The bench
Keith asked me to hold the cooled cup while Anton undressed me. He wanted to be the one who told Anton he could begin. I wanted that too. The shop was warm but the furnace was down. Gloves off. Dark tank. I sat on the bench with the cup in both palms and nodded at my husband.
Anton knelt without being dramatic about it. He took off my boots and kissed my ankles, then asked Keith if he could go higher. Keith looked at me. I said yes. Anton said the yes was mine to give, and he waited for it anyway, which made Keith flush with something like pride. The cup stayed steady. Anton's hands traveled my calves, my knees, my thighs, and he named nothing cheaply. He said thank you against my skin. Keith stood behind the bench and cupped the back of my neck, thumb moving, the man who had asked and stayed.
I lifted my hips so Anton could take my jeans. The tank stayed. He spread my cunt with his thumbs and licked like worship, long strokes, then a slow suck on my clit that made the cup click lightly against my rings. I did not rush him. Keith told me I was precious. Anton said the same into my cunt, the word muffled and sincere, and I came holding that plain glass like a rail, shaking, laughing once. I set the cup in a nest of cloth before I trusted my hands again. Then I asked Anton to fuck me on the bench. He looked to Keith. Keith said, voice thick, please, we want that fuck.
Anton fucked his cock into my cunt, slow. I hooked my heels behind him and kept my eyes on Keith. One of Keith's hands held mine. The other was on his cock, stroking in the rhythm I set with my hips. Anton told me my cunt felt incredible. I told Keith this was his doing and his gift and my want, all three. I came again, deeper, the bench hard under my shoulders and Anton's mouth on my collarbone. He pulled out and came across my stomach when I asked, and Keith leaned down and came over my breasts a moment later, both of them panting, both of them kissing whatever skin they could reach. The cup had not rolled. I picked it up and grinned.
