This story is rated NC-17 (adults only). It includes explicit female/male and male/male sex. If this is what you came for, scroll down. If it isn't, hit the Back button.
They are not handsome, these two. Her handpicked subordinates are healthy, blooming specimens of manhood, but these two are too thin, too restless. Too many stimulants. Typical Americans.
But they are very, very attentive.
Ray Vecchio shoots Ray Kowalski a challenging look, and then he slides a hand down her inner thigh to her knee, moving her leg outward. His other hand goes in the opposite direction, from the knee up, rucking her skirt up to her hips. Her pantyhose and underwear were discarded at the same time as the two detectives' shirts, so now there's no barrier as he kneels on the plastic chair mat and bends his head.
He uses his hands more than his mouth; occasional touches of his tongue are merely grace notes to his talented fingers. She doesn't close her eyes, but looks at Kowalski, who's watching closely. With his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans, his fingertips just brush the erection that's clearly visible under the faded denim.
She stretches and preens under his gaze, and the other Ray murmurs encouragement and redoubles his efforts.
When she nears climax, though, he slows suddenly, and his free hand pets her thigh until she loosens the muscles she had clenched to speed herself along. Ah -- it will be slow, then. She relaxes into his hands and lets him begin to take her up the incline again.
Ray Kowalski is restless. "You may undress, if you like," she suggests.
"Want something pretty to look at, huh?" he says, and sheds his clothes in a heap on the floor, moving to lean against the wall beside her. With her head tilted against the chair's headrest, she can see him easily.
He isn't pretty. Her men are pretty. He's lean and hard and restless as a dangerous animal. When his hands move to stroke his cock, she nods. Yes, let him satisfy himself; that will be a pleasure to watch.
Her own partner glances to the side. "Not bad, Kowalski," he says. The other Ray's face tightens in what might be anger. It's difficult to tell. He's matching his speed to the movement of her hips, and Ray Vecchio is now openly watching him over the rise of her leg, and she puts her knuckles in her mouth and climaxes violently under his hands.
He stands gracefully, and once he's in view, the other Ray suddenly looks startlingly naked. Ray Vecchio waves two wet fingers under Ray Kowalski's nose, and both of them make a startled sound when Kowalski sucks them into his mouth.
"Whyncha take your clothes off, Vecchio," he says when he releases them, and he takes his place on the floor in front of her.
Where Vecchio focused on finesse, Kowalski seems to be aiming for speed, which suits her mood perfectly. His mouth is wet and his strategy seems to be to make everything as sloppy as possible. She finds this strangely arousing. There's no exploration; he finds the right place and the right speed and applies the one to the other steadily.
Ray Vecchio removes his trousers, folds them to preserve the crease, removes a pair of very flattering undershorts, and presents her with a long, elegant curve of a penis. He glances at Kowalski, who can probably see without raising his head.
"Go on," she says encouragingly, and he treats himself to the same slow tease he used on her. He has hardly altered his speed when Kowalski's wet tongue drives her to climax.
She wonders which of them will penetrate her first. Kowalski seems like the sort to leap upon her impulsively before the aftershocks are done, but Vecchio would probably say, with some justice, that he has an earlier claim. She has no objection to whatever they decide.
But instead, Ray Kowalski rises, catching himself with a hand on the edge of her desk as his knees apparently protest the change in position, and walks over to Ray Vecchio. His mouth and chin, she sees, are shiny.
He kisses him.
Vecchio's strokes speed up.
Ah. This, too, will be interesting.
She slides her hand between her legs and watches.
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July 15, 2004