If you’ve not yet savoured Part One, I’d recommend lingering there first. This continuation carries its pulse.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” Nikki purred, her voice low and velvet. “Patience makes the taste sharper.”
Her command pulled me still. I felt the warmth of the room wrapping around us, the hum of expectation running like an electric current between skin and breath. Grace’s hands traced my back with a gentleness that almost undid me, a reminder to surrender to the moment rather than chase it.
Nikki’s movements were deliberate, almost ceremonial. Every tilt of her head, every touch of her lips on his cheek seemed designed to anchor him, to hold him in the spell she alone was weaving. Only when she finally gave the subtlest nod did I move forward, her silent permission unlocking me.
The rhythm built slowly. My body pressed close, the heat of his chest beneath my hands, the faint scent of skin and cologne, Grace finding her own ways to stir his senses from below. There was laughter too, awkward at first, then melting into something freer, almost playful. It was in that moment I realised how rare it is to truly enjoy a threesome — not just the physicality, but the connection and choreography of three different desires folding into one.
And yet, the real fascination was how his eyes never strayed from Nikki. Even with Duo Escorts like Grace and me giving him every reason to falter, his devotion stayed fixed on her. She was the conductor, the one drawing harmony from chaos, the one quietly in charge.
The minutes blurred. Effort and sweat threaded with stolen breaths, the room alive with sounds that belonged only to us. Each of us reached thresholds we had to retreat from, only to be guided into new configurations, new tests of patience. There was always another order from Nikki — a reshuffle, a change of angle, a soft “not yet.” She pulled the strings without ever raising her voice.
Exhaustion mixed with euphoria until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. My body trembled, yet I held on, sensing something building that wasn’t just about release, but about surrendering to her design.
Finally, Nikki leaned close to him, her tone almost maternal. “Do you want to let go now, darling?”
The words cracked something in the air. His answer was a whisper, raw and desperate.
What followed was less about mechanics and more about theatre. Nikki made sure we were part of it — our faces framed together, our closeness displayed like a tableau she had composed. She orchestrated his release not as an ending, but as a crowning gesture, ensuring each of us carried its weight.
When it was over, I felt emptied and full all at once, a strange contradiction. Grace’s eyes met mine, and without words we acknowledged the bond born of shared surrender. Nikki only smiled, her expression calm, satisfied, already somewhere beyond us — as if this had been her plan all along.
If you enjoyed this tale of command and surrender, you’ll want to read the next chapter of allure: The Chelsea Party Escort Who Turned Heads.