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and
groaned. “Feel how hard I am, how hard you are making me. John is hard too.”
    She tensed at the thought of her husband watching. Peter
planted reassuring kisses along her back and shoulder, then took her hand in
his and brought it to her folds. “He can see us. If he didn’t want this to
happen, he could walk through that door and stop me. He’s not disgusted by you,
Amy, he’s aroused, stroking himself, waiting until the sweetest moment when you
surrender.”
    He pressed her hand to her aching pussy, caressed her,
guided her, allowed her to find her own rhythm. The withdrawal of his fingers
from her ass, almost as sweet as his first penetration, nearly carried her over
the edge, but when she would have stroked herself faster, he took over again,
slowed her hand, pulled her back from the edge.
    “Not yet,” he whispered in her ear.
    She felt the slick head of his cock poised at her puckered
entrance. “Please,” she whined softly. “Please.”
    He’d taken his hand off hers, was allowing her to go at her
own pace. She found that she had slowed, didn’t want to come before he entered
her. She pushed back tentatively against his cock, felt the silky head slip
effortlessly in and fill her. She gasped.
    “Good girl,” he soothed. “Amy, my love, my sweet, I’m not
going to fuck your ass. You’re going to push back and take me, all of me. I
won’t thrust into you. You’ll set our pace.”
    It was intoxicating. He was ordering her to take control,
dominating her and being dominated at the same time. She pushed back a little
and felt her sphincter begin to burn. Instinctively, she stroked her clit
harder, forced herself to relax and open to him.
    He groaned in her ear. “Amy, my Amy, so sweet, my love. I’m
your slave, my angel, utterly at your mercy now.”
    She slid back further, engulfing what she thought must be his
entire length. She felt stuffed to bursting, impaled, filled, owned. But still
there was more. She was close, so close, and with the last inch of him she felt
her body tightening around his cock, squeezing so hard she feared her body
would drive him out.
    He felt it too. His cries became louder, his endearments
more searing. She called his name in answer. “Peter. Yes, Peter. Please. Yes. I
want it. I love you.”
    The last was shouted at the moment of her climax. The first
spasm rocked through her and she felt him spurt deep inside. She was deaf and
dumb to the world as it continued, and she sagged against the foot of the bed,
her left wrist still tied, Peter’s weight falling on her, pinning her there in
the haze of the aftermath.
    She heard the door crash open, though she didn’t recognize
it as such; the violence in her own body had seemed louder. But she felt the
cool air from the hall pucker her breasts. It was a stark contrast to the
warmth of her back where Peter’s heated body was pressed to hers.
    “You selfish bastard,” John spat out.
    She turned her head as much as her predicament would allow.
She felt a last tremor of orgasm as Peter’s cock softened and slipped from her.
    John stood in the doorway, livid with anger as she had never
seen him.
    Peter raised his head. “John,” he said. “She didn’t mean it.
It’s not her fault.”
    “Of course it’s not her fault.”
    Amy’s skin prickled in fear. “Peter,” she said. He was still
languid, still pinning her to the bed. He didn’t seem to realize the danger he
was in.
    “I should serve you,” John Tregarth said, with frightening
coldness, “the same way you just served my wife.”
    “No,” Amy moaned, frightened and aroused at the same time.
    Peter tensed, his muscles rigid against her, but he wasn’t
fast enough. Tregarth grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, held him hard in
place and manacled his left hand to the bedpost with the chain Peter had left
hanging there. Now Amy and Peter were both bound to the foot of the bed.
    “Do whatever you like with me, John, but don’t hurt Amy. She
loves you,