Concluding part to a three-part story

I searched the house for Ella, going from room to room. In the main reception room where the lighting was low, the furniture was pushed back to make space for dancing. Numerous couples swayed in each other's arms like ghosts gliding through the half-light, hardly moving

At first, I was relieved that Ella wasn't amongst them. I'd half expected to find her pressed up against one of Pierre Paul's burly players.

I was about to leave the room, to go and look elsewhere when I spotted her over at the far side standing next to a long burgundy leather Chesterfield in the company of a group of boisterous blokes, a clique of younger players from the club.

In that dress, she looked A-list-starlet-fabulous, the garment's purpose now realised. She had become a honeypot of buzzing male attention, all wanting to dip in.

She laughed and smiled, head turning from one man to another while her hand casually stroked the top back edge of the sofa. The painted nail of her index finger gently delved and scratched a circle in a button depression on the top of the couch.

She sipped Prosecco from a tall flute while her eyes moved from one man to another, sparkling with allure. I attempted to judge how much she'd had to drink. Too much, I decided. I watched and saw her inhibitions go off-piste. She was hurtling down, down, down, and heading towards a precipice of no return called slut.

She reached out her hand to the bloke directly in front of her to brush imaginary lint from his lapel in a sham gesture of grooming. It was only then that I recognised who he was.

Jake! Back from New Zealand. Now everything made sense.

There was no mistaking the message her eyes were broadcasting at that moment: pure, unadulterated sexual acquiescence. Then her attention flitted to another of her admirers, giving him a smile, reaching out as she had to Jake, drawing him in. Then, suddenly, she turned and laughed loudly at some inanity spoken to her from her left.

God! How she loved being the sole focus of all that male sexual interest. How she revelled in it! She must have known about the other girls, how the men in front of her could choose any combination of the young, beautiful and willing females Pierre Paul had laid on, any one of whom a man was free to take and use as they pleased.

A she-cat on heat had drawn in every Tom for miles, and I wondered which one she would choose.

I was too far away to hear her words, but her laughter grated my nerves. I scrutinised her every expression, every subtle shift in her stance that shouted her need. And so did those men.

Now inches from Ella, Jake casually placed his palm on the small of her back and drew her slowly to him. At five-ten but wearing those outrageous shoes, Ella was eye to eye with him. An exchange occurred amidst the look they shared; her eyes were brimming with a barely managed wantonness.

Then she was in Jake's arms and lost to view. When she turned away slightly, his bulk shielded her from my gaze, and I could only imagine her expression as he enfolded her in his arms. I moved my position to gain a better vantage. And when I found a spot from where I could see her properly again, I was just in time to watch her abandon herself to him.

The others thought their chance with Ella had gone. But it was as if they could not summon the will to leave her presence altogether. In their hearts, they still held to the desperate hope things were not quite terminal, that a remission, a chance with her, might yet come.

I watched Jake and Ella kissing from behind while his hand went under the hem of her dress. Some of the other blokes noticed, their envy and silent disappointment thickening the air. Now convinced their moment really had gone, they turned to leave.

But Ella broke from Jake and called, "Brett! Tom! No need to go."

She reached out for Tom, beckoning him. Their eyes met and he understood. He took her outstretched hand, and she drew him close. Then she kissed Tom while Jake made room, easing himself behind her. She leaned back against Jake as he captured her hips, hauling her rump against his crotch while kissing her neck and bare shoulders. His sweaty palms adhered to the cloth and caused the hem of her dress to rise as he massaged her flanks.

Ella became a girl filling for a two-person panini. Her remaining suitor, Brett, sat on the end of the sofa nearest to where she was fixed in a pincer between Jake and Tom. He watched for a moment before slipping his hand between her legs. He swept his palm up her inner thigh, let it fall very slowly, and then up again. She subtly parted her legs for him. I imagined how the sheerness of her hosiery would feel as his palm travelled up and down.

They coaxed her dress from her. It fell to her feet, discarded, and stepped on, its purpose served, little more than cloth.

Revealed now, Ella's tits, so firm and smooth, still retained a transient girlish uplift. In the subdued lighting, her nipples looked swollen and in need of a thorough sucking.

And that is precisely what those three men did, each taking a turn lapping at and sucking Ella's tits. She threw back her head, sending the dam-burst of her long tresses tumbling down her back. Although her body was theirs now, her mind was still her own, her eyes scanning the room as each man gorged on her breasts. She wanted the validation that only an audience can bring to a performance, and this was her finest.

Others in the room were becoming aware of the knot of bodies around Ella, its continually altering configuration. The men in their dark jackets, the stark soft white of Ella's naked breasts appearing and disappearing among their bulk. The hubbub of voices faded as, one by one, conversations stalled, and dancing ceased as couples turned and stood arm-in-arm and watched. I nearly turned and left the room.

But I didn't.

Ella's expression grew smug when she saw how all those present gawped. Then she noticed me, and her smile was one of gloating triumph. I watched her kissing Jake again, her tongue curling about his in an ostentatious display, a full, unambiguous, fuck-you-darling kiss.

I still ask myself why I remained to watch. I suppose I was in shock. Also, it was a revelation: the whole thing turned me on like nothing ever had. Yes, I was outraged; yes, I felt humiliated. But more than those things, I became consumed by sexual arousal of such intensity it overrode all rationality. It swept aside all social expectations of how a man should behave upon seeing his girlfriend used like that.

So, yes, I watched how Jake snatched off her panties, how the three of them laid her down on cold leather. I watched how she raised her knees high and brought them way back, crossing her heels behind him and pressing them into the small of his back. And as he fucked her, I watched how she clawed her fingers over his close-cropped scalp.

Most of all, I watched her face, looking for signs of the person I thought I loved and who supposedly loved me. But Ella never once closed her eyes, never flinched as those three men took their turn fucking her. Not then, not later.

When he'd done with her, turning from her, he caught sight of me and held my gaze. The utter contempt in his look was such that it makes me cringe when I recall it even now. I knew then that any connection I imagined I still had with the club was destroyed.

Already the reserve team were in line, some a little sheepish. The first one approached to ask her if it was okay, using eyes to indicate his desire to mount her. It was as if he were a stranger on a train asking if the seat next to her was free.

He did not even remove his pants, letting them bunch around his ankles, kneeling, and hurriedly pressing his cock against her. His aim was incompetent and was going nowhere. Her expression was one of exasperation as she took him in hand and guided him into her. She pulled him close, and when he was deep, she gripped his buttocks with both palms to steady him, nails digging deep into hairy, muscled flesh. And so, with legs and hands, she prevented him slipping from her, though his thrusts grew desperate, his jerks inelegant, sordid.

As I watched, a murmur went through those who had come to watch Ella and her men. Word spread that things were about to begin in the banqueting hall, and people drifted away.

My last memory of Ella that night was of her on the Chesterfield in a moment between lovers. She looked so bedraggled, icky with sweat and cum, her makeup a disaster, her visage a portrait by Picasso on an off day. She made no attempt to move or even clean the cum from her face.

She seemed to remember where she was, casting her eyes about as if to make sense of the spectacle she had made of herself. When she saw me, her eyes frantically turned away.

My cock was painfully hard. I decided to find myself a girl and fuck her so hard she would remember me always. I wandered through the rooms of the large and ancient house, seeing the other guests in various states of undress and lovemaking.

I went back to the library, where girls were being passed around like drugs. I intercepted a beautiful sweet redhead as she made her way out of the room, on her way to refresh her drink. I grabbed her wrist as she passed me in the doorway and turned her to face me. Her eyes dared me, and I slipped my tongue quickly into her mouth while placing my palms on her butt, drawing her to me, my granite cock pressing hard into her abdomen.

The things I did to her were everything Pierre had paid her to let men do; a man like me was her sole reason for being present. I was so jacked up with desire after witnessing Ella and her men that I fucked the redhead relentlessly as people came and went along the hall.

I did not remove her dress; her cunt was what I wanted. And it was her cunt that she gave me. I savoured the exotic foreignness of her tongue as I fucked her with a cock so bloated I feared it might rupture. And while I did, I thought of Ella and how all those men had used her. And as I continued to fuck that whore, I wished I'd stood in line and waited my turn for Ella and been the last to have her. And when I ejaculated into the brimming gash of my young whore, I thought how I should have told Ella how I still loved and would treasure her always.

Afterwards, the redhead stood, pulled up her panties and brushed down her dress. I stood up too and was going to leave. But she took my hand and, in broken English, said, "You come with me now? It is starting."

"What is?" I said.

"Big . . . Orgy — is it right word? In big room."

THANK YOU FOR READING