This time they talk.
They talk a startling amount, actually—more than Doug anticipated they would, considering how keen the other two were to get him to shut up initially.
"Sweetheart, it's not that we aren't interested in what you have to say," Lovelace says when Doug cracks a joke about this. "We were just a little…miffed at you at that particular moment."
Sweetheart. It's a word Lovelace has started to use a lot lately, both in reference to Minkowski (which doesn't surprise him) and to Doug (which does). Doug has always been secretly fond of being called pet names, and the care and attention that word embodies when it comes out of Lovelace's mouth—it's nice. Like being wrapped up in a blanket, but with words. That's a silly way to think of it, Doug knows, which is why he hasn't mentioned it to either of them.
Doug has a hard time talking about what he wants in general, especially when it comes to kinks. He's never had anyone he could open up to about this sort of thing before—well, no one except Hera. And as surreal as it is to have an AI with an intimate knowledge of his deepest darkest desires, it's also proving remarkably useful.
"So Eiffel," Lovelace says, examining a list she'd had each of them complete, sorting a whole host of various kinks into the categories of want, will, and won't, "Says here you're interested in roleplay. Tell me more about that."
"Um, you know, just sort of…standard stuff? I guess?"
"I'm gonna need more detail than that, Eiffel."
"He's into student/professor stuff," Hera chimes in. "And anything involving spies. Nothing medical, though. For…obvious reasons."
"Duly noted," Lovelace says and writes something down on the list. "Spies, huh? That could be fun…"
And this is how it goes, for hours at a time, days in a row. They talk about what works for them, what doesn't. Fantasies, sex dreams, past experiences and desired future experiences. When Doug gets too shy to share, Hera fills in or the other two encourage him until he spits it out himself. Minkowski is much more open than he would have expected—it turns out she and her husband had a not-so-vanilla sexual history themselves, and she has no problem admitting to her interest in Japanese rope bondage, military roleplay, and a few things Doug has never heard of but Lovelace has, and which she explains to him in a manner that's half teacherly and half seductive. More often than not, these little educational sidebars turn into kissing and then into groping—teaching makes Lovelace handsy, she claims, and as they're Minkowski's kinks, she takes more than a little pleasure in hearing them described.
They're an intoxicating cocktail, these two—Minkowski all practicality and gentleness (although she could definitely be rough when she wanted to be), Lovelace all imagination and unapologetic lust. They're good listeners, too, open to Doug's suggestions and full of their own ideas as well.
Which is how, a week after he gets caught masturbating in the comms room, Doug finds himself in one of the Hephaestus' many mostly unused rooms, stripped naked and serving as the subject of a shibari demonstration taught by Minkowski.
"So then you're going to bring the free end of the rope through the loop at his back," Minkowski explains, and Lovelace nods, following her instructions. This was the one area of kink they'd found where Minkowski's expertise surpassed Lovelace's. Lovelace was excited to learn—and Doug was more than willing to be their guinea pig.
Minkowski is teaching Lovelace a basic tortoise shell harness, which in addition to being very aesthetically pleasing (Doug assumes—he can't actually see himself), could be used to attach him to all sorts of contraptions—which, he's pretty sure, is in his near future. They'd agreed, in their extensive negotiations about this scene, that although everything on Lovelace and Minkowski's planned agenda would be 100% within the limits they'd discussed with Doug, he wouldn't know the details of what was to happen to him. The suspense, Doug felt, was half the fun.
"And one more to finish it off—very good. You're all done, Eiffel."
Lovelace and Minkowski step back to admire their work. Doug has no idea what they see, but he knows he likes the way the hemp rope feels against his skin, heavy and rough. And he likes the way they look at him while he wears it, too: Lovelace self-satisfied and fond, pleased with her handiwork and with Doug's eager submission, and Minkowski—Minkowski looks like she wants to eat him alive.
"You were so good and still for us, sweetheart," Lovelace says, and she kisses him on the cheek. "I didn't think you had it in you."
"O ye of little faith," Doug quips, then swallows. He's not sure if he's supposed to be speaking or not.
"Such a smart mouth," Lovelace says, her breath tickling his neck. "What should we do with that smart mouth, commander?"
"Hm," Minkowski says, stepping closer until she, too, is inches from Doug. "I can think of a few places it could be put to better use."
"Kneel, Eiffel," Lovelace says, and Doug drops to his knees without a second thought, nearly losing his balance in his eagerness. Lovelace places a steadying hand on his shoulder, and he's grateful.
"I think Minkowski's right about your mouth, Eiffel," Lovelace says. "I think it could be much better applied…specifically, to Minkowski's cunt. What do you think, Renée?"
"I'd have to agree, captain."
"Good."
Minkowski unbuttons her pants, slowly and deliberately, and slides them off her legs. Doug inhales sharply at the sight of her black lace underwear, pretty and delicate and oh-so-tantalizing.
"Like these?" Minkowski says.
Doug nods.
"Show me." She steps closer and curls her fingers into hair at the nape of his neck, then pulls his face in between her legs.
Doug licks at her eagerly through her panties. He's no Lovelace, but he's spent his fair share of time doing this—in fact, eating women out is one of his favorite activities, the first thing he'd admitted to wanting in their little talks. He mouths at the intricate lace, his already half-hard cocking rising to full mast from the sensation. Her wetness mixes with his saliva to soak through the panties, the heady smell of Minkowski making Doug dizzy with want.
Minkowski gently tugs him back by the hair, and Doug whines, but the interruption is only so she can slide her underwear all the way to the floor and step out of it. When she brings Doug's mouth back to her cunt, she gasps. At first Doug thinks it's just the increase in sensation as his lips and tongue find their way to her bare skin—but then he looks up and notices Lovelace standing behind her, her hands under Minkowski's shirt and her mouth on the other woman's neck.
Fuck, Eiffel thinks. Fuck. He wants to watch and he wants to close his eyes and bury himself in Minkowski, in the salty, irresistible taste of her. He settles for occasional glances upward, and each eyeful brings him gorgeous pictures: Lovelace's fingers on Minkowski's stomach, her mouth on Minkowski's earlobe, their mouths pressed together in a deep kiss.
When Minkowski comes, Doug can practically feel the vibrations in her body, her moans loud and uncensored. Doug keeps going until Minkowski gently pushes him away, her skin overly sensitive. He glances upward again and sees Lovelace returning his gaze.
"Good work, sweetheart," she tells him, and Doug swells with an irrational amount of pride. "Think you've got another round in you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good."
Lovelace guides him with her hands until he's lying on his back on the floor. Then, she leaves him there, desperate and vulnerable, while she finishes undressing Minkowski, who then returns the favor, taking their time as they strip each other bare. They kiss for a few moments, leisurely and slow, hands wandering over one another's bare skin.
When they break apart, they both turn their gazes to Eiffel, whose heartrate skyrockets. The two women stride toward him with purpose, and Eiffel loses track of the commander as Lovelace straddles his face and suddenly all his senses are taken up by her: the sight of the rich, dark skin of her cunt, the warmth radiating off her, her smell.
“Now make me come, Eiffel,” Lovelace says, “and if you're a good boy and don't come before I finish, I might just let you fuck me.”
That thought is too hot for words, so Doug doesn't think about it, focuses instead on the task at hand. He gets to work learning Lovelace’s cunt—unlike Minkowski, who likes his open mouth and light circular patterns traced with his tongue—Lovelace wants heavy pressure, wants his tongue pressed deep into her folds and licking hard against her clit. Doug's about to experiment with sliding his tongue inside her when he feels something touch his dick and starts involuntarily.
“Shhhh,” Minkowski’s voice says. “Shhhh, Eiffel, it’s just me.”
And it is her—her soft hand stroking him, at first, and then her tongue, swirling gently around the head of his cock. Doug whimpers, so desperately turned on that he doesn't know what to do with himself, but Lovelace reminds him of the task at hand.
“Come on, Eiffel. I’m waiting.”
Doug shoves his tongue into her, and Lovelace groans and throws her head back. “Fuck, Eiffel. Fuck.”
Doug goes as deep as he can, trying to fuck her with just his tongue, and Lovelace seems to appreciate it, if the deep, guttural sounds she’s making and the way she grinds her hips down further onto his face are any indication. Meanwhile, Minkowski continues to tease his cock with light, gentle touches, never hard or long enough to given him any genuine satisfaction, but just enough to keep him on edge, desperate, throwing all his pent-up energy into his quest to give Lovelace a worthy blowjob.
When Lovelace does come, it’s with Doug’s tongue on her clit, and he can feel it crash through her in the shaking of her thighs around him, the deep sound of her moaning echoing off the walls. When she finishes, she stands up promptly and steps away, depriving him of even the sight of her gorgeous cunt. Minkowski stands up, too, and they look down at him with contented half-smiles.
“What do you think, Renée?” Lovelace asks. “Has our dear communications officer earned himself a nice orgasm?”
“I think so,” Minkowski says. “How would you like him?”
“Sitting up, I think.” They help Eiffel to sitting, and Minkowski sits behind him, running her hands up and down his back.
“You've been so good, Doug,” she whispers. “I can't wait to watch you get your reward.” Doug wants to say something, but he's not sure what, so he just leans his head back against her shoulder.
Lovelace kneels down and straddles him, the skin of her cunt pressing warm and wet against his cock. Doug groans.
"How long have you wanted this, Doug?" Lovelace says, her face close, her breath warm against his lips.
"Forever," Doug says. "Since I met you."
"Well. I can't give it to you too easy, then. Beg for it."
"Please," he breathes, intoxicated by her voice, by her closeness, by Minkowski's eagle eyes watching from over his shoulder, her fingers curling in his hair. "Please, sir, please, fuck me, let me inside you, let me feel what it's like, Jesus, please, it's all I want, I'm desperate for you, please, please, please."
"God, that's pretty," Lovelace says, grinding down on his cock. "Keep going."
"Please, Isabel, you're incredible, I want you so bad, I want to come inside you, please let me, please, Isabel, please."
And with that, Lovelace shifts her hips and slides down onto Eiffel's cock, dark eyes focused on him with breathtaking intensity.
"Breathe, Eiffel," Minkowski murmurs behind him, and he realizes he's holding his breath, stunned by the feeling of Lovelace—hot, wet, tight around him, so good it's overwhelming. He inhales, exhales. Lovelace hasn't moved, is still watching him. Minkowski strokes his hair reassuringly.
"Ready for more?" Lovelace asks him, and he takes another breath and nods.
Fuck, but that's good. Lovelace rides him with a steady grace, her control masterful, the walls of her cunt tightening and relaxing as she moves. It might be the best thing Eiffel's ever felt.
Minkowski's hands are on his chest now, stroking him, and her lips are on his neck, pressing gentle kisses to his jawline and sucking at the sensitive places near his throat. Doug Eiffel doesn't know what he's done right in his life to deserve these two women, but right now he's in paradise and he never wants it to end.
When he comes, he's too far gone for words, so he just gasps and thrusts into Lovelace with unbridled urgency, a few stuttering syllables escaping his lips.
He feels shaky when he finishes, brain blissed-out and body wrecked, and the two women plant kisses on his shoulders, his cheeks, his forehead, until he starts to blush from all the attention.
"All right, all right. No need to make such a fuss over me."
"Of course there's a need to make a fuss over you, Eiffel," Minkowski says.
"You're our favorite person to make a fuss over," Lovelace says.
Lovelace helps him to standing, and Minkowski lets him out of the bondage, the ropes falling away quickly and easy with the tugging of a few knots. Eiffel lets them fuss over him more—there are more kisses from Lovelace, and Minkowski checks him over for rope burn and bruises (she finds none) and insists he drink some water.
Lovelace cleans herself up with her shirt, much to Minkowski's horror, and then the three of them gather up the rest of their clothes and head back to Minkowski's quarters, Doug holding hands with both of them.
"We're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz," he sings under his breath.
"Really, Eiffel?" Minkowski says.
"We hear he is a wiz of a wiz if ever a wiz there was," Lovelace sings, ever so slightly off-key.
"Not you, too!"
Eiffel and Lovelace proceed to sing on the top of their lungs all the way to Minkowski's quarters, Minkowski groaning and rolling her eyes before finally giving in and singing along. When they get to her room, they collapse into a giggling heap on her bed, their clothes falling all over the floor.
"You were so good tonight, Doug," Lovelace murmurs, kissing him. "Such a pretty, well-behaved sub."
"Of all the unexpected things that have happened to me tonight, you calling me 'well-behaved' might be on the top of the list."
"I mean it. You're fun to play with, Eiffel. And you make the loveliest little noises when I fuck you."
"Yeah," Minkowski says, "I'm gonna be dreaming about that particular image for weeks."
The two women cuddle up around Doug, a tangle of limbs and body heat and soft skin and cozy goodness.
"You two spoil me," Eiffel says, grinning.
"Good," Minkowski replies. "Someone has to."