Page 121 of A Million To Fall

“I have cash,” Rachel breathes, her hand on my stomach. She leans in and licks my skin.

Every alarm in my brain is going off. I should get up. I should leave. I should have way more self-respect. But I go still. Cassie and Bronx. Cassie and Bronx.

Mrs. Davis pushes my sweatpants down my hips, then moves off the couch and lowers herself between my legs. I’m silent, unmoving, as her mouth and Rachel’s hands consume me, switching off, doing with my body what they will, as if it’s merely an object, as if they’re not tearing down my self-worth, my dignity with every touch.

The women shed their clothes.

Mrs. Davis puts a condom on me, climbs onto my lap, and lowers herself with a gasp.

She does with me what she will—directing and controlling me like a puppeteer—while Rachel, no longer just an observer, touches and kisses whatever parts of me remain accessible to her.

I’ve never been touched by two women at once, never had a threesome. I’ve never degraded myself like this before.

I try to dissociate—to fade, to check out—but my mind won’t let me. It won’t give me that out.

When Mrs. Davis reaches her climax, she moans loudly, the sound reverberating off the walls.

“Fuck, Boston,” she sighs, then grins at her friend. “Try him,” she tells Rachel, whose eyes reflect lust, need.

Mrs. Davis replaces the condom, then trades places with Rachel and watches while Rachel straddles me. She hesitates, and for a moment I think she might not go through with it.

Maybe she had a change of heart? Decided this isn’t right.

But then she sinks onto me, hands on my shoulders, nails digging into the muscle there.

And all I can do is focus on the mission at hand: finish this.

Do your job.

Get it done.

Rachel begins to ride me, Mrs. Davis encouraging her friend like I’m not even here, like my body isn’t home to a heart and a soul.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Davis becomes impatient, ordering Rachel to get on all fours while I position myself behind her.

God, the fucking depravity.

And I’m part of all of this.

It doesn’t take long before Rachel comes, her body pulsing around me while Mrs. Davis cheers her on like it’s some athletic event.

For a second I’m hopeful that I can just call it and be done with this. I feel dirty, exhausted.

But I’m not lucky enough to be dismissed yet.

“One more for me,” Mrs. Davis breathes into my ear.

She taps Rachel’s butt, motions for her to move off the couch, then takes her place. “Come on, Boss. I want you to come for me.”

It takes another ten minutes and another position before she comes again, loud and messy. I just keep going—numb, exhausted—until the pressure in me finally snaps and I find release with a tired groan.

My body is hot and sweaty, my breathing hectic, like I just ran a fucking marathon. I sit back on my heels, eyes falling shut involuntarily.

Next to me, I hear the quiet, satisfied giggles of Mrs. Davis and Rachel. They evaluate my performance in hushed voices, like I’m nothing more than a body to be used for their pleasure.

“Jesus, Lexi, can we do that again?” Rachel whispers.

“Anytime. Just remember, if you play, that’s extra,” Mrs. Davis says casually.