Ignite Me

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.

  Ignite Me copyright @ 2014 by Carmen Faye. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Its five weeks since Neil put his ring on Shayla’s finger and every time she wakes and sees the sunlight inside the two-carat diamond, the sparkle goes straight through her heart, just like it is doing right now. It was Monday morning, and the clock said it was just after ten. Shayla stared and smiled and shivered with the wonder of being this loved.

  When Neil’s hand came over her side and cupped her breast, she stretched and bent her back so that she could look over her shoulder to see his eyes. Their eyes met and she saw deep lust there for her. Usually it was Sydney who got the morning fucks; Sydney with her round, tight butt and her perky tits. Sydney’s curves would give Barbie a complex and definitely steal Ken. But Neil’s eyes and his hands, as well as his sex with her, all assured her with daily affirmation that her heart-shaped ass and her tear-drop breasts were just as attractive to him, and certainly just as arousing.

  She’s taller, but only by two inches. Her legs are longer in proportion to her body. Other than that, Sydney and she are nearly identical. The silk blond hair down to the middle of their backs and the deep blue baby eyes are just the same. They wear the same sized clothing, the same bra size, the same shoe size.

  She has found that Neil comes to her when he wants deep, slow, fulfilling sex. He tends to go to Sydney when he wants animalistic sex. Sydney is definitely the fun one. She is quick to giggle, quick to run, quick to jump in with both feet and ravage him. Sydney will charge into the room and throw herself onto the bed, whereas Shayla walks and comes to him as a seductress. She sits on the edge of the bed and then does her best to enthrall him. She offers everything, without limitation—but then, so does Sydney, and Sydney even lets him do anal, which Shayla has yet to try.

  So, when Neil’s hand rubbed and deeply fondled her breasts in the morning, she had to ask herself, What is troubling his mind? She was also the one he talked to most of the time when he was working out some puzzle or perplexing situation.

  These were generalities, certainly. Neil seeks both of their points of view, and respects both of their ideas and counsel. He enjoys sex with both of them, one-on-one or both at the same time.

  Over the last couple of weeks he had brought her back to their bed and made love to her for hours. Just her and him. And then he laid with her talking about things couples talk about: movies, books, what they would do with yard space if they had some, what travel dreams they have—stuff. Stuff that makes up lives that are together.

  He had also done the same with Sydney, though with her there is a lot more laughing, and bouncing, and flying hair. This had sometimes made Shayla wish she was more fun, and less serious—until Neil kisses her, and fondles her ass, and melts her. Then she is just fine with who she is and what she means to him.

  Neil was kissing her neck and pulling playfully at her nipples. She rubbed her legs against his and told him with a soft, warm, morning voice, “Yes Neil, take me.”

  She often feels like the woman, the provider of pleasure. She is Neil’s woman, but she is also Sydney’s woman.

  When they decided that Neil was too important to them to risk losing, and that their own friendship was too important to risk, and therefore committed to sharing Neil, she understood that she would always have sexual encounters with Sydney. That was just part of the package. In the heat of passion—and Neil is definitely a flamethrower in that department—you’re not exactly picky about whose lips you might be kissing, or whose nipple you might be sucking. Also, the two of them had shared experiences with each other for the last two years. And, for the weeks between meeting Neil and seducing him, they used each other regularly, because neither of them was interested in sex with any other man—it just seemed pointless.

  So, girl-girl sex was an accepted raiment, a garment she was willing to wear, and even a source of sexual gratification. She loved Sydney. Sydney was the first true love of her life. Her family life was shit. She knew at six that whatever it was parents offered their children emotionally, she was never going to get from them. By the time she was in puberty, she knew she was on her own with her sexuality and relationships as well. She tried sex in high school, found it not up to the hype, and ignored boys from that point forward—until she met Sydney. When Sydney came into her life, many things changed. Sydney was the one who taught her all the things she didn’t know about sex, and furthermore, she taught her how to enjoy sex.

  Several weeks ago, Sydney confessed that yes, she loved her, but she was also in love with her. It wasn’t just girl-girl action in the heat of passion for Sydney, but something much deeper; something that filled her heart and not just her libido. She said she wanted to be able to kiss her during the day, like lovers do. She wanted to touch her, and connect with her outside of the bedroom, like lovers do. Sydney said she wanted these things, but Shayla saw that she actually needed these things. So, she offered Sydney fulfillment of these desires and needs in the house. It felt like she was hiding Sydney, and well… she was. She wasn’t ready for public displays of intimate affection with Sydney. She wouldn’t turn her away in their apartment—she would even enjoy Sydney’s attentions—but not publicly.

  So, she was the provider of affection for both of them. They both caressed her and fondled her. They both sought her lips, and made out with her in the kitchen or on the couch. Sometimes they did this at the same time. Most often during movie time—a time which was quickly equating to “drive Shayla insane with desire” time.

  Neil, after he puzzled out Sydney’s new level of physical affection and talked it out with her, began sharing Shayla with Sydney. His favorite thing to do during a movie was to lay her across his lap, so that her ass was on his thighs. This would also put her upper back on Sydney’s lap. Then he would work her pants off, and Sydney would take off her top— and bra if she was wearing one—and then they would rub and massage her while they watched the movie together.

  She rarely sees the end of movies anymore. If she wants to watch the end, she has to do it the next morning, while they’re both still in bed or having sex together. By the middle of any movie, no matter how engaging, she is having soft-light orgasms, and then liquid-light orgasms, and then trembling orgasms. Neil’s cock his hard against her ass all through the rest of the movie, and Sydney’s nipples are rock hard and she can smell her sexual perfume.

  After the movie, either Sydney will go down on her while Neil fucks Sydney’s round, tight ass, or they will turn her so that she is going down on Sydney while Neil hard-fucks her ass mercilessly. She’s not quite sure which she enjoys more, but it is quite apparent that she doesn’t get to choose. They decide between themselves, with some form of communication she hasn’t divined yet.

  There are other moments which lead to sharing her between them, but movie time has become a constant, so if she doesn’t want to be sexed to the edge of insanity, she has to go to the office and amuse herself. She’s done this twice over the last couple of weeks, and neither of them bothered her or tried to coerce her into pleasuring them. They simply watched the movie and then fucked each other afterward.

  Neil pulled back her shoulder, pushing her flat to the mattress, and came up above her and between her thighs, which she spread willingly. She pushed her heels into the mattress and lifted her hips so that her pussy was fully a
ccessible to him as a shiver of anticipation verves her spine.

  Neil hovered above her, his deep dark hair falling around her face, his cobalt gray eyes lit with fire and lust. His chest muscles were flexed, and so were his shoulders and arms, which were like pillars on each side of her body. He’s six-four. His shoulders are intimidatingly wide, and thick—roped with well-defined, powerful muscles. His body is that of a violent and dangerous man. Even his features are hard—chiseled, as if stone became flesh. Hovering above her like this, she always quailed a little, and a feeling of helplessness always induced a very slight adrenaline rush. His presence touched instinctive depths, exciting her primal fight-or-flight responses. Under his piercing gaze she arched her neck, offering her throat and presenting her breasts. She whimpered softly. She became completely submissive.

  This is so new to her, so completely out of character for her, that she was very conflicted and highly emotional after the first one-on-one session with him. She never gave authority to her men. She never submitted to them. She was, sexually, a predator; a great cat. She often visualized herself in this manner. She seduced them. She took them to bed. She fucked them. Their job was to satisfy her.

  With Neil this was never the case, and it confused the shit out of her.

  “Neil? I feel like I’m losing me,” she told him tearfully, after their second one-on-one encounter. “I feel like the best parts of me, the parts I am most proud of, are being taken away from me. I don’t understand.”

  “Taken?” he asked, “Or offered? If I am taking them from you, then why are you still the strongest woman I’ve ever been with? I feel, what I experience with you, is an offering, a willingness to be vulnerable with me. It feels amazing. I feel like you are telling me I’m worthy of you.”

  “Worthy of me? Neil,” she sighed, “You own me, all of me.” Then she felt the rush of epiphany.

  “Oh.” She popped with wide eyes, like her thought might have stuck her with a pin. “I get it. You’re right. I am offering, I am giving you my vulnerability, showing you my submission. Because I am yours. God. It’s amazing what you can say with conviction and never really understand.”

  Now she used her hand to open her pussy and made herself ready for him, willingly and lovingly. Once she was ready, she took a hold of his cock and rubbed his thick, smooth cock head into her opening, and pressed up with her hips, giving herself to him.

  They never lost eye contact while he entered her. She saw in him flames and urgencies. She witnessed his control, as his body stroked his cock back and forth, spreading her open, stretching her tightness, pressing her pussy muscles apart. Her hands gripped his chest, and her eyes beseeched him: I’m yours, please don’t hurt me.

  She matched his strokes with her hips, and willed herself to open to him, while her whimpering escalated into sexual music and hushed outcries.

  Once he was inside of her, and he grinded his hips into hers, she wrapped her long legs around his waist and rubbed her hand across his cheek. “Yes Neil,” she told him through moans of aphrodisia. “Take me. I’m yours. Use me for any pleasure.”

  He took her at her word and did begin to use her, with long, powerful strokes that brought him out until only his thick head was in her, and then powered inside, stretching her and grinding into her clit, sending waves of ardent pleasure through her body.

  She knew he enjoyed watching her and Sydney pleasure themselves—they have performed for him several times. They have danced for him, naked in the living room, rubbing themselves and each other for his pleasure, while he attempted to control his lust. These battles between their enticements and his control have been wonderful experiences—leading to orgasmic hours of animalistic sex and heady passion.

  Keeping her eyes focused on his, she took her breasts into her hands and rubbed them. She moved her body to his rhythm, lifting her hips when he powers into her, offering herself completely, and squeezing him with her abs and pussy muscles as he withdrew to fuck into her again. She moved her hips and her hands together. She danced for him, she performed for him, she seduced him with her submission. All the while her own arousal was being stroked into a rising current of heat and electric fire.

  Her sexual cries are dampened. She was trying to be considerate to Sydney and not wake her, but more and more often, outcries escaped her throat—outcries that confess her arousal and the amazing pleasure she was enduring by pleasuring him. Through these moans and whimpers and subdued outcries, she told him, “I love you Neil. Anything you want, just ask me. Just take me.”

  She moved her right hand down between her legs and made motions like she is rubbing her clit, but doesn’t actually do so. Her performance was for him, and his body responded to her seductions. His eyes lit with such urgent passion, she felt a flash of primal fright—which coalesced the tides of rapture and electric waves of fire into a building orgasm.

  “Oh Neil, baby. God!” she cried, and bit her lip, while pulling her nipple hard with her left hand, stretching it out for him. Again his passion grew, and his rhythm increased the speed of her ravishment.

  She combed her fingers through her hair, and she bit and sucked at them as well, then rubbed them down her body, arching her back, lifting her breasts to him. He rewarded her succubus bewitchery with harder thrusts and a groan of his own, a deep rumbling which flushed her breasts with ecstasy and set off her orgasm.

  She pined and pleaded and begged as her body convulsed and twisted beyond her control. Her hips fucked him wildly, and her hands clawed at his shoulders and neck. She lost her eye contact with him as her neck arched from a spasm of agony,

  “Dear god Neil! Fuck! You are so fucking good! Shit!” she cried through gritted teeth and a constricted throat. “Oh god, oh god,” she panted, “I’m going to come again! Oh god, oh Fuck!”

  This is why she never really rubs her clitoris when she acts like she is masturbating for him. Her climaxes are already so out of control, rubbing her clit only serves to end her performance too quickly. And once she begins to climax with him, it never stops. The orgasms cascade across her, like waves on a shore line. When one wave climaxes and churns her with roaring whitewater another is already rising behind it, ready to curl and churn her again.

  There was no performance now. No control over her hands, her hips, or her legs. Her body was his thrall.

  When they first began having sex with Neil, she believed that she was taken to such heightened levels of ravishment because of his cock and his skills. Which was true to some extent. Neil was an amazing lover—his rhythms always seemed to match her body’s needs.

  Then she believed that these amazing orgasms were caused by being in love. And again, to an extent, this was true. She had never been in love with anyone except Sydney, after all. She was flushed with emotions she never endured during sex before, and felt for the first time a real bond between her and Neil and Sydney during their love-making.

  Now she realized that the most potent difference between sex with other men and sex with Neil—and, lately, with Sydney as well—was that she would never allow herself to be this out of control with a man, especially during sex. She was apt to be much more submissive and open when necking with other men, or rubbing bodies while still clothed. But once the fucking began, she kept her control, and ensured that he knew her boundaries.

  From the first, she gave herself to Neil and let him cross any boundary he pleased. This very potent offering resulted in orgasms which she felt might actually smother her. At the very least she was sure she would pull her neck muscles, or strain her calves. A very real strain was to her abs. The next morning she felt like she had done five hundred crunches the night before.

  Her body was crunching now, and her breathing came in pants. She locked her eyes with him knowing that he could see the torrent of agonies rushing through her. She wanted to beg him to come, but she no longer had language. She could only make sounds, and grunts, and only in pants.

  When he climaxed in her, an overwhelming feeling of pure joy
fired up her nervous system like she strung it with Christmas lights—another shocking difference in her experienced sex with Neil.

  In the past, a man’s climax was, first of all, not really important to her. It also marked the end of the sex. It signaled the time she needed to leave, so that he didn’t get mushy on her, or want her phone number, or any other childish crap. She endeavored to have at least her G-string and bra on, with her shoes, before her cock for the night was finished with his after-glow—or whatever it was men felt after coming.

  “That was great baby,” she would say, as she slipped back on her dress. “I got to go, though. Sydney is waiting for me.”

  Neil’s climaxes were like fulfilled dreams. She basked in them and clutched on to him with every ounce of energy she had left—which, most of the time, wasn’t much. If he climaxed in her mouth, she swallowed and sucked and purred, and sometimes she even climaxed. She wanted to feel his strength and power fill her. She loved the tantalizing emotions that came through her hands and legs as she felt his body lose its tension. The lover who, when they first started, scared her into small adrenaline rushes with his aura and presence, was now enraptured and subdued by her.

  It was quite literally the best part of the sex for her. She always climaxed with him. Always. So, one-on-one, sex as a trio, a quickie with her pressed up against the wall in the hall, her pants torn down her legs, and her hair pulled back by his large and powerful fist—whatever—his climax was absolutely sublime.