Beautiful Losers - Part Twenty Two

I've noticed that most men will sustain any game going, no matter how strange or ridiculous it may be, right up until the point of ejaculation; after that, it's as if someone pressed the reset button. They'd go back to being normal. Jean, however, was different.

He gazed up at me with huge, very soulful eyes. "I love you, Shira," he said, in a tone that could only be described as spacey.

I repressed a strong desire to respond in baby talk, and kissed his cheek. "It's mutual." Sebastian was still on his knees, a little distance away, camera in hand. "Are we finished here? Can I eat?"

"That was great," he said, beaming. The bulge in his crotch was metaphorically beaming also.

Shrugging off the finery, reflecting on the cost of dry-cleaning velvet and pulling Jean to his feet, I was surprised at the lingering urge I had to drag him upstairs, tie him up and fuck him senseless. It occurred to me to wonder when this dommy thing was going to wear off.

Jean took himself off to remove the make-up and get out of his costume, but Sebastian trailed after me into the kitchen and hovered like a vulture as I ate leftover Chinese.

"You did great, Shirakins."

"Yes, you said that. Thanks." Honestly, I didn't know what else to say, still a little disconcerted at having been demonically possessed by Elsa, She-wolf of the SS. "By the way, you are not using those photographs in public - understood? That wasn't for public consumption."

Shrugging noncommittally, he pushed the camera across the counter. "There aren't any pictures of your face. Take a look."

"I don't care. You set me up in there. I understand why, but don't... just don't..." Scrolling through the images on the camera screen, I could see what he meant. Everything was an extreme close-up: the curve of a jaw, tendons on a neck, the edge of a mouth, the smeared lipstick and the beauty mark, my fingers on Jean's nipple, the tongue of the crop against his cheek, and a number of even more explicit images but all in macro details that - to someone who didn't know the context of the pictures - would be hard to identify precisely. The intimacy of the images took my breath away. "Oh, but... they're very, very good."

"Can you see what I was going for?"

"Yes. You definitely got it." I handed back the camera. "You're amazingly talented, Sebastian. Why do you waste so much time?" I finished the last of the chicken; at least the hunger shakes were gone.

He waved my question away and put the camera back down on the counter. Opening the fridge, he took out a half-filled bottle of white wine and poured a glass for me. "Do you understand what happened with Jean?"

I gratefully downed half the glass and waited to feel it hit my bloodstream. "I don't even understand what happened with me."

"You didn't enjoy it?" He sipped from a glass he'd poured for himself. "I got the impression that you did," he said, sounding droll.

"I didn't say I didn't enjoy it. I just still don't really know what it was."

"But you felt it, didn't you? When he turned?"

"Oh, I definitely felt it. It was quite strange."

"And you responded - well - very naturally. He was very happy." Sebastian couldn't keep the smile off his saturnine face. He stooped to kiss me. "So now I need you to help me."

Jesus, the scheming never stopped. "Help you do what?"

"Help me make him feel safe."

I cocked my head and locked gazes with him. "Safe about what?"

Sebastian took another sip of wine. I heard Jean's footsteps on the stairs. "You know what," he muttered.

Jean's arrival cut the conversation dead and left me with the uncomfortable sense that I was participating in a conspiracy. I wasn't sure how I felt about being an agent of Sebastian's desires. It hadn't bothered me before, but an urge to protect him had crept up on me. Was this part and parcel of being possessed by a dead film dominatrix? Still, I reasoned, if I agreed to be part of Sebastian's machinations, I would be there at least, and could help mitigate whatever damage might happen should something go horribly wrong.

Jean was showered and wrapped endearingly in an oversized, old fashioned man's silk dressing gown. He stood with his arm draped around me, stealing sips of my wine while he browsed through Sebastian's photos. "My ears were burning," he said casually, his gaze fixed on the camera's tiny screen.

Sebastian and I exchanged looks. "You were eavesdropping," I replied.

"Maybe," said Jean, softly.

"Well, good then. It saves us having to talk about it."

A warm nose nuzzled against my ear and he tightened his arm around my neck. "Don't let him hurt me," whispered Jean.

I would have taken his plea seriously if, firstly, he hadn't delivered it with a little boy's voice and, secondly, if he hadn't pressed an insistent erection against my hip. What was it with the men in this house? They all had permanent hard-ons.

"What makes you think that he wants to hurt you?" I teased, my words meant for Jean, but my attention fixed on Sebastian, who wore a very engaging smile.

"He's baa-ad."

"Oh, he certainly is, but that's why you like him. Me, too."

The whole infantile game was doing my head in, especially as we all slipped into it so effortlessly. What exactly we were avoiding so concertedly by not simply acting like normal adults?

"Do you like him when he's bad?" Jean asked in a stage whimper.

"Hm-m. I'm not entirely sure yet." My attempt to fight a smile failed.

All this was, of course, stroking Sebastian's ego in exactly the right way. He leaned against the counter, propped up on his elbows, draining his glass. "Don't deny it. You both adore me when I'm nasty."

Disengaging myself from Jean's limpet grasp, I slid off the stool and threaded my fingers through his. "I think we should go up to Sebastian's room and see just how bad he can be."

* * *

Sebastian stalked around dimming all the lights in his room as he pulled his clothes off. I lay on my side, facing Jean, feeling his tension.

"Are you sure you want me to stay?" I whispered. He seemed distracted now, nervous and the way he was clutching my hand actually hurt. All the earlier flirtiness had disappeared. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"Yes he does," Sebastian said with a giggle, climbing onto the bed beside us.

Scowling at him, I propped myself up on my elbow. "No - he fucking doesn't," I said seriously. "He's scared now. And he can change his mind if he wants." Looking down at Jean, I grinned. "Anytime you want. Okay?"

"No, I do. I want to," said Jean. "But don't go, Shira. Don't leave me, okay?"

Snuggling back down, kissing him softly on the lips, I said, "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Spooning against Jean's back, Sebastian glanced over his shoulder and gave me a look I really couldn't decipher. "And this stops, immediately, whenever he says. Understood?" I glanced from one to the other.

"Yes, Mistress Shira," joked Sebastian.

Jean's fingers clenched mine again, but it was Sebastian I scowled at. "I mean it. This isn't about you getting off."

It was hard not to remember the very first time I had sex, and how awful it was, and how much it had hurt, and how much of an asshole the guy I'd done it with had turned out to be. Maybe I was unfair for ascribing those qualities to Sebastian, who had buried his face in Jean's neck and was kissing him. But I was scared for Jean. Somehow I felt fiercely protective of him.

The little boy voice I'd heard earlier in the kitchen had chilled me; it had brought to mind Jean's incident as a child. I had assumed that he would want something as far from that experience as possible, but it was like he was reverting.

"Jean? Are you sure?" I whispered again, laying my head on the pillow. "Tell me you're sure." His eyes were half-closed. Sebastian was kissing his shoulder and had snaked his hand around, and was caressing Jean's erect cock. I cupped my palm to his face. "Tell me."

"Kiss me, Shira," said Jean.

Immediately I felt the jolt of desire mixed with tension in his lips. My emotions were all mixed up and confused, so I kissed him harder, deeper, delving my tongue into his mouth, as if I would find something there that he couldn't tell me in words.

Sebastian grabbed my free hand, squirted a pool of cool gel into it, and guided it down to Jean's cock.

"Oh, wow," I muttered. My wet fingers slithered over the length of Jean's cock shaft with silky ease. "That - that works really well."

Jean gave a sigh and a little shudder; his eyebrows creased at the sensation. I kissed him again as I stroked him, and felt his body relax. He raised one leg and draped it over my hip.

A small gasp against my lips told me that Sebastian had eased his fingers into Jean and, for a moment, he tensed up again. But this time, it was Sebastian who soothed him, shushing him softly. "We've done this before, sweetheart, lots of times. You liked it, remember?"

"Yes," Jean squeaked, he mouth so close I felt the sibilance drift over my skin. His hips moved, sliding himself between through my fist.

"Don't let him come, Shirakins," said Sebastian. "Not yet. Don't let him get too close."

I eased my grip on Jean, which had inadvertently tightened in a mix of worry and excitement. "How? How will I know?"

Sebastian snickered. "Women."

But Jean slid one arm around my shoulder, moaning as Sebastian opened him with more fingers. "I'll... I'll tell you," he stuttered.

Strangely enough, I hadn't really been very turned on until then. I was too worried, to nervous myself. But when Jean's hand relaxed around my neck, and he pulled me closer with his leg, the combination of feeling him undulate next to me, and the sensation of his cock pushing so fluidly through my fingers, swept me away.

This time, it was Jean who kissed me: a hungrier, messier kiss, full of lust. Then he pulled his face back. "Let me fuck you, Shira."

No, Jean," I whispered. "Not this time."

A moment later, a cold, peeled condom plopped onto my shoulder, I shrugged it off and it slithered down my back. "No!" I hissed, glancing over at Sebastian. "I can't take care of him if he's fucking me."

Jean had stopped moving; Sebastian had stopped fucking him with his fingers. I couldn't seem it, but heard the slick, wet rustle as Sebastian sheathed himself. Jean heard it, too. His cock twitched in my hand - it was still hard. That, I was sure, had to be a good sign.

"You okay?" I brushed my lips against Jean's.

"I... I think so."

I pulled my hand, still clasped to Jean's, up between us and held it to my chest. The bed rocked a little as Sebastian positioned himself. Legs shifted, hips moved, and I knew the exact moment that Sebastian pressed his cockhead against Jean's hole, because Jean caught his breath and froze. I clenched my ass at exactly the same moment in sympathy.

"Shush... sweetheart, relax," Sebastian murmured, stroking Jean's chest.

I let go of Jean's hand and threaded my fingers into his hair, pressing my face against his. "Breathe, Jean. There's nothing to be scared of. No one's going to hurt you."

He made a sobbing sound deep in his throat, and expelled a jagged breath. I could tell that Sebastian wasn't forcing anything; he just held himself there, caressing Jean's side, giving him time to relax. But within a few minutes, it was clear that it didn't seem to matter that Jean's mind was willing. If the tenacious grip on my wrist or the twitching of his thigh muscles were any indication, Jean's body was not cooperating at all. Nothing was going to happen without the application of considerable force, and that - as far as I was concerned - was unacceptable. As if to underline this, the erection in my hand had wilted significantly.

"Maybe," Jean whispered, his jitters stuttering his breathing, "I need a lot more alcohol."

Sebastian leaned over and kissed him sweetly on the cheek. "I'll go get something." He moved to get off the bed.

I sat up and shook my head at Sebastian. "I don't think so," I said with more assurance than I actually felt. But I had an instinctual sense that dulling Jean's senses wasn't a sensible solution. "If he's plastered, it's not an act of trust. It'll be like it never happened."

Jean rolled onto his back, still clutching my wrist to his chest, only then did I feel his heart hammering at his ribcage. "But then I won't be so fucked up and worried about it."

"True. They you'll be just plain fucked up." I smirked.

Curling next to him, Sebastian took Jean's face in his hands and kissed him. "She's right, Jean. Fucking semi-conscious men is not my idea of a good time, either."

It wasn't the flattery that made me suddenly want to hug Sebastian. It was because if I had still harboured any lingering doubts about his basic decency, they had evaporated with his last sentence. We exchanged glances. "Thank you," I mouthed. He nodded in response.

"Look, why don't we just skip it for tonight?" I snuggled down on the other side of Jean, caressing his bare, white chest. "I think everyone is making a big deal over nothing. Let's just cuddle up and go to sleep."

We lay there for a while, the dimmed lights giving the room a golden hue. Both Sebastian and I nuzzled and petted Jean, more out of reassurance than anything else. I wondered whether Jean's almost autonomic reaction had sobered Sebastian - made him truly reconsider things. It was the first time I can honestly say I actually felt love for him. Not lust, or affection, or fascination. Love.

Out of the blue, Jean said, "I don't want to skip it," addressing himself to the darkened ceiling. "I don't want to be this way tomorrow morning."

I propped myself up, drinking in his delicate, beautiful face. It occurred to me that Jean's behaviour had a pattern: the desire to fuck me, to get drunk, the childish voice. He wanted to do this, he just didn't want to be consciously responsible for it. I remembered what he'd told us about his abuse, and what Sebastian had said about Jean.

It took me a while to reason it out. Why, after having so much of his autonomy stripped away from him as a child, would Jean be so willing to give it up as an adult? Regardless, it was clear that this was exactly what he wanted. Could it be that he hadn't told us everything? That perhaps he had felt responsible for what had happened? That he felt guilty that he hadn't fought hard enough, or hated it enough? Those questions fell into place like a strange and alien mosaic for me. Sebastian had accused me of thinking too much, but this time, I suspected, he was going to thank me for it.

"What's your safe-word again?" I asked Jean. Sebastian opened his mouth, but I shook my head to silence him and made Jean respond.

"Band-aid."

I nodded at Sebastian. "Get your cuffs."

Sebastian gave an incredulous laugh. "What?"

"The cuffs. Get them."

Jean gave a small, nervous twitter but, almost instantly, his pupils were large and glinting in the soft light, his eyes flitting from Sebastian, who was pulling the restraints out of the drawer, to me.

Smiling, I took one of the cuffs and gently took Jean's nearest wrist, binding it and attaching the little ring to the tie. "You, my little angel," I said, raising his arm and securing it to the rail at the top of the bed, "get to fight all you want. It won't make any difference."

Sebastian followed suit on the other side. I wasn't sure how I felt with being in charge, but it was obvious I'd nominated myself. It would have been nice to discuss this with Sebastian, but the idea of walking out and leaving Jean alone to his thoughts was not a good idea. Even so, Sebastian caught my eye and gave me a little subtle nod.

Then Elsa moved in.

losers22

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