The Twentieth Century Fox anthem rumbled through the home theatre speakers quickly followed by the first horn blasts of space opera.

Rare to have the opportunity, but Fox loved her classic films. This one, in particular, she was watching on the hundred-and-fifteenth anniversary of its theatrical release. Her boots lifted onto the ottoman, and she crossed them at the ankles.

The ottoman, his name was Larry, offered a quiet grunt without his naked body moving. His only body hair was the dark balding horseshoe of dyed black hair around his bowed head.

“I said there would be silence during the movie,” Fox growled at him. Lifting her right leg, she lightly poked his side with her stiletto heel.

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” he whispered.

She glanced away from the space ship chase on the large screen. Her black leather jacket and skirt creaked and crinkled with every shift aided in sound by the navy leather upholstered couch upon which she sat. “Where’s my popcorn?”

“Coming, my lady!” the voice of Arthur responded from the kitchen down the hall in his deep Scottish brogue.

“You better be,” she whispered under her breath. Seeing Larry’s eyes roll up in annoyance made her grin and poke him again.

Arthur, barefoot and naked, padded down the hall with a bowl of popcorn in one hand and beer glass filled with dark red ale.

Glancing up from televised sand dunes, Fox ordered, “Sit.”

Looking at the two men, one might have guessed twins. Only a slight difference in height and having different eye colours distinguished them physically. That Arthur was ten years older, would never be guessed.

He did, bare ass on the leather couch. For two hours he remained motionless, except the two times Fox handed back the empty glass for a refill. Each time Fox listened to the ripping sound of the leather releasing his bare butt with a grin. Predetermined or not, she would pay for this later, and she knew it. Until then, however, she intended to make the most of it.

The movie came to its well-known end and returned to the loop screen.

Fox, feeling the effects of the ale, put the glass down on the floor beside the couch; out of kicking distance. “Larry, come sit.” Boots were removed from his back, leaving two large red marks.

Following instructions, Larry stood and then sat on the other side of her.

“Good boy,” she cooed. Each of her hands drifted between the respective man’s thighs on either side, Arthur on her right and Larry on her left. In moments, she had both erections standing. “You’ve both been good boys.”

The head of each man lulled back on the couch.

Pulling hands away, she licked the fingers on each hand and then returned them for a more lubricated stroke. “Now, what exactly should we do…?”

“For starters, you should take them upstairs before the leather rips their fucking skin off.”

All three had eyes shot up to the door to the source of the voice that growled over the continuing music loop.

“Wolf!” Fox grinned at her husband. “Didn’t think you were going to be home until…”

“Do we need to go over the definitions and differences between submissive and slave again?”

Her face turned cheshire.

“Go fuck your subs. Stop abusing them.”

She sunk into the couch. “Yes, sir.” Standing, she helped both Larry and Arthur stand, pulling them off the leather as gently as she could. Then, a penis in each hand, she pulled them along behind her and out of the room.

“And you shouldn’t be drinking,” Wolf called after her with a chuckle. His eyes followed the trio until they were gone from sight. Slumping into the couch, his eyes turned to look at the looping screen. “Computer! Play movie.”

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