THE PANAMA CLUB: Pas de trois // Chapter 11

London quivered in his lap, her whole body racked with trembling shivers as she came again, her legs spread and showing how Alvaro fingered her while Genesis pulled Ballard’s pants to his ankles. The woman revealed the biggest penis Alvaro had seen—and he’d seen hundreds in locker rooms. The way London reacted at this revelation astounded him. She came hard. What should infuriate a man like him instead riled him, and as his fiancee orgasmed as she admired Ballard’s naked body and his barnyard manhood, Alvaro almost ejaculated as well. He flexed his ass hard and pushed his erection into London’s rump, raising them both off the chair’s seat, her light weight exerting wonderful pressure on his aching cock. He could feel himself pumping precum into his boxers.

Genesis handled that enormous dong, gripping it midway, trying to push the head into her mouth. As she did, a long silvery string of pre-cum drooled from the tip.

London humped into his hand, her orgasm still rolling through her. She grunted and moaned and made exquisite sounds of sexual pleasure. His fingers thrummed over her succulent flesh, and his fiancee still gushed, still humped, so eager to get fucked. It tightened Alvaro’s stomach to think that Ballard produced semen out of a desire to fuck London, not due to what he did with the woman named Genesis.

Then London scooted forward, heels planted on the floor, and she stood, turning to face him. She’d gathered her skirt in two hands, held in a bunch at her crotch. Her long dancer’s legs were knock-kneed, exposed from above mid-thigh down. Her cheeks burned red and there was a wet and crazed look in her dark eyes.

He said, “What is it?” half rising from the chair.

London answered his question with a hungry, all-consuming kiss, taking his cheeks in both hands and pushing her slippery little tongue in his mouth. She was turned on so hot she was out of her mind. She thrusted her stomach against his crotch, and his future wife’s insane demand for penetration set his brain blazing. His arms went around her, clutching her against him in his strong arms, crushing her, drinking his cock into her tummy while they kissed.

This chamber was one room out of many, all meant for sexual pleasure, sexual gratification. These rooms were for sex, and that’s what his fiancee demanded—that’s what his cock demanded.

With fistfuls of the back of her skirt, he raised it, exposing her ass to Ballard and Genesis, if they were watching. From behind, he ran the pad of his thumb across her anus and over the sopping, swollen folds of her pussy. London squealed with desperation at his touch. Over London’s shoulder, he saw Ballard studying them, Genesis holding aloft his huge penis while she sucked on the man’s balls.

“Come to the car,” he hissed with sexual urgency. All his bravado about being able to dominate London and set her up in the chair and punish her until she called him sir vaporized in the heat of the moment. He wanted her all to himself now, and didn’t want an audience.

***

Alvaro tugged her hand and she almost toppled—but once she had forward momentum, she trotted after him, her hand still in his. Alvaro couldn’t wait any longer. The spectacle had riled him as much as her, and he wanted to fuck. And she would follow him because that’s what she wanted, too. Not wanted; needed. Needed so bad. The erotic things she’d witnessed in just a matter of minutes overwhelmed her systems, got all the lights on her dashboard lit up.

At the door, Alvaro hesitated in the way a bewildered person would, not wanting to leave and wanting to leave all at the same time. She mushed her lips to his, wrapping her forearms around the back of his neck and shoving her body against his until they bumped against the wall by the door. Alvaro’s kisses were lusty and energetic, but he still wanted to flee, wanted to take her somewhere private. His hand levered open the door and cooler air breezed her cheeks.

He pulled her along with him, sidestepping, leaving the door open, lifting her upper arms and dragging her, toe points running on the floor until they were in the hall. Once in the hall she went with Alvaro’s movement and pulled from his clutch, crossing the hallway and putting her back up against the opposite side. Hands gathered at her front she pulled up her skirt and showed Alvaro with her eyes that she wouldn’t flee—her need was too urgent and she didn’t want to leave Ballard. And she wanted Ballard to watch.

Both Alvaro’s hands thumped the wall on either side of her head, his mouth locking on hers again, his hard bulge ramming against her bare pussy. She raised one knee and hooked a heel behind his thigh, encouraging her man to ram his manhood against her. That was all Alvaro needed; his hands rushed to his belt buckle, undid it, then the pants button. His fly was barely down before she felt the familiar smooth prodding of his cock head against her sheath.

“Oh fuck, I need it,” she whispered near his ear, and Alvaro drove himself inside her all the way. She hissed and gasped and bit his neck as he began to pound into her. She was wetter than she ever remembered being, and his passage was pure liquid pleasure.

In the room they’d left, Genesis had risen from the floor and snatched up her dress and laid it out on the black leather bench. The light from the chandelier painted her dark, tattooed skin in traces of pure glowing white. Ballard pulled up his pants, his equine manhood poking out the V of the open fly by a preposterous length until he pushed out a pant leg and angled it downward.

There was profound disappointment that injured that most aroused part of her. This wasn’t what she wanted—she wanted the opposite. She wanted to be the center of attention and not an afterthought.

They’d fucked it up. Alvaro fucked it up. Shit, both of them did. She got too hot, and Alvaro responded.

But now, with his pants buttoned, Ballard watched her. Watched Alvaro’s back as he drove his cock in and out of her. Alvaro’s pants had fallen to his ankles and his ass would be bare below the hem of his suit jacket. Ballard didn’t smile, but looked engaged by their passionate display. He crossed toward the open door, then stopped. He stooped, picking up a small bundle of fabric. Her panties.

He balled her underwear in his fist and came to the door, leaned on the jam and continued to watch them, his eyes coming up from Alvaro’s ass at last to meet her gaze. She met Ballard’s eye while Alvaro fucked her. She experienced the pleasure of his rutting while looking into the eyes of the man who intimidated some wild spirit to rustle up and out of her core.

She gasped and panted for Ballard’s benefit, and now he did smile; one corner of his mouth raised to a sinister angle. He brought her balled-up panties near his mouth and nose, and, with his eyes still on hers while she got fucked, he drew a deep inhale of her feminine scent, the corner of his smile peeling higher.

She bucked, and then squeezed Alvaro’s neck as a sudden rifle-crack orgasm shot through her; a wicked dynamo that drove up from her sheath in a furious twist. She cried out as it took her by surprise and ripped through her. Alvaro responded, growling, driving deep and holding each thrust buried inside all the way for long luxurious seconds before withdrawing and thrusting again. He growled and roared, his cock flexed and cabled inside her—he was ejaculating. It got her moaning and writhing, running her hands all over the muscle under his suit jacket, drawing out her own orgasm for long, heart-pounding moments. The tight squeeze her thighs held on Alvaro’s hard waist slackened. Alvaro huffed for breath, his forehead touching the wall over her shoulder.

In the aftermath of their orgasm, the quiet loomed; oppressive silence admonishing their brief, undisciplined union—their snorting copulation finished, she began to feel dismayed. Surely this wasn’t what she and Alvaro had come here for. This wasn’t Ballard’s intention. They’d disappointed Ballard, she was sure of it, and embarrassed.

During their rapture, the woman named Genesis had donned her dress again.

Whatever was transpiring, whatever would have transpired, fizzled. London hugged Alvaro’s shoulders and let her feet touch the floor. Alvaro heaved away from the wall, exhausted, hiding his face—she’d never seen the man ashamed in his life. Alvaro beamed supreme masculine confidence wherever he went. He rolled away and leaned his back on the wall next to her, both of them facing Ballard and Genesis, pulling up his pants and tucking his still-inflated cock back into them. Genesis watched him hide it away, getting to see what the Bad Boy of Baseball had between his legs, enjoying herself, enjoying watching a man as famous as Alvaro Ortega humbled.

Genesis turned her attention to Ballard, touching his bare shoulder. “Will you call me?”

Ballard didn’t answer, his eyes still on London’s, then gradually turning to Genesis. He smiled and nodded. Genesis went to her toes and kissed his cheek, turned and entered the hall, waggling her fingers to London and Alvaro, saying, “It was nice to meet you,” dripping with restrained mirth.

London’s lips pursed, Ballard staring her down. Alvaro had his head lowered, drawing up his zipper. Without Ballard saying a word, London apologized. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ballard.”

Ballard’s eyebrows rose, but his eyes stayed sleepy and unreadable. He eased his shoulder off the jamb and stood upright, hands in his pockets, his penis pushing out the leg of his pants. He strode out of the room and across the hall.

Without realizing it, she’d been standing with her hands lifting the skirt, revealing her pussy. Even when she realized it, she didn’t want to let the skirt down—but she did.

Ballard shook his head no. “Lift it,” he commanded.

Alvaro’s face turned her way. She gathered up fabric in her grip again, and once more raised the skirt.

Ballard looked down between her legs, then up to her eyes.

She said, “Did we mess up? Did we make a mis—”

Ballard wagged a finger to silence her. His eyes moved from her to Alvaro—who fought against a sheepish expression, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes—down to the bulge in Alvaro’s pants, then again between her legs. She raised the skirt higher.

Ballard lowered a hand near her pussy. Alvaro bristled. Ballard was aware, but looked at her instead. His hand moved closer, knuckles first, and she sensed the heat of his skin.

“You have no control,” he said.

Alvaro’s jaw tensed. She said, “Should we not have done that?”

“It is what it is,” he said.

Alvaro spoke up. “Do you have rules?”

She knew how her fiancé meant it: if they had a rulebook, it should have been presented.

Ballard smiled at the challenge, took his eyes from hers to look at Alvaro. “There are rules. I make them.”

Alvaro asked, “What are they?”

She said, “Are you disappointed?” She bit her lip in anticipation of his answer.

He said, “You should go now,” his voice calm and assured, but not angered or bothered.

She whispered, “Can we come back?”

“I might call,” he said, and just as a spike of dejection wounded her heart, his had that dangled near her crotch nudged forward and his knuckle eased into her wet crease. She gasped and held a breath. Alvaro looked down, seeing what this other man did to Alvaro’s future wife. He didn’t stop Ballard.

Now Ballard turned his hand between her thighs, and the pads of his fingers began to stroke back and forth through her slick furrows. Her legs shook and her knees widened. Ballard dipped his first two fingers inside her hot sheath, a slick sound as his fingers parted her membranes. He curled the fingers in a come-hither motion, back and forth three or four times. Slippery pleasure greased around the inside of her skull in electric pulses. Her nipples hardened all over again.

Then Ballard raised his hand between them, showing her the fingers. They were wetted by Alvaro’s pearly semen. Alvaro’s eyes went wider. Ballard moved the wet fingers toward her and she tilted up her chin. He touched them to her lower lip, painting Alvaro’s load across it. Then he pushed inward and parted her lips, stroked his finger over the rampart of her teeth. She parted them, took his fingers into the depths of her mouth and began to suck them. Her nostrils filled with the familiar scent of her lover’s sperm and her tongue bathed the underside of Ballard’s large fingers. Next to her Alvaro swallowed with a noticeable gulp.

“You are very fascinating. Weak of spirit and temperament, but you’re brimming with passion.”

She nodded and kept sucking, eyes locked on Ballard’s.

He slipped the fingers from her mouth, turned his back to them and walked back to the door. Alvaro said, “Can we come back again?”

London let her skirt drop and wiped at her mouth. Ballard paused, doorknob in hand. “I told you I may call.”

Alvaro said, “That’s it?”

Ballard chuckled and smiled. “That’s it, Mr. Ortega.” He closed the door quietly, still amused.