The Mentalist: Part VIII — The Tag-Team
Suite 9090 is at the top of the ship, aft, where the hull curves toward the stern and the ocean falls away beneath you in every direction.
The sitting room is larger than your cabin six times over. Cream carpet. A bar of polished mahogany. Two balconies — one off the sitting room, one off the bedroom — their doors open to the night air and the sound of water.
Nicole is behind the bar. The Captain's Chief Steward — tall, dark-skinned, her hair pulled back in a severe bun, her uniform crisp and white. She's slicing a lime when you walk in. She doesn't look up.
The Captain is seated on the couch. He's still in his dress whites — the formal uniform from dinner — but the jacket is unbuttoned.
His wife Anne sits beside him. She's in a blue silk dress, her legs crossed, a glass of white wine in her hand.
Laurie is standing by the balcony door. The moonlight catches her silver dress. She smiles when she sees you.
Meredith is already inside. She's sitting on a barstool, her legs swinging, her bare feet not quite reaching the floor. She's in a sundress — yellow, simple — and she looks like a girl waiting for ice cream.
"Close the door and come and sit down," Laurie says.
You close it. You sit. The couch across from the Captain. The leather is cool against the back of your thighs.
Your little guy is resting in your boxers — the plain cotton ones, the ones that feel less like underwear and more like a surrender.
The Captain watches you. His eyes are calm, appraising. Not unkind. The eyes of a man who commands a ship and everything on it.
"Thank you for coming," he says. His voice is deep. Unhurried. "Laurie tells me you've been… an excellent assistant."
"He has," Laurie confirms. She moves from the balcony to the armchair beside the couch. She sits. Crosses her legs. The silver dress catches the light. "He's been the best I've ever had."
Anne sets her wine down. She leans forward. Her eyes find yours — and there's something in them you recognize. The hunger from last night. The look she had when she lowered herself onto your mouth in the dark.
"I watched your performance," Anne says. Her voice is softer than her husband's. Warmer. "I watched Meredith fuck you. I watched you cum like a girl."
"I watched you," she continues, "and I thought: I want that."
She stands. Walks to you. Her hand finds your cheek — cool, gentle, the touch of someone who has already decided.
"Not like that," she says. "I don't want to be the girl. I've been the girl my whole life. I want to know what it feels like — to be the one with the cock. To be the one who fucks."
She kneels in front of you. Her hands on your knees. Her eyes level with yours.
"I want to fuck you," she says. "And I want Meredith to fuck you. Together."
Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"You can say no," the Captain says from the couch. His voice is even. "This isn't an order. You're not my crew tonight. You're a guest in my home."
"But I'd love it if you said yes," Anne whispers. Her thumb traces the inside of your knee.
"I'd love it, sweetheart. I've been thinking about it all day. About what it would feel like to have a cock — to push it inside you — to feel you open up for me."
Meredith slides off her barstool. She crosses the room. Kneels beside Anne. Two women on their knees in front of you, looking up at you with eyes that are warm and certain and hungry.
"I want it too," Meredith says. "I've been thinking about it since last night. About doing it together. About both of us inside you."
"Two cocks," Anne murmurs. "One in your mouth. One in your pussy. Just like the girl in every fantasy you've ever had — only this time, you're the girl."
Your little guy stirs. A twitch. A pulse. He's waking up — not because you want him to, but because the words are doing what words do, what Laurie's words always do: reaching past your resistance and finding the place where your body keeps its secrets.
Laurie watches from the armchair. She smiles.
"There he is," she says. She's not looking at your face. She's looking at your lap. At the small, rising shape beneath the cotton.
"There's our little guy. He remembers, doesn't he? He remembers what it felt like to be a clit. To be fucked. To cum without being touched."
Your cock twitches again. Harder. More insistent. He's responding to her voice — to Laurie's voice — the way he always does. Obedient. Faithful. A dog hearing its master's call.
"He wants to say yes," Laurie says. "Don't you, little guy?"
Another twitch. Visible now. A small tent in the cotton.
"He's so honest," Laurie says.
Anne laughs — a warm, delighted sound. She reaches out. Her finger traces the shape of him through the fabric.
"He's so cute," she says. "I can see why Laurie talks to him. He's like a little pet."
"He is a pet," Laurie says. "My pet. And he's been very good. Haven't you, little guy?"
Your cock is fully hard now. Straining. Leaking. The cotton is damp at the tip.
"Tell them yes," Laurie says. "Tell them what your little guy already knows."
"I —" You swallow. Your throat is dry. Nicole appears beside you — silent, efficient — and places a glass of water in your hand. You drink. "Yes."
Anne's face lights up. She leans forward and kisses you — soft, warm, her lips tasting like wine. Meredith kisses your other cheek. Their hands find your body — your shoulders, your chest, the waistband of your boxers.
"Good girl," Anne whispers. And the words go through you like electricity.
The bedroom is dim. The balcony doors are open. The curtains move in the breeze.
You're on the bed. Naked. Your little guy is hard, small, straining — and beneath him, the place Laurie opened last night is back. The wetness. The warmth. The pulse that isn't his.
Anne stands at the foot of the bed. She's shed the blue dress. Beneath it — a harness. Black leather. Straps around her hips. And between her legs, a cock. Thicker than Meredith's. Darker. She strokes it with one hand, slow, confident.
Meredith is beside her. Her harness is back — the one from last night. She's already in mode. She's watching you with those eyes — the changed eyes, the man's eyes, the look that makes your stomach flutter.
"Come here, sweetheart," Anne says. You crawl to the edge of the bed. She takes your face in her hands.
"I've been wanting this all day. Wanting to know what it feels like. To be inside someone. To feel them open up."
She tilts your chin up. "Open your mouth."
"Mmmmmph —" The cock fills your mouth. Thicker than Meredith's — your jaw stretches, your lips strain.
She's patient. She doesn't rush. She lets you adjust, lets your throat open, lets your tongue find the underside of the shaft.
"Good girl," she breathes. Her hips rock forward. Slow. Gentle. "That's it. Take it."
Meredith climbs onto the bed behind you. Her hands find your hips. She lifts you — positions you — on your knees, your ass in the air, your mouth still full of Anne's cock.
You feel Meredith's fingers first. Slick. Warm. They find your opening — your pussy, your wet, aching, ready pussy — and circle. Press. Slide inside.
"Nnnngh —" The sound is muffled around Anne's cock. Your body shudders. Meredith's fingers stretch you, open you, prepare you.
"She's so wet," Meredith says. Her voice is low. The man's voice. "She's ready."
"Of course she is," Anne says. She strokes your cheek. "She was born ready."
Meredith withdraws her fingers. You feel the head of her cock — pressing, pushing, and then —
"Aaaahhh — oh — oh God —"
She slides inside. All the way. Your pussy opens and takes her and the fullness is back, the devastating, world-ending fullness that makes your spine light up and your little guy jump.
Anne fucks your mouth. Meredith fucks your pussy.
The rhythm builds — Anne pushing in as Meredith pulls back, Meredith pushing in as Anne pulls out — and you're between them, filled and emptied and filled again, a vessel for their pleasure, a girl being spit-roasted by two beautiful women with cocks.
"Mmmmmph — nnnngh — gggghhh —" The sounds from your throat are wet, raw, helpless. Your hands grip the sheets. Your eyes stream. Your little guy hangs beneath you, hard, untouched, leaking onto the white sheets.
Anne grips your hair. She fucks your mouth faster. Her hips snap forward and the cock hits the back of your throat and you swallow, swallow, swallow —
"Gggghh — mmmmmph — nnnngh —"
Meredith slams into your pussy. Her hands grip your hips. She fucks you hard — deep, relentless, each thrust hitting the button, the spot, the place that makes your whole body sing.
"Take it," Meredith says. Her voice is a growl. "Take both of us. Take our cocks like a good girl."
They fuck you. The rhythm is relentless — Anne in your mouth, Meredith in your pussy — and you're lost in it, drowning in it, your body nothing but a vessel for their pleasure.
Your mouth is empty. Wet. Gasping. You look up at her — and she's smiling. Not Meredith's hungry smile. Something warmer. A woman's smile. The smile of someone who has tasted something she wants more of.
"Time to swap," Anne says.
Meredith withdraws from your pussy. The emptiness hits you like a wall — sudden, devastating, wrong. Your pussy clenches around nothing. Your hips buck, searching, begging.
"Shhh," Meredith says. She moves around the bed. Her cock is glistening — wet with your slick, with the lube, with the evidence of what she's done to you. She kneels in front of your face. "I'm right here."
Behind you, Anne moves into position. Her hands find your hips. Strong. Sure. The hands of a woman who has spent her life being held and has decided, tonight, to hold.
You feel the head of her cock against your opening. Pressing. Bigger than Meredith's. Thicker. The stretch begins — and it's too much. Too wide. Your body tenses.
"Look at me," Meredith says. She's right there. Her face inches from yours. Her hand finds your cheek. "Look at me, sweetheart."
You look. Her eyes are Meredith's eyes again — warm, brown, gentle. The girl's eyes. The eyes of someone who loves you.
"Breathe," she says. "Just breathe. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. That's it."
You breathe. In. Out. The tension in your body loosens — not all of it, not most of it, but enough.
"She's bigger," Meredith says. Her thumb traces your lower lip. "I know. I felt her in my hand. She's so much bigger than me. But you can take her. You were made to take her."
"I'm scared," you whisper. It's the truest thing you've ever said.
"I know, baby. I know." Meredith leans forward. Her lips find your forehead. A kiss — warm, soft, the kind of kiss that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with love.
"But I'm right here. I'll be right here the whole time. And when she's inside you, when she's all the way inside — you're going to feel so full. So complete. Like you've never felt before."
Her cock is in front of your mouth. She doesn't push. She waits.
"Open for me," she says. "Let me fill your mouth while she fills your pussy. Both of us. Both holes. Both cocks."
Meredith slides inside — slow, gentle, past your tongue, into your throat. The taste of your own pussy is on her — musk, salt, the wetness that proves what you are.
And behind you — Anne pushes.
"MMMMMMPH — NNNNNGH —" The sound is muffled by Meredith's cock, but your whole body screams. Anne's head breaches you — thick, blunt, enormous — and the stretch is beyond anything Meredith prepared you for.
Beyond anything you imagined. Your pussy opens, opens, opens — and just when you think you can't take any more, she pushes deeper.
"Breathe," Meredith says. Her hand is on the back of your head. Her voice is calm. Steady. An anchor in the storm. "Breathe through it, baby. You're doing so well. She's almost there."
"Nnnngh — nnnngh — hhhhhh —" The sounds from your throat are high, thin, feminine. Your eyes stream. Your fingers grip the sheets so hard the fabric burns.
Anne's hips press against your ass. She's all the way in. Every inch of her cock. To the hilt. Balls deep.
The fullness is absolute — a presence so deep, so total, that it rearranges something inside you. Not just your body. Something else. Something that was holding on.
"There," Anne says. Her voice is breathless. Awed. "Oh God. I can feel her. I can feel all of her. She's so warm. So tight. So — open."
She pulls back. Pushes in. The rhythm begins — slower than Meredith's, deeper, each thrust a complete journey from tip to base.
Meredith matches her — pulling back when Anne pushes in, pushing in when Anne pulls back.
The two cocks slide in and out of you in a rhythm that feels like breathing, like a tide, like something the body remembers from before it was born.
"Mmmmmph — nnnngh — gggghhh —"
Your little guy hangs beneath you. Hard. Small. Untouched. He bounces with each thrust — a tiny, faithful, desperate thing — and no one pays him any attention.
He doesn't matter. He's never mattered. The only thing that matters is the two cocks inside you and the two women they belong to.
Through the tears, through the haze, you see them.
Across the room. On the couch.
Laurie is on her knees. The Captain is seated. His cock is out — enormous, thick, dark, bigger than anything on this ship. Bigger than Bobby's. Bigger than Anne's. A cock that makes all other cocks look like yours.
Laurie's hand wraps around it. Her fingers don't meet. She strokes him — slow, reverent, the way a woman handles something sacred.
"That's it," Laurie says. She's looking at you — at your face, stuffed with Meredith's cock, your eyes streaming, your body rocking between the two women. "Look at him, little guy. Look at the Captain's cock."
Your cock twitches. Bounces. He's listening. He's always listening to her.
"So much bigger than you," Laurie murmurs. She leans forward. Her tongue traces the head of the Captain's cock — slow, circular, deliberate. "So much more purposeful. So much more… real."
The Captain's hand rests on the back of Laurie's head. Gentle. Not forcing. Present.
His eyes are on you — watching you being fucked, watching your pussy swallow his wife's cock, watching your mouth worship Meredith's.
"Good girl," the Captain says. His voice is deep. Quiet. The voice of a man who has never needed to raise his. "Take their cocks. Take what they give you."
His words go through you like lightning. Your pussy clenches around Anne. Your mouth sucks Meredith harder. Your little guy jumps — a desperate, untouched pulse.
Laurie takes the Captain into her throat. All of him. Her lips stretch around the base and she holds — holds — holds — and the Captain's head falls back and a sound comes from his chest that you recognize.
The sound of a man being worshipped. The sound you will never make. The sound no one will ever make for you.
Anne fucks you harder. Her hips snap forward. The cock hits your button — that spot, that devastating spot — and each thrust sends sparks through your spine.
"Nnnngh — oh — oh — please — please —" The words spill from your mouth every time Meredith pulls out. Fragments. Shards. The last pieces of a language you're forgetting.
"She's close," Anne says. Her voice is different now — strained, breathless, the voice of someone approaching something. "She's so tight. She's clenching around me. I can feel her getting close."
"Make her cum," Meredith says. She pulls out of your mouth — lets you breathe, lets you speak, lets you feel. Her hand finds your cheek. "Make our girl cum."
Anne reaches around. Her hand finds your little guy — your small, hard, leaking, desperate little guy — and she wraps her fingers around him.
He's so small in her hand. So insignificant next to the cock between her legs. She doesn't stroke him. She just holds him. Holds him the way Laurie holds him — gently, the way you hold a small animal, something precious and fragile and not quite real.
The warmth of her hand. The fullness of her cock. The button she's pressing with every thrust. The sight of Laurie swallowing the Captain. The sound of Meredith's voice in your ear.
"AAAAAHHHH — oh GOD — oh — oh — ohhhhhhh —"
Your orgasm tears through you. Your pussy clamps down on Anne's cock — so hard she gasps, so hard she stops thrusting, so hard she can barely move.
Your whole body seizes. Your back arches. And your little guy — your poor, faithful, tiny little guy — erupts in Anne's hand.
Cum shoots from your cock. Pulse after pulse. Thin, weak, desperate — nothing like the Captain's will be, nothing like a real man's — but enough. Enough to coat Anne's fingers. Enough to drip onto the sheets. Enough to prove what you are.
"Nnnnngh — oh — oh — mmmmm — ohhhhhhh —"
Your pussy spasms around Anne. Wave after wave. The pleasure radiates from inside you — from the button, from the place that used to be a cock and is now the center of everything — and it fills you, floods you, breaks you open and puts you back together in a shape you don't recognize.
Anne holds still inside you. She lets your body do what it needs to do. Her hand — the one holding your little guy — is covered in your cum. She brings it to her lips. Tastes.
"Sweet," she says. "Like a girl's."
Meredith lies beside you. Her hand finds your stomach. Her lips find your ear.
"Good girl," she whispers. "Good girl. Good girl."
Your body stops shaking. The aftershocks fade. Anne withdraws — slowly, carefully — and the emptiness returns, but it's different now. Not aching. Not begging. Just open. Just waiting.
Your little guy is soft in Anne's cum-covered hand. Spent. Tiny. Resting.
Across the room, Laurie pulls off the Captain's cock. She looks at you. She smiles.
"The night is just getting started, sweetheart," she says.
This is the eighth in a series about a mentalist who sees what men hide, a cruise ship that becomes a cage, and the seven days it takes for a virgin to learn exactly what his little guy is for — one whispered confession, one sealed envelope, one devastating prediction at a time.
Previously: The Mentalist Part I | The Mentalist Part II | The Mentalist Part III | The Mentalist Part IV | The Mentalist Part V | The Mentalist Part VI | The Mentalist Part VII
Thank you for reading. If you'd like to read more of my writing, please consider subscribing to my Substack: Responsive Male. It's free to join and you'll be notified when I release new content.
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