knows the toy is new, that it hasn’t been inside anyone before, but the press of it to her lips—knowing where it will be going, shortly—still feels dirty, makes her cheeks burn even brighter. Her brows knit as she parts her lips and accommodates the small bulb, the weight of cool steel that warms quickly on her tongue; works around the instinct to lower her gaze, shy, and instead keeps her eyes on Ash, not-quite-wet with embarrassment.

He leaves her there, saliva pooling in her mouth, a little discomfort in her jaw. Gwen’s eyes drift to the Bible, a shameful tug of heat in her gut, when he gives her the next command.

If Gwen’s honest, it’s easier facing Ash than the door, and she imagines that’s—at least part of the point. She gives a small nod, her mouth full, before she does as asked, the empty hall in clear view for a moment until she shifts her knees apart and lifts her hips up high, turns and presses her cheek to the scratchy fiber of the rug.

The pleats of her skirt succumb to gravity, of course, and fall up around her hips, white panties stretched tight across her cheeks. Gwen closes her eyes, for a moment, exposed and wanting Ash to touch her, wondering how long he’ll take. ]

[achilles]

( a shoe prods the space between her knees, kicking them apart the way you'd nudge an inconveniently sunning cat, forcing her into a more telling spread. in leaning forward, her snags his fingers around the elastic of her panties and pushes them roughly down, letting them linger somewhere mid thigh. then he sits back, puts a fist against his chin, and observes her. bare cunt, perfect ass — all of her pink and pretty, the saturation of color at the center of a lily. his expression is tastefully neutral, possibly even bored, like going over a bill passed through congress, or arguing new drape colors with greer. still, he keeps tensing his hand, the motion telling only in how badly he wants to touch her. the toe of his shoe rubs against the inside of her knee, up and down, less comforting than it is reminding. like she could forget.

eventually, he stops wanting to wait. and why should he wait at all, but to torture her with it? ash moves to the edge of his seat, one hand palming gwen's ass to the side, thumb slipping down the crease to rub her, from hole to wet hole, taking his hand back to pop his thumb in his mouth. )

You know, it's only little sluts who like this sort of thing. ( he pops open the cap of the lube, spreads a liberal amount on his fingers, warming it up with his rubbing thumb. ) Like my wife. We had to work her up to take my cock and Embry's cock at the same time. ( he taps two wet fingers on her pussy. ) Here and ( middle finger sticking in place, he lifts his pointer and decorates her hole until it shines with lube, pressing just the tip inside. ) like this. I'd never done that sort of thing before. Embry showed me how.

( lots of making greer come, to make it easier. he keeps playing with her hole, teasing around the outside, slipping barely in and easing out, less like he's trying to finger her open and more like he's touching her just because it's what he wants to be doing. because ash always gets what he wants. because he likes making her shy and embarrassed and hot. he tilts his head out to look at her, offering a wink. )

Now I get to show you. Isn't that nice of Mr. President? You should thank him next time you see him. ( thoughtful, gaze back on her ass, watching the muscles flutter around his fingers. ) "Thank you Mr. President, for teaching Ash how to finger my ass."

[internship]

[ Gwen isn’t prepared for how strange it feels, when Ash slips the tip of his finger into her last virgin hole. Her teeth knock against the plug in her mouth as she makes a high, involuntary sound—loud, too, and with the door open that makes her clench around his fingers.

Everything Ash says makes her ears burn red-hot, even as her cunt pulses sweetly for him. Gwen thinks about Greer taking Ash and Embry and sweat beads at the small of her back, trickles down to her shoulder blades. She wants to watch them, but more than that— she wants to sit in Greer’s lap while they touch both men at the same time. She wants Greer to kiss her with Embry’s mouth between her thighs, and Ash—

He has big hands, and Gwen knows she’s tight, and it’s hard not to squirm, her ass swaying a little while drool coats her mouth and chin, spilling onto the floor. ]

[achilles]

( slowly, gently, he eases his finger into her, an overindulgence of lube wetting down in a pool on the floor, making a mess of her by two angles. ash thinks she's never looked better, personally — fluttering eyelashes and pink cheeks, incapable of responding while he weaves filth around her, about her. if he could, he'd always have gwen like this. bent over at his feet, offering whatever hole he feels like playing with on that particular day. once her body feels comfortable enough around one finger, he starts with the second, teasing along her rim before pushing inside. )

Empty head, full holes, hm?

( there's a sound at the door that snags his attention, carefully pulling his gaze up to spot greer in the doorway, eyes a little wild in surprise. caught. how fortunate for them, ash and gwen's play time just happened to overlap with the walk greer takes daily to her little reading nook. surely a good husband would know about it?

for his part, ash acts like there's no real surprise, still easing his second finger inside gwen, being methodical with it, trying to ease the pain. his free hand, which had been petting gwen's hip soothingly, twitches. )

My wife. How good to see you. ( sternly, ) Come here. Shut the door behind you.

( followed by a snap of his fingers. he knows it's a weird situation. possibly uncomfortable, possibly for both of them — they might feel instinctively that they can't, or don't want to do it. but ash snapped so gwen has to come — and ash trusts them both, safewords in their hands, to be prepared to use it should they need it. if not? then the instructions are there, the same as always: listen, obey, or face the consequences. )

[guinegreer]

[ The truth is that Greer has been lingering just outside the room for more than a minute — and she has the keen sense, even now, that Ash had known she was eavesdropping and purposefully woven her name into the conversation in an effort to flush her out of hiding. Before she'd approached the open door, she'd heard the low, thoughtful tones of his voice, the same one he uses when she's already on her knees, and instinctively understood what she would be met with, despite the identity of the other person — the other woman — being a mystery at first until she catches the softest note of a whimper, a louder version of the sound she'd earned from Gwen's lips herself in that shared chalet bed.

Her fingers, suddenly slippery and clammy, squeak over the spine of the book she's gripping onto, and then she's there, hovering in the doorway, absorbing the scene before her: Ash perched on the edge of a chair, one shoe-clad foot assertively planted on the floor between the shameless splay of Gwen's knees, the spill of long, blonde hair across the carpet, white panties carelessly shoved down and straining at the elastic. She can't see everything from this angle, but she can see enough, between the plug inelegantly perched between Gwen's drooling lips and Ash's hand idly working in a slow, steady rhythm that Greer intimately recognizes from previous experience as the stretching kind.

My wife, Ash acknowledges her — and she is his, isn't she, wholly and completely, regardless of what she's inadvertently stumbled upon? Though now, Greer can't help but wonder if Ash planned the timing of this perfectly, always intended for her to discover them together, wanted her to be involved in some capacity. The collar creating a subtle ridge beneath the neckline of her sweater screams as much.

So Greer does as she's been ordered to, closing the door with a soft snick behind her but not locking it, and crosses the room until she's close enough to Ash to drop into a kneeling position at his feet, barely acknowledging Gwen because she hasn't been directed to spare her attention elsewhere yet. Her book is still in her grasp, even, and she brings it flat over her thighs, clasps her hands over the cover. The instinct to lean forward, to nuzzle her cheek against Ash's thigh, is so strong she nearly breaks the rules for it, but instead she lowers her chin, directs her gaze to the floor, and waits for his next order. Her safeword is there, can be reached for at any time, but her silence speaks louder in the moment itself. ]