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“Breathe, baby,” he whispers, kissing my hair. A huff leaves me as I release the breath I was holding. “Good girl,” he praises, pumping in and out, scissoring his fingers to stretch me. My body relaxes as the pressure radiates, causing a throbbing pleasure to build.
“She’s ready,” Ezra says quietly, his voice laced with heady lust.
They remove the plug, but before I can cry out, Cal slips two thick fingers back inside me. “That’s it, baby, ride my hand. Ezra’s going to slip the plug into your ass and then you’re going to come for us. When you’re done, I’m going to lick you clean.”
Oh, my god.
My hips jerk and I grind against his palm harder, whimpering when he hooks his fingers inside of me. Ezra breaches my ass with the tip of the plug just as Cal’s thumb starts rubbing circles over my clit. Heat shoots down my spine and down my limbs, my muscles tightening as an orgasm flashes through my body. I cry out and Ezra shoves the rest of the plug into my ass until only the flared end with the flower sticks out, flush against my ass.
“Beautiful,” Ezra mutters, peppering kisses over the cheeks of my ass.
Cal pumps his huge fingers in and out of me, and I ride out the rest of the orgasm clinging to his muscular arm. When the flutters stop, he pulls his fingers from my pussy and brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean. Then, with a pat on the seat, he helps me sit back on the bench and holds my thighs open. His face lowers to my thighs and his beard and tongue tickle the insides of my legs as he laps up the mess they made of me.
I stop laughing when he starts cleaning my release from my pussy, though. The way his tongue laps over my over-sensitized clit just drives me higher, and I find myself clenching my thighs around his head and grinding my face against him until I’m drenching his beard in my cum and he has to start the process all over again.
“We’re here,” Ezra says, and I fight to keep from pouting.
You might think I’d be satisfied with two orgasms. But between the pressure of the plug, and having gone so many hours without one of them inside me, I’m desperate. Cal laughs at my expression, passing us each a wet wipe and helping me clasp the buttons on the bodysuit. I straighten my dress as much as I can, smoothing it as we step out of the limo.
Ezra gets out first, holding his hand out to me. I climb out after him, blinking in the light of the setting sun and at the surprising amount of people standing around. As I straighten and take a step, the pressure of the plug settles and I freeze momentarily.
Cal comes to my other side and laces my fingers through his. A few of the press people snap a few pictures of us. They aren’t paparazzi by any means, but I wonder if this is, on some very small scale, what celebrities must feel like. These people are only here for a small press conference and to see the space to generate buzz, but they’re snapping photos of us likewe’rethe interest here. I have a small moment of panic where my brain creates an unlikely scenario of our unusual relationship making it to the front page and getting a call from my parents. I haven’t spoken to them in years, but this would be the thing that would get them to acknowledge me again, if only to berate me and call me a whore.
But then I think about Cherith and Mr. Vandreth seeing it and get a weird sense of satisfaction.
The fullness inside my ass shifts and brings me back to the present. I realize it might be interesting to some of these people that these two well known, talented, successful sexpots are both touching and claiming me in some way, but that’s not what they’re here for. We’re here for business, to make sure this gallery is a success.
“Good evening, everyone,” I say in greeting. “You’ll have to accept our apologies for not being early enough. We expected to arrive before you all.” A chuckle goes through the crowd and people approach us, introducing themselves.
Many of the faces I recognize or have met before, people I’ve worked with before when I was working at The Gregg. Others are actual press, local interest reporters, and even a few representatives from major art magazines. Even Cal’s publicist is here, and I get a strange feeling that she might have set us up to arrive late on purpose. Ezra said she’s a bit of a shark, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she’d try to use our interesting relationship to get Cal some notoriety. Cal had confessed that he doesn’t actually like her very much, but she’s effective and efficient.
I circulate amongst the guests while we wait for the official ribbon cutting time. We really weren’t expecting anyone to be here when we arrived, and I expected to see whatever surprise Cal and Ezra have in store for me without an audience.
Cal goes over to the publicist to discuss how she’d like us to position for the ribbon cutting. Ezra shuffles nervously.
“Does one of us need to slip inside and take anything downreally quick?” I’m suddenly terrified that it’s something super inappropriate. “I’m not sure we need any more attention on us versus the gallery itself.”
“It’s nothing like that, just… don’t be mad, okay?”
“Ezra…”
Cal hurries over with the publicist. “Alright, it’s showtime. Elain wants us to stand to the left of the door for a few shots before we cut the ribbon, then Beth, you’ll do the honors.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you,bláth fiáin.You’re the center of this operation.”
The ribbon cutting goes off without a hitch, and we open the doors to the thirty or so guests that were invited to tour the space. As everyone walks in, Elain explains to me why we should do another ribbon cutting when we open to the public. It all seems a bit silly to me, but she’s the expert.
Inside, the lights we installed over the exposed brick wall give the perfect illumination to the pieces of Cal and Ezra’s art we hung along with a few mixed media pieces they’ve been working on together. People are milling about, discussing the art and what a great space it is. Caterers walk around with glasses of champagne and simple hors d'oeuvres. I accept a glass of champagne, and shuffle discreetly, trying to take some pressure off the ever-growing arousal the butt plug is causing me with every step I take.
“Miss Heaton! Congratulations on what I know is going to be a great success. I was very happy to see your name tied to this project.”
“Oh, thank you, Mayor Burns. That means a lot.”
Momentary reality check.The mayor knows my name? Does she remember meeting me? Did I actually make an impression, or is she just being polite?
“I have to ask—I know this is an informal showing, but there’s a piece here that I’m desperate to have. I’m aware I might have a bidding war on my hands, but I’d like to put my name in.”
