An Evening At The Gallery
It's worse than the candy. That's all she can think as she slides her hand around Snyder's dick. At least Rupert was attractive. The buyer... what was his name? Mr. Manners, has one nipple caught between his teeth and two fingers up her pussy, and she's echoing the movement of those fingers every time she strokes Snyder. Oh please, don't let Buffy decide she needs to stop by the gallery... did they lock the door? She hopes they locked the door.
Snyder looks like he should taste like overcooked hotdogs and sauerkraut, but instead he tastes, heaven help her, good. He even smells good. Maybe if she closes her eyes, she can forget the beady eyes and the fringe of limp dark hair that surrounds his overly-large head. And if he keeps up whatever it is he's doing to the side of her neck, she can forget how much she dislikes him and... oh, crap.
He's worked his way up to her ear and takes a break from biting and kissing her to whisper, "Now this is a tingle I haven't felt since your troublemaker of a daughter started stirring up trouble again."
Joyce would slap him, but then Mr. Manners takes his mouth off of her breast and moves it down her belly, then down lower until he's flicking the tip of that silver tongue over her clit, keeping up the steady rhythm of his hand. Why couldn't it just be him? Why did whatever this is have to happen when all three of them were in the room?
She pauses for a second to wonder why she's still in the art business, if she keeps getting artifacts like the one that reanimated the dead or the one she was holding up for inspection when Snyder barged in threatening suspension and expulsion. The louder his voice got, the more the object seemed to pulse and shimmer in her hands, and suddenly they were tearing off their clothing like they were possessed. Well, that's silly of her. They must be possessed. She stops worrying about the why and the who, and lets sensation flood her, spilling out its physical manifestation under Mr. Manners' lips.
Snyder's moved his head back down, sucking one nipple and then the next to the rhythm she's keeping on his dick and Mr. Manners is keeping on, in, and around her pussy. A shimmer of light catches her eye as she feels her muscles start to clench and spasm. Her hand tightens around Snyder, her movements quickening until his dick's pulsing and he's groaning and grunting against her breast. The light grows and swells, and she hears Mr. Manners give a muffled gasp. So that's what Snyder's been doing with his hands.
The room's so bright now, she can't see anything but white, and there's a strange static buzzing that's drowning out the sounds she's sure she's making. It fades with the aftershocks of her orgasm, leaving the room dim and comfortable.
Her eyelids feel heavy, and she can hear the soft snores of Mr. Manners and the louder ones of Snyder. As she lets herself drift off, she looks over at the artifact. That's funny; she doesn't remember the face on the statue of Pan smiling.