As I arch off the wooden seat to the limit of my straining bonds, I'm not sure whether the burning need to cum or my jackhammering pulse will kill me first. The thin white ropes that criss-cross my naked body tighten, skin imprinted with showy knots. I gasp:

“Please, oh God pleeease.”

My needy voice is hollow, bouncing off the walls of their airy apartment. Rumbling vibrations torment my balls in their, now hairless, sac.

The girls take pity. The relentless buzzing stops as one of them—the blindfold prevents me telling which—flicks off the wand strapped to my left inner thigh. Snorting, I fight the wrist bonds, the chair back digging into my biceps and shoulder blades while echoes of the toy replay, inside and out. An undignified dribble of saliva lands on my chest and trickles as I slump to the seat, the wood warm against my naked backside.

Mathilde’s sing-song European lilt cuts the silence punctuated only by my laboured breathing. “Think he has had enough?”

A pause. “He can take more.”

My heart thumps. “Fuck.”

I track the clicks of Mathilde’s heels on the tiled floor, head lolling. The nail of one manicured fingertip scoops a silky dot of pre-cum from the tip of my straining erection. She traces it all the way up to my throat, then over the chin they’d shaved hours or a lifetime ago. One girl tended to my stubble, the other my balls, the scrape of the blades and aloe scent of shaving foam drifting with the warm washcloth, then with their attentive nuzzles of my firm shaft and sensitive skin.

Her finger pad brushes my lower lip and I snap at it, capturing the promise of my orgasm and sucking it clean. She withdraws and pats my cheek. Cups it, stroking. “Such a good boy. Maybe a little reward, hmmm?” Hot breath appears against my ear lobe. “But no cumming.”

I groan as the whisper of Bella’s stay-ups meet my knees and slither along my outer thighs. The heat from her pussy registers against my cockhead a moment before the wetness of her arousal does. I twitch at her entrance. One upward thrust and I’d be buried, sheathed in her buttery cleft. But it would be the last touch; they were very clear about that. I fight the urge—the need—to take her, bending the rules by rocking my hips instead. Her juices drizzle down my shaft.

Mathilde snakes her palm to my nape and tilts my head to face her college mate. A breast is offered, its firm peak perched on the slight hump that interrupts Bella’s rakish physique. Obediently, I part my lips and take it. Suck. She breathes, an ecstatic sigh that washes over me with the Mediterranean breeze that carries the laughter and shrieks of families playing in the waves beyond the patio doors.

Her pussy creeps, maybe a quarter inch of my flared tip nestling her tight channel. I don't need sight to know when she bites her lip. Her breathing changes; tightens as I suck harder on her nipple. She lets me have another fraction of warmth and twirls her hips one revolution.

Mathilde’s lips urge at my ear: “Bite her.”

I obey, rewarded with a sharp cry and another inch of Bella’s velvet heat.

“Harder.” There's an edge to Mathilde's voice, like she understands how her girlfriend’s pleasure is linked to her own. And mine. My teeth clamp tighter. Bella hisses and sinks another inch. Then another as I tense my jaw. Our hips connect and I moan into her breast, heat and sparks threatening to ignite my climax.

The wrist bonds thrash and I flap and flex fingertips against Mathilde’s gossamer stocking tops, a subdued moan escaping my lips at her hissed reminder. “No cumming or this is over.”

Flinging my head back, Bella groans as the blood races to refill the recently constricted nipple. She rises, the breeze cooling white hot peaks of her arousal coating my shaft, leaving me twitching at her slippery entrance.

Mathilde slithers hands down from my collarbone, over my chest. Her tits, sizeable compared to her friend, smother me as she reaches the wet base of my raging prick and dances a fingertip up each edge. My muffled moans join Bella’s as those fingers reach where we're faintly connected, scuffing her clit.

I drown in cleavage, snarling, tensing and fighting the edge of my resolve. Panicked thoughts ping to latch onto anything other than the all-encompassing need to spray cum against that hovering teenage slit.

The chaotic flicker-book in my mind settles on the moment I met them. When everything changed.

I was in Nice on business. Engineering support for a database that wouldn't play ball. The usual diagnostics from London had failed. Long calls in pigeon English with the local support team hadn't worked. And yes, we'd even turned it off and on again.

So it fell to me to fly out and fix it in person. At least it was a welcome change from tedious remote support. I booked an open return, just in case.

Huddled over my laptop, hood up in the client's temperature-controlled server room, I eventually traced the bug to a rogue assumption from a numpty programmer and got it all going again. A small victory, but one that laced my au revoirs with hero du jour.

The busy streets were teeming with pussy in the mid-morning humidity. I hadn't packed for taking in the sights, but as I threaded the promenade between tourists and locals wearing very little, finishing a mint-choc-chip ice cream before the scorching sun did, I made a decision: delayed confirming the return flight. The company could afford it, and we'd bill the happy client anyway.

A boutique in the shade of a postcard-idyllic side street sold me a towel, some shorts and a plain cotton shirt. I stashed my stuff in the hotel, changed and hit the beach, mainly zeroing on bronzed beauties dipping in and out of the waves and those parading the shores in next to nothing, Mediterranean sun glittering off dappled skin.

When the midday heat became unbearable, I sheltered in a café on the promenade. Paid over the odds for coffee and a Niçoise salad with fries on the side, but it was fresh, delicious, and expensed. And while the city wound down for the early afternoon lull, I wandered the back streets, soaking up patchwork French architecture and ultimately stepping into the MAMAC art gallery.

The air-conditioning was a welcome relief and I took my time exploring the exhibits. On the second floor was a white-walled gallery dedicated to Cerise Lacroix. I'd never heard of her, but the paintings were superb. And it was while admiring one of a blindfolded naked man being caressed by two young women in lingerie that a presence slid into the space alongside me.

“That one is something else, non?”

I turned my head and took in her profile. An endless flowing mane of charcoal hair, high cheekbones, sharp nose and long natural lashes framed mocha irises when she turned my way and smiled.

“The Dominance Of Man,” she breathed. “You have good taste.” Turning back to the painting, she added, “J’adore.”

I observed the painting again. Then her, effortlessly chic. Then the painting. “Is that…? Is that you?”

A faint nod. “C’est moi.”

I whistled. “Wow. You get paid for that?”

Another nod. “And a bonus if it sells.” She let out a soft chuckle. “Beachfront apartments are not cheap. Plus tuition fees.”

“Oh. What are you studying?”

The syllables seemed to flow from her lips like liquid honey as she tilted her head to admire the art. “Human sexuality.”

There wasn't much I could say to that, so I also returned my attention to the painting. Caught occasional coquettish glances my way. “Do you know the other girl?”

“Mm-hmm. Bella. She is over there. Come. I shall introduce you.”

Before I could protest, she took my hand and leaned in to whisper, “You will like her. She is a firecracker.”

Her hand was delicate and warm and she led me past other hanging art, beyond some white pillars where a small group was studying a similar painting. The man, again naked, was sitting in a chair in profile. The woman behind him was tugging the only item of clothing he wore—his necktie—like a leash. A meaty, ribbed phallus hung from her waist harness. The other blonde girl was kneeling at his feet, sliding hands up his torso. Homage To Vettriano its title claimed.

The girl caught sight of us, finished her conversation and stepped over. “Hey.”

“Bella, this is…”

“Uhh, Aiden,” I finished.

Bella’s boyish physique was offset by strawberry blonde hair that dusted her shoulder blades, and the most captivating azure irises I'd ever seen. Where her friend was buxom and full-hipped, Bella was a cover model photographer's dream. A stunning human clothes hanger on which anything would look amazing, including the off-the-shoulder blueberry top and ripped, stonewashed jeans before me.

I held out my hand, shivering when she took it and pulled me in for the traditional double-cheeked kiss. “Enchanté.”

Turning to the painting, I admired it. Recognised them both. “So, you two do this a lot?”

They nodded.

“You doing the same course?”

Bella shook her head. “I'm studying Agronomy.” My blank expression said it all and she was clearly used to it. “A change in thinking and practice towards sustainable agriculture.”

“Ahhh. Cool. Eco.”

“Exactly. Sooo, do you like the paintings?”

I nodded. “Very… fetching.”

She smiled. “More than that,” she flickered approval my full length, in both directions, “I find it arousing. Do you?”

Shuffling my feet, I stared at the floor. She smiled. “Don't be shy.” I found her eyes again. “Have you ever done this?” She swept her arm to indicate the paintings.

“Been to an art gallery? Yes.”

She giggled. “No, silly. Submitted.”

I swallowed. “Umm. No.”

She clapped her hands. “Oooh, Mathilde. Can we take him home with us? Can we?”

Mathilde appraised me. They both did. It was part unnerving and part flattering being treated like a piece of meat. Like an object that could be traded and passed around. But I guess it was no more base than what I’d been doing earlier, ogling the bikini-clad beauties on the beach from behind my shades.

I reddened as if I'd been caught downloading porn at work. As if every pair of eyes in the gallery had swivelled their focus to me at once. Mathilde traced the length of my bicep with a single fingertip, like checking for dust on the mantelpiece. “Maybe. But he does not seem the type.”

My jaw dropped. “The… the type? What does that mean?”

She grinned. “Too macho. Too... alpha.”

Bella stroked my other bicep. “But they're the best kind, non?” She brushed the back of my hand and I shivered again when she stepped into my space, whispering, “And you'll get paid.”

“How much?”

She gave a Gallic shrug. “Depends how long you last. One hundred Euros per hour.”

Mathilde placed her fingernail in the stubble under my chin and turned my face towards her. “Plus a bonus for each sold painting.”

“So the artist works while we…” I nodded at the canvas.

Bella trailed a fingertip from my navel up to my chin and turned my attention her way. “No. We take photos and video. Cerise paints from those.”

I nodded slowly. Switched my attention from girl to girl like I was watching a tennis match. “Not sure I like the sound of how long I last. What do I have to do?”

Mathilde chuckled again. “Absolutely nothing. Except fight those,” she cast her gaze up and down me, “those terrible male instincts.”

Bella turned my chin her way. “Don't worry,” she purred. “We’ll take care of you. Real good care. Please say yes. Please. Pleeease.”

My head snaps back to reality and the realisation that I'm the one begging the last two words into Mathilde's ample cleavage while Bella's pussy sways dangerously close to my raging hard on. Waves of heat radiate as Mathilde's fingertips dance over her friend’s clit. “Yeah baby, right there. Gonna make me… cum.”

I groan. Doubly when Bella leans back to give Mathilde greater access to her sensitive nub. Her hands grapple for my thighs and she catches the On button of the strapped vibrating wand. The jolt makes me scream and my hips launch from the chair, impaling Bella. She cries out as I enter, triggering her latent orgasm that pulses around my length, rippling. Milking.

On the cusp of losing control, I yank my cock from her. Juices rain over my shaft and I snort into Mathilde’s hot flesh, biting as I fight the losing battle not to cum as well. I roar and clamp all my muscles down tight, slamming into the chair seat and huffing, teeth full of Mathilde’s breast. I panic as the orgasm bubbles and boils from the vibrations upward.

She must notice my predicament because I breathe fresh oxygen and, moments later, the buzzing stops. I hiss and curse. One long shuddering pulse ripples up my dick, releasing a single milky line of cum that I feel oozing to my quivering balls.

I know more pulses are imminent and tense everything I can to prevent them from following the first. Mercifully, I gain control of my body and pant into the space along with Bella as her climax ebbs.

When she lifts clear and shuffles away, Mathilde coos in delight. “Mmm, look at that cum.”

Her breath is the next thing that hits my tormented cock and she laps from my base to tip, scooping the creamy trail and swallowing. From there, her teeth rake down my shaft and I clutch the chair until my knuckles whiten. “Ffffuck.”

Encasing my length in her lips, she slithers off with a theatrical pop. “Tasty. I want more. But,” she sighs and lets out an infectious girly giggle, “later.”

From my right, the camera shutter fires again, followed by Bella calling out, “Do you think he needs a break?”

Mathilde’s hands traverse my thigh and drift up my twitching cock. “Probably.” They continue up my body, lovingly tracing the ropes, checking the knots, up over my chin and cheeks. She frees the blindfold and I blink, adjusting to the golden rays of afternoon sunlight streaming through the patio windows, illuminating the stylish apartment.

Glancing down my body, I take in the state of my cock. It's held upright by rope at its root which snakes around my bare balls, ensuring they stay in range of the vibrator. The tightness of the loop acts like a makeshift cock ring, preventing the blood from draining fully. My wet dick is angry, veined and so full of intent it could start its own religion.

It twitches and bobs and swells in the breeze, almost like it has a life of its own, detached from my body. But every atom that passes it registers as heat and light and pure need inside me.

I'm not sure if my lidded gaze rolling between the pair of them makes me seem pitiful or determined. But either way, some telepathic message connects them. Bella mounts the camera on the tripod and moves it to face me. Then they both stand either side of my battered body, lingerie skimming my outer thighs, lean in and kiss.

It's possibly the most sensual and erotic act I've witnessed up close. My dick jumps and I breathe in hard as their tongues connect. Mathilde drifts a hand across the gap and pulls the nape of Bella's neck, lips crushing. Her free hand falls to my thigh. Bella’s lands on the other.

As the kiss intensifies, they creep hands across to cup the other’s pussy, which would ordinarily be a hot enough act to make me spurt. What makes it deadlier still is that they arrange their forearms so one rests on the underside of my cockhead and the other along the upper edge.

I stare at the scene across my lap as both dip fingers into their partner’s honey trap. With every rock of a palm and dig of fingertips, the upper third of my shaft is treated to a dual-edged massage.

It's fucking maddening. My sighs don't seem to come from within me; conjured by whatever spirit careens back and forth between the French beauties. Their actions speed up, reaching for deeper recesses of their bodies, crushing clits in the pursuit of desperate climax. Taut breasts jiggle and skim mere inches from my face and I long to clutch and bite and slap their tits as we furiously fuck and spiral into an orgasmic soup together.

Every fibre of my being struggles to remain calm while the two of them gallop towards mutual bliss amid panted Ouis and gasps. If I cum before they say, the magic will end.

I try every trick. Shuffle back in the seat to escape their rubbing forearms. Rise so that a less sensitive area than the ridge of my glans are in contact. Every time, they let me calm a fraction then redouble their efforts to drive me insane.

By the time they break the kiss and rest foreheads together, sighing and groaning as fluttering pussies deliver relief to their charged bodies, I'm about ready to scream Hulk Smaaash and rip free of my bonds to exact pent up desire on the pair of them.

I struggle and strain but the knots hold fast. Bella and Mathilde separate, trail sticky fingers across my flared cock head and take it in turns to kneel between my legs and suck just the tip clean. One suck. One wide-eyed, loaded gaze up at my worn resolve. Then the other takes her place. One languorous slurp at the never-ending rivulets of pre-cum that flow from my cock. Their cock. Then they change places again. Over and over. Enough time between sucks for me to not be in danger of ejaculating. But closely spaced enough to drive me progressively mad with want.

Mathilde even delights in flicking the wand on and off while she sucks, wide-eyed adoration at my jolts, gritted teeth and fractured threats to destroy her pussy when I'm freed.

When the teasing bitch releases me from her lips and paces to fetch the flogger, my groans aren't of this planet. I practically beg for her to hit me. Anything to take focus away from the endless edge.

But she doesn't.

Not at first.

She dangles the fucking thing over me like my cock is in the final phase of an automated car wash. Fronds brush my burning erection, its veins prominent and primed to fuck. I twist and yaw in the seat. Clatter it up and down on the tiles as I jump and snarl like a caged beast. She delivers a sharp whip to the base, making me howl. The hot relief spreads, eclipsing the pain.

Words I never thought would pass my lips flow with ease: I beg her to do it again.

A sane man would utter chocolat and end it. Return to safety. Walk away. But the animal in me craves to see it through because I know the build-up will amplify release. I want to know how far they can take me. How much more I can become. What started as a way to earn a quick buck and shag two incredibly hot women has ripped every playbook into tatters and elevated my appetite for sexual exploration a thousand fold.

Mathilde lashes my cock and I stamp my bare feet. Curse her and vow to fuck her so hard she doesn't know which way is up. She circles once and whips me again, the flogger’s falls a necessary sting to keep my teetering orgasm in check.

More saliva drips to my chest and I huff through the pain as she tosses the toy aside. I throw my head back and growl, disappointed yet relieved.

She kicks off her heels, climbs up on the chair, one foot either side of my thighs so I'm staring at her dripping cunt. Stray droplets of honey drool to join the saliva on my body as she carefully alters her footing so she's facing the same direction as me and I'm staring up at her beautiful, pert arse. She peels it apart and lets go. Almost no bounce. Just firm muscle and pliant, inviting flesh.

Outstretching a hand, she pulls Bella to sit in my lap. The teenager nestles in, lifts and presses her entrance to my stalk tip. Bounces up and down so only the ridge enters her cushiony folds. I groan as Mathilde eases to squat over my face. Her pussy juices are intoxicating and I strain up at her snatch, millimetres out of reach.

She begins a countdown from three and when she reaches one, grinds her cunt against my nose and mouth as Bella sinks fully onto my prick. They both lift and I'm left both fulfilled and empty. Mathilde’s cunt is earthy. Raw. Bella’s is impossibly tight.

I wriggle and try to stretch my body out of the seat to get more but they hover out of range until Mathilde counts down again. Plunge. Inhale. Gasp. Raise. The torment is both delirious and delicious.

Ten times they sink and smear me with their juices. Ten times I beg for release, my insides burning, out of my mind with lust.

Mathilde clambers off the chair and ushers Bella forward. They turn to face me and fold their arms. Share a glance, wide grins at their wound-up handiwork, wet-faced, wet-pricked, and a twitching, lolling, raging wreck.

Bella nods, paces to the coffee table and flicks open a blade. Steps behind me and bends to my ear. “Be good.” She licks my ear. “Be very good.”

With a single motion, she slices the knot. The knife clatters to the floor as I launch from the seat and march Mathilde to the couch by her throat. I turn her around. Bend her over the back of the sofa, deliver a volley of sharp spanks to her bottom, line myself up with her pussy and slam inside. As promised.

She squeals, the air propelled from her lungs when I set up a furious pace. My cock and torso are still wrapped in rope and the ends dangle uselessly between our legs as I grab her hips, then her shoulders and pound into her sopping slit.

Her hair swishes and she snarls for it harder. I snatch her mane and loop it once round her throat, pulling tight, using it as leverage to drive deeper.

Bella giggles with glee, clapping from behind the camera. “Give it to her. Show her. Choke her.”

I snap my head Bella’s way and beckon with a single finger. “Don't think you're escaping, you pretty slut.”

She sashays over and when she's within reach, I yank her arm and shove her over the couch alongside us.

In my wildest fantasies I never thought I'd be presented two willing women with their upturned bottoms for me to use and abuse. It's the stuff straight out of porn and I briefly wonder if it's some sort of vivid dream as I rain spanks on the teenager and she endlessly moans, her behind turning a sexy, rosy shade.

Twisting Mathilde’s hair, I tear free of her sopping channel. My cock drips. I cup her pussy and slide two fingers inside. Pull out and issue a wet slap to her cunt. Then two more. She jerks with each, moans, fingers flying to tend to her clit as I sidestep, line up with Bella's entrance and fill her, setting up a furious rhythm in her searing tightness.

When my orgasm rises, I hastily withdraw, tense and growl. Shake my head. Fight my body again. Perhaps it's the awakened masochist in me, but I want this to last longer. At least until the girls have cum again. My erection pulses in the cool air, perilously close to losing control, and I let it bob there as I distract myself by alternating spanks to the four red cheeks on display.

Both girls frig their clits and groan, pert asses wobbling with each strike. My palm stings and I spit, “Cum for me, sluts.”

Mathilde peaks first, freezing, wailing and shuddering before me, shortly followed by her housemate. Bella bites her lip and whimpers as her climax takes hold, then emits a stifled cry. Her cunt winks rhythmically. It's fucking beautiful.

I take my free hand and bunch her hair too. Yank it as she squeaks. Pull both their heads back, Mathilde’s hair still looping her throat. She makes a strangled squawk as I plunge into her sodden, pulsing snatch, pull free, sidestep and drive into Bella. Over. Across. Into her friend. One savage thrust each, a carnal rodeo, back and forth until I grit my teeth and snarl I'm going to cum. “Where do you sluts want it?”

There's a mad scramble as they shove clear of the sofa and sink to their knees. Staring up at me, their unbridled hunger finishes me off. I grip the base of my aching cock and pump its full length as their lips connect in a torrid, filthy kiss that I make filthier by groaning and unleashing my thundering orgasm onto their faces.

The first spurt dribbles onto their lips for them to share. The second, third, and more are powerful clenches of my inner muscles that fire and arc and splatter on their cheeks to drizzle into the spunky kiss.

The release is incredible. Stupefying. Hours of torment condensed into boundless seconds of blissful spasms that render me helpless. Everything except my pulse slows. Their kiss is slippery and wanton and possibly the dirtiest act I've ever witnessed as they share my load like it's their last meal. The girls moan and sigh and hold each other tight while the remnants of my come rain and eventually die out.

The kiss shifts up a few inches and encompasses my shaft. Two sets of lips slide and slither its jittery length as they suck and lick clean every drop, until all that remains is a shiny veined mast peppered with bubbles of saliva.

A series of satisfied moans fill the room from us all as their handiwork draws to a close. Thanks to the rope at its base, my erection stays firm while both girls take turns sucking it. Worshipping it. Wordlessly thanking me for taking part in their games, until it gradually begins to wilt and we separate.

Bella frees the remaining knots, taking her time from her knees and gazing up at me. She's definitely the more submissive of the pair and, if I could, I'd love to explore more of her filthy needs. Mathilde turns the camera off and brings the phone over.

We settle on the couch, me between them, and review the footage. The girls idly stroke my thighs and torso as we discuss shots and angles that would translate into stills that Cerise could capture in paint.

As the on-screen action unfolds, my cock stirs and the women exchange dirty glances.

Our afternoon doesn't end there.

On a more level playing field, I enjoy their bodies well into the airless evening. We laugh and joke like old friends. Go out for supplies at the deli before sunset and make fresh ham and cheese baguettes in their open plan kitchen. Drink wine from a neighbouring region—some of it poured over Bella's supple body—and lick and bite and suck and fuck until we run out of energy. We ultimately shower and stumble into bed a tangle of worn limbs and whispered promises to get together again.

Morning brings clarity and, after a lazy fuck with each girl taking turns riding my cock and snapping arty photographs, I finish inside Bella, gripping her hips as she pinches her nipples perched on those tiny tits. When she rolls free, Mathilde crawls between her thighs and sucks my spunk from her messy bare snatch, then shares it with us.

Amid clutches and begs and kisses to entice me to stay, I reluctantly dress, pack and return to my hotel to collect my belongings and leave for my flight home. Tempting as it is to stay a while longer, it's not that easy.

True to their word, money lands in my account a few days later from Cerise Lacroix. They pay me for five hours, which is incredibly generous. It rivals what I get for the odd bit of contracting I do on the side. And infinitely more fun.

A month later, Mathilde emails me in the wake of a sizable payment. The attachments are pictures of our antics displayed on the walls of the gallery. The artist has done an incredible job of bringing the scenes to life in stills and I flick through them, reminiscing at how the experience of a lifetime opened a world I never knew existed. How sex with chicks I pull at local clubs in the city is vanilla in comparison. Just sex. No connection. No magnetism. No power.

I wonder if I've been spoiled. Ruined, maybe. Do I need that level of mutual respect, that dynamic, to feel whole? Will I ever get that from one woman alone or is the three-way part of the allure?

As each picture graces my screen and my cock firms, I reach the end of the set. The final image is new. A selfie of Bella and Mathilde cuddling in the apartment, on their knees in curve-hugging lingerie, their mouths open and tongues out. The snap is scrappily annotated in red with a pair of lips drawn alongside:

À bientôt xoxo

My pulse ratchets. Torn.

I shut the laptop lid. Drum fingers on it. Smile and pick up my phone.