White Hot

  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.

  White Hot 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

  It started about ten o’clock, on Tuesday. Shayla was cleaning the house. Sydney was helping her. They finished the vacuuming and the dusting. They were done with the bathrooms. They were finishing with the plants—watering and then spraying down the two Cascading Philodendrons, the Boston fern, the Dracaena tree in the living room, and the two hanging Spider Plants. Shayla was just about finished with the Boston fern when Sydney attacked her with the spray bottle, squirting her in the back and the side of her face.

  Letting out a yelp she ran for the stairs, firing back at Sydney who ducked behind the book case and then fired at her as she ran up to the middle landing. Then the two of them, ducking and firing and laughing, made it to the top landing, where they ran out of water.

  Sydney ran for the master bathroom and closed the door, locking her out, and Shayla could hear her inside, quickly reloading. She ran down the stairs and headed for the kitchen faucet. There, she reloaded and was happy that she was finished by the time Sydney had crept back down to the middle landing.

  Just as she was about to re-engage the enemy, Sydney put her finger to her lips, and then pointed in the direction of Neil’s studio. Shayla giggled quietly and stealthily the two enemies suddenly became allies against a common, unsuspecting foe.

  What had Neil done to deserve such a fate? Well, he became their husband of course, and as every woman knows, husbands are the enemy, and must be punished.

  They crept together to the door, and Shayla turned the knob painfully slow, and pressed open the door even slower, until they had clear shots of Neil—who suddenly turned around as if he felt their intentions. Startled, they open fired with a barrage of streams and fearful giggles.

  God, he was so fast. Shayla barely got back out into the dining room, but Sydney was caught and swooped against the wall. Then, the tickling began.

  With gleeful horror, she watched as Neil tickled Sydney—her sister, her wife, her ally. Bringing tickling into a water fight was like bringing an Uzi to a knife fight. It was monstrous. It was unspeakable. It was totally unfair.

  She darted forward and snatched up Sydney’s dropped water bottle and then with both hands began a desperate attack to get Neil off her ally. Stream after stream hit Neil in the face, until he dropped Sydney and turned his attention on her.

  She yipped and ran for the stairs, dropping the water bottles. She made the middle landing, and the turn, and was nearly to the top landing when he caught her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Shayla kicked and squealed and beat on his back and ass with ineffectual fists.

  “No! Neal! Don’t!” she laughed pleadingly.

  Then he tossed her on the bed where she bounced on the mattress and, quick as a mink, she scrambled for the headboard, snatched up the middle pillow, and swung behind her with every ounce of force she could muster, catching him across the face.

  Then he was on her.

  She twisted and turned and scrambled for the side of the bed, but he had her, and god he was so fucking strong. And then the tickling started.

  “Sydney! Help!” she screamed as the tickles bent and twisted her body with uncontrollable eruptions of laughter.

  Suddenly Sydney was there, but she could see in her eyes that Sydney wasn’t there to help. The traitorous bitch was taking of her shoes and then pulling down her shorts. A few short seconds later her bikini top was history, and she was writhing naked under the attacks of both of her lovers.

  She never realized how ready her pussy became from laughter. When Neil’s amazingly thick cock spread her open, however, she felt very ready and prepared for his entry. She still struggled, a little, trying to pretend she didn’t want this, but her body defeated her with a quick and very obvious climax.

  Sydney straddled her, putting her pussy into her face. She tried to shake her head ‘no’ to the traitorous bitch, but Sydney grabbed her by the hair and forced herself into her lips. So, she sucked and licked while Neil was bringing her to another climax.

  It didn’t end until about two o’clock that afternoon.

  Four hours Shayla was used by her spouses, one after the other, over and over again. She pleaded, and begged, and even prayed, but the orgasms rolled her over and over again. A cock or a pussy was always in her mouth, and in her pussy or her ass. Sydney used two vibrators on her at one point while Neil made her air-tight with his cock gagging her throat. She was plundered, she was ravaged—she was fucked senseless. Her nervous system was electrified with the glowing light their climaxes blessed her with.

  Every erogenous zone she had was overstimulated by the time the two of them were done with her and lay on each side, rubbing her down, as if they might become excited again and take her once more.

  She made it out from between them and then into the shower. Her hair was drenched with sweat, and her skin was thick with it. She shampooed twice and washed herself down three times, while the after-glow reinvigorated her. Afterward she dried off to the sound of her two lovers loving each other.

  She sat down at the double vanity, which was large and rectangular and had two chairs, like actresses might use in a shared dressing room, only much nicer. There she did two lines of cocaine while she watched Neil fucking Sydney.

  They go at each other with animal like energy. Sydney gives as good as she gets, fucking him back mercilessly. Where Sydney gets the energy, or the strength, she has no idea, but there it is, wild and refusing to be tamed or taken by a lesser creature than herself. Neil, even with his obviously greater strength, must prove himself over and over again if he wants to have her. They normally only go at each other when she is not available; otherwise she’s the woman to both of them.

  It is a strange dichotomy, between the bed and the rest of the world. Outside of the bedroom, she is the queen. They defer to her, come to her for counsel and advice, and will alter their choices at her objection—generally speaking. not always of course. In the bed however, she is the submissive; the one who pleasure is taken from; the one who nurtures without restraint.

  She mentally shrugs, because it works for her, and obviously they enjoy the parts and who plays them.

  The only place the lines blur is when they have guests or are in public. Then, her body language and actions all portray Neil as her dominate, and she the submissive lover. Which is true, so why shouldn’t she tell the world this? Especially the other men who give her smiles.

  Over the last couple of weeks, since they moved into their new home, she and Sydney have taken to going out to lesbian dance clubs together when they want to dance. There, again, Sydney is her lover; Sydney is the butch who is doted on and fawned over.

  They go there for two reasons. The first being no one they know would go there, unless perhaps one of the call-girls was actually gay, but so far that hasn’t happened.

  The second was that two women dancing together seemed to be a challenge to many Miami men. They just won’t leave them alone and let them dance. Back when they were single, and looking for a cock for the night, that was convenient some of the time. Now, however, it was just annoying.

  Shayla brushed out her hair, watching the two of them battle with each other’s lust, until Sydney once more conceded to his strength and power, and was suddenly the woman writhing with cascading climaxes. She doesn
’t understand the energy between them, but recognizes that it is very strong and powerful. Neil enjoys his animalistic sex with Sydney just as much as he enjoys her submissive offerings of pleasure. Though as much as he loves conquering Sydney again and again, they both use Shayla more often than they use each other. This has made for several busy days.

  Sydney likes her to talk dirty when she fucks her. Sydney likes it when Shayla tells her that she’s her bitch, and to fuck her like she owns her. Sydney gets off when she tells her to fuck her like she’s her whore. Any of these, and others, are enhanced when she growls them out during an orgasm.

  Neil prefers her to be the seducing succubus. He likes her to play with her breasts, and to masturbate for him, and run her hand through her hair. He likes to have his face and shoulders caressed. He likes her to move with him. She tells Neil to take her, to use her, and that she belongs to him. She tells him she’s always belonged to him, that she’s never belonged to anyone else, which is true. He likes to hear her whimper, and to make her a little scared. When she loses control, and becomes lost in cascading orgasms, he likes to take her hard from behind and to pull her back by her hair, to make her helpless in his arms while he uses her.

  Right now, her scalp was sore from how much they pulled her hair today, and her abs ached from the number of gripping, curling orgasms she had. Sydney has discovered how to keep her orgasm sustained, without letting her climax, for up to two minutes. Sydney can do this when she eats her. The blissful agony is unreal. When Neil takes her in the ass, she has bodily orgasms that feel like total electrocution, only with the agonizing pleasure of an orgasm.

  She has been a well-fucked woman.

  After dressing again in her shorts and bikini top, and slipping back on her running shoes, she goes back downstairs to finish with the plants. Their lifestyle never allowed for plants before, or pets of any kind. She’s been thinking a cat would be nice.

  Shayla heard them finish upstairs and could picture them lying side by side, arms out and legs open, panting. They won’t snuggle or caress. There was very little romance between them. She was the one they both wood. Foreplay between those two was watching a football game together. Sydney gave him head at half-time and then they fuck on the couch after the game. Sydney was the fun one, the one that wrestled and started water fights, and came home with tickets to the game. Neil and Sydney were buddies. But Shayla was their wife.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Even though the start of the semester was several weeks off, both of them bought the books for all of their classes and spent most of their afternoons in deep study. They wanted to finish their bachelor’s degrees strong, so that getting into the master’s program wouldn’t be a hassle.

  The first week of study was horrible. Shayla’s mind wandered, her focus was non-existent, and her endurance was shit. Sydney was having the same problem.

  “When was the last time we actually read something? I mean, really read it, not just glossed over it?” she pointed out to Sydney.

  “So, you don’t think we blew our brains out then?” Sydney asked.

  “No, I just think that the level of study we are accustomed to is a level you reach through exercise. We don’t have blown brains, we have fat brains,” she said with a teasing smile.

  “Speaking of fat, we need to hit the gym too,” Sydney told her, returning to her book.

  “What!?”

  “Well, you know. The last few times I’ve used your ass, it hasn’t been as tight,” Sydney said casually.

  “Oh you bitch!” she screamed, and attacked Sydney on the couch.

  “I was kidding!” Sydney howled as she plowed into her.

  She still purchased memberships for a local gym, and when neither of them were looking, she gave her ass a slap in front of the mirror to see if she really was flabby at all. If Neil ever joked with her like that, she knew she would need therapy. Shayla had no idea how to take someone she loved telling her she had a fat ass in stride. She just didn’t have the tools.

  Two weeks later, she sat on the couch, studying with the old stamina, a solid rock for an ass, and well-defined thighs and abs. She turns a lot of heads at the lesbian night clubs, but so does Sydney.

  Lesbians in clubs, Shayla decided, were aggressively rude. Sydney will no more than leave the table to go get them fresh drinks when some dyke will sit down and start chatting her up. She tells the bitch that she’s with someone, and points at her ring—“Seriously with someone,” she tells them—only to get a vacant look like it didn’t matter and she was going to fuck her anyway.

  Twice Brenda, the door woman, has had to break Sydney away from some large, aggressive woman. Still, it’s better than the regular nightclubs.

  While her studying stamina was back, her retention wasn’t. She required more notes than she recalled having to take before their two-year break. After reading through a

  CHAPTER, she would go through the study questions at the end and find that she hardly remembered a thing. She used to keep her books pristine, but now she was using several different colors of highlighter and making notes in the margins, as well as using a notebook for further notes.

  After showering together, Neil and Sydney came down stairs, both of them going for the office rooms; Neil to get back to his mixing and Sydney to grab her books. Sydney laid out a few lines on the coffee table mirror and offered them to her.

  “I had two upstairs,” she said absently.

  Sydney shrugged and did two of the lines, and then took the mirror into Neil. When she came out Sydney looked her over. “You know, we need to figure out a way of keeping you in lingerie. That bikini top just teases me.”

  “You say the sweetest things, lover,” she told her, and then accepted a kiss. “What we really need to do is to figure out a way to get Neil to wear a thong around the house,” she added.

  “Shit,” Sydney laughed. “We’d never get any studying done.”

  After almost three hours of study, Sydney looked over at her and said, “Want to take a break?”

  She looked up from her notes, frustrated with her level of retention, and said, “Sure.”

  What Sydney meant by break was a make-out session on the couch, so she set her book aside and came over to lay down with her. Her bikini top didn’t last very long and her shorts only lasted a little longer. Naked, she got Sydney out of her tank-top and boxers next.

  Sydney asked her, “Does it bother you, how much I want you? Physically, I mean?”

  “No,” she replied. “Why should it?”

  “I don’t know. Just sometimes I feel like maybe it’s too much. Like you might feel that I just want you for sex.”

  “You better want me for sex. I’m not working my ass off in the gym every week so you can ignore me,” she teased, and then added more seriously, “No Sydney. Your raging libido doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, I love it, just like I love you.”

  “It’s just that I feel I want you more than Neil does sometimes. Like I’m being greedy,” Sydney told her. “And your ass does look incredibly nice, by the way.”

  “Thank you. So does yours,” she accepted. “Neil doesn’t do a lot of making out, or cuddling. You do. So, yes, you spend much more time physically with me than Neil does, but I’m a very happy woman.”

  “You’ll tell me if it gets to be too much, right?” Sydney asked.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you might stop,” she told her.

  They made out for a while longer. Sydney felt like she was in a much better mood afterward, and then they got up to make lunch. Dressed again, they made roast beef sandwiches and called Neil out to eat. He came out, thanked them, and took his plate right back into the studio with him.

  “Must be on a roll,” Sydney offered.

  “Well, it can’t be us, we just showered,” she told her.

  They were cleaning up when Shayla’s phone rang. Looking at the ID she found it was Anton calling. She answered it on speaker phone.


  “Unexpected,” she said.

  “Didn’t think I would just forget you, did you?” Anton said.

  “I always expect people to be smarter than they are. It’s a fallacy of mine. What do you want?” she told him.

  “To make you a deal,” Anton told her.

  “Not interested. You kill people you owe money to. Your credit is no good here,” she answered.

  “Look, I know where you are now. So if you start selling again, and do at least six a week, I won’t kill Neil. Alright? You have twenty-four hours, and then all bets are off. Bye,” Anton said, and broke the connection.

  Sydney looked up at her and said, “Think he really knows?”

  “All of our mail goes to the post office box. We haven’t been over to the apartment since we left. No reason to. This place isn’t in our old names. It’s in our new names, Jackson, and Neil isn’t on the papers. Not yet, anyway. I was going to do that, but decided against it for this exact reason. We haven’t given anyone our new address,” she reasoned.