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He chuckled, but drew her to the rug, an ultra-soft throw meant to feel like animal fur but wasn't. Kneeling, he drew her down with him and stretched out on one hip, propping up his head with a bent arm and hand braced in front of him.
"Okay, lie down with your head at my feet and body stretched out in front of me so your feet are here." He patted the spot in front of his chest, accurately gauging the difference in their heights. "Just think erotic Twister."
That made her smile, which she was sure he intended, since she was feeling nervous again. When she complied, he adjusted her so she was turned mostly on her stomach, helping keep her comfortable as he adjusted their legs into a scissor lock. As he gripped her hips and eased the core of their bodies closer together, she realized only a few inches separated her pussy from his testicles. She expected "flush" meant closing those few inches.
He met her gaze, making sure of her state of mind as he made the intimate contact. Her thigh muscles twitched against his, an outward reaction to her inner one, feeling the weight of his balls press against her labia in such a careful, planned way, where the body wanted to move but the mind held it still. Looking down their bodies, she saw his cock hard against his belly.
"No movement now," he said. "Pillow your head on your folded arms. It's more comfortable that way." Since he was still on his hip, he folded one arm beneath his head, his palm pressed against the rug, holding them steady as much as was needed.
Lyda was moving around in the kitchen. Gen heard the microwave going. Perhaps she drank tea with her evening reading. Gen could feel the pulse in his scrotum, matched by the beat in her own cunt. What had seemed like an odd, maybe even silly position--erotic Twister indeed--was apparently up there in the list of erotic torture methods. Her breathing was shallow, her nipples tight against the rug through the thin dress. She wanted to move, wanted to rub against him. Why shouldn't she?
Because Lyda had said they were to remain still. Unlike small infractions like Gen touching Noah's cock, which hadn't been directly proscribed, Gen sensed deliberately going against something Lyda ordered would be disrespectful, like putting one's feet up on someone's coffee table when invited to a luncheon. Gen had choices, yes, but in this case she suspected she only had two approved ones. Stay in this position or back away from Noah and decide not to do this. Period.
Lyda reentered in a thin silk robe, one that stopped mid-thigh and showed enough provocative movement of her breasts beneath the overlapped lapels, a flash of thigh as she moved, to suggest she wore nothing under it. She carried a book and a teacup, the tag fluttering over the edge. Setting them on the side table next to a wing-backed chair close to the rug, Lyda moved to the mantle and uncovered a metronome. "These are very useful for taking things slow. Did you think I wouldn't know about that kiss, Noah?"
She didn't turn as she said it. Gen realized Lyda must have lingered to watch their mutual feeding from an unseen position.
"No Mistress." Noah didn't look disturbed, but he wasn't rebellious about it. His gaze was fixed on everything Lyda was doing, his body tight and aroused in its locked position against Gen. She found herself caught in the same thickening atmosphere, her heartbeat accelerating.
"I'll address that later. For now..." Lyda set the metronome ticking in a steady rhythm. Turning, her gaze covered Noah's naked body and Gen's, still in her dress. The skirt was rucked up so high from their position, Gen knew her ass was peeking out of the bottom, revealing the pink curves. Lyda's look of pure pleasure confirmed it.
From the pocket of her robe, she produced two scraps of cloth Gen realized were blindfolds. She squatted before Noah first, while Gen was thinking, oh no, I don't think so. Before Lyda put it on him, Noah caught her wrist. They locked gazes, Lyda giving him a cool stare. "Let go of me, Noah."
He nuzzled her hand with his mouth, his nose, closing his eyes as her nails lightly raked his forehead, his cheek. Her gaze softened, and she caressed the strands of hair scattered on his brow. "Behave," she murmured.
He let her go and she put the blindfold in place. When she shifted to Gen, dangling the blindfold before her, Gen smelled the tea, a chai blend, on her fingertips.
"This will intensify your pleasure," Lyda explained. "And my own."
Gen wasn't sure. But her hands weren't being tied. She could remove it at any time. So she didn't protest when Lyda put the blindfold on her, leaving only a line of light at the lower part and the weight of Lyda's proximity. She adjusted Gen's hair over and around it.
"Hear that slow click, click? That's one back-and-forth movement. During those two clicks, Gen, rub your cunt against Noah's balls and the base of his cock in a slow circle. Then you both wait another two clicks and Noah returns the favor. You alternate, never going faster or slower than the metronome. For every three times you mess up, get off rhythm, you get punished. Neither one of you is allowed to come unless I give permission. You'll do this with minimal talking. I don't want my reading disturbed."
Gen had no doubt she'd be watching them as an eagle watched prey, but the blindfolds would enforce the illusion. They'd hear the turning of pages, the shift of her body as she read, that seeming detachment only increasing the intensity of what they were doing. Hell, her pussy was already quivering with the restrained desire to move, to rub against that provocative stimulus, Noah's heat and rough-textured flesh against the petals of her cunt.
Lyda withdrew. They heard the sound of her settling, the light clink as she picked up the teacup.
"Ladies first." Noah's voice was already strained.
It was a game. Erotic twister, right? She focused on the metronome. It took a moment to get it right, and she hoped Lyda was allowing a learning curve before counting infractions. What would be the punishment? Don't Pass Go, stand in the corner for a minute? Her guesses probably weren't even close. But she wasn't into pain. Definitely not humiliation. That was a deal breaker.
"Focus," Noah murmured, a sensual invitation to play, not an admonishment.
It wasn't difficult, not from a mechanical standpoint. Rotate... Sliding her labia against the base of his cock, firmly enough the lips split over his hardness, then down... Press against his testicles, the give of them making an uneven stroke over her tissues. Then two beats and he did it to her, working himself against her cunt.
What was difficult was staying to the slow, ticktock, ticktock rhythm. Especially as they heard those pages being turned, the teacup lifting and lowering. The intensity was driven as much by Lyda's command as the direct physical stimulus. They were performing for her, serving a Mistress's desires. As her arousal built, Gen found herself losing a grip on self-consciousness as well as her internal debate about why she was doing this. She wanted to please Lyda, wanted the chance to wrap her lips around that succulent nipple again, feel her hair being stroked and her pussy getting needier as she suckled, as she maybe got the chance to do even more, feel even more, with both of them.
Her breath started to rasp. She bit it back, then cursed as she missed the rhythm count. Again.
"That's three, Gen." Gen's stomach jumped, but after a weighted pause, Lyda merely said, "Keep going."
Okay, so punishment was going to wait for later. Maybe Lyda was enjoying her voyeurism too much to interrupt it. It was her game after all, from beginning to end.
That spurt of thrilling panic had only increased sensation, such that she had to bite back a whimper. She'd seen plenty of people tonight who not only got off on being punished, but on watching it. From the size of Noah's cock pressed against her leg, she thought he'd gotten harder, and her pussy became even more soaked, sliding her against his testicles even faster.
"On rhythm," Lyda said sharply.
The slowness became the true torture, her pussy convulsing with every rotation, her clit hard
