Miles lifts his head and makes extended, concerted eye contact. We negotiate a secret contract through our seal in which I agree to give myself over as he’s been nagging me to do, and he makes his “Master” happy. I’m not sure which of us gets the better end of the deal.

Thank you, he mouths when Red’s not looking, though I’ll bet Siren caught it. I purse my lips and cover my nod with a head bow.

Siren slips around me and joins Red beside the bed. They look at each other, then she turns to me. “Take your clothes off. Do it slowly. The dress needs to slide down your curves to your feet. Leave it there.”

I blow out my breath and reach for the open V at my breasts.

“I said slowly,” she snaps.

Okayyy … I slowly push the thin faux leather down my shoulders. Siren takes the discarded riding crop and runs the tip over my exposed flesh, drawing a legion of goosebumps to the surface. I resist the urge to shiver. Clenching my thighs together, I roll the dress over my belly.

Now, I’m a thirty-five-year-old, fairly inexperienced woman (aside from those few years of marriage to a closeted gay man and a couple flings with fellow hockey dykes) who isn’t used to showing off her calves, let alone her secret bits in front of strangers. It’s not as if my body is worn or stretched out from childbearing or even age, but it’s not as pretty I want it to be for Siren, who’s the total opposite of me at twenty-something and full of tightness. Even with Miles watching, I’m a little uncomfortable.

My nerve endings flash hyperalert signals like a million little live wires under my flesh. Every shift in the air, touch of the crop, and look from Siren sets those nerves on fire.

Licking my lips, I get over the self-consciousness and wriggle the dress the rest of the way down, leaving it around my ankles as instructed.

“Bra next,” she says, rubbing herself with the crop.

Fucking fuck. It’s all I can do not to drool at the sight of her plump lips pursing with pleasure, her eyes gleaming with promise.

Dipping a shoulder, I let the left strap tumble down my upper arm and watch for her reaction.

Mona Lisa smile.

Perfect.

I run my left hand across my chest, coyly keeping the exposed boob covered. I finger the right strap playfully. The riding crop’s tip grinds against her pussy through the wet black panties. She’s playing herself like a goddamn violin. I give her a couple seconds to finish this phrase, and then I shove the strap and cup down. The right nipple pops to attention. She drops the crop and yanks open the front clasp of the bra, freeing me.

My lungs work hard to keep up with her pace. She spins me to face Miles and Red, drops to her knees, fucking bites the lacy waistband of my underwear above my crack, and drags it down. The lingerie falls on top of the pooled dress. I’m shoved face first onto the mattress, and the snap of the crop on my ass cheek startles me.

“Son of a bitch!” I cry out. Pleasure races pain toward the finish line of my reptilian brain. I’ll call it a tie.

Siren positions my feet shoulder-width apart, my ass up in the air. My face is next to Miles’s leg. I can’t tell what he and Red are doing, but my money’s on watching the lesbian getting whipped.

Another crash ignites my ass.

I bite the gold covers.

Zing!

My head jerks.

Pop!

God, it hurts. Why am I enjoying it so much? This ride into the unknown without a seatbelt is horrifying and addictive at the same time.

Red skirts around the bed and unties Miles. All I want is to feel more of this—of her—through the lens of pain.

“Do you know why I’m punishing you, Vanilla?” Siren whispers beside my hot ear, her sweat pressed against my tingling spine.

I shake my head. I can’t speak.

“Because I’ve seen your look before. You need this. And I’m a generous Mistress.” She glances to Miles, who’s sitting up, rubbing his wrists.

I close my eyes. I do need this.

“I’m giving you a gift you’ll never forget.” She lifts up from me and I immediately miss the weight of her. I’m empty.

The door opens. Air moves. Someone else has come in.

“Who is that?” I ask.

CRACK!

“You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Siren,” she corrects.

“Yes, Siren.”

The mattress dips and jostles. Siren blocks my view to the room beyond the bed. What the fuck is going on in here? Panic crawls up my throat.

“On your hands and knees.”

When I raise my head, the two men stand nearby, Red the picture of calm cunning and Miles the beaten slave, chest heaving. No sign of the other person, but a wall of naked skin blocks my line of sight. I swallow the bile climbing my throat. Miles gives me a reassuring nod between pants. You’ll be okay, he’s telling me. I lower my gaze to his throbbing erection. I’m not so sure.

I tentatively climb on the mattress and maneuver into position.

The crinkles of a tearing condom wrapper behind me shatter the silence.

“Do you want to stop?” Red asks.

Million-dollar question. Hell yes, I want to stop. This is fucked up beyond the kind of fucked up I’m used to on the tour bus. I’ve witnessed a lot of crazy shit with those kids, but nothing like this.

But when will I ever have another chance to?

You only live once, Frost.

I sigh and brace myself. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do it.” Whatever it is.

Someone joins me on the mattress. The scent tells me it’s Miles. He corners me, leaning across my back, grazing my spine like he did when we fucked doggie-style in the good ol’ days of queer-as-fuck latency glazed over with a fine sheen of heterosexuality.

He caresses my hips. I lean into his touch. He’s the only familiar thing in this trap I’ve stumbled into. He’s my sole source of grounding. Not even Siren can be fully trusted to keep me settled. Yet.

“Ready?” Miles whispers. There’s a definite nervousness to his tone.

“Hurry it up,” I murmur.

He does.

I’ve been playing with dildos for months, but nothing could prepare me for the flesh and blood of a real-live dick lunging into me without much warning. Haven’t had one of those since Miles and I split, and I must admit, it’s some pretty tasty filling to wrap my nether lips around.

Miles is so turned on. The quivers in his arms channel through his hands into my hips. He’s holding back. I can tell by the tenseness in the air compacted between us. All worked up from the shit Red did to him, he’s about to lose his wad.

It takes a couple thrusts for me to recalibrate to having a man-dick inside me, but lubrication is not a problem. Thank Christ. Within seconds, I’m moving with him, reliving countless nights together (minus the dude, the hot lesbian, and Person X—wherever he or she is). But then he slows to a stop. The bed shifts under the added weight of a new body. Miles tenses and breathes several hisses in and out. I look over my shoulder to see what’s wrong.

Oh, fuck.

Red has entered the building.

Miles’s strained face bears the burden of spearing me on the front end, and being ramrodded by Red on the back end. Miles’s eyes fuzz out of focus as he grits his teeth.

Seriously, what the fuck?

I search for Siren, who shouldn’t be a source of reason, but given the circumstances, she totally is. She sits on the chair she dragged over earlier with one leg thrown carelessly over an arm, the other foot on the floor. Underwear shoved aside, her middle finger plunges in and out of her glistening pussy, triggering a flood of juice to my own cunt. I wiggle against Miles’s frozen cock. He’ll hit the jackpot shortly if the swirling sexual energy is any indicator.

“Fuck yeah,” Red groans.

I feel his thrust into Miles, which in turn thrusts into me. Miles slows his rhythm for a few seconds. When he matches Red’s pumps, a new beat arises among the three of us, and Miles is the bass drum keeping everything else in order. He’s the force driving this band. I hop a ride on his rhythm, and the pleasure builds to a slow, aching crescendo.

Soon, our three voices mix into a symphony of grunts, sighs, and moans as our bodies fall prey to one another.

“That’s right, fuck my cock,” Red tells Miles. “Grind your ass on this rod. Make me come.”

Not exactly the kind of pillow talk I expected from him, but crass works in this situation.

“Squeeze your tits,” Siren barks at me. “Pinch your nipples.”

I stare at her, defying her with my swinging breasts and lack of compliance. If I refuse to behave, she might give me another taste of that crop.

God, I am so fucked up right now. I heave my pussy up and hard against Miles, spearing myself to the root of him.

Then I laugh.

I fucking laugh.

Siren bounds off the chair, swiping the leather instrument from the floor where she left it. Using the tip, she lifts my tit, stops it from swaying, and thwacks it once.

“Ah!” I cry. I fuck Miles harder. Red fucks him harder. We all fuck harder.

Pop!

“Fuck you,” I mumble.

SLAP! That one hurt so bad, I stop moving.

“Fuck you!” I scream.

Siren leaps on the bed in front of me. She throws the crop against the wall, finger-fucks herself, and squeezes my chin, forcing me to stare into her stunning sapphire eyes. I smell her sweet pussy. Drool leaks from the corner of my mouth. Miles’s dick slams me, catching my puffy clit just right. A low growl builds in Red’s throat, rising in volume till it hits a roar. His orgasm triggers Miles to buck up and fuck me right and proper, and the two of them tumble into a climax while I kill Siren with my stare.

Through our mutual eye-lock, I commit to seeing her through to completion. I hold tight to her with nothing more than a look, willing her to come, even though I can’t.

Miles is still fucking me as he pours his lust into the condom. Riding out the last of his thrusts, I lift to my knees and give Siren the nipple pinching she asked for. I gotta get this girl off. Prove to her I’m worth her time. Her fingers dig faster into her gaping, pretty pink cunt, and she works herself into a silent frenzy.

It’s the most beautiful orgasm I’ve ever witnessed. Her gaze never wavers. She sees only me. Her lips part as the riptide drags her under, but still, she watches me through heavy lids. I’m her lifeline. She needs me.

Yes! Mission accomplished. For her, at least.

When she comes up for air, I collapse on the bed into a pile with Red and Miles. Our heavy breaths combine. Siren stands up, bracing on the arm of the chair before grabbing her things. She reassembles her clothing, picks up her bag, and walks out of the room without a word.

What the fuck?

The purple-masked man in the corner, who I hadn’t seen until this moment, ambles over to the bed and tosses a business card at me. Then he leaves too.