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You’re not sure what you should have been expecting, really, after responding affirmatively to Sylvie’s message regarding seeing Loki again (yes, Loki was strangely, evidently, his actual given name, and you’re not at all surprised the barista had misspelled it) in a similar context, but you certainly weren’t expecting this.
Because Sylvie’s in your living room, dressed in the same festive red sweater from the first time you saw her, greeting you warmly like you’re just old friends (you know, who’ve only actually met twice and fucked both of those times), and more importantly, like Loki isn’t watching you both with wide eyes from beneath your Christmas tree, crouched on all fours and naked except for the shiny red ribbon tied into a gift bow around his neck, reindeer antlers atop his head, and a furry little reindeer tail protruding from his ass cheeks, which you can only assume is attached to a butt plug of some sort.
“I brought you a coffee,” she says casually, paying him no mind, and you try your very best to do the same, because this is part of the game, of course, and you’re trying hard to play by Sylvie’s rules.
It’s a holiday spiced flat white, which you’re pretty sure Starbucks doesn’t offer anymore, at least not around here, but you’ve long since given up on wondering how these things happen when Sylvie’s around.
“Oh. Um, thank you.” You’re caught between knowing you should be cautious with the obviously hot beverage, and wanting to throw that caution to the wind, because of what had happened the last time you burned your tongue in front of her. You give it a tempered little sip, and are only slightly disappointed to find that the temperature is actually perfectly drinkable.
“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I brought another gift, as well,” says Sylvie, and now you allow your gaze to shift back to the naked man under your Christmas tree, nodding. “He’s eager to please, if you’ll have him. Well-trained, too.” Loki’s hips jerk almost imperceptibly as she appraises him to you, drawing attention to his impressive erection, which you’re only now noticing is sporting a tightly fitted cock ring with the tiniest little sleigh bell; you can only just hear its gentle tinkling as he moves.
Your thighs clench without you realizing; to be honest you weren’t sure if or how this would work for you, but… it really is. There’s something to be said for being caught squarely in the middle of this power dynamic totem—something you assume Loki is already familiar with, after your last encounter, when the roles were switched. It makes you almost want to share some look of acknowledgement with him, but of course, that’s not part of this. Instead, you give a quiet hum of consideration, paired with another, longer sip of your beverage.
“What would you suggest?” you find yourself asking, and it’s surprising how quickly you can slip into the role. It’s not one that’s entirely unfamiliar to you, but it is one you hadn’t ever expected, considered, or even thought about considering taking on in the presence of this veritable sex goddess next to you, who’s still just that right amount of warm and intimidating, and oh, now you’re thinking about that, only you’re maybe also thinking about the ‘gift’ she’s brought you, and oh dear. (Oh deer?)
Sylvie’s grinning the evillest sort of grin, now, and it takes considerable effort to slurp back and swallow the remaining coffee that threatens to spill out of your mouth as your jaw instantly wants to go slack. You don’t even know if it’s meant for you or Loki or both or—
“Well,” she says, slowly, with a glance toward Loki and a jerk of her head, and Loki shuffles his way toward the both of you on hands and knees, eyes properly downcast. “You’ll find he’s quite the little slut, for pleasure or pain.” Sylvie demonstrates with a gentle sweep of one finger over his scrotum, his perineum, the little tail, which she tugs gently, making him moan softly, and then a hard crack to his ass cheek with her palm, his moan quickly turning to a yelp, followed by another, shakier vocalization of pleasure; you can see him shiver. “If you’re so inclined to play that way.”
(You just might be.)
“He’s also very good with his mouth,” she continues, smirking, and she presses three fingers past his lips, which part obediently for her right away before he begins to lap thoroughly at each one, swirling his tongue over the tips of them, slurping and sucking. “…Should you require it of him.” Loki dares to make eye contact with you as he laves over Sylvie’s middle finger with a tongue that seems longer than it has a right to be, and suddenly it’s much too hot to be drinking a warm beverage. You set your coffee down carefully on the end table, reminding yourself that this man is, in fact, wearing reindeer antlers and that should really make this all feel less enticing. (It doesn’t help.)
You chew your lip as you look from him to her and back again, and again. The possibilities are endless, and while that’s an amazing, incredible, ridiculously arousing prospect, it’s also more than you can even begin to sort through right now.
Luckily, Sylvie seems to know it, and she pulls her hand away from Loki’s mouth—which remains just slightly open like it’s waiting for a new task—to slip an arm around you, creeping up beneath the hem of your shirt and walking her spit-wet fingers up the small of your back. “It’s okay if you don’t know where to start,” she says quietly. “Here,” she says, guiding you to your own couch and pressing gently on your shoulder. “Why don’t you sit down, and we can give him a show? He likes to watch, too.”
Dazed, you nod, and before you know it, her mouth is on yours, gentle but so insistent, pressing the tip of her tongue to your closed lips until they yield to her, and then pulling you the rest of the way against her, your face pressed to hers in a suffocating kiss that you’re barely a participant in, but it’s perfect. Her hands are in your hair, at the base of your neck, slipping beneath your collar to tease at the skin just underneath your clothing, and you find yourself melting into it, eager for the things to come that she’s hinting at.
You gasp as she pulls away, smirking at her own effectiveness. “Now,” she begins, “do you want to give it a try?”
You swallow, and nod.
“He does like his hair pulled, if you want an easy reaction,” she whispers in your ear, her eyes sparkling with mischief when she turns back to face Loki, who’s still kneeling at both of your feet.
Your heart is hammering in your chest as you reach out, gripping a handful of Loki’s dark hair from beneath the headband and tugging sharply. His eyes are fixed on Sylvie’s as he whimpers in response; hers flicker between the both of you, a smugly satisfied grin on her face.
“Good, how did it feel, pet?” she asks, and you almost open your mouth to respond right away before you realize you aren’t sure for whom she meant it.
Your gaze flicks over to Loki, who seems like he’s giving similar pause, and you feel the tiniest ripple of jealousy deep in your gut. Your first reaction is to shove it aside, because it’s ridiculous, really, but with a spark of realization, you repurpose it instead, letting it dull the edges of your timidity as you wrap the strands of hair around your hand and pull slowly this time, watching as Loki’s mouth falls open, his gaze snapping back to Sylvie as if to ask if this is allowed.
Sylvie lets out a low, amused hum. “Well done, darling,” she croons, looking directly at you, this time, and Loki seems to mewl, whether from the tight grip you’re keeping on him or in a bid for Sylvie’s attentions, you can’t tell, but it fills you, regardless.
“You’re being such a very good boy, aren’t you?” she addresses Loki, now, reaching out to trace her fingertips down his cheek and jaw, and gently removing the antlers, setting them down beside your flat white before grasping a fistful of his hair from the opposite side of his head and mirroring your position, holding firmly, close to his scalp. You can see the lines near his eyes where the skin is pulled taut from your combined efforts; you can also see the tears gathering along them, just involuntary watering in response to the sensation.
And god it feels so strange, a foot in both doorways, so to speak, with the fact of this tortured man at your feet stoking an ever growing flame of delicious power within you, and the way that Sylvie regards you with a look that conveys nothing less than ownership and intent causing another part of you to tremble with the thrill of subjugation. It’s dizzying.
Sylvie lets go of Loki’s hair to reach down between his legs, the tiny bell at the base of his cock tinkling quietly while she strokes him slowly, gently, keeping her gaze fixed on you even as he gasps and whimpers at her touch. You find yourself relaxing your grip, too, and letting your hand wander down the length of his back, stopping at the fuzzy tail. You give it a few flicks, savoring the needy moan that it earns you.
“I was thinking,” says Sylvie conversationally, as you both continue to toy distractedly with her partner, “It really would be a shame if we didn’t put his mouth to good use.” Loki moans again, quiet and subdued, like he doesn’t want to interrupt. “If you’re not comfortable—and I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t— I wouldn’t be opposed to taking advantage. You would make certain he’s doing his job, of course, keep him in line.” She smirks, and Loki whines, wriggling into both of your touches.
“Yeah,” you say, pretending that you’re being exceedingly smooth by letting go of the tail to reach for your coffee and take a long sip—even though it’s really just that your throat is suddenly very dry, and you maybe need a few seconds to come up with more words. “Yeah. I think I could do that.” You hope you sound more confident than you feel.
“You’ll be a good boy for us, yes?” asks Sylvie, and Loki shudders and nods, and she moves her hand to squeeze at the base of his cock just above the ring, resulting in an anguished whimper as Loki bucks forward into only air at the loss of her touch. She clucks her tongue at his impertinence, shaking her head. “None of that, to start.”
With effort, Loki stills his hips, looking properly chastised, and Sylvie smiles. “Good.”
She stands, moving your coffee table out of the way without asking—miraculously, not a drop of your coffee is spilled—and plants herself back down on the couch beside you, extending her leg toward Loki expectantly. Immediately, he begins unlacing her boot, slowly enough to qualify as ‘reverent,’ yet at the same time, hastily enough that his enthusiasm is plainly evident.
“Come here,” Sylvie beckons as Loki undresses her, and obediently, you scoot closer, allowing her to pull you in close for a fierce kiss, her vocalizations almost a purr against your lips as she holds you firmly to her with one hand at the back of your head.
She continues to kiss you as Loki strips off her boots, then peels off her jeans and underwear—you feel his hand between you and Sylvie, at your side, and Sylvie lifts her hips to allow it—and you almost smile at the tiny gasp that you can feel against your mouth, presumably when Loki first presses his face to her cunt. It feels like a privileged secret, being close enough to witness her reaction, even as she works to appear so stoic, and you love it.
She shifts this way and that, trying to get the best angle, but—
“Take this off,” she huffs breathlessly, tugging at the bow around Loki’s neck, and for whatever reason, you jump to assist, only you’re maybe pulling it tighter before you even realize what you’re doing, a roiling wave of heat rolling over you once you do, when Loki lets out a small, strangled sound of surprise, and you let up just enough to know you’re not hurting him, glancing over to see Sylvie staring back with wide eyes and eyebrows raised, which sends and entirely new and fundamentally different wave of heat through you, and god, you’re throbbing with it all.
“Well, well, look at you, pet. You really are enjoying your gift, aren’t you?”
(Yes, definitely throbbing.)
She smiles. “So excited to open him up? Take off that bow and I’ll let you play with him while he works.”
So you do, and he’s diving back in between Sylvie’s legs before you can even set the bow down.
She was right, he is a slut, you think, but you won’t say it out loud, because really, you’re pretty sure that you, who’ve practically come in your pants several times over from the slightest of touches from Sylvie, definitely can’t judge him, so you keep your mouth shut, while he opens wide, clamping his mouth over her as best he can and no doubt putting his tongue to very good work on her.
There’s that, too, really—the fact that this is the second time you’ve watched this man go down on the goddess who’s captivated you from the moment you set foot in that restroom, and you’ve yet to have the opportunity.
Still, you’re somehow very confident this won’t be the last time you see Sylvie—and possibly Loki as well—and so you open that floodgate again, just a little, allowing some of that jealousy to seep in and whet your appetite for his suffering—just a reasonable amount.
And it works.
You relinquish your spot on the couch to kneel beside Loki on the floor instead, watching Sylvie watch you intently as you run a fingernail over the line of his spine; satisfyingly, he shivers beneath your touch. You give the little tail a few more flicks as before, gratified as he arches his back to push his ass out toward the source of the stimulation, especially when Sylvie speaks up to chastise him:
“Oh, no. Focus,” she chides, then looks to you. “You may have to give him some reminders, as it seems he’s particularly distractible today.”
Grinning, you give the plug a little nudge, waiting for a reaction, but Loki is fighting himself to remain obedient after Sylvie’s reminder. Contemplatively, you give his balls a gentle tug, then another little wriggling of the plug, and the rhythm of his movements against Sylvie’s cunt falters, and ah, there’s your opportunity. You lift your opposite hand to give him a hard slap on one ass cheek, admiring the little pink aura it leaves behind, along with the way his whimpers are muffled by Sylvie’s glorious cunt while she wiggles against him to remind him of his work.
Sylvie grins right back at you.
“Let’s see if he’s learned his lesson,” she says, beckoning you up closer to her once more. “I want your mouth, too.”
You try to look more collected than you feel as you all but scramble back onto the couch beside Sylvie, who’s looking at you, still smirking, but through half-closed eyes as she rocks ever so slightly against Loki’s very occupied mouth. She strips off her sweater as you settle next to her, wasting absolutely no time at all in arranging the tank underneath it to expose both of her breasts and oh, fuck, you maybe forgot you’ve never actually seen Sylvie’s tits before this and they are perfect, which is to be expected, you suppose, but god, they’re available to you, now, and you’re biting your lip hard enough that there’s a slight metallic trickle running under your tongue as you try desperately to wait for some instruction instead of simply lunging forward to touch her.
“Go on, pet,” she says, obviously seeing the want written across your face, and it’s all the invitation you need.
Your mouth seeks out one nipple as your fingers find the other, exploring the feel of each hardened nub against tongue and fingertip all at once; flicking, rolling, stroking, squeezing, and oh good fuck, Sylvie is breathing more heavily, her hips rolling continuously toward Loki’s face, and when she brings a hand to hold each of you by the back of the head, you know she must be close; you moan around the breast that’s in your mouth at the realization of it, more desire and jealousy flickering inside of you as you wish desperately for a moment that you could trade places with Loki—though at the same time, you know you’d be loath to give up her tits, anyway—and then she is coming, nearly crushing you to her chest as she shudders against you, growling (there’s no other word for it) as she uses you both for her gratification.
And then she’s pushing you away, still maintaining a firm grip on the hair at the back of Loki’s head as she slowly fucks herself against his face, using her opposite hand to press down on your shoulder. “Hold him,” she pants, somehow still retaining that edge of control, and you realize you’re shaking as you hurry to comply, almost as though you’ve just come, too.
You put yourself on your knees behind Loki, who’s still on all fours, helplessly held in place against Sylvie’s cunt, and though your head is reeling, you relish in the idea of making him that much more helpless. You press your front to him, puffing out a shaky exhale of breath as you realize that you’re perfectly aligned for the soft tail end of his plug to nestle itself between your thighs, just there, and place your hands on his shoulders, relying on the weight of your body to hold him in place while Sylvie thrusts against his mouth more forcefully, the waves of each movement pushing Loki backward into you just enough that the plug is pressed between you both, and you can hear three sets of vocalizations all growing more frantic—your own moans through your tightly gritted teeth, Sylvie’s low groans and growls, and Loki’s muffled whimpers, between his gasps for air whenever the opportunity comes up, which you realize probably isn’t as often as he’d like, and you’re absolutely going to hell because that fact only pushes you to press harder, shove him further into her cunt as you watch him grow more and more desperate with a deeply perverse pleasure.
You dont even know which of you comes first, but your eyes are squeezed tightly shut as you grind yourself against Loki’s ass, the image, completely unbidden, in your mind that of him spit-roasted between the two of you, as though you each had a cock to fuck him with, his body connecting yours from either end of him—
You’re distantly aware of Sylvie crying out with another few forceful movements of her hips driving Loki back into you—
And then you’re slinking back onto your heels, panting, while Sylvie looks down, laughing breathlessly at the picture.
Cautiously, you scoot away from Loki to drape your upper body over the couch cushions, and Sylvie runs a hand over each of your backs. “My sweet pets,” she coos, and you arch into her touch, feeling very much like a cat preening at the attention, wondering if he feels the same.
And then, just like you’re that same cat, Sylvie pats her naked lap, gently. “Come,” she says, simply, looking at you, and you’re clambering back up to straddle her legs, your heart still racing, Loki still obediently seated at Sylvie’s feet.
“That’s a good girl,” she croons, raking her fingers through your hair, and her touch feels transcendent, even as you’re incredibly disappointed that apparently, she’d fixed her undershirt at some point, and was now properly clothed above the waist again.
“Tell me, pet,” she says, fingers coming to play along the waistband of your jeans, “did you enjoy that?” Her fingers hover at the button of the fly.
You nod.
“You like to be hurt,” she notes coolly, pinching the skin just above the button, and you hiss in response. She smiles. “I remember that from the last time.” She pops the button open. “But also,” she continues, sliding the zipper down and slipping her hand inside of your jeans, inside of your underwear, “you like to do the hurting.” Her fingers meet with the sopping wetness of your cunt, stroking slowly up and down, up and down your slit. “Don’t you?”
You’re biting your lip again, worrying the already broken skin between your teeth. “Mmhmm,” you hum faintly in affirmation. She’s taking you apart, between her hand inside your pants and her casual, yet careful analysis of your proclivities while she strokes you, and you feel so exposed.
“Did you come in your pants just now?”
You nod again, your cheeks on fire, and she continues to glide her fingers over you, opening you up, sending electric zings of pleasure through your core.
“How does it feel to have both, little one?” she asks, and you shiver at the diminutive. You couldn’t have anticipated how incredibly right it would feel, to be made to feel so small in Sylvie’s lap, even as you’re still buzzing with the delicious adrenaline of exerting your own power over another.
She slips her middle finger inside, only just barely, what with the awkward angle of things, but it’s enough to make you shudder and moan; it feels incredible to have both, just like it feels incredible to have Sylvie inside of you, even if it’s only the slightest bit.
“Would you like me to hurt you while you hurt him, pet? Hm? He’d love it, sweetheart, I know he would, if it would make you feel good, too.”
You moan again, rocking against her, and it only takes a second of contemplation before you know the answer with complete certainty. “Please.”
She calls for him to join you, in your previous position next to her on your couch, and he sits, facing the both of you, eyes downcast and waiting.
“Go ahead, sweetheart,” encourages Sylvie, and you shift your hips, raising up just slightly so that her finger can sink deeper inside of you, and you reach out, thankful that you’ve left your nails long, because god it feels good to rake them down the front of Loki’s body, savoring the little hiss of breath that leaves him, and then Sylvie is yanking your collar to the side to sink her teeth into your shoulder, and you cry out, grinding your clit into the heel of her palm and curling your fingers against his chest, embedding your fingernails into the flesh there and pressing.
“That’s it,” whispers Sylvie. “It’s so good, isn’t it?”
You groan, closing your eyes as you rock against her, fucking her hand like it were her cunt or cock—close as you know you are to her naked cunt as it is—and twisting your wrist slightly, back and forth, imagining the little half moon shapes you’ll leave on Loki’s skin as you continue to apply force.
Sylvie snakes a hand up the back of your shirt, her own fingernails pressing into the sensitive skin of your mid back. “You’re so pretty when you’re getting everything you need,” she breathes, low and quiet, just for you.
With a cut-off whimper, you’re fucking into her hand desperately, dragging your fingernails down Loki’s front again, and between the agonized sound that escapes him and the way that Sylvie groans in satisfaction as she grasps a fistful of your hair and twists until your head is arched back and your scalp is on fire, you’re coming before you even realize, caught in a loop of endless feeling, completely unsure of who is in charge of whom, only that everything feels so good and Sylvie thinks you’re pretty and her hands are on you and he’s hurting because of you and oh god yes.
You can hear the tinkling of the little bell attached to Loki’s cock, and Sylvie’s still fucking you with her one finger, agonizingly—almost sweetly— slow and gentle, when you emerge on the other side of your orgasm, hazy and sated.
“Poor thing,” says Sylvie softly, and you know it isn’t meant for you. “You’ve still not come, and look at you.”
And look at him, you do; you did, in fact, manage to leave some satisfying marks on him, even drew the tiniest pinpricks of blood in places, but more telling is the way tears line his bottom lashes, his lips a deep bitten-red, and his cock flushed impossibly dark, bobbing needily as he rocks his hips into nothingness, desperate for some relief.
“And to think, we’ve both come twice. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
Loki whimpers, and you think maybe you see some fresh tears forming at the corners of his eyes.
“Shall I take you home, then? You’ve been such a good boy, you can come right away.”
He doesn’t say anything, just looks at her imploringly.
Sylvie smiles sweetly at you, slowly, slowly withdrawing her hand. “You’ve done well, too, my pet.” She kisses you with surprising gentleness. “Did you enjoy your gift?”
You laugh breathlessly. “Very much,” you reply, rubbing your hand along Loki’s arm and side.
“I’ll see you soon? Yeah?” asks Sylvie, gradually standing to give you time to adjust and slip off of her lap, repositioning yourself on the couch as she dresses.
You notice the socks, of course, as she puts them back on. Bright pink, with little glittering candy canes all over. You share a knowing smile with Sylvie as she takes Loki by the hand, and he stands for the first time since he’s gotten here, on slightly trembling legs, as they head to the door.
It’s only now that you realize you’re not really sure how they managed to get to your door without anyone noticing a naked reindeer man, nor do you know how they plan to get out, either. But before you can process it, they’re out the door, and when you look out the window, they’re gone.
You turn, shrugging—it’s really not much stranger than last Christmas—and head back over to the couch.
Your coffee table seems to be back in its place, somehow, along with your holiday spice flat white (Of course it’s still hot. Of course.) The antlers and bow, too, and beside it all, a festive red envelope.
You smile as you open it, revealing a little note card and a glittering reindeer ornament for your tree.
Merry Christmas, pet.
I’m so glad you enjoyed your gift.
Try to leave some room in your plans for New Year’s?
See you soon.
XOXO
Sylvie