Explicit sex. NSFW!

 

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Tag

 

Time passes. Hands of poker are won (mostly by Will) and lost (mostly by Chainsaw and Eights). Martinis are made (by Chainsaw, naked, after he loses his last hand and with it his boxers) and consumed (by Eights and Chainsaw).

 

Will is down by both shoes and both socks, leaving him in jeans and boxers, and Eights is down to shirt, bra, and panties. Chainsaw is lounging naked on the couch, watching them play and yawning into his drink.

 

“I'm bored.”

 

“Your own fault for playing like a putz,” Eights tells him cheerfully, and lays down her cards. “Pair of aces. Hah.”

 

“You don't understand,” Chainsaw says, his tone suddenly laced with mischief. “I'm bored.”

 

Eights looks up, warily, and catches sight of Will's expression as it goes suddenly from mild amusement to startlement. He lays down his cards, and his expression goes rapidly through confusion to incredulity to long-suffering frustration. As he rises, it settles on some combination of all four, with a little embarrassment on top. Eights has just enough time to go from confusion to realization herself before Will is kneeling on the carpet next to her and kissing her.

 

Chainsaw has left him enough leeway that he can control the kiss a little, so it's light and sweet. You could almost call it chaste if he didn't hold it for so long.

 

When it finally breaks, he inhales and manages a sheepish, “Sorry, Eights,” before moving in for another kiss. Eights puts a hand on his chest to hold him at arm's length – with some difficulty; he's not exactly a weakling, and control forces him to be persistent – and glowers at Chainsaw.

 

“Chainsaw.”

 

The torturer is grinning like a cat with feathers in its teeth.

 

“Chainsaw, knock it off. What are you trying to prove?”

 

“Nothing. I'm bored.”

 

Will stops straining to kiss her as he speaks – but instead his head dips to kiss her neck, and one hand comes to rest on her thigh. It's trembling slightly. Eights gives Chainsaw an unimpressed look, gently removes Will's hand, holds it away as he tries to replace it, and starts to stand. Will looks up at her, apologetic and slightly desperate, and rises to his knees.

 

“I'm not playing,” she informs Chainsaw firmly. “Sorry, Will, I'll come back by—”

 

“Eight-Hour.” The torturer's voice is quiet, commanding. She looks over at him and finds that he's switched the martini to his left hand, wrapping the fingers of his right around his own hardening cock.

 

“What do you think I'm gonna do if you leave us alone, huh?”

 

Will's hand settles on her thigh again and slides up towards her crotch as he kisses, then nibbles, her hip.

 

“Stay.” Chainsaw laughs. “Besides, Willy's into it.”

 

Eights looks down. Will rolls his eyes up to meet hers, teeth and fingers grazing her panties at the same time.

 

And, well, there's no denying that his jeans are starting to look tight. Hell, if it comes to that, there's no denying that the cloth under his fingers is starting to feel a little—

 

Will's tongue brushes along the hem of her underwear at the crease of her thigh.

 

–damp.

 

 Make that a lot damp.

 

Ignoring Chainsaw for a moment, she puts a hand on Will's cheek, looking into his eyes carefully. The expression looking back startles her. There's a glint of something hard to name, but it's definitely not that desperate apology of before. In fact, it looks more like . . .

 

If she had to call it anything, she'd call it playfulness. A little wary, maybe, and with Will's never-changing sense of asking for permission, but still: I'm game if you are. Just play along.

 

Kneeling – Will's hand tries momentarily to stay between her legs, before control apparently releases it and it falls away – she cups Will's face in both hands and gives him a wry shrug. He lifts his eyebrows in reply, with an equally wry twist of a smile.

 

Chainsaw laughs, and all of a sudden Will leans forward to kiss her again, this time rough and open-mouthed, his tongue running along her lips. She opens up and lets him in, unresisting. Warm hands run up her thighs and under her shirt, pushing the cloth up and over her breasts. He squeezes through her bra; she arches her back to press into his hands, groaning, and then gets her shirt off.

 

 His tongue sweeps along the corner of her jaw as his hand slides unerringly back to the clasp of her bra and flicks it open, tugging it down her arms. That's her first clue. When his fingers stroke her nipples and then twist viciously, she rolls her eyes towards Chainsaw.

 

"If you're gonna fuck me, come fuck me yourself. Don't make Will do all your dirty work."

 

"He makes such a good toy, though," Chainsaw objects, and then snickers. "A Will-do!"

 

Will groans against Eights' collarbone. "You're kidding."

 

Eights bursts out laughing, leaning back to give him better access. "Quit drinking, baby, you're getting lamer than usual."

 

Will bites her, hard enough to leave a mark. Eights snorts. "Like I said -- come do it yourself or--"

 

She stops, inhaling sharply, as Will's tongue drags slowly over the bite marks. That wa

 

"Wanna fuck her yourself, Will?" Chainsaw purrs from the couch. "Get your fingers inside her. She likes that."

 

Will's hands are instantly sliding down her stomach and tugging her panties down her thighs. Eights grins, bright and encouraging, and shifts to help him slide them over her knees and off. Will tosses them away without looking; Chainsaw lets go of his erection to snag them out of the air and press them to his face briefly, smirking at Eights. She rolls her eyes, still up on her knees, legs spread. Will's hands go back to her hips for a moment, steadying her; she puts her arms around his neck for balance.

 

"Come on," urges Chainsaw.

 

The look on Will's face is pure concentration, lips slightly parted, eyes fixed on the curls of hair between Eights' legs. When his hand starts to skate down her hip, he looks briefly irritated, as if this isn't quite what he planned to do -- then his fingers find hot, slick flesh, and his expression clears.

 

Eights hisses as two fingers search through her folds and brush her clit. "There, Will, fuck--"

 

"Eights--"

 

"Shh, it's okay--" His fingers rub a little harder. "Mm, just don't stop."

 

His eyes flick up to her face briefly, with a rueful grin. "Can't anyway."

 

He runs his fingers down between her labia, pressing upwards gently until he finds her entrance. Eights bites her lip and keeps her hips still as he eases a finger inside. It's touchingly gentle, but agonizingly slow. A pleased moan escapes her teeth as he makes exploratory stroking movements along her inner walls. It's good -- it's very good; she's getting wetter -- but she wants more.

 

Suddenly he pulls out; when three fingers slam back into her, violent and fast, it's obvious Chainsaw is back in control. The palm grinding up against her clit a moment later is all Will, though. Eights gasps, her hips bucking into his hand, but he glowers past her at Chainsaw.

 

"Getting impatient?"

 

Chainsaw's hand is moving on his cock at the same pace Will's fingers are thrusting into Eights. He grins lazily. "So was she."

 

"Fuck you, Chainsaw," Eights pants, and throws back her head. "Fuck, Will, yes, harder."

 

Will shoots another look at Chainsaw, who laughs. "You heard her. Slut."

 

The pace of his fingers increases again, his palm rubs up against her clit, and Eights gasps, twining her arms tighter around his neck and sliding her hands into his hair. Her hips buck to meet each stroke, churning herself finally to a shuddering orgasm. Will leans forward to kiss her neck as she comes, and makes a small desperate noise of his own against her skin as she clenches around his fingers.

 

The orgasm takes the edge off her lust, even as Will's hand continues to move inside her, building up sensation again. She has the attention to spare now to smile at Will, ruffle his hair, trail one hand down his throat and chest to his pants.

 

"Why are you still wearing so many clothes?"

 

His pace slows slightly, and he switches to two fingers; Chainsaw must have eased up. He flicks a glance up at her, smiling.

 

"Because I'm better at poker than you are."

 

"Unacceptable," Eights declares, and starts working on the button of his jeans. On the couch, Chainsaw bursts out laughing.

 

"Oh hell yes. Fuck, I can't wait to see your cock down her throat, Willy."

 

Will's head comes up, startled, as his fingers slip out of Eights and she unzips his jeans. "Eights -- you don't have to."

 

"Shush." She ruffles his hair with her free hand, grinning, and leans forward to kiss his ear. "This has nothing to do with him," she whispers, and leans back again. Her grin widens when she gets his jeans off his hips and cups his erection through his boxers, watching his chest rise with a hoarse inhale. "No reason you can't enjoy yourself, too."

 

She pushes his boxers down, finally releasing his cock. He shivers as she trails her fingers from his ass to his hips to his thighs, tickling upwards. His hands go back to her hips for balance as she rests one hand on his chest and wraps the other around his cock, a mirror of their position a few minutes ago. And, like a few minutes ago, Eights takes it very slow at first, testing, exploring, teasing.

 

"Get your pants off," Chainsaw orders abruptly. "And lie back."

 

Will is moving to obey before the words are entirely out of his mouth, which necessitates pulling away from Eights. Both of them wear almost identical expressions of annoyance at being interrupted. Chainsaw cracks up.

 

Eights and Will apparently decide, simultaneously and individually, to ignore this, as Will lies back on the carpet with one hand behind his head and Eights leans over him to kiss him.

 

It's much harder to ignore him when he gets up from the couch and sits on the floor next to them, settling back on his heels beside Will's head.

 

"What?" asks Will.

 

"Don't mind me." Chainsaw smirks at them, and puts out a hand to stroke possessively along Will's cheek, then Eights' jaw. "I just want a good view."

 

Will's eyes flutter slightly, but the look in them is sharp and wary when he tilts his head back to watch Chainsaw. Eights just sighs, gives Chainsaw a rueful smile, and wraps her hand around Will's erection again.

 

Turns out that no matter how important it might be, it's hard to be suspicious when Eight-Hour is stroking your cock.

 

And it's even harder to be coherent at all when she's licking it.

 

Chainsaw chuckles and tangles a hand in Will's hair, just a little too tight, to tilt his head back farther. "Look at me."

 

Will obeys, gaze slightly glassy now. The torturer laughs again as Will's eyes flicker sporadically back and forth between his face, his hands, his cock. Will squirms as Eights' lips slide a little further down his shaft and her tongue flattens against the head, but can't look away from Chainsaw, can't even close his eyes except to blink.

 

"Open your mouth."

 

He lets out a desperate sound halfway between moan and pant as his jaw drops and his head turns. Chainsaw cuts off the noise via the simple expedient of shoving his cock between Will's lips, deep into his mouth. They've done this once already today, but that time Chainsaw left Will some volition, and their relative positions let him feel a little less vulnerable. Now, spread-eagled with Eights working him and his head straining awkwardly sideways and up, Will gags as Chainsaw's cock bumps the back of his throat, feeling tears prickle in eyes still fixed on the man above him.

 

The torturer's hand reaches out past his line of sight, and suddenly Eights is moving further down his cock and -- holy fuck -- he feels her lips and nose brush hair. His hips twitch. Chainsaw's hand comes to rest on his stomach, feeling it tense with oncoming orgasm, and Will can barely see him smirking. Not that he really needs to see Chainsaw to know he's smirking.

 

Chainsaw gives him a silent order, and then adds aloud, "Eights? Hum."

 

More than happy to oblige, she does.

 

Will's eyes widen.

 

No wonder the son of a bitch was top torturer for so long. This is truly creative sadism.

 

Will repeats that desperate noise of pleasure in the back of his throat, mingled with pleading, now, and is rewarded with Chainsaw's hips jerking forward and choking him again. He hopes it stays at choking; throwing up while being deep-throated by Eight-Hour would be embarrassing, not to mention that it might piss off Chainsaw. He repeats the noise anyway, louder, knowing that hearing raw wanting from him turns on Chainsaw as much as the vibrations in his throat.

 

Eights takes this as encouragement and hums back, and oh fuck, fuck, fuck, damn Chainsaw and his goddamn control, this is maddening.

 

"God," Chainsaw pants, moving faster, "you make a helluva pair."

 

Another deep, amused hum from Eights. Then she slowly draws her mouth up and off Will's cock, leaving it achingly hard and slippery with saliva and replacing her lips with her hand. She plants a kiss beside his navel and purrs, "C'mon, Will. It's okay," before dipping her head to curl her tongue along his shaft again.

 

Will groans helplessly, hips thrusting up in a wordless request for more touch, more sensation, more warmth. Eights provides, slipping her free hand between his legs to stroke anus and perineum and balls, but there's the beginning of a frown furrowing her forehead. He's obviously desperate and getting more so; hell, he's been on the edge and straining for release for at least three minutes, if she's any judge. So why hasn't--?

 

Her head comes up to stare at Chainsaw, who notices, grins insolently, and speeds up his thrusts, unabashedly fucking Will's mouth. One of Will's hands is bent awkwardly backwards around Chainsaw's hip for balance. The other is scrabbling and fisting spasmodically in the carpet.

 

"Wanna switch places?" the torturer asks, nearly laughing, and pulls out from between Will's lips. Will gasps for breath as Chainsaw adds, "Trust me, it's worth it."

 

Eights' hand slows and stills (Will's hips push up pleadingly into her touch for a moment before falling back to the carpet). "Will--"

 

"I can't come," he pants. "Won't let me."

 

"Chainsaw."

 

Chainsaw laughs, and bends down to lick sweat from Will's cheek and kiss spit from the corner of his mouth. "Oh, you're gonna thank me soon," he murmurs. "That moment right on the edge is the best, isn't it?"

 

"Goddammit -- Goddammit, Chainsaw--"

 

"How do you like it, Chainsaw?" Eights asks sweetly, and Will is treated to the gorgeous sight of Chainsaw startled, as Eights' hand closes around his erection, now. The torturer whirls and grabs Eights by the throat. She grins and squeezes. With both hands. One of which, it turns out, is still around Will's cock.

 

As Chainsaw's eyes narrow and a grin spreads over his face, Will wonders if it's possible to torch from sheer sexual frustration. Maybe she'll give him a heart attack. That would work.

 

Chainsaw and Eights have been fucking each other for a long time; it takes only the smallest of gestures, a blink, a hand curled around the back of Eights' head, for them to negotiate what's going to happen next. Chainsaw moves down to sit beside Will's hips, and Eights lets go of Will to place herself between Chainsaw's knees. Will is almost relieved for the respite -- but then Chainsaw's hand replaces Eights', thumb caressing the very tip of Will's cock. Will groans, shaking with need.

 

Eights lowers her head to Chainsaw's cock and sets up a slow, teasing pace. Chainsaw picks it up and echoes it on Will, long strokes that are all the more torturous for their gentleness. Touching Will seems to be more of a reflex than anything; all of Chainsaw's attention is on Eights. Not that that's a surprise, points out the last coherent, analytical portion of Will's mind.

 

Eights picks up the pace. So does Chainsaw. Will lets out another groan, loud and open-throated and nearly a cry. The sound draws Chainsaw's attention -- of course it does -- and he grins suddenly.

 

"Eights." A slap to her ass. "Go let Willy eat your pussy. He's feeling neglected."

 

Eights shivers as she pulls off Chainsaw's cock. "Jesus, Chainsaw--"

 

"Don't argue with me, Eight-Hour," he interrupts, amused.

 

She shoots a questioning look at Will. He moans again. "Oh, God, Eights, come here."

 

Chainsaw bursts out laughing again. Eights ignores him, crawling around to kiss Will (he tastes Chainsaw's cock on her tongue, knows she tastes it on his) and then kneel over his face, facing away from Chainsaw. Will manages to uncurl one hand from the carpet and wrap it around her thigh.

 

The first touch of his tongue against her cunt sends a shiver through both of them -- Eights, impatient for more; Will, suddenly remembering how good this is, how long it's been since he had a chance for it -- and Chainsaw snickers.

 

"Like I said. Helluva pair." Leaning down, he places an exquisitely delicate kiss on the tip of Will's cock, and then lets go. The sudden lack of sensation is a moment of simultaneous relief and regret for Will. His moan vibrates against Eights' cunt, prompting a pleased purr from her.

 

"Hey, Eights," Will hears dimly, "I didn't say you could stop," and then Eights is moving, bending, presumably to pick up her where she left off. The change in position puts her clit right in Will's mouth.

 

Eights moans on Chainsaw's cock as the flat of Will's tongue presses against her clit, and then shudders when he circles it with the tip. Motherfuck, he's better at this than she expected. She wonders if Chainsaw is in control -- no, if it were Chainsaw there would be teeth oooh shit there are the teeth. Fuck. She has no idea anymore.

 

Chainsaw's hands are tangled in her hair, pumping her mouth on his cock, and one of Will's hands is squeezing her thigh while the other appears out of nowhere to smooth over her ass and brush damp hair. A whimper escapes her throat, muffled.

 

Both men redouble their efforts in response.

 

Eights makes a mental note to find out who sold Chainsaw that alcohol and thank them profusely.

 

Then she promptly forgets about it because Will has finally taken the initiative to curl two fingers inside her, and even if the position makes it awkward for him to thrust, the feeling of fullness and the added pressure against the front of her vagina combined with Will tonguing her clit like his safety depended on it is enough to send her into her second orgasm, hips thrashing frantically against Will's face. She can feel the reverberations of Chainsaw's laughter as his cock muffles her usual shameless stream of yes please more fuck yes fuck harder faster more yes. Hopefully Will gets the picture anyway.

 

Through the post-orgasm haze and the too-intense pleasure of Will's tongue working her down, she feels Chainsaw's body tensing with his own oncoming peak. She smiles inwardly and slides farther down his shaft, humming yes baby yes -- but Chainsaw's fingers tighten in her hair and pull her head up to the head of his cock, holding her there as he thrusts in and out. She wraps a hand around the base of his shaft (moaning as Will's fingers stroke in and down again) and slides her tongue along the slit of the head.

 

Chainsaw comes, panting and gasping abuse down at her. She happily takes it, takes everything he gives her, holding his semen at the back of her throat and milking him for more. When he's finally spent, she pulls her mouth off of him, looks up at him with pursed lips, and winks.

 

A hand wraps around her throat before she can swallow. "Hold it." He pulls her up to her knees. The air of the room seems cold on her cunt, and Will lets out a little "Oh" of irritated surprise at the interruption. Chainsaw guides her up higher, sitting back himself, so that she's almost over him, and then kisses her, forcing her lips open with his tongue. It's sensual and messy as hell; saliva and semen drop from her mouth to his, and he sucks on her tongue to get the last of it.

 

Then, suddenly, he shoves Eights aside and lowers himself over Will, twisting to pin him with the length of his body, chest to chest and leg to leg, holding his wrists against the floor over his head. Control forces his jaw open a moment before the torturer descends on it in a possessive, rough kiss. Chainsaw's come fills Will's mouth.

 

The torturer pulls back, grins down at Will, and says, "Swallow."

 

The flashback as he obeys (nasty, isn't it, let me help you with that) is instant, unavoidable, and all the more unpleasant for coming in the midst of all this. Chainsaw grins wider at Will's shudder, the flash of panic across his face.

 

"That was totally uncalled for," Eights mutters beside him.

 

Chainsaw snorts. "Totally uncalled for would've been biting off his cock."

 

Will swallows again, convulsively -- then meets Chainsaw's eyes and slowly, deliberately licks his lips. Chainsaw bursts out laughing. "Oh, Willy, why'd I let you go? Wanna come home with me?" His thumb wipes something from the corner of Will's mouth -- spit and semen and Eights' wetness -- and he purrs, "Promise I'll keep you fed and walk you."

 

"Thanks," Will says breathlessly, "but I already made plans for tomorrow. I have to wash my hair."

 

This time it's Eights who bursts out laughing, and her hand comes out to ruffle said hair. Will watches Chainsaw carefully, and can't quite hide a breath of relief when the torturer laughs as well and sits back.

 

That breath turns into a gasp as Chainsaw's hand closes over his cock. The break in stimulation and the flashback have diminished his erection, taken it from painfully poised on the brink to merely aching.  If Chainsaw keeps doing that with his fingers, though, he's going to be back on the edge again in minutes, and he can feel the restriction of control on him still. He lets out a strangled noise, clenching eyes and jaw shut tight and burying his fingers in the carpet again.

 

"You know what I'd really like to see?" Chainsaw muses softly. "I think I'd like to see you fuck Eight-Hour, Willy. You wanna fuck Will, baby?"

 

Eights look at the agonized ecstasy on Will's face, the lean, wire-taut body straining up into Chainsaw's hand. "Does Will want to fuck me?"

 

Will looks like he'd like to answer, but Chainsaw squeezes his cock and all he manages is another strangled moan. Chainsaw snickers. "He'll fuck you whether he wants to or not. Or he can get fucked, if you're not enough of a slut to spread your legs for 'im. I'm not real picky."

 

"That is a bald-faced lie," Eights snorts. "You're incredibly picky."

 

"Don't," Will rasps, opening his eyes. "Don't let him blackmailnnnn goddammit Chainsaw pl-- mmm -- please -- Eights--"

 

A hand on Chainsaw's shoulder gently pushes him away from Will, pulls his hand away from Will's erection. Will looks up at her as she moves to straddle his waist, rewetting his lips over and over.

 

"Okay," she murmurs. "He ain't blackmailing me."

 

She bends to kiss him and he comes up to meet her, his hands rising from the carpet to cling to her shoulders. Moaning into his mouth, she rocks her hips, grinding clit and cunt against his stomach. He echoes her moan, high and helpless.

 

Breathless, Eights breaks the kiss and gently pushes him back to the floor. His hands slide down to her hips as she scoots back and wraps a guiding hand around Will's cock. He whimpers, shutting his eyes and digging his fingers into her skin.

 

"Oh, shit, Eights . . ."

 

She lowers herself a few inches and lets the head of his cock press against her clit. Will's breath stutters; she whines, shifts, and guides herself much, much too slowly down his shaft.

 

Will feels like a teenage virgin, ready to come just from the sensation of Eights' cunt squeezing around him, hot and incredibly slick. He tips his head back, sinking his teeth into his lower lip. God--

 

And then she starts moving, and every last vestige of restraint disappears in the short-circuiting waves of pleasure. Gasping, he thrusts up, meeting every rock of her hips with one of his own. He's dimly aware of one of Eights' hands coming to rest on his chest for balance, and the other diving for the juncture of their hips to rub her clit frantically and provide a touch of extra pressure on the base of his cock.

 

"Fffuck," he rasps, grabs her shoulders to pull her closer, and rolls. Eights -- as expected -- moves with the change of position easily, spreading her legs wide as they get re-situated, and then wrapping them around his hips as he buries his cock inside her again.

 

"Oh fuck yes Will please faster yes--" Her nails rake across his back, then dig in as one of his hands finds her clit and she lets out a wordless half-shout.

 

Will shudders, panting, and complies, speeding up hand and hips. "God fuck fuck Eights -- ah --"

 

The twin streams of obscenity echo and overlap and build until Will throws his head back, gasping, and moans a warning. Eights answers him with a stream of yeses and pulls his mouth down to hers, sucking on his lips and tongue, to continue the encouragement.

 

Will comes. It's the most painful, most intense, most paralyzing, hardest, longest, most orgasm he's ever experienced. He blanks out for -- he doesn't know how long, a few seconds maybe, but when his awareness starts to return he's still coming and Eights is as well, clenching deliciously around him, calling his name.

 

A much-too-short and timeless eternity later, he collapses, barely managing to catch himself on his elbows and avoid crushing Eights too much. She doesn't seem to mind; smiling and languid, she licks sweat off his temple and hums a tired note of pleasure. Will kisses her shoulder and then, feeling heavy and clumsy, disentangles himself and rolls off of her. Eights grins at him, and he grins back, catching his breath.

 

Someone is applauding.

 

--Right. Chainsaw. Was watching. And is now seated on the coffee table and applauding. Will tilts his head towards the torturer, who blows him a kiss.

 

"Thanks for letting me come," Will remarks, dry.

 

Chainsaw raises his eyebrows, his grin slowly widening. "What're you talking about, Willy?"

 

Will and Eights blink up at him with identical blank expressions. He starts to laugh.

 

"I released control ten minutes ago."

 

Will stares.

 

Eights starts to giggle and rolls onto her side to throw an arm over Will's waist. He absent-mindedly puts an arm around her shoulders, and she snuggles up to him, still laughing.

 

"We should do this again sometime," she informs them.

 

Will looks between her, Chainsaw smirking above them, and the state of his living room in general, and groans. "Don't think my carpet can handle it."

 

"You need a new one anyway," she declares. "I'm gonna have rug burns on my ass."

 

"Like you don't like 'em," Chainsaw snorts.

 

Eights grins and reaches out to tug on his ankle. "How 'bout you come down here and get some yourself? . . ."

 

As Chainsaw grins back and slides off the coffee table, Will groans again. His apartment is never going to be the same.

 

His next groan isn't so displeased. Nor the next. Nor the next . . .