An Excerpt from Jules Jones & Alex Woolgrave's The Syndicate: Volume 3 “I think I need to discuss appropriate locations with Vaughan,” said Allard. “Oh. Like places you want to be bent over the furniture in,” said Harry. “No, actually. Like planets both our sets of parents can get to without difficulty. We can bend each other over the furniture anywhere,” said Allard, thinking, Actually, it's not a bad idea, even if it comes from our resident pervert . “Is that an offer?” asked Vaughan, leering cheerfully. “Why not? We can't spend all our time on outrageous displays of sentiment. Let's just shag.” “Oh, I think I can manage to be sentimental and shag,” said Vaughan. “Vaughan, that is not in question. Go and dispose yourself over a convenient item of furniture.” “I don't mind listening to the tapes,” said Claire, “but it's a bit embarrassing when they're doing it right in front of us.” Harry smirked, but fortunately stopped before Claire could look at him. “This is a two-person party,” said Allard. “I don't mind inviting you lot to the wedding, but I draw the line at this ... Vaughan, why aren't you in the bedroom?” “In some cultures, the bride gets deflowered in public,” said Harry. “No,” said Vaughan, from down the corridor. Allard decided to follow Vaughan before Harry could come up with any more interesting wedding customs, like the one in which it wasn't a finger ring the participants wore. He also decided that if Harry ever tossed him a bouquet to carry, he would inspect it very carefully for miniaturised cameras. He followed Vaughan very slowly to give Vaughan time to get undressed. When he entered the bedroom, Vaughan was trying to look seductive lounging on a beanbag. It didn't really work. “I hope that's a machine-washable cover,” said Allard. “You're so romantic.” “You've given me an extensive education in unlikely places to get stains out of, Vaughan. Like keyboards.” “That was just the once ,” said Vaughan, injured. “It's still a lot more embarrassing than asking how to get coffee out of a keyboard,” said Allard. “That was your own silly fault for specifying what it was.” “I didn't,” said Allard. “I said it was an organic substance.” “And therefore they knew exactly what you meant, because if it was coffee, you'd have said coffee,” Vaughan said. “Now, are you going to shag me or talk about housework?” “Silly question. Roll over.” Vaughan rolled over. This gave Allard a nice display of silk-clad buttocks to look at, since Vaughan had stripped down to his knickers. “All that discussion of deflowering me ,” said Allard, as he started to undress, “and you didn't even mention the other way 'round.” “My maidenly flower was plucked long, long ago,” said Vaughan. “So was mine, but you could stock a good-sized florist with your attempts by now.” “Are we going to have flowers at the wedding?” Allard removed his trousers. “Only if you don't mind my not being able to keep a straight face as I remember this conversation.” “Do you mind, Allard?” Vaughan said. “The white wedding and all that.” “No. Much as I hate to admit it, they're right. You'll get far more out of imagining me as a quivering virgin than I would the other way 'round. You'll just have to get your quivering in early, if you want to ... Vaughan, that's shuddering ; try to get the technique right.” Not that Allard was really averse to the sight of nice, firm, silk-clad buttocks engaged in vigorous movement. “Critics!” exclaimed Vaughan. “You can shudder like that when I'm up you,” explained Allard, thinking, Which will be any second now , as he removed the rest of his clothing. “Promises, promises,” said Vaughan, and, “Those were my best knickers!” as Allard removed the rest of his clothing. “They aren't now,” said Allard. “If you're good, I'll buy you another pair. How good can you be?” “Good enough to warrant two pairs.” “One arse can only wear one set of underpants at a time.” “One for you, and one for me,” explained Vaughan. “Heavy silk's good for frottage.” Allard decided to bear that in mind for later. What he wanted right now had a lot more to do with Vaughan's naked arse, which, if he guessed right, Vaughan would already have prepared. He prodded it with a finger, because once he got his cock in there, he wouldn't want to stop if he'd guessed wrong, and found that Vaughan had been reliably sluttish, or well-prepared. The position of lounging on a beanbag might not bring instant sex to mind in the way silk sheets did, but it was just about ideal for getting right up Vaughan in one long stroke. So he did. Vaughan was startled but appreciative, to judge by the noise. Allard was just appreciative. Deeply. The position, or the unexpected speed of entry, made this much tighter than usual, and it was just at that brain-spinning point where he wondered if he'd ever manage to get himself back afterwards, and then decided his cock didn't actually care if it had to spend the rest of its life up Vaughan. After a moment, he decided he could actually move. Ah. This was interesting: something about the position Vaughan was in, with his head hanging down slightly, meant Allard was in deeper than usual. After a couple of minutes, Vaughan started to join in. Once they'd managed to get going, Vaughan seemed to find the beanbag beads very interesting to move against, without quite getting to the point of coming. Good. Vaughan trying was very exhilarating for him . “Vaughan, stop swearing. I'm trying to enjoy myself here.” “So am I!” Vaughan snapped. Allard decided to be helpful and tried to grope Vaughan, which gave him a much clearer idea of what Vaughan was complaining about. He could hardly reach Vaughan's cock because the bloody beanbag kept getting in the way and moving . And when his hand felt the light pressure of the beanbag, he realised that there wasn't quite enough friction for that to do the job for Vaughan, either. However, knowing what the problem was didn't help him solve it. He'd had the experience before of finding it difficult to get up from a beanbag when it shifted every time he moved, and it was remarkably difficult to cope with when his cock was busy, as well. In fact, his cock was busy responding to lots and lots of friction, and rapidly reaching the point where it (momentarily) didn't care about anything but this. A large sign saying FUCK NOW, APOLOGISE LATER lit up in his brain, or his cock, because he was having some difficulty distinguishing them. He groaned, shoved deep, and came so hard he forgot all about Vaughan, the beanbag, the Mary Sue , and the impending wedding. It was marvellous. The universe came back in easy stages. “I think I'm going to have to think of a really convincing apology at this point. Probably with my mouth full because I'm not sure I'm up to doing it in words,” Allard said. “Anyway, it's all the beanbag's fault.” “What a brilliant idea,” said Vaughan, in his lowest and most seductive tone. Allard checked for sarcasm: not present, as far as he could tell. “Vaughan?” he asked uneasily. “Get off me a mo,” said Vaughan. “I'm not sure I can,” confessed Allard. A combination of being very, very satisfied and the normal problem with moving about on (or on someone on) a beanbag, was getting in the way. Vaughan managed to tip to one side. Allard rolled off him, onto the floor. Fortunately, it wasn't far enough to dent anything but his dignity. “Ouch,” he said, for form's sake. Vaughan picked himself off the beanbag, then bent down, picked up Allard, and put him back on the beanbag. Allard was now sprawled face-up across the beanbag, with his head hanging back but supported by the beanbag. “Well,” he said, “I thought you'd want me to do something.” “Not at all,” said Vaughan. “You obviously don't appreciate the full beauty of this position.” “Lying on a beanbag, getting a crick in my neck ...” muttered Allard. “Try a prick in your neck,” said Vaughan, rather hopefully. “Oh, that's what you want, is it? Feeling dominant today?” “Please,” suggested Vaughan, in his lowest and most irresistible voice. Allard sighed, and did not move. “Is that a ‘yes'?” “If it was a ‘no', I would indicate as much by getting up and doing something else,” said Allard. “I thought you were too shagged-out to move,” said Vaughan. “Hence the absence of a definite ‘no'. Take advantage of it.” © Jules Jones & ALEX WOOLGRAVE , November 2004 All Rights Reserved