Page 56 of The Circle

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I want to be with them. So badly. More and more every moment, in fact.

Which is why I don’t join. There is something to be said for self-discipline. A quality I have mimicked well over the course of my life, but the honest practice of which I have been very poor at displaying indeed. This is my chance to become less mendacious with myself.

Also, to correct a wrong I have done. And until that wrong is righted, I’ll remain steadfast in my commitment to seeing it though.

But that doesn’t mean I’m a fokken monk.

So, as I watch Danny strip Christine free of her trousers, I begin disrobing myself. I let go of my cock just long enough to stand from the chaise, dispense with my overcoat, scarf, shirt, shoes, trousers and boxers, and face them. Naked. Exposed. Rock-hard prick extended toward them like a divining rod.

I feel a warmth wash over me. Particularly my back. It doesn’t feel like my blood pumping or as though I need to ask perhaps-Nigel to control the climate. It feels instead like a pulsing. A triangulated throbbing of sorts.

The tattoo. The visual marker of me, Christine, and Danny. It’s as though it has electricity pulsing through it. Like it has been dormant and is suddenly called to life once again, the persistent need of we three once more activated. And, in concert with its pulsating energy, I feel the throbbing of my shaft calling me to perform a duty upon myself, which I happily oblige, gripping once again the thick fullness between my legs.

Danny has Christine stripped bare as well and is removing his own shirt. She helps pull it free from him and peers around his waist to eye me once more.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come over here?” she asks, breathily.

“I’m exactly where I should be.” I smile and keep massaging myself slowly.

Danny looks over his shoulder at me, back at Christine, and takes his trousers down, kicking off his boots and loosing himself completely as well.

The three of us are now fully naked, Danny and Christine together and me a short distance apart, all of us swaying along with the rhythmic pitching of the train. Danny’s broad back is to me and the muscles in his thighs tighten as he crouches in front of Christine, who is splayed wide before him on the bed. I can see neither of their faces. Only the back of Danny’s head, his strong shoulders, his ass, and the soles of his feet as he goes to his knees.

Christine’s calves hang over the edge of the mattress, straddling the sides of Danny’s head, and all else I can see of her are her breasts heaving upward as Danny presses his mouth into her and her back arches. Their bodies’ angles create a form of erotic geometry that rivals the abstract beauty of a Mondrian. Art in motion.

The fact that I can’t see Danny’s face means I can’t know for certain what type of artistic technique he’s applying to Christine’s pussy. Is he just painting her clit with the brush of his tongue? Or is he delving further? Inserting himself inside her walls and tasting her salty sweetness?

All I can know for certain is what Christine’s moans are telling me. And that is that whatever he’s doing, she’s enjoying it. Quite a lot. The sounds she’s making are exigent and she grabs a fistful of his tousled blond hair and pulls his face into her more fully, causing him to moan as well as he slurps and laps and drinks in every bit of her.

And, as if being conducted by the two of them, I begin moaning as well, grunting and sighing out labored breaths with every jerk of my hand. I don’t want to come until they do, but that may actually be a taller order than I anticipated. There’s something about being so close to them but not allowing myself to touch them that’s more sensual than I had imagined.

But I don’t want to ejaculate all over what I’m certain is an irreplaceable Oriental rug, so I’ll need to be thoughtful of that. I may be a creature of impulse, but I’m not some sort of unrefined monster.

Christine lets out a long, guttural cry and her hands tighten in Danny’s hair. Her dangling legs begin shaking and the muscles in her forearms constrict. It’s something to see. Beauty incarnate. In the entire time I’ve known her, I’ve never been witness to Christine having an orgasm that quickly before. It makes me smile.

Danny turns his head, sees me smiling, and a shadow comes over his eyes. I’ve seen this before from him, of course. The dark Danny Fortnight. The powerful Danny Fortnight. The controlling Danny Fortnight. He’s been kind lately. Ever since the two of them came to retrieve me in England. We all have.

I can’t help but wonder if it isn’t to do with Andra. The child. My child. Pure, innocent, untouched by the trauma of the world. That her presence has compelled us all to adjust our own traumas just the tiniest bit.

I hope that when we find her, she’s as free from damage as when we last saw her.

But here, now, in the absence of everything we left behind in the UK, on our way to our next, great, unspecified adventure, I wonder if the darkness Danny works to keep at bay isn’t just a little tired of remaining inside. I hope so. It is a part of him that I treasure just as much as the other, more humane parts.

As if reading my thoughts, my hope to see dark Danny emerge fully is granted as he grabs the hips of a still-trembling Christine, lifts her from the bed, and swoops her in front of him, facing me, as she makes a little squeak of surprise. They are both looking at me now. Him standing behind her, staring just over her head, and Christine herself uncharacteristically coquettish, knees rubbing together as she continues to tremble in place, still working through the effects of having received Danny’s pleasure.

She glances back at him and the dark mist in his eyes darkens further as he glowers at her and then back at me. She turns her head to face me as well, and as if Danny’s inner monster has transmuted Christine, a kind of nightshade also broadcasts itself from inside her.

She bites her bottom lip as Danny grabs a knot of her hair with one hand and forces her forward at the waist with the other. She snaps over, backing her ass up as she does, and Danny enters her hard from behind, causing her to grunt out in pain and ecstasy.

They are both staring at me, Danny holding her hair like he’s gripping the mane of a sleek and majestic filly and Christine, head pulled back, throat exposed, being slammed into from the rear, smiling an almost evil grin of glee the whole time.

I’m thundering my shaft with my fist now, frantic and chaotic. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep from painting the interior of this pristine cabin with my hot, creamy essence. I don’t want to wait, I want to let it out now, but something in Danny’s stare warns me not to. So I hold. Against my will, I hold.

And now they are moving ahead, toward me. Shuffling forward in unison. Like they are one organism. Bound together by something inexorable and unbreakable. Danny doesn’t stop his pounding, thrusting fucking of Christine and neither one of them takes their eyes off me.

If a distance of some feet can feel as though it has been traversed in an instant and for what seems like an eternity simultaneously, that is what their trip over to me feels like. I watch them approach with a longing that suggests they can’t possibly arrive near me soon enough and with the shock of realizing they are already upon me all at once. I don’t try to stop them. Inside their determined stares is something I have rarely seen from anyone, and it is something that invokes in me a set of feelings I have perhaps never experienced before: Subservience. Compliance. A willingness to submit to whatever it is they require of me.