Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 1.

Gardener Bill Tends Lady Lovecome's Estate.

Based on a post by A Big Cat. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Lady Bathsheba Ottoline Lovecome insisted I, and only I; call her Bash. As if that closed the social gap between us. As if a girl called Bash was a salt-of-the-earth type, the type who could happily hang out with someone like me, her gardener.

I was just twenty when I became the gardener for Lovecome manor. The widower Lord Lovecome was disinterested in gardens and rarely at the big house so for a year at least I had the best job in the world. I even had free accommodation in the groundskeeper's cottage attached to their gothic pile. Then his daughter, Bathsheba, moved back home.

Bathsheba returned from her Swiss finishing school a lady. A hungry lady. I don't mean hungry in a lascivious way, well I do, but mostly she came back hungry for life. She wanted to go to university. Her dad said it wouldn't help her "marry well" so he wouldn't fund it, but she was free to live in the manor house until she found a husband. Instead, she did her best to piss him off. She raided the antique erotica he kept on the top shelf of his library, and insisted on re-enacting it. With me. Then she exaggerated it in her diary, which she left lying about on coffee tables and window seats. Her dad threatened to sack me. Lady Lovecome said she'd leave with me and tell the press about it too. Happy families.

Bash was small and round, where I was tall and wiry. She had jet black hair where I was blonde. She had wicked, deep, brown eyes, where mine are pale blue. I smile all the time, but Bash's pillowy lips were stuck in a pout. She even pouted when she laughed, swallowing it and shuddering, as if to quash an underground explosion. The only time she smiled was when she came. Or when I came. Something she tried to contrive as often as possible because, as busy as I was, Bash was always bored.

While all her friends went to university she spent three years at home, alone. Years spent not reading law or history or economics but antique porn. Years spent minxing around barefoot, no knickers, teasing me while I tried to work. Years recorded in her diary; her dirty-minded days so predictable she'd write it in the morning and then we'd catch up in the evenings. Like generations of her family, Bash was a woman imprisoned in girlish immaturity, wrapped in puppy fat, waiting to be married to replace father with husband. I could relate in some ways. As soon as I could heft an axe, like generations of my family, I was imprisoned by work. We were each other's only escape.

Still, we were on different tracks. On her 21st birthday she left home. I moved in with Jane, a woman who looked a lot like Bash, and set up my own, failing, landscaping business. Bash married a duke. I only saw her on the covers of celebrity magazines, and in the papers when her dad died.

Then one morning I got a postcard from their residence in Sicily:

"Thinking of you, Sweet William. My garden needs attention."

My name is Bill. Sweet William is what she calls my cock. Her garden is her name for her vagina. And I hadn't heard from her in ten years.

It's cruel of me, but I told Jane that Lady Lovecome had offered me work and that I wanted to do it. Sex was pretty bad between me and Jane, and I think I wanted to make her jealous. I wasn't really going to take the job. We were naked in bed when I told her and I hoped she'd get competitive and dirty. She got angry.

"You want to work for Lady cum slut?" She rubbed in hand cream with quick, stiff movements.

"She's not a slut."

"She used to practice blow jobs on you."

"Doesn't make her a slut."

"Why not?"

"I practiced on her too."

Jane folded her arms, wedging the duvet tight under them. "You never practice on me anymore."

"You don't like it."

"Still. A girl likes to be desired."

I smirked, lifted the duvet and hummed at her lovely chestnut bush. She crossed her legs tight.

I sighed, or growled, or both. "She's married to a duke. And I'm living with you. It'd just be for the money. And what's it you say? Sex is so immature?"

She harumphed and twisted away to lie with her back to me. "Whatever."

Whatever is the worst. Whatever is like, "This is what you've got, deal with it."

Bash was the first person to say this to me. I was ordered to chop down a cherry tree I'd tried to grow for years because Lord Lovecome thought it looked weedy. It did look weedy, not like the bushy cherry trees in Lovecome's neighbor’s garden. But it was still alive. I refused to kill it. Bash got sick of me moaning about the tree and told me it didn't matter what I wanted. "This is what you've got. Deal with it." It took me two whole days to carefully dig out its roots and transplant it somewhere private.

Where it died.

So I find myself in Sicily. Or near it. The volcanic island of Stromboli, where the Lovecomes have summered since they bought the villa from Queen Victoria.

The smoking peak of the volcano towers over the stucco and clay-tile villa, bubbling unnervingly. I crunch across gravel under an army of cypress trees to doors fit for a church. I'm not surprised when they swing open before I even get to them.

There she is.

Her left cheek dimples as she tries to hide her grin behind her pout. She's lost her puppy fat but is still curvy. Fit looking. I can tell because she's wearing a bikini under a gauzy kind of beach dress that reveals rather than conceals. She's still got her shaggy, bellish bob. I recall us playing shadow puppets with spotlights, positioning ourselves so that her full-body profile matched the shadow cast by my erection.

"At last. Sweet William," she says.

I'd forgotten how deep her voice is. One rainy Sunday, she made me come just by humming Land of Hope and Glory on "Sweet William.”

"Lady Bathsheba," I say.

She presses her cheek to both my cheeks. "Come. I simply must show you my garden. It's in such a state." Her eyes shine.

I laugh too loud.

She shows me into the national museum she calls a summer home. Her feet slap-slap-slap on marble and she swings her hips, leading me through the grand hall and out a glass wall to the back terrace. She has a tight waist and wide hips now. Her bottom is round as ever. She used to complain that it wasn't elegant. She called it her "sit-up-and-beg bum." I told her men adore it. She said, "But I'm not a man."

The villa's built on a volcanic beach. A swathe of black sand leads out to frothing breakers. In the middle of the beach a crimson Turkish rug holds two enormous teak loungers, set like thrones with a sweating silver champagne bucket between.

The sea breeze cools my face. It brings me Bash's powdery lemon sent. I sigh.

Bash stands on tip-toe, leans into my neck and takes a deep breath. "You smell delicious." I'd forgotten how it felt to sometimes share a thought. It's like holding hands inside our heads.

"Let's swim." She takes my bag off me and immediately drops it. "I've given all the servants the day off." She sashays toward the sea, pulling her beach dress off over her head and dropping that too. "So It's just us I'm afraid." She kicks a wave. "For miles!"

I strip to my boxers while she kneels in the surf, knees apart, peering at me. We're in Lovecome Manor again and she's watching me shovel, her hands up her skirt.

I know Bash's body as well as my own. It's like she's a part of me, another pair of arms and legs. And it seems 10 years is nothing between us. I can almost feel the frothy breakers lapping at her gusset.

The water's freezing. I dive in and come up howling.

She coils her arms around my neck and squeezes me very tight. "Fuck," she gasps into my ear. When she pulls away her eyes are wet and spilling. "I've missed you every day." Her hips are wedged to mine. Her front nudges me as if looking for something. I'm not hard. Yet. I don't know where to put my hands.

My eyes overflow, too. I wipe, pretending it's seawater. "I've missed you, Bash." I hug her. Her body is like a memory made solid. A treasured memory.

We muck about in the surf. She loves me to throw her over the waves. I love to see her spinning against the sky, eyes screwed shut, screaming. I love her spluttering, "Again!"

Once she's worn me out, she takes my hand and we retire to the loungers. Bash and I used to refer to each other as soul mates. This is how, in the twenty steps from water to carpet(!) we decide, without speaking, that this is not to be a polite afternoon.

She chucks me an insanely fluffy towel but lies down wet on hers where it's spread on the lounger.

I wrap the towel around my waist and drag off my soggy boxers. I like the secret air round my cock and balls. I lie on the lounger beside hers. Me on my back, Lady Lovecome on her front.

Bash and I rarely chatted. I mean what did a gardener have to say to a Lady? But our three years together was so physically intense, we didn't need to make conversation. Not the formal kind anyway.

She looks at me with her cheek pressed to the backs of her hands. Behind soggy strands of bell-bob, her eyes swell up bigger than the sky. Water droplets glitter all over her shoulders, down her back and legs. Like diamonds.

She squirms. "What?"

"You're a beautiful woman."

She dimples, gulps. "You too; no, I mean. Whatever. You're much beefier though. I like it."

This makes me laugh even though it isn't funny.

She reaches over, takes my left hand, but only to hold it up. "Hmm. Not married."

"Living with someone. You?"

She flashes me a diamond the size of a grape, then drops her arm like the ring's too heavy to lift. "Gaudy, I know." She leans up on her elbows. "Are you happy?"

I shrug.

Jane calls me Mr. Sad. She describes me as a glass half-empty person. She even blames the lackluster performance of my business on my own lack of luster. And I don't get it. At the big house I couldn't get the grin off my gob.

Time must pass with us just looking at each other in silence because, suddenly, Bash's skin is dry. She reaches under the lounger, produces a bottle of sun lotion and throws it at me. She unfastens the back strap of her bikini top.

I squeeze white lotion across her shoulders and down her spine. She wriggles at its chilliness and the dimple-cheeked smirk of her hidden smile undoes me. Every time. When we first met she smiled as easy as me. All the time. I can't remember when she decided she needed to hide her happiness.

I perch beside her hip on her lounger and rub the cream in. During our time in gilded prison together, we experimented with the openheartedness you lose later in life. There's no part of each other we haven't explored with fingers, lips or tongues. That's why her skin still feels as familiar as my own. I even get a ghost of my own touch on my own back. My hand is hard and leathery. She breathes a little heavy. When my rubs spiral to her bikini bottoms she tugs them down, so I can go lower. She pulls them all the way to the cleft of her bum.

Her skin is rose gold. All over. "No tan line," I say.

"I usually sunbathe nude," she says. "Tan lines are so; gauche."

My hand strokes lower than it needs to, over her cheeks. She purrs, grinds her hips at the lounger.

I grasp her bikini bottoms and pull them down her legs and off her feet.

She adores being nude for me. All her diary entries (she read them to me, of course) started: "William lustily tore off all my clothes, eyeing every detail of my nudity; until he was rigid." She leans up on her elbows and looks over her shoulder at her own nakedness, as if to share seeing it with my eyes.

I'm so hard under my towel I can hardly bend.

I squirt cream on her bum and rub it in. More like knead it in, if I'm honest. In the dim at the top of her closed thighs, I can just make out intimate wrinkles and clefts I haven't seen in ten years. The little pink knot of her anus is a friend I'd forgotten I'd missed.

She growls, and wriggles onto her back. Her tits are still small and firm, her stomach smooth with a decadent little pot-belly. The ball of her mound is topped by a clipped triangle of jet hair. I stand up. I can't help it. It's like royalty has walked onto the beach. I should probably salute.

She yanks my towel off. My cock bounces into the Italian sunshine.

Her eyes widen. She pulls hair back off her face. "Goodness, you're much bigger than I remember."

I don't know if this is a compliment or not.

With a serious expression, she runs fingertips over my balls. She flicks a regal glance up at me, one eyebrow raised, then tests my shaft. The tip of her tongue curls out.

"What's got you so het up, Sweet William, hmm?" She says this to my cock as she grips it and slides up and down, so I guess she's joking.

She flops her legs open a little. Her clit hood, now neatly defined by waxed baldness below, is prominent as ever. I stroke her outer lips, they're podgy and so soft I almost can't feel them. Her thick, protruding inner lips graze my palm.

I smile, slip a fingertip along her slick groove.

She lets out a long, ragged breath. With Bash in my hand, and me in hers, I feel complete. Bash puts it better. Wrinkling thick eyebrows in a pained kind of realization she says, "I feel like I'm finally home."

But then she releases my cock and shuts her legs.

"Rules," she says. "I'm worried. I don't want to be that woman who forces you to be unfaithful to your partner."

I lick her glossiness from my finger. She slaps my thigh. "If we don't come, then we're still being faithful to her don't you think?" She says this to my cock, robotically, like she's rehearsed it.

"What about your husband?"

"He fucks around," she says. "He doesn't count."

I sense she's replaced father with spouse as a target for her disappointment. I kneel beside her so my erection is next to her face. I stroke her tight little tits. She chews her lip, watching my cock buck.

"You won't be able to stop yourself," I say. This sounds like a boast, but it's not.

"I should be Okay. I came massively earlier." She flicks a glance up at me and flushes. "You were late."

I stoop to kiss her, and she cups my neck and leans into me, but we find we can't close the last millimeter.

"This is very against the rules," Bash says, her lips brushing mine.

I groan, and kiss her cheeks instead, down her jaw. I cover her tits and nipples and wish I'd shaved but then remember, unlike Jane, Bash likes my chin rougher. Her body rolls under me like a wave trying to keep me on its crest. When I dip from tits to ribs to belly, she squeezes my shoulders and arms and gushes, "Good lord, you feel like a horse," but really she's pushing me down.

I swivel as I descend, climb onto her lounger and kneel astride her shins. She likes my cock between her feet. I do too. When my kisses reach her mound I take her hips and lift them to my mouth. I bury a kiss into the bare flesh below her tuft. I keep her legs tight together, nuzzle into that gap to get to her clit with my lips. It's exciting that I can't quite get to it. She lifts her hips to my mouth, tries to open her legs. Her body wants me to lick her. Her heart wants me to delay it.

I lie along her legs and pluck kisses to her pressed-together cunt lips as if they were the mouth I'm denied kissing. We have the same rules for each other as others have for prostitutes, it seems. She lifts her lounger's backrest so she can watch me without straining, and pulls her clit hood up to unsheathe as much of her bud as she can.

She shivers. "I need to come already."

"Um-Hmm."

"Perhaps it's Okay to come," she says. "What do you think?"

I'm not thinking, I'm kissing. Kissing brings me pleasure. Thinking, pain.

I kneel upright, grasp her ankles and open her legs. Now I'm going to bring her pleasure.

Her "garden" has just the one flower. It's pink and fleshy and it's in full bloom. Her juices loop between slot and thigh. I settle between her knees like a jigsaw piece slotting into place.

She strokes my head. "Oral is foreplay isn't it? Not actual sex. I mean, Fore; play?" She tips her feet onto their sides to sag her knees wide and make more room for me. "Christ I've done it at parties. It's almost dancing. Polite, really."

I press a kiss to her slipped-open lips as politely as I can, given the circumstances. She's hot marshmallow with a liquid center. Her juices string thickly to my lips. I lick her salty taste off them with my eyes closed. When I open them again she's watching me, her cheeks blazing.

"To be safe." I kiss her again, slower, harder. "I'll stop when I think you're gonna come." Then I kiss her again. And again. And again. Each kiss hitches her breath. Each hitched breath pulses my cock. Her pleasure, every tiny, hitched breath of it, makes my day. It always has. That someone's most intimate joy is also mine raises a deep moan to my kissing.

Her eyes slit. She opens her inner lips with delicate, beautifully manicured, fingers. Her diamond flashes. Juices bubble inside her, dribble from the dim into the sunlight, down her bum cleft.

I focus on her clit, pressing my lips to it lightly as I can.

"Taste me." This is her thing, me enjoying her taste and smell. In her diary once, I came just from her dripping on my tongue. It was written to annoy her dad. I don't think it ever happened. Not often anyway.

I kiss her clit firmer, nip it between my lips.

She tremors and opens herself explicitly. "Lick me."

It's her body talking. I ignore it, like I'm ignoring my own body, which also badly wants to eat her, and badly needs to be eaten. Instead I take a deep breath of her spread cunt. "Musky ocean," I say. "Your smell makes my mouth water."

She bites her lip. As if to show me what she needs, her finger dips into her slot, and traces juices up over her clit, itches at it. She grunts and stops, splaying her fingers above her clenching cunt. It always pulses like this before she comes. I don't know if this is the same for other women, it's not for Jane, but this is what happens for Bash. And when she clenches inside I have to bear down hard on the echoing pulse behind my balls.

I reach into the champagne bucket between us, scoop cold water. I dribble it over her flushed folds.

She gasps. A smile! But she doesn't come.

I suck her clit and curly labia just to enjoy her chilled flesh in my mouth.

"Fuck!" Bash says to the sky. I guess my mouth feels very hot on her. I stop, kiss her inner thighs.

"This is why we've never fucked," she says. "Licking is too fabby."

"We never fucked because we were terrified of getting you pregnant. Your dad would have had me killed."

"But I've been on the pill since I met you for fuck-sake."

I laugh along with another, deeper kiss to her folds, so I can vibrate into her. Always a favorite.

She grips herself behind her knees, pulls her legs apart and back. Her toes wriggle beside my head. "You ejaculated fountains though; I swear If one could get pregnant orally we'd have; ah!"

I send an emergency lick up her slot, then down. Top of tongue, bottom of tongue. I follow it with more ice water. I want to shut her up because she talks dirty to get herself off.

Bash always told me her fantasies while I licked her. Of course, they always started with "William eyed every detail of my nudity" but they always ended with me unable to control myself. She liked to describe me spurting all over her bottom, tits, clit or tongue. And when she came it was usually to blustering, "His; his salty sweet eruption!"

Bash calms down for a bit, but is still spread to my mouth so I breathe into her and nuzzle. She's soon off again though. She nods at the smoky peak of Stromboli rising above her house. "I think of you whenever the mountain erupts. Pretty much every day. How you always came with me. How I always came with you."

I huff a laugh into her.

"Don't laugh, it's true. Sometimes you just spurted without either of us even touching you. If I came while squatting on your face, say. You just loved that." She made fireworks of her fingers. "And I came sucking you off, of course."

"Um-hmm."

"Do you still come twice every time?" she asks.

"No."

She squirms, dimple-smirks. "So that was just for me?"

"It was." I give her a lick from anus to clit. She catches her breath, puffs it out. Her juices coat my tongue, I swallow. A deep peace comes over me. I lick her again, just for me, and groan and have to take a deep breath to quell the rolling boil inside my hips.

"Don't come." She cups the back of my head, gently pulling it to her while she nudges her mound at my mouth. It's like she's feeding me, but she's feeding from me. I douse her with another scoop of ice water, then cover her cold cunt with my whole hot mouth and take a good lick. It's a selfish bite of the peach, to feel more juices on my tongue. And for the moment I'm sealed to her, and my tongue inside her, we're one thing.

She moans and rocks her hips hungrily at me.

I kiss her deep again, but platonic. If it's possible to kiss cunt lips platonically. Then I let the sea breeze fan her. Her feet cross behind my head and behind that waves breath long sighs.

I swirl my tongue around her clit.

"Remember when; you licked me all afternoon; that time? How many times did I come?"

"I wasn't counting." Flip-flap. "More than me."

Her eyes droop shut as I get a rhythm going.

"Maybe ten; times;” she croaks into silence.

Something about her swollen bud against my tongue, and the resilience of her florid labia on my lips means I want to stop but I can't. It feels too good. I lap at her lightly, then urgently.

"Oh." Her cunt flutters at my lips. I dance about her clit. Her cunt flutters again. I suckle it. She clenches. "Yes;”

I pull off her.

"No! Fucker!" Bash grabs for me but I lean back on my knees, wipe my hand across my mouth. She puffs like she's run a marathon and reaches to finish herself, scowling at my erection. I hold her hands back, watch her ruined orgasm tug her perineum and squeeze her hole. Jesus, she's drooling down there. My end is wet too. Pre-cum beads and rolls down my shaft.

Mesmerized by my wet cock head, Bash curls between her knees to my hips. She presses her pout to my rod, to collect my wetness as I collected hers. She licks it from her lips. She grips me, and sends a flat tongue up my length. I shudder. Her snort billows over my balls. She tips her head over my end with a croaky hum and gives me a long suck. The floral surfaces of her mouth make my cock and balls buzz. I dig fingernails into my ass. Growl.

She releases me, biting her cheek. She lies back with her hands behind her head, and waves her knees like victory flags.

I slip my finger into her slot and dig for a spongey place we found twelve years ago after much trial and error; her g-spot. Once found, we had so much fun with it my fingertip still finds it first time. She whimpers and her legs flop. A smile plays on her lips. Her eyes close. Her hole sucks at my finger. She's so close it's easy to work her up to the edge again. Her blush has spread to her tits. Her left leg shakes. She claws her thigh. "Fuck-yes!"

I pull out. She slaps the lounger. My cock rocks, ready to release with her. I tremble, focus on gathering her juices on my slippery finger. I offer it to her, dripping like syrup.

She looks almost ashamed. But it's a horned-up kind of shame. She opens her mouth to collect her thick drop, and licks herself from my finger, sucks it.

"We still taste the same," she says.

I rest between her thighs again and my mouth suckers to her like it belongs there, which in many ways it does. Her cunt's pulsing seems to urge me on, kissing me back. I slide my finger back into her, curl it while I suckle her clit; working "both ends of the rainbow" as she used to call it.

She's floppy, starfished on the lounger, totally given over to me. I flicker my tongue like a wet flame while I dig at her hollow.

"Oh." She tenses. She takes a breath. Holds it. I think she's trying not to come, or preparing for me to ruin another orgasm for her. This makes me laugh. I flick faster at her clit. "Oh." Her voice rises an octave. She shakes from her bones out. A tingle spreads from my fingertips and toes, gathers in my midriff, swells with the waves on the black shore. I consider stopping one more time, but her held breath squeaks out like a gas leak so I'm too late. I lick and dig at a quick, steady pace. She screws her eyes shut and hisses into laughter, quivering on my tongue.

I clamp down inside as she twitches violently, writhing on my finger. I moan with her, try to keep my senses, soften my licking as she yelps. She holds my head hard between her legs, ruts at it, squealing, toes splayed.

Her body flops. She bursts a throaty, "Ahh;” I remove my finger. Kiss her cunt calm.

Bash smiles her only smile, broad and dreamy, while she stretches, cackling. "Out; standing," she croaks.

I jump to my knees over her squirming body. Grip the base of my cock. It kicks. I swear.

Bash squeaks, and launches at my hips. She grabs my unexploded rocket in two hands, and sets to work.

Not that there's much left to do. She rubs me onto her swirling tongue, grunts softly, sucks. She's still crimson and trembling from her own climax when mine rips through me.

I arch, stiffen. She laughs and tips her head to show me what she's doing. I shoot frantic jets of cum into, and over, her mouth. She hums and slides slicked lips and tongue over my pumping head, swallows, then licks more. Her lascivious chuckle turns what's already exquisite, unbearable.

I jerk my final pulses while she gently draws the last of my orgasm from me. I sway, still on my knees but juddering with aftershocks.

Bash chortles over my cock. I wish she was always this happy.

She sucks her lips. "Again." She runs her tongue around my oozing head, squeezes more cum out, laps it off. I spasm.

There's no point arguing. Bash rocks her hips on the lounger, which she's riding like a horse. My orgasm has made her want to come again too.

She tucks hair behind her ear and bobs on my cock, twisting her head this way and that as if nodding along to her favorite song. She's cute with sun-freckles across the bump on her nose and my cum on her chin. She cups my balls and squeezes, and sends a firm hand quickly up and down into her sliding mouth. Inside, her tongue loops around my head. She knows exactly how to flare the embers of my orgasm back to life. We learned about it together.

She hums when she sucks me. It's like a purr. She takes a breath and rubs vigorously, casting a cheeky, complicit glance up at me and blowing a strand of hair from her face. She rolls her hips on the lounger, and shivers.

Every muscle on my body pops hard. She smirks and takes me back into her mouth, her nasal moans loud, urging.

She's coming. Because I'm coming. The realization kicks me in the arse, hauls my orgasm back from the horizon. She's coming because she loves sucking me off. The unabashed, primal dirtiness of this overwhelms me. My body locks like her mouth is a plug socket. I curse through clenched teeth. She picks up speed, blurring her hand at her mouth.

"I'm c-coming," I blurt.

"Um! Um!" Her hand and mouth go spasmodic and out of sync and I erupt into her eager, wet warmth. She cries out. No playful cum licking now. She gulps and gasps, her eyes screwed shut. I hold her shoulders, for support but also to keep her there. She reaches under my legs to grip my arse and stop me pulling out(!) Our orgasm bursts out of me into her and explodes her too. It lights her up.

We float down from our high like spent flakes of ash. Bash soothes me, going from sucks to licks to kisses. Her orgasm jolts her and makes her giggle. I stroke her hair. She likes to suck me till I'm limp but I can't flag today. Not with the sun on my back and the waves in my ears and this beautiful old friend loving my erection.

Finally, she collapses back onto her lounger. I tumble onto mine. We laugh at the sky like it's the best joke ever. I notice we're holding hands. I point out the cum on her chin and she tries to lick it off then gives up, wipes her wrist across her mouth and laps that clean instead.

"You're still hard," she says.

I buck my cock for her, like a little wave. Of course I'm still hard, Bash's post orgasmic bliss is the sexiest thing in the universe.

She stretches. "Remember when we came three times in a row?"

I do. She climbed through my window one hot, summer morning and woke me by sucking on my morning wood. We came, then she squatted on my face and, well, we came again. Then we;

She glints at me.

"Really?" My voice is croaky, have I been shouting?

"Really." She tumbles off her lounger and approaches my erection on all fours.

"I won't come again."

"You will." She runs a cat lap along my length. It biffs her in the eye.

"But you've sucked me dry."

She dips her head over my end. "Gnyot gnyet!" She pivots around my cock, swings her knee over my head, and lowers her cunt onto my mouth.

Our bodies have sought to complete this circle all our adult lives. More often than not, if we ever fell asleep next to each other we'd wake up lying top-to-tail, oblivious as to how we got there. Even now, ten years on, our bodies have insisted I fly half round the world so Bash and I can form our intimate little loop.

Sixty-nine is intense with anyone (even Jane, once a year) but with your soul mate, your sexual doppelganger, it's crack cocaine. Cock cocaine. Whatever, but suddenly it's like neither of us have come at all. If anything my last climaxes have left me flushed through, ready.

Bash is poised over me, teasing my stomach with her nipples, kissing her skin to me all along our length whenever she writhes on my mouth or cock. She drips into my mouth and rocks her clit on the slimy pad of my tongue while rubbing my taut bulb on the pad of hers. I finger her hole, she fingers mine. We suckle at each other. Our humming is more yumming; the sounds of feeding animals. Snuffling pigs. My eyes droop shut. Our orgasm looms over us, a wave so big it shades us from the sun. I relish eating, and being eaten. We paddle up the tsunami. Come what may.

Time melts along with our bodies. We could've been licking seconds or minutes. Hours even. Bash takes a breather, panting, rubbing fast as she can, her cheek pressed to my thigh, and I realize we're close. She kisses my balls and covers them in hot yesses. She's preparing to finish me. I match her wanking with my two middle fingers inside her. Her legs splay wider, forcing her vital weight down onto me. She whimpers, "Yes; yes; Yum" and I'm inside her again. I smother her clit, motor-mouth it. Smothered roars swell in our throats.

Our backs pull taut, hips spasm;

Stillness.

Our skipped heartbeat is a void we tumble through, clutched, weightless;

The wave crashes over us. We scream into each other, tossed up and also under, gripping hips for dear life, gushing bliss and ecstatically drowning.

Our grunts tip over into muffled, head rush cackles. We bob back to the surface. Back on our lounger in the sun, we touch tongues to hyposensitized flesh, jerk and giggle, kiss soft, and softer.

Sigh.

We chuckle at each other's bits. Press the lightest of thank you kisses to them.

"I say!"

I open my eyes to a male model in a three-piece suit standing over us. He claps slowly. "Darlings, well done."

Bash deflates above me. "Fuck off, Richard."

Fuck. Her husband. I tense. She pats my hip, and doesn't move, other than to nuzzle my cock like her royal husband isn't stood there gawping. "Today is my day," she says. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugs. "Julian doesn't have anything to wear for dinner on the yacht. We came back to pick something up for him. So you must be Sweet William!"

He offers his hand. I shake it. Mine's still slippery from his wife. He curls his lip, pulls the handkerchief from his breast pocket and wipes his fingers. "Forgive me, we'll be out of your hair in one shake of a man's tail." He drops the silk on the sand. "Interesting lip gloss Bathsheba, what's that color, L'essence d'homme?"

He laughs at his own joke. Bash wipes her lips with my cock, licks it. He turns his laughter on me instead. "You look terrified! Do you think I might challenge you to a duel? Sweet William, I prefer snails to oysters. All the best dukes do."

"Please. Fuck off."

"You haven't told him." He presses a finger to his lips. "How strange, why ever not? I do approve though darling. That beautiful cock will make beautiful heirs. And still hard! Either he's a keeper, or you're not doing your job." He leans down to me. "Sweetie, I could finish you in a blink and I haven't even been to finishing school. Do you swing?"

I never thought about it. I don't think I do.

"He doesn't. Fuck off."

"Ah! Julian's ready." He waves at the house. "Laters bitches." He blows us a kiss and leaves us be.

"Sorry about that." Bash crawls around to flop on top of me like I'm a bed. I bellowed, “Oof.” She smirks. I wrap my arms around her.

She kisses my chest. "I was going to tell you about my sham marriage today. If you were single."

"Why?"

She growls, buries her face in the crook of my neck. "It's so embarrassing." She peers up at me. "If you were single, I was going to, well, offer;” She twirls a finger on my chest.

"You want me to be your mistress?"

"My mister-ess. Yes." The buttoned-up smile is back. "I can't divorce. But I can; keep you. If you're happy to be a kept man. My marriage is more like a career than a relationship anyway, so;”

"You don't need to keep me. I've got my own business."

She snorts. "Of course. And I could help with that. Get rich clients for you, blah-de-blah. But, you know, either way, I'd buy you a penthouse somewhere nice in town, where I'd come and see you. All the time. Actually I'd probably live with you and just go to the manor house for functions. Honestly, William. I've tried to be good, to honor my marriage, but you're all I've ever wanted. I; I love you. Every minute I'm with you, but not with you, I can't even smile. It's torture."

Even though I'm lying down, I feel like I could fall over. I lock arms around her to steady myself, to check she's real, and that those lovely words really just came out of that lovely mouth. I want to say, "Yes! I feel the same! I always have!"

"But I'm with Jane," I say.

Bash grimaces. Nods. The sun flares behind her like a halo. I stroke her back, prepare to let her down. I take a heart-settling breath;

What am I doing?

Why am I even with Jane? It's Bash I want. I've always wanted Bash. It's no accident they look similar. My relationship with Jane is a weedy cherry tree, I should deal with it.

I shrug. "Okay."

"Okay?" Bash blinks. Her pout twitches. "You'd dump your partner just to; live in sin with me?"

I smile. Bash smiles. Neither of us has just come, yet she's grinning. And I realize her pout all this time, that wasn't some posh affectation. She was simply sad.

She narrows her eyes. "Wait. How will you tell her, and when?"

"I'll call her now; "

"Oh don't do that! Bastard!"

"Okay. When I get back. I'll tell her we're done. That I'm moving out."

She nods slowly. "Really, though?"

"Is my commitment not clear?" I push my mystifyingly still hard cock at her belly.

She rolls her eyes. "It's not that. It's just; you don't let go easily. You're easily swayed. She'll talk you out of it. Remember the cherry tree you wouldn't chop down?"

"What's that got to do with it? Fuck, Bash. I love you too. You know I; "

"How long did it take you to strip me this afternoon? Your resolve lasted all of ten minutes!"

I can't deny that. "I've no resolve when it comes to you." I stroke down her spine her from neck to bum. "You know that. It's different. I'd rather be your bit on the side than anyone else's partner."

Bash sighs. She averts her eye as if performing some calculation. I wonder if she's changed her mind. For once, I can't read her. She nods, as if a decision is made, and turns back to me. Her lips curl into a smile.

I cup her cheeks and kiss her and every cell of me bursts. Bash giggles and each kiss puffs us up into the air. We peck with soft lips to enjoy the first press over and over. Ten years ago this was our most intimate, most illicit act. We only did it once and it made us weep, first with joy, then with sadness. Because suddenly it was clear where we wanted to go and where our separate tracks were headed. Marrying me was not marrying well. We rarely smiled again.

Her lips are plush and yielding and nibble mine with a tender eagerness. I feel like I'm falling into her.

"Your kiss makes me dizzy," she whispers for both of us, then her tongue dives into my mouth.

Our kiss turns her onto her back. I find myself poised press-up fashion over her. She wraps her arms around my neck and we can't stop kissing. She locks legs about my hips and still we kiss. Our tongues play. My cock plunges.

We cry out.

I arrive home to Jane earlier than she expected. She seems delighted by this but shouldn't be. I've come back to tell her I'm moving out.

It's late evening when I let myself into the flat. I called her from the airport, and now she's got this fancy meal laid out for us with candles and music. She's dyed her hair darker, and had it cut into a bob. She's wearing a long, floaty dress. She's never looked more like Bash.

She dives into my arms as soon as I've dropped my bag and slaps my hands on her arse so I know she's pantieless. My heart is concrete, lodged in my throat.

Still.

I won't let Bash be right. I'll let Jane go. I won't be swayed.

"I'm glad you're back early." She nuzzles my neck. I pat her shoulder. She won't release me. "I missed you." She wriggles her hips. "I want you." She unbuckles my jeans and drops to the floor with them, yanking my boxers as she goes.

"Jane, I; Oh."

She collects my limp cock in her mouth and hums. I am the shit of the world. I harden inside her. My brain freewheels in my skull. I can't dump someone who's sucking my cock. Even the phone was less cruel than that.

She hops up, drags me to the lounge, points to floor. "Lie back and think of England." She titters like a Japanese schoolgirl.

I feel sick, but rigid. Is it Jane pretending to be Bash that's got me hard, or the last rays of our relationship? Whatever, to stop her now, when she's making so much effort, seems evil.

I lie down on our shaggy Ikea rug.

Jane bunches her skirt. Her cheeks look slapped; I fear more from embarrassment than horn. She stands astride my head, and lifts her skirt.

"You like?" She tips her head coyly and it's not her. It's an impression of seduction. Her cunt is waxed bald. And wet. My animal mouth waters. Fuck-sake.

She crouches over my face, slowly. "This is your favorite isn't it?" Her neat, thin cunt slides open. I want to blub. I want to come. She lowers her tiny clit onto my mouth.

I lick along her slot. She moans theatrically. Strokes my head.

Perhaps if I make her come, then she'll be calmer. I'll do this for her, thank her, kiss her, then tell her it's over.

But is it?

If our relationship was like this more often, I wouldn't have gone to Bash's. Perhaps this could work. This is real life. Bash lives in a fairy-tale, how long could it possibly last?

Jane moans louder, fully squatting on me. She wipes her cunt on my mouth, painfully grinding her pubic bone on my jaw. I lick faster. Please come. Just fucking come.

She leans over her shoulder, and swears at my erection. "I can't believe eating my cunt makes you so hard."

Jane doesn't ever use that word. She seems to like it, though. She spreads herself over my face. "Eat my cunt. Eat cunt. F-fuck! Eat; Yes! Yes!"

She shrieks so loud our upstairs neighbor bangs on the floor.

Her orgasm is over in a blink. She hops off me, laughing, and skips about the room like a manic pixie dream girl.

Then gobbles me back into her mouth. She's making unhinged noises, like a ravenous dog, slurping and wanking me. Fuck, is this what she thinks Bash is like?

"Jane;"

"Fuck that's delicious. I need to suck your sexy cock more often; yum!"

She's hunkered over me like a harpie, working me into her and I want to wrench my heart out and stamp on it. I am the worst;

Shit. No. My balls clench at an irrepressible rise. "I'm coming."

"Um-hmm."

She hates cum. Even the sight of it. "Fuck. I'm really gonna come."

Jane's hand pistons. I arch off the floor. Swallow my roar with the fucked up notion it belongs to Bash now. But I come, anyway.

She goes still, her mouth suckered to my pumping head. She winces and grunts at each pulse I shoot into her.

As soon as my thrusts calm, even as I'm still pumping, Jane leaps up, and runs to the kitchen.

I hear a tap run. Spitting. Gargling. More spitting.

She comes back into the lounge with two glasses of wine, glugging hers and swilling. She swallows showily. "Fuck that was amazing." She puts a glass down beside me and kisses me tenderly. "I love your cum." She sniggers and scampers to the oven. "Steaks in ten!"

I can't do it. And perhaps that speaks volumes. If I can't break this woman's heart, then I must still love her. Her awkward efforts to please me have torn me up. I know she hates oral, yet she's doing it to keep me. That's love. I should give us another chance. Make more effort to please her.

I grow drowsy. My eyes are unbearably heavy. I'll sleep on it. I roll over. Drift off. Last time I dozed like this was on the lounger in Italy, after our epic sex. Bash rubbed sun-cream into my back. "Bash;” whispered the waves. "Bash;” A perfect afternoon, and best left there. A smile comes over me.

A stinging slap on the arse.

I jolt awake.

"Mother;” Slap. "Fucker!"

I jump to my feet, stumble over the clothes round my ankles.

Jane's cheeks are violet and streaked wet. "Get out." She claws her new hair. "Get; the fuck. out."

I grasp my boxers to pull them up, but Jane lunges at me. "Wait. Look at yourself." She yanks me to the hall mirror. "Look!" She flings my bag at me. "Fucking look!"

The mirror shows a blinking idiot. A grim-faced, sunburned twat stood cock-naked in the hallway clutching a rucksack.

Jane growls, spins me.

Ah Okay.

I've been branded on my right arse cheek, probably using sun cream, white-on-red: "Bash x"

I feel like a diary left for a grown up to find.

To be continued. Based on a post by A Big Cat, for Literotica.

Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 2.

Ring the bell three times for Belle.

Based on a post by A Big Cat. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

In discrete service to the royal court; My name is Lady Bathsheba, Ottoline, Lovecome; and this is my diary.

These are not the depressive scratchings of some puffball princess. I'm no dowager driven loopy by indolent indulgence. These are the erotic thoughts, experiences and stories of someone in their prime; but housebound by a self-serving patriarchy. A patriarchy who's trapped his fully adult daughter in his manor house; rather than set her free at university with her friends; while she waits, financially dependent, for a suitable suitor.

Her patriarchy is no doubt, and I hope, reading these pages. I hope you enjoy them, Father. I've been much inspired by your library's top-shelf antiquaries;

Dear Diary; (dear Father!) I'm also much inspired by my only companion in Lovecome manor, our gardener, Bill. He's my age, yet a fully independent individual making his own way in the world. Free.

I made this point to him on our first meeting.

"Free am I?" His voice is deep and honeyed. "Financial necessity isn't the same as freedom, Madam."

"You simply must call me Bash." I fear I stamped my foot when I declared this. "While we're inmates together we will address each other as equals."

"Very good, Bash." He doffed his cap!

Bill is square-jawed, twice my height and built like a tree. I hope to discover if he's treelike all over before the end of the day. (Specifically is it a log or a twig in his trousers? My investigations so far; quick glances and a delicious slide-by in the kitchen where my bum brushed his front; suggest log. Sigh.) It's a sunny morning now and I scribe this on my flimsily-dressed lap where I sit on a flowery white chair on the lawn. Bill is almost at my feet, preparing a flower bed with much shoveling and grunting. Sweat stains his straining shirt. I curl my toes in the grass. Do you think he will deduce from my bare feet that I'm naked under my dress? I will give him a flash of ass soon, and surprise him. Though he already seems; bothered.

His cheeks are slapped crimson and his pale blue eyes flit glances over my ankles. Each furtive look feels like a lick, hungry to get up my skirt. It squeezes me hotly in my hips and; let me wriggle; yes; has made me shamefully gooey down there. When I cross and re-cross my legs, the top of my thighs slip.

I wonder what he'd think if he could read these words?

Why wonder?

Tee hee.

I read you to him, Diary, and now he's smiling stiffly while smoke curls from his ears. I'm going to read every dirty thought I write to this man from now on. I told him this too. He doffed his cap again; a subservient gesture undone by a drilling stare at my hips, as if calling upon some kind of x-ray vision. Poor man, I won't show him what he wants to see until much later. Though I very much like the thought of him picturing my bits.

I know exactly what I want to tell him today. A story of someone I met in Switzerland, the head of my finishing school, a beautiful woman called Belle. I've been playing and replaying her experiences since I woke, and even though she's made me come already, she's left me needy. As you can probably tell.

Belle was an unusual head for a finishing school, being from a very humble background. We were mostly taught to be ladies by actual ladies, including duchesses and countesses. I struck up a friendship with her, perhaps because we looked similar, even if she was older and a more petite, refined version of me: Snow White to my Betty Blue.

She set up the school using her savings, and contacts, from working as a Lady's maid for the queen of a minor European state in the nineteen-sixties. Her country might have been tiny, but it was rich, or at least until King John took the reins along with his wife Queen Charlotte. They raised taxes and milked the locals dry. (Bill is tugging out a stump. How I'd love to milk him dry. Preferably with the tender grip of the milk-hungry place between my legs; I digress.)

Three Bells for Belle

By Lady Lovecome

Belle was from one of those families reduced to poverty. The idle royals taxed so them heavily that often all their crops would be confiscated in lieu of what was owed. The country's produce was internationally famous for its unparalleled quality. It used to grace royal tables all over the world. Now only one royal table enjoyed the fruits of their labor, and what wasn't eaten simply disappeared. It was left to rot for all anyone knew. Many gave up farming all together, for what they didn't have, couldn't be taken.

However poor they were, when the royal housekeeper; A sour-faced, walking whip called Madam Couteau; came looking for new palace servants, people hid. It wasn't a job anyone wanted. She was famously cruel, and people were forced to work eighteen hour shifts for food and lodging (if a straw mattress in a basement dorm counted as lodging). Also, she only chose the prettiest, to feed the king and queen's lascivious appetites. And if an unmarried girl became pregnant with an illegitimate heir, this could mean exile or imprisonment or worse.

Belle hated Madam Couteau, and in a misplaced fit of defiance she refused to hide one morning when the woman came looking for fresh meat. It was a stupid thing to do, but looking back on it, Belle wondered if she knew even then that if she could get to those in charge, somehow, then she could do something about her family's; even her country's; desperate state.

Madam Couteau gasped when she caught Belle's enormous, insolent eye. A sharp smile twitched her cheek. She snapped her fingers, and suddenly Belle was gripped by two guards. As her parents wailed, Belle was marched away from her home.

But Belle was naïve to think she would get anywhere near the king and queen. She was made a pot girl, in charge of collecting and emptying the staff's chamber pots. The castle's plumbing was for royalty, and Madam Couteau's cohorts, alone.

It was a pissy, shitty job, yet every day Belle kept herself clean and ordered, just in case she might get a chance to elevate her position in the household. She didn't expect this opportunity to come from Madam Couteau. One cold dawn, while Belle poured pot after pot of steaming filth into the castle's drain, Madam Couteau popped up like the stench made solid. Dressed in stiff, black satin, she wore the gargantuan bunch of castle keys at her waist, permanently dangling at her front like a metal mirkin.

"It is Her Majesty's birthday tomorrow," she clipped. "You are my gift to her. When you hear the servant bell ring three times, present yourself."

"Yes, Madame."

"This is not a promotion."

"No, Madame. What will I; "

"Just; be clean."

The staff dorm sported a wall of a hundred spring-loaded bells, each marked with a room. Pulling a chord in any of the royal chambers would alert the relevant servant. A bell should only ever ring once. More rings meant the royals had been kept waiting and a beating from Madam Couteau would surely follow, administered with a flail of the monstrous palace keys to the girls' ass cheeks.

However, most nights, and some mornings, a bell would ring multiple times in quick succession, any number from two to six. At Belle's end of the dorm, a cluster of six suspiciously pretty women would jolt at a multiple bell, then one would press her lips and hurry from the dorm to answer the call.

Belle could guess where these beauties were going. The king's appetites were infamous. The queen's too, though there was never a man called to her rooms. Belle didn't know if she was relieved or not that she was gifted to the queen and not the king. She'd never been with a woman, but it was an occasional fantasy for her, and at least there'd be no risk of pregnancy.

Belle spent half the night scrubbing herself and preparing her outfit. The maid's uniforms were desperately impractical: sleeveless, but high-collared, tight bodiced but flaring into short, pleated skirts. Instead of tights they wore black woolen over-knee socks that did more to accentuate their bare thighs than keep them warm. Even their ankle boots were patent leather kitten heels.

When the other girls were called they rarely dressed, just pulled on a bathrobe, or wrapped themselves in a towel. Belle would be different. It was no surprise that the king and queen designed the maid uniform themselves, so Belle would look as good as she could for them.

It wasn't yet dawn when three bells jolted Belle from her short sleep. She rubbed her eyes and peered at the servant's board. She'd missed which bell had rung.

"Queen's bedchamber," whispered the copper-haired girl in the next bed, her brow wrinkled with a sisterly concern. Belle thanked her, dressed and scampered up the servant stairs to the queen's room, fastening the uniform's thirty tiny buttons as she went.

She stood trembling between two smirking guards at the queen's monolithic bedroom door and knocked with a bravado she didn't feel. The door immediately flew open. There, dressed in just her silken nightgown was;

A girl?

 

 

Belle had only ever seen the queen on their national coins. She supposed her to be much older. This woman couldn't have been more than a year or two older than Belle, her mid-twenties perhaps. Her hair was long and platinum, and braided to her shoulder. She had the smooth, apple-cheeked complexion of a dairy maid, not a vicious queen. She beamed at Belle, then, as if remembering her station, quickly pouted and looked down her nose.

Belle dropped to her knee in the special curtsy Madam Couteau had taught them, leaving her bowed at the woman's unshod feet. The queen had baby's toes.

"My God, Madam Couteau was right." The queen caught Belle's chin and tipped her face up. "You are exquisite. Everything you look at must feel beautiful." She stooped, peered into Belle, whistled. "Those eyes."

The queen's eyes were like polished steel. Belle felt harpooned by them.

"Bravo." The woman clapped, pirouetted and bounced away. "Come!"

Belle followed through a door into an entirely black marble room bigger than her family's cottage. In the center glimmered a polished-brass bathtub full of lemony-fragrant water frothing with bubbles. Thick steam turned the morning sunlight, filtered through filigreed shutters, into rays. Belle was so overawed she didn't notice the queen had unfastened the bow on her nightgown and dropped it to her knees.

Belle averted her eye.

"You refuse to honor me with your exquisite gaze?" The queen braced arms on her hips, and tapped her foot. Even from the corner of her eye, Belle could make out the wobble of the woman's large tits with each tap of her foot.

"I think only of Her Majesty's privacy."

"Look at me."

Belle did as she was bid.

The queen's lips parted under Belle's gaze. Was that a gasp? "I'm told I'm beautiful." The woman pirouetted. She was too, her body curvaceous and smooth as a marble figurine. Not fat, but well fed enough to smooth off her knees and elbows. There wasn't a knobbly bone on her. Her sex was shaved bald, and the top of her intimate crease glittered where a double-diamond stud pierced her clitoral hood. She might look like a girl, but she was all woman.

Queen Charlotte dropped into the hot water with a sigh. She nodded at the soap, sponge and a silver jug on a table set by the tub. "You may wash me."

Belle preferred men, but was young and open minded and the queen's beauty did funny things to her midriff. But mostly Belle was sharp and, even as she awkwardly upended a jug of warm water over the queen's shoulders, she wondered how she might bend the queen's desire to her own advantage.

She lathered the woman's back then, taking a deep breath, her tits. The queen hummed and lay back. Her chest heaved under Belle's soaping.

Belle lost herself in the pliable slippery flesh sliding through her fingers. The queen's nipples turned to bullets under her palm. She circled them, forgetting for a second that they belonged to someone else and weren't her own.

She was so lost she jumped when the queen purred, "I don't know what's more arousing, being in your hands, or in your gaze."

Belle washed downward, toward opening knees, and hips pushed up to Belle's soapy hands. The queen bit her lip.

Belle swallowed. When the village men were in this state they were suggestable and eager to please. Now was her time to exert some influence. She let her hand reach the woman's abdomen, then stopped.

"Perhaps Your Majesty might stand up?"

Queen Charlotte should find this impertinent, no one should address her unless addressed first, let alone make a request. If the woman accepted this, then Belle had some power over her.

Without missing a beat, the needy queen stood. Belle's head spun. That was too easy. She should see how far she could go. She soaped the proffered hips, bottom cheeks and legs and put aside a swelling heat in her own lower half. Queen Charlotte lifted a foot onto the edge of the bath to offer herself explicitly. Her belly trembled.

Gathering all her nerve, Belle offered the soap to her queen. "I fear I'm not worthy, Madam. You must do that part yourself."

The queen's jaw rippled. Her eyelids drooped. "I insist. If you value your position."

Belle bit her lip. "I like how you feel Madam, very much, and I'm honored, but it's not proper to wash you there. I will watch you; wash yourself, if that helps?"

Belle knelt at the bath side, dropping her face a little lower than her queen's hips. She mustered a blinking, innocent gaze up into Queen Charlotte's engorged flower.

As if hypnotized by Belle's eyes, Queen Charlotte soaped herself. "You make; me feel; angelic." After a brief stir, the soap plopped into the water, then the queen followed, crouched, yelping on digging fingers.

While her queen writhed in a crisis so strong it slopped water out of the bath, Belle took the sponge, soaked it and offered it the woman's still shuddering shoulders.

"Get out," Queen Charlotte spat, her head still buried between her knees.

The three bells didn't call Belle again the next day and Belle was morose, fearing she'd blown her only chance to save her family. But the day after the bells called her once more to the bathroom. Then the fifth day and the seventh, in fact every other day from then on. Madam Couteau was delighted that the gift she gave the queen should be so popular.

So Belle worked her small power. Every morning the queen would try to get Belle to "wash" her and every morning, at least at first, Belle would decline and watch her queen disport herself. She relished the adoration of the vampire who fed off her country, and her squirm when denied.

A sleazy drug dealer in Belle's village kept offering "free samples" to her and her friends as she grew up. He got a couple of girls hooked, who then disappeared to the brothels of London, Paris and Amsterdam. This was Belle's plan now. She declined all requests to pleasure her queen, but gave away titbits, under certain conditions, to keep the woman hooked, and so advance Belle's cause.

She offered to remove her underwear, and let the queen glimpse what she may up Belle's short skirt; but only if Belle could be excused all duties but for serving the queen. After a few days of this, when the queen grew frustrated, Belle offered to strip and join her mistress in the bath; if the woman found meaningful palace work for her mother, father and sisters. That morning the queen came twice, even though Belle kept her legs closed and below the bath's bubbles. More importantly, Belle's family were no longer unemployed.

But toying with the queen's crush on her was a dangerous game. The woman could withdraw what she offered in a fit of pique. Belle had to keep her sweet, and wanting more. How she wished her queen was a man. They were much easier to beguile once you had them hard.

She wished it was the king she bathed.

This was her exact thought the morning before the queen's grand tour of Europe's major cities, hoping to woo back the mysteriously lost buyers of the kingdom's produce.

The queen threw her robe across the room and barked, "Take off your clothes." She stamped into her bath.

No doubt she was angry about having to do some work, but Belle worried she'd be in the firing line of any frustrated tantrums. And sure enough, as Belle shrugged off her dress, and plopped chilly feet into the hot water; covering her recently waxed, clipped triangle of fur; Queen Charlotte scowled and pouted. "Girl you will release me today or I will sack your entire family."

Belle dipped the silver jug into the bath and poured warm water over the queen's shoulders. "Of course, Madam."

The queen blinked at her. "Is that a; yes?"

"Madam."

"You will; touch me?"

Belle soaped the woman's tits. Made a show of biting back her smile.

"Here?" The queen stood, water sloshing off her, raising her leg.

"Um-hmm." Belle treated Queen Charlotte's sex to a long stare. "Did you know many women enjoy a tongue in there too?"

The queen tremored. "I; they do."

Belle reached behind to soap the woman's bottom, down the sides of her legs, all the while regarding that puffy pudenda. "And many enjoy the taste of another woman."

Queen Charlotte swayed a little. "Do you?"

Belle nodded. She curled out the tip of her tongue and worked her queen's standing leg up and down from ankle to knees, possessed of the notion of soapily wanking an enormous cock.

The queen swallowed. Belle's sudsy hands slid up the woman's hard, horse-riding thigh. "I hear the King will remain while you tour, Madam."

"The buffoon is a liability;  oh;”

Her hand grazed the woman's labia, stringing the juices gathered there. A drip collected on Belle's knuckle and without a thought, she licked it off. The queen tasted just like her. She laughed as Queen Charlotte growled at her rudeness and Belle had to steady her by the hips.

She swapped to the queen's raised leg, soaped it all at once from bottom to top. "It's impressive you can trust the King here alone. Many men play while their cat is away."

 

 

The queen scoffed. "We both know that's not true, darling. Without me to see to him every day he will fuck everything that; oh yes."

Belle's thumb ventured under the woman's fleshy folds. She'd never pleasured another woman, and queen Charlotte's sex was much fleshier than her own, but her fingers knew this dance by heart. She stroked the woman lightly from slot to diamond-studded clitoris. "If only there was a way you could see to his needs, even while she was away?" She rubbed a small circle around Queen Charlotte's hard nub.

The queen's eyes drooped and a smile played on her lips. She croaked a hum.

Belle picked her speed up to an itching rhythm. "Or if, while you were away, you could leave your right hand here. Keep a good hold on him?"

The queen laughed brightly, rocked her hips at Belle's thumb. "Indeed. No don't stop!"

Belle had sat back. She contrived a giggle. "Madam this is exciting me too much. Feel." Belle stood, took her queen's hand and pressed it between her legs. She knew she was wet inside, increasingly her morning duties turned her on, partly the sex, partly the power, but she was surprised as Queen Charlotte at how wet. The royal fingers felt eelish.

The queen's eyes widened. "I arouse you this much?" She withdrew her fingers, licked them.

Belle nodded. "Do you like how I taste, Madam?" Belle underlined her need by raising her own foot to the bath edge, matching the queen's pose.

Queen Charlotte, beguiled, dropped to her knees. Belle pushed her hips forward. The queen's mouth opened, leant toward Belle's mound.

Belle covered herself. "Is there something Your Majesty needs?"

"You know what I want, bitch."

Belle stayed put, proud over her queen, her fingers locked between thighs. She stirred. Hummed. "I may just release myself, if you don't mind, Madam. Or would you rather eat me?"

Queen Charlotte grasped Belle's hips. "Please."

Belle curled two fingers inside herself, shuddered, offered them. Queen Charlotte gobbled Belle's wet fingers like a dog at a sausage.

"Have you considered introducing me to the King, Madam?"

Belle placed her hands on her hips. The queen lunged, suckered her mouth to Belle's bits. Something hot and hard, yet infinitely tender, probed her most private place. Belle gulped. She'd never been licked by a woman, let alone a woman of the queen's experience. It felt; too good. She reigned herself in.

"If you introduce me; to His Majesty, Madam. Show me what you do for him; I could be your; right hand;”

Belle's clitoris seemed drawn into a hot, irresistible whirlpool. She moaned, nudged at the queen's beautiful mouth. She reached down to open herself wide and hoped she was dripping.

"God." Queen Charlotte gawped up at her maid's cunt. "And I thought your eyes were irresistible."

Belle chuckled. "I'm sorry Madam. But I need to come on you."

"God." The queen burrowed up into her. "Please."

Belle rocked, stroked the queen's silky hair. "Shall we see the king after this, then?" She pulled the woman harder to her cunt. "So I can help you?"

"Thank you," said her queen. "Thank; Yum."

Ten minutes later, Belle's legs were still trembling. Dressed but still damp from the bath, in more ways than one, the queen led them through a mirrored-lined dressing room linking the royal bathrooms to the royal wardrobe. In the kaleidoscopic multitude of reflections Belle was shocked by her crimson cheeks. She hadn't climaxed, but had pretended to please the queen. This wasn't because she couldn't, Queen Charlotte's tongue was extraordinary, but if Belle's orgasm was to be on display, she'd rather display it to the more stupid of the two, where it might earn her more. So she pretended to come when Queen Charlotte orgasmed, Belle grinding on her mouth while the woman finger-fucked herself with not two, but three fingers.

The queen was so grateful after their "shared" bliss, she said from now on Belle should call her Charlotte when they were alone. As they dressed, the queen was giggly and conspiratorial. "Let's never wear knickers, and only you and I shall know!" She clasped Belle's hands like they were best friends. "My husband will have no clue how I will use you to control him." She kissed Belle's fingers. "I wish I wasn't going on my frightful tour. I want to eat you all day. Will you eat me too, Belle? Say you will?"

"My mouth's watering, Madam;  Charlotte." Belle curtseyed. But instead of rising again she opened Charlotte's robe and planted a kiss to the woman's still-flushed sex. Goodness, she was hornier than she thought. Especially now, with the intimate kiss reflected from every angle all around her. What fun she'd have in this room.

But as ever, Belle's instincts served her well. That surprise kiss sealed their relationship. When Belle rose, there were tears in Charlotte's eyes.

The queen knocked on her husband's bathroom door, then immediately marched in.

"Ah ha!" The king bellowed. "I was just thinking about you!"

"So I see."

Belle entered to find the king naked in his bath, or half out of it; he was massive; with his massive erect phallus gripped in his massive fist. The room was heady with an earthy, sandalwood scent.

"Good lord!" He didn't cover himself. "Is it my birthday?"

Charlotte laughed. "Your Royal Highness, I'd like to present my hand-maiden. Belle."

Belle curtseyed. King John was a storybook king, large of frame and manner, but what looked like fat when he was clothed, at least according to his portraits, was in fact all muscle. Even his belly sported the dips and knots of a working man. He was like a heroic statue of Samson or Hercules come to life. He was handsome too, a Marlon Brando for the queen's Monroe. This might not be so bad. Though she wished she asked Charlotte what the king's preferences were. She didn't relish doing anything; bottomy.

She also wished her cheeks didn't blaze so.

King John laughed as if reading her mind. "Hello Belle. You are astonishing. Is this your new friend dear?"

Charlotte kissed her king. Not on the cheek, but on the head of his cock. He smiled and leant back. She gestured to a couple of velvet-topped stools set beside the bath, adjacent to the king's hips, and knelt on one of them. That this was an occurrence common enough to warrant two stools gave Belle a pang of doubt. Perhaps she wasn't as clever as she thought.

Still, Belle knelt beside the royal erection.

King John peered at her, idly stroking his veiny rod like a falcon.

"Darling I'm going away as you know." Queen Charlotte addressed his cock. They all eyed it in fact, like it ruled the room. "And I know I promised you our special treat before I left, but I've had a better idea. In fact;” She stroked Belle's cheek. "It was my sweet girl's idea. She finds you very handsome"; she winked at Belle; "and wants to perform my duties for me while I'm gone. Well. One of them."

"I see. Does she know what to do?"

"She will. Take a hold, girl." Charlotte slapped her husband's hand away so Belle could grip his firm meat. It was hot as a poker, and so wide she couldn't close her fist around it.

"Two hands," he rumbled. "And;"

Charlotte held up a finger. He shut up.

Belle gripped him in two hands, and stroked up and down. She'd wanked many cocks, there was little else to do in a poor, unemployed village. An orgasm was the only happiness they could freely give each other. She'd even sucked a few dicks, if they were polite, handsome and clean. This one felt so thick and hard, and so rumblingly appreciative, she wished she'd climaxed earlier. With each pull, and each bulging reveal of his great bell in her fist, she felt an echoing pull inside her. She wondered how much cum could spurt from a beast like this, from balls like those. She couldn't wait to;

"Too quick, darling." Charlotte settled a hand on hers. "You're not milking him. Now. Watch." Charlotte stooped to kiss him from his bulb down his shaft. In a practiced dance, he heaved his hips from the water and tucked his feet under his bottom so she could bury her face in his balls. Queen Charlotte's lips were very full and plump, and she used them sensually, slowly pressing them to his cock. When it was Belle's turn, she was worried she couldn't compete with how soft Charlotte must feel. She tried her best, opening her mouth a little and softening her lips as much as she could. God, she wanted this inside her so;

"Slowly," the royals said.

Belle's heartbeat pummeled her ribcage, then Charlotte squeezed her ass, digging her claws in like a needy cat, and Belle's heart threatened to burst out and splash into the bath. She tried to go slow, but felt too; hungry.

While she lingered kisses around the king's balls, Charlotte curled out a flat tongue and slid it around her husband's end, while, with practiced boldness, she reached under Belle's bottom. Belle copied her queen, lapping at the king's scrotum, swirling a figure of eight to encompass each testicle. The king shuddered against them and made a noise like an earthquake building deep underground.

 

 

Charlotte settled back to watch Belle repeat her licking around the king's end, up and down his staff. Belle wanted to suck this man. Wanted the head of the head of state lodged in her mouth. She wanted to wrap her lips around that power, have it pulsing against;

"Calm down." Charlotte had the nerve to say this, even as the woman's fingers stirred at Belle's tingling cunt!

Belle's breath was ragged as the queen joined her, licking the king's lucky loins; more like a tree limb wrapped in satin than a body part. The king chuckled, and locked his hands behind his head as two beautiful woman adored him. Then his wife dipped her head over his end and, urging Belle to watch, nodded up and down, twisting her head, her tongue curling out like a cow collecting grass. The Queen nudged Belle's hands and she jumped back to work, rubbing the king into his wife's mouth.

Charlotte released her husband and nodded at the glossy phallus. "Your turn."

Belle gobbled. She could only just get him in. The king groaned. Charlotte laughed. "Easy tiger!" And the woman's thumb slid into her hole. Belle shuddered and moaned loudly over the king's erection. It came out of his mouth deepened and amplified. He wouldn't know Belle's appreciative sounds were for his wife.

Belle took deep, calming breaths. She focused on matching the queen's technique, curling her tongue out as she sucked. A salty taste thrilled her. The king's precum. She had the greatest power in the land melting in her mouth. She rubbed faster. She wanted more. They all did, because no one stopped her now. She spread her knees wide to the queen and devoured the king.

"Lord almighty," he blustered. "Good lord."

Charlotte purred.

Belle's hips shook. A warm fizzing rolled in her abdomen. She might come before the king and guessed that wouldn't be allowed.

Perhaps sensing Belle's tension, Charlotte's cheek nudged her off her husband and took him, much deeper, into her own mouth. The king rested his hands on his wife's head, and his cock kicked in Belle's joggling palms. A jolt ran up his torso, popping every vein and muscle on him. He arched from the water. Charlotte hummed, still suckered and sucking, her thumb stiffening in Belle. Belle rubbed the king furiously into Charlotte while squirming on a hand that ground to a halt in her hole.

The king tapped the top of his wife's head three times and she gasped off his cock. He roared so loud the windows rattled. A jet of cum shot a foot into the air, then another, and another, landing in white ropes along his belly and chest.

Now Belle milked him. She milked the king as he writhed and thrust and soaked their clothes with bath water.

Charlotte sat back, grinning, her fingers resuming their play between Belle's legs. Belle tipped her hips back at the lovely intrusion, her interior tingles frothing up at the sight of the king's thick fountain.

He calmed, and smiled at his wife, but it was polite, almost strained. His wife had made this king feel like a man, but there was only one way to make a man feel like a king.

In a kind of fever, and surprising herself as ever, Belle leant over the king's spilling bulb and gently licked it clean. He juddered against her, and silenced. Charlotte's fingers faltered inside her, then picked up an urgent pace. Belle took this as encouragement. She ran her tongue along the cum-guttering grooves of the king's belly, up his chest, lapping his warm semen with a flat tongue. She'd never done this before. Like the queen, she preferred to watch the fountain rather than drink from it. The salty slime was oddly irresistible, like a primal delicacy, and even though she debased herself cleaning this man, to take his lifeblood into her was also to claim him. Her dirtiness thrilled her, but she sensed it thrilled the king even more. Each messy lick and gulp lit Belle up but, glancing up at him with contrived innocence while she worked, it set his hooded gaze smoldering. This gaze didn't make her feel small, it made her gigantic.

The royals were silent. The only sound were Belle's hums and the distant sticky noises of Charlotte tickling her clit while her finger wriggled in her slot. Belle moaned, and licked on. Her hips bloomed. She squeezed a pearl of cum to the king's tip, even as her body spasmed like a cracked whip. She whimpered and sucked him in, dropping her hips to swallow the queen's digit deep into her other end. How she loved that filthy word. Swallow. She'd swallow them both whole, swallow the kingdom, swallow every;

Lightning shot through her, mouth to cunt, dancing between the queen's thumb and the kings cock. She screamed into the king, ground on the queen, caught between them, gushing diamonds in all directions.

She came down from her high with sparkles lingering in her vision, the king stuffed in her mouth, the queen stuffed in her cunt. Someone was cackling insanely.

Oh. That was her.

Sharing Queen Charlotte’s Duties.

The king seemed excited about Belle looking after him while Charlotte was away. A fact that relieved the queen rather than made her jealous. She even suggested, as they left her dazed husband sagged in his bath, that she might delegate her "morning duties" from now on. "I'll be honest with you sweet Belle," she whispered. "I love my husband, but I do wish he was a woman. His manhood is just so; bothersome."

"In which case, Your Majesty." Belle sucked yet another royal splash from the back of her wrist. "Perhaps I need a bed closer to you and the king?"

Queen Charlotte patted her bottom. "We don't deserve you, darling."

That's how Belle ended up with her own chamber, albeit the royal dressing room, nestled between their private bathrooms. Her bed was a pile of fur coats, and she had a little window with a view of the village.

However, Madam Couteau's pride in giving the queen such a beloved gift soured when the housekeeper was asked to fit a private bell for her pot girl.

When Madam Couteau left with the carpenter who'd installed a re-purposed doorbell into the royal wardrobe, she deliberately, slowly stepped on Belle's foot. "Do not get too comfortable, girl." She grasped her pendulous bunch of keys and hefted them like a man displaying his cock and balls. "This is the real royal power. And it belongs to me."

Belle smiled, pretending not to notice the cruel foot. As far as she could see, the only evil in the castle surrounded the royal couple. The king and queen were surprisingly gentle, guileless even, not the maniacal despots Belle expected. They were adult children, utterly unaware of the real world, as much to blame for how they were raised as Belle was responsible for her big eyes and rosebud lips.

Belle wondered what treasure chests those keys opened. She vowed to find out.

After draining the king in his bath that morning, Belle was so sure she wouldn't be required for a while that when the bell rang three times in the middle of the night she was fast asleep, naked as a babe wrapped in her furs.

Her first thought was, "Already?" quickly followed by a surge of pride. Her performance that morning had set out her stall for this man; showed him what she was prepared to do. No, what she liked to do. That he couldn't wait wasn't just an ego-trip, it was kind of a turn-on.

It rang again. Belle hopped up and darted into the king's bathroom. Finding it empty, she carried on through into his bed chamber.

The room was big as a train station, and the king's bed set between two triple-height windows, both open to the night and a moon that seemed twice the size of a commoner's moon. Silver light sliced across the bed and the swathed the king's naked torso, but left his face dark.

He was so silent, she wondered if she'd dreamt the bell and he'd wake to find her rudely stood naked in his bedchamber watching him sleep. Then she adjusted to the dim and found the glint in his eye. His erection flexed as if to beckon her. She approached his bedside and stroked him from chest down to hips. He was warm and smelled still of his sandalwood bath, but also of smoke, leather and musk. She grasped his thick rod. He made a sound like boulders in a bag and she couldn't tell if this was a growl or a chuckle.

Trying to recall the queen's advice, she stroked him slowly with two hands but needy hips pushed back quicker. She kissed his tip and found it wet already. It seemed like he'd done half her job for her. She plucked her lips over his hot cock and balls, then followed with her lapping tongue. No complaints about moving too quick now. A draught from the window chilled a wet patch her between her legs. Something about this relative stranger and his proud phallus got to her. Having her mouth pressed to the very epicenter of the kingdom made her feel woozy, but there was also a physical scale and power to him that pulled her insides. Even his silence was magnetic.

 

 

She licked him and tugged his length quickly. His breathing hitched. She took what she could of his shaft into her mouth, and the profound plug of him already seemed familiar, almost comforting. She'd treated this man just a few hours ago, but still found herself relishing the chance to do so again.

She hummed. No, moaned. It wasn't even contrived, it just came out of her. Like the arousal trickling down her inner thigh. The primal bluntness of walking into a room and wordlessly sucking a man off, the kingdom's most powerful man, turned her liquid. Or maybe it was the anticipation. She'd always fantasized pleasing a man so thoroughly it left him empty but infatuated and irrepressibly hard, but she'd never had the nerve to try. Yes. she intended to leave this man very pleased indeed. Then she might please herself with him.

She nodded on his cock and rubbed him into her, trying to express eagerness with every dip and tug. Large hands rested on her head. She tensed, thinking he might force her down, but his pressure was light, almost adoring. Sure enough, he stroked her like a favored pet, down her hair, her back, over her bottom. She planted her feet wider, encouraging his caresses between her legs. Her knees trembled.

She sucked and rubbed briskly but was unprepared for what happened when the king discovered the slickness of her inner thighs. His cock quivered on her tongue and stiffened. He made a strangled grunt and tapped her head three times, just as he had for Charlotte. He arched. Tapped again, almost desperately.

Belle giggled, sucked on.

A stifled roar, and thick, hot jets filled her mouth so frantically she couldn't swallow quickly enough. So she let him spill; men loved that anyway. She angled into the moonbeam so he might see, caught his eye, and blinked with all the dirty innocence she could muster. He glowed, all-powerful, but with each jerk and each pump of his essence, with each salty, silky gulp of it, she felt his power move from him, into her. How much would he crave her now? And more importantly, what would he give for it? She laughed again, drunk on him; no, drunk on herself. Her hips warmed, her clit tingled.

The king spasmed under her like a dying pigeon in the jaws of a cat. She sucked him past his over-sensitized twitching, until he flagged, then didn't stop until he swelled against her palate once more. It was actually happening. She was sucking his spent cock hard again. Having her deepest fantasy manifested, especially with such a fantasy man, made her feel lost in a dream. Still, the very second he moaned and rocked needily at her mouth, she reigned herself in. She kissed his taut bulb and, even as her hole clamored for satisfaction, turned to leave.

The Demise of Madam Coutreau.

 

He grabbed her hand. "Thank you, Belle."

She curtseyed.

He still had her hand. "You're very wet."

She sucked cum off her bottom lip and relished the flick of his eye, watching her. She shrugged. "I love my job."

The boulders-in-a-bag-noise. So that was a laugh, then. "None of my staff ever say that."

"Then you have the wrong staff."

No response. She'd gone too far. She cleared her throat, still thick with his taste. "And I can't help it, Your Majesty is very sexy. I'm only human."

His phallus bobbed graciously at the compliment. "Is there; something else I might do for you?"

She might have thought this a dismissal, but the king squeezed her hand. His gaze latched to her hips, his cock bucked. The rumors about this man were true. He was insatiable. She'd push her luck again, see where it led.

Belle stepped close to where his movie-star head lay on the pillow, as if his gaze reeled her sex toward him, when it was the reverse. She'd use her dripping cunt to lure and net this glamorous leviathan.

She set her hips so close to his reclined face, his sigh heated her folds. She placed a foot on his bedside table, or rather on the large, leather book there: his bible. Her bare toes looked debauched on the embossed gold cross. "I think you'd like to lick me, sire."

His eyes widened, yet softened. Puppy dog eyes. He swallowed. Belle bit down on the urge to laugh omnipotently. She opened her pussy lips to him instead, one slavering beast to another.

He leant toward her. She swung her hips away from him. He flicked a scowl.

"You've made me very horny, sire. I'll burst quickly. Would you like me to come on your mouth?"

Rumble.

"I'd like to." Belle dug a finger into her sopping hole, slid out and stirred at her clit. She shivered showily. Chuckled.

The king leant toward her again, and she dodged again. He grumbled. She surveyed his muscular, animal form laid below her. Naked, he was more carthorse than king. She gathered her juices and slid slippery fingers over his cock until it glistened in the moonlight. "I'd love to come on this. Would you like to sire me, sire?"

The king seemed to collapse into a lascivious silence. His wife had made them promise to: "eat each other senseless, but neither kiss nor fuck." His dick nodded at her fingertips, secretly answering for him.

He slid his face closer to her cunt. She rubbed herself quickly over him.

He glowered. "You want me or not, woman?"

Belle sighed. "Very much, Your Majesty." She dug two fingers in and out of herself in a way that always pleased the viewer more than her hole. She pretended to take herself to the brink, took a deep breath and withdrew her fingers. "Yet I resist." She wiped her wetness across the king's lips. His basey hum vibrated the room.

"I bet you'd like all your staff to enjoy working for you as much as I." She watched his tongue slide over her fingers, suckle on them. Good boy. "Hmm?"

"Um-hmm."

"If I was your housekeeper, I would;” She dragged her hand from his mouth, stirred her bud. "Fix it for you."

He grabbed her hips. "Enough, woman. Give me your cunt." He tried to nuzzle past her busy hands, but she was in full flow, her sex caged by self-pleasuring fingers. She whimpered, tremored.

"Ok, Ok," he blustered. "I'll consider it."

Belle grasped his head, yanked it to her mound.

"Good." He covered her sex in hot kisses. "When I'm done; you may receive; my seed; again."

"Thank you, Your Majesty, I would love that." Which, of course was not an actual agreement.

"Really?" He buried his face in her wet cunt. "Oh God; thank you. Thank; Yum."

Belle let the king finish her, then left him alone in his bed even more rigid than when he'd called her. She deferred the offer to "receive" him one more time. Not because she didn't want to, but because he wanted it much more than she and that suited her better. Instead, she suggested he take the air with her the next day, and that, if he brought Madam Couteau's palace keys, she would grant his heart's desire. She even sealed it with a promise. "I would empty a man who trusted me. Drain him twice. Three times. Even that might not be enough to satisfy me. I'd make a king feel like a god. Your Majesty will need his rest tonight."

Belle woke to a commotion amongst the palace staff. It looked like the king had kept his word. From her little window on the village she watched Madam Couteau stride away, alone and bagless. She looked pitiful and small and that made Belle want to cheer. The woman left a curious energy in the household. A few trudged about as if preparing a funeral, but for most it was Christmas. When Belle left to meet the king for their picnic, cook gave her a basket of sandwiches and a bottle of wine, and then kissed Belle's cheek.

As the king sauntered into the rose garden to meet her, he looked dressed for a date: a pristine white shirt, mirror polished shoes, and linen trousers much distorted at the crotch. But his Brando smolder, cracked by a hopeful smirk, was what weakened Belle's knees.

"My Lady." He produced the hoop of keys from behind him, bowed and presented them like the heart of a dragon he'd slayed in her honor. "I hope you won't be too busy to answer my call from now on?"

Belle grabbed the keys as if they were to heaven itself. Which they were. She dropped them into the picnic basket. "My mother and I will share duties, sire. She'll be at your service during the day, and I will service you at night."

The king clapped, laughed. "And what if the queen or I have need of you in the daytime?"

Belle took his arm. "Then that's my lucky day."

To be continued. Based on a post by A Big Cat, for Literotica.

Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 3.

The King and Belle enter the forest of fantasies.

Based on a post by A Big Cat. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Silently, Belle and the King sauntered away from the castle toward the woods, their footsteps guided only by an instinct for privacy. Belle was glad she'd dressed lightly in one of the wardrobe's many slip dresses; a shoulder-fastening grey silk number; because the spring afternoon was hot, and the king's leonine presence even hotter.

She squeezed his hard bicep. "Well you've granted me my wish, have you considered yours, Your Majesty?"

The king smirked. "I've considered little else. But now you have the keys to the kingdom, I fear you'll deny me again."

"Sir, if I deny you, it's only to whet your appetite. I always keep my;  no." Belle stopped walking, feigning irritation. "I won't have you doubting me." She looked about. They were still well within sight of the castle, and the windows busy with passing staff.

Oh let them see. Let them know her efforts.

She reached up her skirt, hooked thumbs in the lacy waist of her panties and wriggled them down. She stepped out of them, presenting him the cream silk just as he had the keys. "A token of my commitment to your wish."

He nodded, took the garment, and put it in his pocket. "Let me show you a secret place."

The air under her skirt felt wild and deliciously rude. As they carried on walking, he put his arm around her and rested his hand lightly on her bottom. She felt conscious of every unfettered wobble against his fingers.

The walked for some time deep into the cool dim of the pine-carpeted forest. Then a single cherry tree seemed to pop out of nowhere, heavy with blossom and lit stark white against the black and green by a single shaft of sunlight.

"This is the Love Tree. My forebears planted it. They say five generations of kings were conceived in its shade. Even I." The king patted the trunk. "Come. Feel."

Belle stroked the satiny bark stretched taut over the trunk. It made her think of the king's erection. The light in his eye suggested he knew this.

"My wish is simple." He rummaged in his pocket, pulled out her underwear. "I want you to hold onto the Love Tree. No matter what happens."

She slid her hands up and down it. "Like this?"

He snorted, walking around her, putting the tree between them. "I fear you may still deny me my wish." He looped the underwear over her hands, and with a quick flourish tied them in a knot. She might've resisted but chose not to. The silk felt excitingly out of place on her wrists and being restrained, at the king's mercy, made her stomach flip.

He sauntered behind her, raised her skirt, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her knee wobbled. The breeze fanned the skin of her exposed rear, while his eyes seemed to heat it. She'd only appeared naked for him in the dark. This would be his first clear sight of her. A long moment passed and she fought the urge to cross her legs.

"You have a damn fine rump." He stroked her, slapped her lightly. Then again. He squeezed her as if testing fruit.

"Thah-thank you, sir."

He rumbled, pressed his front to her back. His trousers sported a bludgeon.

The king chortled. "Since I didn't call you with our bell today, because we meet at your convenience, I decided I should, instead, ring you, Belle. Three times."

"This sounds more my wish than yours, sir." She wriggled her bottom at his lump. "What of your pleasure?"

"This afternoon, your pleasure is mine." He reached his hand up the front of her skirt, and gripped her lightly between the legs. She felt cupped in a warm, leather saddle. His squeezed her like a sponge. "Christ almighty, woman, are you always wet?"

"Only in your presence, sir. And your queen's." She wound her hips at the thick digits skating around her sex. He lacked his wife's accuracy but the blunt manliness of his grip compensated for grace. She melted over him. Her eyes drooped.

He pressed lips to her ear. "Look at me."

She cast her best glassy stare over her shoulder.

He cursed, shoved his hips at her bottom. "Damn those eyes."

The man seemed on a hair trigger, how would he "ring" her even once without exploding in his trousers, let alone three times? She prepared to fake some orgasms. It was very important he feel rewarded today.

Then he set his jaw, coiled his free arm around her waist, and got organized. Gone was his male fumbling, now he did what his wife must've taught him. He worked her clit with his palm and thumb while a finger explored deep inside. She'd had cocks smaller than his middle digit, and was glad for his grip on her waist as his fingers unhooked her joints. She was weightless as a doll, draped over his arm.

A fever came over her, a wave of dizziness from the cool, pine breeze, his pale grey eyes, from his woody scent and his woody limbs, from the invisible plunge and wriggle between her legs. She dug her hips at his digging and his bulge. Her eyelids were iron shutters, too heavy to hold open. When she turned imploring glances up at him, his outline fizzled. A smile tugged the corner of his lips. A fireball flared in her hips. She was too hot. Her cunt was on fire and she couldn't cover it or fan it.

All she could do was burst.

Her cry scattered crows from the trees. She grunted and ground on the king's deft, insistent fingers, her weight entirely, easily, held in his one arm while he drew more and more pleasure from her like a magician tugging trick scarves from his hat.

Dimly she became aware of her feet dangling. She found this hilarious. She laughed as he put her down and removed his hand. She settled into his solid, but tender embrace.

He offered her his fingers. "One, my lady."

She sucked her familiar taste from him. He licked his fingers with her, causing illicit, electric clashes of their tongues, and a pull to their lips. She inhaled his sigh, and he inhaled hers; the ghosts of forbidden kisses floating from mouth to mouth. Her lips nibbled at his. He pulled back.

His breath billowed hot on her neck and she was glad she'd tied her hair up this morning. He unfastened the bows on her shoulders and her dress slipped to her feet. He removed it, stepped away, and outside his embrace, her vulnerability was complete. Every millimeter of her body was exposed to the sun and air and the king's scrutiny.

He hung her dress on a branch like a battle banner, and prowled about her naked form. His features were implacable, eyes slits. She was familiar with the serious, almost cruel, expressions of aroused men. Their eyes darkened and retreated as they ate the sight of her. Usually she relished the supremacy she felt, teasing their hunger with intimate glimpses, and she'd felt all-powerful in the moonlight the night before, but here in the stark sun and the cool breeze, tied to a tree in front of a king, her confidence waned.

A life of one meal a day had left her limbs thinner than the queen's creamy form. Next to Charlotte's kittenish curves, Belle was a gazelle. When the king unabashedly took in her tight little tits, it was as if he compared them to Charlotte's bouncing abundancy. The queen's ribs didn't protrude, and Belle's belly was used to emptiness and flat as a board, not sensually soft. Then his wandering eye snagged at the pubic hair atop her pronounced mound and Belle wanted to hide. He tilted his head and stared at it. She kept her curls neat, and lips bare, but now Belle worried he preferred his waxed-bald queen. The king cleared his throat, mesmerized by her lower half, and suddenly her wet thighs were shameful. She rested one foot on the other, drew her knees tight and curled her hips back to tuck her sex away. She slid her hands down the tree trunk to settle in front of her and fought the urge to slip from the shackles' silky hold and cover herself properly.

He bit the inside of his cheek. Was he enjoying intimidating her? This would not do.

Fortified by irritation, she regarded him back, coolly, from his smirk to his ridiculously tented trousers. She bit her lip and pictured his erection bursting free of its cage, plundering her salivating mouth and hole. Her dirty thoughts were so vivid she must have projected them. He shifted awkwardly.

"See what you do to me, woman?" He approached the tree until his bulge rested against her wrists. "I've known many, many lovers. None make me this hard." She fanned her hands to cup him. Jesus, he was like a length of scaffold. She squeezed. His eyes widened and he jerked back.

Belle shrugged. "No more gawping, your majesty. Ring me again." She smiled. "With that hammer;”

He puffed out a long, growly breath, folded his arms.

"Please." Swallowing all her inhibitions, she willed one leg to wrap around the satiny-rough bark. She rocked her hips at the tree trunk like some kind of wood nymph pole dancer. It felt quite nice, but not as nice as her faked sigh made it seem.

 

 

The king blinked slowly. She could almost hear him screaming inside, "Calm!"

He strolled behind her, but his torment made her brave. She had nothing to hide. She stood proud under his inspection, sensing now that her lithe nakedness, her blushed skin, her tight nipples and dripping sex made him dizzy with lust. This man worshipped her, and she could burst him without even touching him, without even looking at him. She joggled her bottom. He groaned. She chuckled even though her skin tingled, every hair on end, straining for the touch that was sure to come.

His kiss hit her neck like a soft explosion.

However it was his whisper, "Perfection!" that threatened to undo her on the spot. Everyone should have this said to them once or twice, preferably while naked and tied to a tree.

He kissed along the dip of her spine and she found herself gripping the trunk for support. His mouth moved down her body and she placed her feet wider. She was wet to her knees and didn't even know that was possible. Far from shame, now this brought expectancy, and then even more liquid.

The king's shadow knelt behind her. She stood on tip-toes, tipped up her hips, displaying her need.

"My God," he burst. He gripped her bottom, pulled it to his face.

He nibbled and kissed her ass. She bent lower, to show him where that mouth was needed, but he avoided her buzzing clit. Annoyingly, he seemed most fascinated with her juices, slipping his fingers up and down the tracks on her legs. She guessed Charlotte was never this aroused by him. Perhaps none of his concubines were. This suited her plan well, so she indulged him, and tried to sigh off the jangling little alarm bell between her legs. However, when he ran a rough tongue up her inner thigh, she groaned.

"Steady, woman." His voice was all grin. "You cleaned me, remember? A gentleman always returns a favor."

She sagged against the tree, wedged her shoulder to it, and opened her legs as wide as she could. This elicited a boulder snigger, then a bristly chin shoved between her thighs to press his lips to her vulva.

Damn the silk shackles. She wanted to spread to him, see to her itchy spot herself. The man was in no hurry. He played with her lips, stroking, kissing, holding back his tongue, nipping at her labia and clit hood. She bent over deeper, and he nuzzled under, hunching his massive form to fit beneath her. She felt her cunt lips slip open around his tongue as he probed and tasted, but only his bottom lip grazed her clit, leaving it to hum for now.

"P-please, your majesty." Goodness, she sounded like a bleating lamb. "Eat me."

Another tectonic chortle. The heat of his mouth disappeared, and he opened her lips like a book. Studied her. Unfortunately, it seemed she was a riveting read. He opened and closed her, rubbed her labia together, it seemed to persuade more juice from her judging by his occasional hot snorts of approval.

She wriggled her hips and cursed, her tied wrists around the tree's roots. Perhaps the king deliberately mistook her body language, because instead of giving her what she wanted, he parted her bottom cheeks. A slippery fairy danced circles around her anus. She yelped, wriggled a hand loose from her shackles to cover herself, then paused. The dirty, wet tickle seemed to unhook something in her. Some last tension or inhibition, released. She melted, groaned, and gave over to him, to her body, completely.

As if someone had finally found the right key for the right lock, at long last her clit was bathed in warmth. He lapped at her without his wife's skill, but with a firm, steady rhythm. She bent double, folded to maneuver her clit into his mouth, but he was still too big to fit between her thighs. He turned over to sit, leaning back on his hands between her feet. She could see him now. He sparkled up at her, eating like she was a juice-laden monster cherry he'd plucked from the tree, his cheeks and chin a mess, lapping and sucking her clit with his single-speed incessant lick. She wound on his face, as if eating him, not vice versa.

She enjoyed this notion of consuming him. She bore down, crouching lower, until he was completely on his back and she was indecently spread on him, queening his face.

That was better. Now she could control where his tireless tongue stimulated. She shut her eyes and relaxed, squatting on his warm mouth, possessed with the image of some silky sea creature slipping about her hyper-sensitive nooks and crannies.

He groaned first.

She sighed off her swelling bliss and opened her eyes to find his shut below her, lost in his own animal pleasure. He groaned again, louder. It thrummed her like a violin. She looked over her shoulder to check his trousers, which looked comically like a woodland creature had got in there. She wished she could release it. As if reading her mind, he unzipped his fly and hauled his hard meat into the fresh air.

His excitement doubled hers. A gorgeous tension flared in her core, sucked bigger and wider by the king's hungry mouth. His cock rocked, dripped, and his hips thrust at the air. He rumbled under her. Would he spurt there and then, just like that, just from licking her?

The image tore through her: his lovely spunk shooting all over his elegant, laundered shirt, splattering hot up her back, uncontrollable in his desire for her. Her hips spasmed and she was glad of the tree to hang onto. He sucked her clit, tugging it deeper into wet heat, and even the king's big, dumb tongue worked with a fluidity nothing else could match. It felt like a flickering, wet flame. She juddered again, then suddenly that's all she was, a bloom of fire, pedaling inside out and inside out and inside out again. A vixen screeched somewhere deep in the woods, or perhaps that was her, primally splayed and shaking on the king's mouth, on his deep, bone shaking, hums of pleasure.

She wiped herself around his slimy chin, puffing tremoring breaths, then stubbed out the last of her orgasm, splodging his face while they giggled.

He winked. "Two, my lady."

There was only one thing she needed now. She heaved to her feet, slid her tied-up tree hug along the trunk, and tipped up her bottom. "Fuck me, your majesty."

He wiped his wrist across his face, but lay where he was, between her feet, his cock dancing and his brow wrinkled. "Belle; "

"You promised me three orgasms. Fuck me."

"No. You will come sucking me."

"I'll come with you in me, but this end." She jiggled. "And you won't come until I say."

"Woman! I am your king; "

"You are a beautiful cock. Fuck me." She stamped her foot. "Now."

He rolled to his feet. His shadow loomed over her, departed, returned. He grumbled. Something like a hot lemon wedged against her slot, rested there. She pushed back against it, lodged the tip at her entrance. It didn't retreat. She eased onto it with a lascivious shock at how much she needed to stretch, and keep stretching, to accommodate him.

Once she had a grip on his hard bell, she smiled over her shoulder. "I'll tap you three times, then you can come." She took more of him in, glad she was wet and loose from her last two orgasms; he filled her so completely it forced her breath out.

The king stood to attention, neither pushing nor pulling away, and Belle understood. Let the betrayal be hers. She rocked back at him until she was stuffed to the brink and, mercifully, his hips met her bottom. They moaned together. So this was how a man was supposed to feel. She felt more worn than penetrated, stretched over him like a perfectly fitting dress. She writhed, relishing every cell of her softness gloved to every cell of his hardness. The king cursed and could stay still no longer. He gripped her hips and slid out, and for a sinking moment she thought he would leave, but he plunged back in, forcing a squeak from her. Then again, and again and she braced and each powerful thrust pumped more joy into her. His perfect dick lit her up brighter with each stroke, fizzing along her skin to her fingertips and toes, then back again to be doubled up by the next thrust.

She turned to him, grinned through tousled hair, but could hardly form a smile for panting. His face was stoic. Serious. She grunted, shuddered to a halt. He moved her hips for her, his power and control jamming hard and deep but never too deep. And even though she was too full of him, she still cried out, "Yes, yes, yes;” He pumped her lungs, her heart, to bursting and then crammed more joy in, and more and it doubled and redoubled and she yelped, thrust back greedily, a feeding frenzy, even though it was too much, too delicious, and she was tight as a drum and still more came and more and more;

She lifted onto her toes, squealed.

And burst into a billion tiny stars.

But her juggernaut king drove on, rammed her off her feet, shoved gasp after gasp from her. He tossed her from her own skin, like there was no room for her ghost now. Too much. Too good. Too;

Oblivion.

 

 

She roused bouncing, cackling, every joint slack, every muscle warm and floppy as the king rammed her up and down on his cock. His movements grew spasmodic. His hips slapped her bottom and for a delirious, dreamy blink she wanted him to come in her, but her instinct intervened. She slipped her hands from her shackles, and slipped off his cock. He carried on shoving, unable to stop. She swiveled, dropped to her knees, stuffed his slippery meat into her mouth.

He stiffened, gnashed his teeth. Placed his hands on her head.

A wickedness tickled her. She unsuckered from him. "No. Wait."

He snarled, screwed his eyes shut.

"Wait;” She said as if to a dog. While his perineum fluttered like a bird's heart, and he made strangled noises, she calmly licked her drooling juices from his balls, running a flat, cleaning tongue up his quivering rod. She sniggered, lapped under his bulb, fluttered her eyelashes. "What do you say?"

He juddered. His fists clenched, every muscle, every vein on his body flexed to bursting point. "Please. My Lady. Please."

She tipped her mouth over his end, and slapped his arse three times.

Then braced for the gorgeous flood of power.

The queen returned to a new kingdom. When her Rolls Royce rolled through the streets, people gathered to throw petals over her, a band played, and children sang songs.

Queen Charlotte stepped from the car and into her king's arms looking visibly shaken. The new palace staff formed a circle about them and cheered.

He explained Belle's discovery. Madam Couteau's keys revealed many secret rooms, including storerooms crammed with produce, filing cabinets crammed with orders and a safe crammed with gold. Madam Couteau and her cohort had been increasing the taxes behind their backs. If the taxes were paid, Couteau paid the monarchs what they expected and pocketed the difference. When the taxes increasingly couldn't be paid, Couteau took the villagers' produce and sold it on to the kingdom's old buyers.

By royal decree (Though the queen guessed it was more likely Belle's decree) the stockpiled produce and stolen profits were divided amongst the townspeople, who were re-united with their old buyers. The king was happy with the same royal taxes he always received, as none of Madam Couteau's profit every reached the royals anyway.

Queen Charlotte hugged Belle hard, clasped her face and covered her cheeks in kisses. The king wrapped them both in his big arms and Belle felt like the filling in a very expensive sandwich.

Their bodies gravitated toward the royal chambers. "And how have you two managed without me?" Charlotte's hand stroked the small of Belle's back, downward. "Have you enjoyed yourselves?"

Belle shrugged. "Your husband is an adequate lover, Madam. But I missed you. It takes a woman to know a woman."

The king smacked her left arse cheek. The queen squeezed her right.

Belle chuckled. "I think your majesties deserve a nice bath." She said this even as she led them away from the private quarters, toward the doors to palace's public balcony. "And perhaps I might be allowed to treat myself; by treating you both?"

One purr. One growl.

"After you've greeted your subjects of course."

She threw open doors to the roar of thousands.

More to the story.

You'd think that was the end of Belle's story, but it wasn't. Of course they lived happily ever after and all that, and Belle eventually left with their royal blessing to forge her own life as the head of the world's most exclusive finishing school.

But my reason for telling you this story is the following. One last thing Belle told me that got me so hot and bothered last night I had to; well, you know. Twice actually.

A year after Belle saved the kingdom, the subject of a royal heir came up. The queen, preferring women, did not want, "The king's batter beast running riot in my little froufrou." The king, who enjoyed fucking Belle a great deal, wanted to impregnate her on the queen's behalf, and often. Belle didn't want a baby at that time and always took precautions.

Yet nine months later the queen had triplets.

Belle told me how.

One morning, they were playing in the mirrored dressing room between the royal bathrooms. The room was like an inside out jewel, octagonal and mirrored on every surface, including the ceiling, except for a roof light. The only furniture was a large, teal velvet chaise set in the middle of the space. This was Belle's favorite place for sex. So much so she had a pull-chord installed, connected to bells in the king and queen's private bedchambers so she could call them to her whenever she needed them.

She'd called them that morning, in fact. And lay waiting, naked on the chaise. The royal pair arrived from their ablutions, naked and wet; and hard;  and they commenced their happy dance.

As usual, Charlotte hopped onto the chaise and settled on Belle's mouth. The king sat at Belle's feet and watched his wife get licked while he stroked his wood. Belle opened her legs to let the king see her excitement grow, but wouldn't let him touch her. The Queen watched from every angle.

When Belle patted their bottoms, they swapped. Belle stayed regally reclined, but shuffled up to rest her head on the seatback as the king stood beside it to offer his manhood to her mouth. The queen watched, stroking her sparkling clit, and Belle licked and sucked her husband. Belle opened her legs to let Charlotte watch her excitement grow, but wouldn't let the queen touch her. The king watched from every angle.

The royals loved Belle's mouth, and they loved her wholesome beauty on their rude places, but they loved Belle's arousal more. Perhaps it's a fantasy of all who are served that their servants take extreme pleasure in serving them. Perhaps everyone likes to be adored, and Belle dripped with adoration. So much, one would wonder who was pleasing who.

There was the usual hysterics as they royal couple fought to get "first bite" of Belle. She stood over them, then, stroking their heads, while they knelt at her feet. One licked from the front and one from behind and Belle, by bending forward or back, could control whose mouth got most of her. She could never last long and her cackling climax always threatened to undo one of the royal couple, usually Charlotte on either her own or her husband's fingers, or she'd leap up and beg for her turn "in the tongue sandwich.”

They did the king last. In that way Belle and Charlotte could lie him out first, and have their fun on his cock and face, even if Belle; whilst being licked; would sixty-nine him to pretend her mouth was Charlotte's sex, while his wife rode Belle's fingers like a cock. The conceit drove drive the royals mad. It was very touching, and a little sad, that they loved each other so much, but couldn't express it directly to each other without Belle. Not that Belle was complaining.

All yummy of course, but this one morning, Belle wanted to try something different. Instead of sucking the king's essence from him, she tapped their arses to change position again. She lay Queen Charlotte upside down on the chaise, her hips on the back rest, so she could sixty-nine the woman. Of course, the king liked the look of this very much, but even more when Belle wiggled her bottom for him to fuck her doggy style while his wife licked them both.

They kept it going as long as they could, which wasn't very long. The king puffed calming breaths and repeatedly jammed his happy monster into Belle's happy hole. He even held back when Charlotte slurped him as he fucked, then through his wife's orgasm under Belle, and even through Belle's screaming climax on the king's cock and the queen's tongue.

Only then did Belle pat his hip, pat-pat-pat, and beckon him to her face.

He darted around the chaise to Belle's mouth and she guzzled him in. Not a moment too soon as after all his wife's licking and Belle's soft wet cunt, he was bursting. He filled her in frantic spurts, and Belle milked every drop, careful not to swallow or to spill and not letting him go until he was flaccid. But instead of carrying on until he was hard again as usual, she discarded him.

To dribble still-warm sperm into his wife's spread, wet hole.

The king and queen laughed. The queen even climaxed one more time under Belle's gooey, lapping tongue, and this stirred the king again.

So Belle sucked him again, and filled his wife again. And again.

Three times all together. Naturally.

So that's what got me hot and bothered this morning. Licking, and being licked by, a beautiful woman (yes, Diary I am a woman of catholic tastes) while a thickly endowed, powerful man, attended to my hole.

Sigh.

Diary, one last note. It's the middle of the night in the drawing room. Bill is snoring on the chesterfield beside me, naked. By which I mean he's naked. Though so am I. After work, I ran him a bath, and cooked him a meal (beans on toast) and led him in here to read him today's entry.

It's a long story, and he liked it a lot. Early on, when Belle first displayed herself to her queen in the bath, I acted out her position as I read. I stood opposite him and put my foot on the sofa seat beside him.

 

 

We were both still clothed then. (Though remember my cheekiness beneath my dress.) Well, when the queen dropped to her knees to adore Belle's bits, so did Bill! Rather, he told me not to stop reading, and lifted my skirt.

I felt like one of his blooms being inspected and my voice wobbled. I wondered if I could read while he licked me, while I came, but he kept me waiting. He dropped my skirt, then removed his clothes.

Log, diary, he sports a log.

I don't know what's more exciting, that I aroused this man with my physicality or with my story.

While I stimulated him with my words, he unbuttoned my dress and removed it so my body stimulated him, too. I stood before the fire, naked, reading, and he kissed me from jaw to neck then shoulders and tits and in a slow spiral, round and round me to my feet. We haven't even snogged yet. All the while he snorted or rumbled over some detail in my tale. All the while his leathery fingertips traced his kisses. All the while, Diary, I dripped for him.

Then he was at my feet, which I'd planted wide, obvs, and he glinted up at the state of me with his icy blue-diamond eyes and sexy-rough smirk. Then, at the moment Belle let the king lick her, he kissed my cunt and my legs wobbled so fiercely he picked me up and plonked me here on the Chesterfield. Diary, he opened my knees, then kissed and licked me throughout the rest of my story, complaining if I stopped, and stopping if he thought I might come.

He stayed there, teasing me up and down. He's very curious, kissing and licking and fingering me, testing what I like and where. He only let me come when I'd got right to the end. He clapped my story, then, as if calling upon all he'd learned from his experiments while I was reading, burst me on his mouth so hard I passed out. When I woke I found him lying on me, his head prickling my belly, drooling, erect.

And I've written all this extra bit and he's still asleep and still hard. Do you think it's rude I didn't return his favor?

It is, isn't it? Very rude.

Forgive me Diary, let me just;

Diary day two.

Oh my. What a very long day. And night.

Diary, let me pick up right from where I left you yesterday.

Remember, I'd read my first diary entry to my most excellently muscular and well-endowed gardener, Bill. While I read to him, he rewarded my dirty scribbles by attending me dirtily between the legs with his fingers and mouth. Note, just his fingers and mouth. All the while, his great veiny cock was rigid and I didn't get to visit him because I was busy reading and, anyway, a girl likes to see a man enjoying his work. Then, remember, I came so hard I blacked out. I didn't even know that was a thing, so it was quite a shock. So what's missing with this porno picture? Exactly. A shag. Oh and his release too, but mostly I was missing a shag. I guess he wasn't likely to shove it in me while I was comatose, thank goodness he's a gentleman, but then he nodded off waiting for me to wake up, bless him.

So that's where I left you. Both of us naked in the drawing room, fire still crackling, us lying along the Chesterfield with his head lolled on my belly.

His cock, still half hard, nudged and rolled on his belly as he slept. I felt I'd treated him rudely, not pleasuring him the way he had me, so decided I'd do him now.

Ok, if I'm honest, I wanted to sit on that brutish club, repeatedly. But he was going to come before I was finished with him, one way or the other.

So, I carefully squirmed out from under him, and knelt on the rug by his hips. He could be harder. I kissed his cock head. Now, I've got a very big mouth and lips and they must have been too soft for him to feel because he didn't stir. So I did it again, and again, up and down him. Delicious. I kissed his balls, and the bit where his balls met his staff. That got a groan from him.

My toes curled, and I suppressed a cackle. I couldn't imagine what he must be dreaming and wondered how it felt, this warm, moist, plumping all over his nethers. I swathed my tongue up and down him and, weirdly, kind of felt an echo of it between my own legs. Licking him was making me madly horny.

I've given a few blowjobs in my time, not as many as you might think, or as many as I'd like, but they've always achieved their goal: I get someone ready for rumpy. Sometimes, for particularly lucky someones, I've not been able to stop myself and they've made an unholy mess. (I've much to say on that subject and will come back to it, mark my words.) And I know, Bill had sorted me out good and proper with his gob so I really should've returned that specific favor, but what can I say? He was so sexy he made me feel selfish.

Anyway, I'm ahead of myself. I lapped his great rod and checked his reaction to find his eyes glittering at me. He smirked and my ears and cheeks blazed like a virgin. Jesus, I even giggled. He tucked his hands behind his head to watch me, and that's why my "suck or fuck" dilemma suddenly became so important. Everything about his body language was settling back to enjoy the ride, and why shouldn't he? But my thigh-tops were slippy. I was salivating down there. I was still hungry.

I'm such a cow, I loved him glowing down at me so much that I took his end into my mouth while I stared into his eyes. I've got wicked eyes and he gulped. Diary, I hummed. I loved that he thought I wanted to suck him off! I gave him a proper going over. I Nodded and slurped just as I was taught. (Yes I promise I'll come back to that too.)

Now he could hardly keep his eyes open. He rumbled, "Oh Madam. Madam" and I didn't correct him because in this impolite context his politeness made me actually drip. Diary, I rubbed him into my mouth! Two hands!

What does that body language say, hmm? I was performing for him, I guess. I wanted him overwhelmed by the anticipation of coming in my mouth and me loving it. That thought overwhelmed me too, but ironically got me so horny it made me want to fuck; not suck; forever. I'm such a slutty tease, I know. That was exciting too.

His fists clenched, and muscles bulged all across his chest and shoulders, his abs knotted.

My cunt clasped in frustration. I couldn't resist any longer. I hopped up, threw a leg over his hips, spread my cunt lips with one hand, gripped him with the other. My hole was almost groaning! I nudged his hard end at my mythically slippery hole. And God he was so hard, so hot.

That's when he covered himself. "No, Madam."

I slapped his hand away.

He tried to shuffle out from under me. "Madam, that's not a good idea. I've no protection."

"Pill." I gripped his cock, lunged my hips at it.

He grimaced. "They don't always work."

"I'll get one of my rubbers. Don't move."

"Condoms always split for me, Madam."

"Bash. Bash. For fuck sake call me; what do you mean they always;” Stupid question. Bill had the biggest dick I'd ever seen, not freakish but in proportion to his larger-than-most frame. And I couldn't ride it!

I growled, clawed my hair. "Fuck sake." I waddled up his torso. "Eat me again. Then I'll suck you off. But Bill, this really is the most; "

That's when Father's car crunched up the gravel outside.

We rushed about, gathering clothes, keeping our heads down because the shutters were still open. Bill, pale and instantly limp, bolted out the back like a burglar. I huffed up the stairs to my room.

But not before I left you, Diary, on the hallway floor, pages open like a primed bear trap.

In my bedroom, I frustratedly fingered myself, squatting over a hand mirror that I pretended was Bill's face. An insane horsey laugh came from downstairs. Jules. Father had brought his party boy home.

Oh, no.

I clasped my soggy folds and blushed all over. I didn't mind opening up to Father, in fact I wanted to torture him, but Jules is funny and cool. We're kind of friends because he's my age. As far as I know, the last few months with him has been as close as Father's ever got to a relationship since I was born and mummy died. Not that it's a relationship as such. It's Jules that refers to himself as Father's party boy. He even charges Father a thousand pounds an orgasm. "His or mine, darling, same price!"

So that loud laugh could've been Jules laughing at you, poor Diary. God it was just too awful.

 

 

Some banging around downstairs, more hilarity from Jules, then silence. The front door slammed. Gravel sprayed as father gunned his fuckwit James Bond sports car up the drive.

I curled up on my bed, wondering should I warn Bill, when there was a knock on my door. It could only be him. Naked, I jumped to it, threw it open. "Bill you've; oh!"

"Oh!" Jules covered his eyes. "Sweetie, please."

I grabbed a bed sheet, wrapped it around me. Jules prowled in; he's the kind of man that prowls everywhere. He clocked my hand mirror on the floor, swept it up and handed it to me with a smirk. He didn't say a word but his eyes were all-knowing.

"Oh I must've dropped it." I put it on the bedstead, only then noticing the syrupy drips I'd made all over it. I am debauched. I will go to hell.

"You're in the poo, Bashie." He sat on my bed and crossed his legs, looking all cheek-bones and fabulous in his Saville Row and a shaft of moonlight, like a Bowie video. He produced my diary from his jacket pocket.

I groaned. "Did you;”

"Yup." He slapped my bottom, squealing with laughter. "Dirty, dirty girl!"

I covered my face.

He tore my hands away. "Listen to me, tart. I loved it, and yes I want to visit Bill; as intimately as he'll let me; but Daddy's gone biblical. He's called the police."

"What?"

"Duh, he owns them remember? But worse, he's driven straight to Bill's."

Typical Father to drive to the bloody gatehouse. It's only a ten minute walk.

Jules's jaw dropped. More slaps. "So get your knickers on!"

Jules and I ran to the gatehouse, but the flashing blue lights were already there. Two policeman lead Bill from his front door. He was handcuffed and wouldn't look me in the eye.

Father watched, smiling like a shark. "Bathsheba, darling. Are you Okay? We got the bastard." He put his fat little arm around me. He smelled of whiskey and cigars. As usual. "Jules you shouldn't have brought her here."

Jules leant into Father's ear, seemed to whisper some entreaty. Father shoved him aside. He waved his finger in Bill's face. He had to reach up to do it. "Predator! You will regret taking advantage of an innocent. That's rape, you know." Spittle flew from his mouth. He wiped it with his sleeve. "My daughter's young for her age. That's what you like, isn't it? I bet you like them young. You know what prison does to men like you?"

I stepped between Father and Bill. "I'm twenty-two!"

He laughed. Slapped a policeman on the back. "Tell the commissioner I'll see him at the club."

They bundled Bill into the back of the car. He caught my eye as they shut the door, and bless my gentle man, he mouthed, "Sorry."

"Little tip for you." Jules walked me back to the house across wet lawns. "You should've sucked that man off. Not for him, for you. And"; he curls a lip; "flicked yourself off while you did it. Everybody happy. Nobody frustrated and angry and wanting to hurt their fathers."

I punched him hard in the arm, but he was right. For all my whining, there was no way I'd have really left my diary for Father to find if I'd been clear-headed.

Damn Father. It was typical of him to read you, Diary, and totally choose to miss my point. And then revenge himself by taking away the thing I want. The man I crave.

Ugh. Two hours later, and I'm still awake. I can't get poor Bill out of my head, locked in a cell, because of me. And worse, I still want him. Even more for being denied. Father's gone back to the city with Jules. He won't take my calls. The police have told me not to contact them again.

Come daylight I'll go to the police station. I won't move until sweet Bill is released. If necessary I'll let the whole bloody station read you, Diary, so they know that none of this is Bill's fault. I don't care if it revolts them, if they think I'm a shameless slut. I don't care if it makes them hard or wet in their uniforms. Actually I'd quite like that. Whatever. Bill will come home.

I wish I could get a message to him, tell him not to worry, tell him how I feel.

Ah but I can. Via the medium of you, dear Diary. I'm sure to read it to him sometime.

So, Diary, Bill, this is what I'm thinking.

I've been thinking about the last time we were together, and that I was cross with you. The thought of you in a cell is awful, and that you're sitting there thinking I was disappointed with you too, that you don't have my affection and support, is even worse. This lead me onto considering why you won't fuck me and how that might not matter and it called to mind my friend Gabrielle. Coincidentally, this is the woman who told me how to please a man orally. Or at least she told me how she pleased her man and I've copied her ever since. It remains to be seen whether I'm as suck-sessful as she was. I plan to practice on you Bill, carefully and over some time, to find out if I'm as good as I think I am. And to find out what you like. God knows you deserve it.

Gabrielle was an up-and-coming artist I met at a gallery opening. She was one of a handful of bright new things being touted by a gallery famous for finding new talent. I'm always invited to these affairs. Having aristocracy show up at a gallery puts it on the map, and having them show interest in an artist can make a reputation. Also bear in mind that when you don't have to work, and when you're rich enough to have everything you want, life is very, very dull. You become obsessed with novel ways of passing the time. Horrors are committed by my kind because of that simple fact. Boredom.

Anyway, I love artists, they're always surprising company, and these events are always an ego-trip because cool people wine-and-dine me and fall over themselves to attract my eye. That's why Gabrielle caught my attention, because while all the other artists fluffed me, plying me with fizz and flirtation, this red-haired waif sat sullenly by her artwork, glowering at the world.

I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was cat-like and exquisite: big green eyes and a love-heart face with naughty lips. Even though she was dressed in a short, floaty summer dress, she sat with the elegant carelessness of a drunk ballerina, willowy limbs sprawled.

An older artist with bright red cheeks, was telling me how "fabby" I looked in my dress and all I could think was how to visit the grumpy pussycat doll. (Though I did look fabby. I was wearing a little black Chanel number that made me sleek, yet curvy, and gave me legs that another artist, via a hot, boozy whisper, suggested I wrap about her neck.)

Finally, I approached the girl. Of course, she ignored me. I pondered her painting: a large, square canvas depicting a pink, very fleshy, very dewy flower.

"Goodness," I said, swilling my wine glass and trembling a little, for some reason. "You paint exquisitely. This is more real than a photo. It looks; solid. Like I might tumble into it and find myself in a magical land."

The girl tutted. Looked away. I didn't know if I wanted to punch her or snog her. I blathered on, hoping to sting her instead. "But of course, it's very derivative of O'Keefe's work."

"Pah!" The girl glared at me. "O'Keefe, she paints flowers to look like cunts." She thumbed her chest, which wobbled bralessly. "I paint cunts to look like flowers, and what are flowers but ravenous mouths? I paint cunts to look ravenous!"

Of course. French. Parisian by the accent. I carried on, in French. "Well it's a beautiful cunt. Who's is it?"

"Mine, of course," she replied in English.

Saucer-sized green irises flicked about my face. She'd need to try harder than that to get a blush from me. Instead I carried on, in French. "Well I'll buy your lovely blossom. Do you have other; "

"Not for sale. It's shit. Shit idea. Shit execution."

"You are the worst salesperson; "

"But maybe you come to my studio, I make some beautiful art of you, non? You know Beatrice Dalle?"

"Not personally; "

"You look like her. I want to paint Beatrice Dalle like a predator, she's so feline, but I can't afford her. And you look like a huntress in that dress, Lady Vampire." She ran a gaze up and down me. "I paint you as that predator Little Red Riding Hood, you know this story?"

"She's a predator?"

"Oui."

 

To be continued. Based on a post by A Big Cat, for Literotica.

 

 

Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 4.

Cavorting with artists.

Based on a post by A Big Cat. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

By Lady Bathsheba Ottoline Lovecome.

I glugged my wine and declined a refill from the waiter forever hovering at my elbow. I gave him my glass. My head was spinning already. From wine or this woman, I couldn't tell.

She blinked at me as if performing a calculation. "Your bush, it is black like your hair?"

"I'm waxed."

"Merde!" She flapped me away.

"Well, not all over; I mean;” I wished I hadn't necked that wine. "Oh fuck it." This is the thing about being a Lady. Everything you do is fine. You're never crude, or drunk, just eccentric. For example, only a Lady could, right there and then, in that room of doting spaniels, tug the front of her skirt up, and the front of her knickers down.

The girl's left cheek dimpled, biting back her smile. Bless him, the waiter turned his back to us and did his best to shield us to the rest of the room. In the glass frame of a dark photograph my reflection; figure-hugging dress, tied back hair, knickers down, prim and dirty; was better than the photograph.

The sulky artist nodded at my display, contemplating it and ignoring; probably relishing; the dropped jaws around us. "Je suis Gabrielle," she said eventually.

"Bash," I said. "Enchantée."

A rickety goods lift trundled me up into a dark, cavernous warehouse the size of a small airport. Gabrielle's Studio. She clattered the lift-gates open for me, her face deadly serious, but gone was the sulky Parisian. She was dressed in paint-spattered overalls and workboats, both oversized, with her wild hair tied back. She was dressed for work. Or worse, to turn me off. My stomach sank. I was ready to continue our fun, dressed in my predatory Chanel and heels. I'd even toyed with going commando but changed my mind at the last minute, as removing panties for someone is always as exciting as being secretly naked. Having said that, such was my state of mind in the car on the way over; imagining what Gabrielle might have planned for me once I'd removed said knickers; that I'd quite ruined them.

She shook my hand and nodded, like a miniature bow. "Come see your wild, wild woods, Miss Riding Hood."

In the middle of the timber and brick expanse, lit by a barrage of lights and reflectors, was a stage-set of a black and twisted forest springing from a snowy hillock. Centre stage was a stuffed wolf so huge it came to my knees even reclined on the floor. Waiting, draped across the poor creature, was a crimson, velvet cape.

Gabrielle snatched a sketch from her workbench and presented it. "This is what I need." She only spoke French to me now. The trust and respect implicit in this, not to mention the breathy musicality of her voice in her native tongue, quite undid all her efforts to play down her beauty.

The sketch showed a woman; Beatrice Dalle, clearly; sitting on the wolf's back, smoldering. She was naked but for the iconic cloak, her knees spread into a wide M, her vulva petaled and pink between.

I snorted. "Gabrielle, have you even read Little Red Hood?"

"This is not Little Red. This is the girl grown into a woman, like we all must, into the feline, vampiric queen of our own wild woods. We must rule over canine masculinity, non? And she is displaying the secret core of her power, the power after which she is named. This is not clear?"

Now I understood why she'd asked about my minge. She wasn't (just) trying to be outrageous. The whole set was one massive, stylized pudenda. The tortuous wood was dark, pubic hair, the snowy hillock was the skin of a mound and I guess Red Riding Hood, I, was supposed to be the cunty centerpiece.

The lurid reality of what I'd agreed to hit me, and my heart hammered so hard the page shook with my pulse. Yesterday, when I revealed myself to Gabrielle, I was in control. Now I was here at her pleasure. This was exciting in its way, but her focus on her work, and not on me, made me feel a sleazy imposter. I was only here to get cheeky. I'm a vain and horny creature and will do anything for someone who finds me sexy. But I'm also spoilt aristocracy. I won't be used.

But fuck it. I had nothing else to do.

I gulped, handed the drawing back to her, and kicked off my shoes.

At last, Gabrielle's cheek dimpled with the secret smile that so beguiled me yesterday. "I like you, Lady Bash," she whispered.

She stepped behind me to unzip my dress, but I sensed she was stalking, taking me in as I stripped. I hoped so anyway. This was more like I imagined. I wriggled off my Chanel, then my panties, and pirouetted. "Okay?"

Gabrielle blinked, swallowed.

Nudity, under the right conditions, is the scariest battledress in a woman's wardrobe. Gabrielle was jittery as she wrapped me in the cape. She pulled the big hood over my head and tied a single fastening at the neck. Velvet inside and out, the thigh-length cloak felt divine, like a big hand stroking my back and bum. It left me feeling even more naked.

"Tres bien." Gabrielle picked up a camera, gestured to the stuffed wolf. "I will take photographs and sketches so you are not here for days watching me paint, Okay?"

Suddenly hit by stage fright, I sat primly on the wolf's back. It was a giant, big as couch, and its bones might have been replaced by welded steel, but it still felt like it could spring back to life any second.

I draped my cloak just like the sketch, labially flaring to half-reveal my boobs but exposing me from the waist down. Then I took a breath. And opened my legs.

A long, quiet moment.

 

 

Gabrielle was a black ghost behind the dazzling lights. After all my sodden fantasies in the car I couldn't decide if I felt sexy or not now. I'd had more foreplay from a gynecologist.

"Wider," Gabriele clipped.

I spread my knees as wide as I could, legs poised on the balls of my feet. Gabrielle cleared her throat. A click. More silence. She hated me. I hated me. My arse was too big. My cunt was too small, too wizened. A toilet part, bared for all to see. I wanted to close my legs. I felt like I was being punished for being dirty yesterday.

Gabrielle stepped into the light, scowling. "You are too beautiful, it is in the way. I sense you here"; she tapped her temple; "but not here." She grabbed her crotch. "You understand?"

"Umm." My feet and knees, tensed in their porno pose, trembled. How could I get out of this?

"Okay." She put down her camera. "Come, let's relax. Have some fun, non? Loosen up." She unzipped her overalls and they flumped to her feet like an empty sack. She was, of course, naked beneath. Her body was sleek and neat with pert little tits and bottom. Cow. Her mound sported a tuft of vivid red hair and beneath her lips were puffy and florid. Maybe I'd stay a little longer.

She stepped out of her clothes and boots together, and picked her camera up again. "Come. Come. Dance, frolic. Whatever you like! Arouse me! Now I am naked too, so you will be able to tell, non?"

I stood, shook out the stiffness in my legs, then my arms. My tits wobbled at the velvet, stiffening my nipples. Gabrielle lit up. She stepped close, clicking her camera, biting her lip. The bit lip did it for me. I stretched out a few warm-up moves from years of ballet lessons. I pointed my toes and lifted each leg, dead straight into the air, holding, repeating. Gabrielle gasped, paced about me, clicking a flurry, and the magnetism of her naked presence raised my hairs toward her in a Mexican wave. She crouched under my raised leg, and muttered, "Your clitoris is so big and fat"; snap-snap-snap; "it makes me horny and at the same time jealous!" My hips warmed. This was much more like it.

Feeling cheeky now, I placed my palms flat on the floor and bent double, relishing the cloak's hem creeping up over my bum. Gabrielle moaned and I wanted to cheer. I placed my feet further apart, then bent at the knee, up and down, creating a tell-tale chill between my legs. Gabrielle's "Oh," and much clicking at my rear view, sent a jolt of naughtiness through me.

I threw a leg over the wolf's back. It's fur was surprisingly soft on my bits. I wound my hips, enjoying the silky squeeze to my clit. My cheeks blazed. Gabrielle growled, this seemed to be a good thing. "There is my Red Riding hood, non?" Her lens was all over my face, and up and down my torso writhing on the back of the beast. My clit tingled like the purr of an insistent phone call.

I slid off my furry saddle and settled against the creature's side, squatting like a fertility goddess, my arms spread along its back. This wasn't a pose. It was a cry for help!

Gabrielle stood in front of me, at arm's distance, silhouetted sharply by the lights. Between her thigh tops the distinct curl of her puckered lips sported a glittering diamond of arousal. Both my mouths wanted to eat her. And be eaten. I shot her a glance that I hoped screamed, "Feed me, bitch."

She stamped her foot. "Oh Oui." She clicked, hopped about, clicked again. I wriggled, trying to mesmerize her, draw her toward me.

I sat on the wolf's back again. This time so I might raise my throbbing clit to a more irresistible height for licking. I placed my right foot on the creature's head, scrunching my toes into the fur between its ears. I splayed; for my wet admirer, not her lens. Fucking feed me.

"Oui!" She squealed. "Don't move! Merde. Merde. There is my predator."

At least she ate me with her camera, working in a feeding frenzy, getting closer and closer until she was knelt between my thighs. All my torrid horniness from the car flooded back. And out. Gabrielle slapped her knee. "Ha! Now we have the slavering beast! You are dripping! Merci. Merci, beautiful lady."

There's an illicit, primal thrill in dripping in front of a stranger. It brought a kind of shameful, debauched freedom. An exquisite vulnerability. Gabrielle, sat cross legged below me, made no secret of her arousal either. Her slipped-apart lips glistened in the light bouncing from my skin.

Gabrielle put the camera down, peering at my cunt, then my costume. "Lovely lady, I need your inner petals to match the shape of your cloak. May I touch you?"

I grunted.

Gabrielle couldn't bite that smile back. Delicately, with her tongue curled out in concentration, she took my inner lips and parted them. She lightly tugged one lip into a different shape. I pulsed inside. She must've clocked my inner clasp, because she sighed a hot breath over me. She picked up her camera, then, almost as an afterthought, dipped her head to peck a feather light kiss to my clit. She sat back, sucking a drip of me from her bottom lip. Then raised her blasted lens.

"More," I flapped my knees.

"Hmm?" Click.

"Bitch, do me or I'll knock you down and sit on your face."

"Promises." Click. Click.

"Now!" I growled.

Gabrielle chuckled, dropped her camera and, finally, pressed her pretty, naughty lips to my cunt.

She started slowly, as if relishing a moment she'd spent some time considering, but after a couple of croaky hums she was lapping and sucking my clit hood like she hadn't eaten in days.

I scrunched her thick, red hair, and enjoyed the ride of her smooth cheeks and her busily intruding tongue and that irrepressible enthusiasm. Adoration, even. In a dozen speeding heartbeats, my rush coursed from the tips of every hair on my body, it balled in my core like a fizzing Catherine wheel until I whimpered, then blasted into Gabrielle's mouth. Perhaps I was delirious, perhaps it was the set and the costume and the stuffed wolf, but I felt like I was devouring her, not the other way round. I spread my lips wide, into a gaping maw, arched, and howled into her wild, wild wood.

So that's how I met my Gabby. And yes, I returned the favor that day. She stood over me, her foot up on the wolf's back, clawing her bottom, while I nuzzled her slobbery folds and she yelped like a vixen. So I guess I was a less selfish predator back then.

Anyway, Diary Bill, I've veered off on a horny tangent, as usual. This isn't actually the point of my story. I just wanted to set the scene for my relationship with Gabrielle. Call it an amuse-bouche. Well it amused our bouches anyway. And hopefully it underlines that there were no sexual secrets between Gabrielle and me. So now I can get to my point.

After that stimulating morning, Gabrielle and I didn't indulge in each other again, agreeing the moment was too nice and we wanted to preserve it as it was. We've been good, so far. But now I think about it, perhaps I should invite her to the manor house, Bill, would you like that? I'd do her again with you. Maybe we could make a better memory.

The next time I met Gabrielle, maybe three months later, she was married, successful, and very, very wealthy. She had the best of everything. Including her husband. Alex was a six-foot-six blonde billionaire, and sleek as a sports car. He was a fantastically successful big tech investor, boasting in his sexy French accent. "I walk into a room and people, they just throw money at me."

In her messages, Gabrielle would boast how sex with him was always extraordinary. By which she meant out of the ordinary. He was into everything that involved expensive drugs and equipment and unlikely positions. When she arrived for a drink with me, she winced as she sat down.

"Good night?" I said.

"Extra ordinary." She sighed.

We were in the woodiest, quietest bar of my women's-only club. I picked her up on her sigh. "You make extraordinary sound disappointing."

Gabrielle shrugged. Pouted. Goodness, that woman could pout. "Well, sometimes, I'd just like to make love you know? I'd love to feel desired. Sometimes it is like I'm just some super hi-fi fembot for him. And he has one of those too. He made me have a threesome with it!"

"But you said you never met a man who made you come so hard."

"Oui, but it's mechanical. I want to be devoured by someone who adores me. Like you ate me, lovely lady. I want to come on the face of someone while they weep for joy! I want to be fucked in five seconds because they love me so much they immediately come, but then they can't stop and keep fucking and coming and fucking and coming!"

A loud tut came from an old dowager three tables away. She shook her head. We sniggered.

I squeezed Gabrielle's hand. "Ah, the problems of the rich and beautiful."

"Oui." She smiled, but sadly, and totally missing my sarcasm. "But how will we ever have children?"

 

 

I didn't get that, and it must've shown on my face because Gabrielle explained, as ever, loudly. "Well how do I get pregnant when he only ever comes in my mouth or my ass!"

The old dowager steamed off so abruptly she knocked her chair over. I got Gabrielle to elaborate.

It seems the problem was of her own making. When they first got together she was so obsessed with her elegant catch that she went along with his whole entitled thing: "Only the best for us, Gabrielle, only the unusual, the unique. Only life's delicacies." This meant that, in their first flushes, she'd suck him off at the wheel of his Ferrari, at the opera, under the table in Michelin-starred restaurants, anywhere he liked, and always to completion. Diary, she even pretended to come when she swallowed. And such was her conviction that, a few times, she really did come! Just from the jet of him into her mouth! Jesus, no wonder he married her.

But I was all ears, practically taking notes, making the most of Gabrielle's lascivious descriptions of what she did to her husband. In detail. She squirmed in her seat as she described running her tongue in a figure of eight around his balls, and sucking them while she wanked him to make a "human fountain." She clasped her hands between her knees when she told me about his "frenulum"; the skin holding his foreskin to his tip. He adored her lapping his so much, especially when her tongue was slippery with his cum, that it kept him hard for ages. Using our wine bottle, she'd even showed me how she'd incorporated it into her blowjobs, twisting her head and slurping her tongue under his end while she sucked. Our waiter enjoyed that.

In fact, the way Gabrielle described sucking Alex got me so worked up I had to visit the ladies. But it wasn't just the compelling detail of his hard meat in her mouth, or her erotic show, that shut me in a cubicle with my knickers round my knees. What got my fingers digging, was how Gabrielle described her husband's cum.

I have to say, I tried to avoid semen, and thought I always would, until I heard Gabrielle talk. I was twenty and had sucked my share of dicks, but had never swallowed and only tasted the odd splash of cum by accident. Meanwhile, Gabrielle described how simply swallowing was not good enough for them anymore. She liked the sensation of "his hot, heavy first splash" so much she'd contrive it so she was always licking or kissing him at the moment of orgasm. "My lips drip with him, sweetie, while I messily guzzle the rest, and I watch his eyes locked to my dirty mouth!"

She made it sound joyful, like a treat. Not the slimy stuff itself; though it's no worse than girls' when I think about it; but what ejaculation represented. How desired it made her feel, how powerful she felt drawing it from her man and how, when she licked him clean, or sucked him dry, it bonded them tighter. There was no one earth who'd enjoy doing this for him, other than the one who loved him. Or so she thought at the time. She didn't know about his mistress then. Not the robot one.

But anyway, it put a dirty little demon in me. And now I can't wait to find that man who's cum I want to "messily guzzle." It's not the semen, it's the man. I fantasize about it. I think it might be you, Bill. I've thought about it a few times, licking your big spigot while you ruin my make-up (I'd like to see this in a mirror) Or your hot stuff pumping thick in my mouth. I imagine what it might feel like sliding down my throat. Gabrielle says it's like oysters. I adore oysters. But the thing that got me squeaking in that woman's club bathroom, and just as a few minutes ago in my bed, is what my fantasy man's reaction might be, watching me relish his release; the most sexily intimate of all sexily intimate things. The love in his eyes as I consume him.

But when I returned to Gabrielle after my little release she carried on. It seemed Alex had grown tired of even Gabrielle's excellent head. So then came the anal, which she said she quite enjoyed, but nowhere near as much as she pretended. She didn't come with him, and started feeling more like an empty vessel than a loving partner. She got a vibrator (no manbots yet) and used it on herself so she could come at all because he wasn't interested in visiting her, claiming: "All orgasms are selfish, Gabrielle. Taken, not given." He loved her vibrator, of course, and so started the descent into increasingly more elaborate contraptions between them.

I was glad I'd had my fiddle when I did, because that quite turned me off.

So the message of this part of my tale, Bill, is that I know I seemed angry when you denied me, but I was being selfish. I blame my hungry cunt and your fat sausage. I don't mind if you don't want to fuck. I'd love to of course, but there is as much love, maybe more love, in exploring other ways to please each other.

But one more thing about fucking before I go.

After that afternoon, Gabrielle disappeared for a couple of years. When she popped into my life again, recently, she had a startlingly beautiful toddler and a baby.

She was a different woman. She'd put on a few pounds but looked good for it. Of course. She wasted no time in telling me her story.

She took long walks across the heath near their city home, and one misty, particularly magical morning, a silhouette resolved from the distance: a runner, a large, dark-haired man. Something about the way he moved, fluid as a thoroughbred, did funny things to her abdomen. He was clearly a tosser though, being one of those muscle-bound narcissists who thinks they're sexy running without a top; showing off their pecs and guns and six-packs and what-not.

As he approached, his muscles went wobble-snap, wobble-snap. Her stomach flipped. She caught his eye. He caught hers. He bound past, gawping as if she'd slapped him. She tipped her nose to the air and felt dizzy. And what was it about his smell? The wake of it behind him. Animal but oceanic. She had to sit on a bench, she felt so overwhelmed, or as Gabrielle put it: "It was winter on the heath, but in my knickers, spring was in full bloom!"

Maybe it was because of months without the simple, intimate attentions of a man, but Gabrielle couldn't get the dark stranger from her head. He wasn't as tall as Alex. He wasn't as refined; more marine than man-about-town, more beast than man, and much hairier than her body-waxed husband. But the way he moved, smoothly, with the determined grace of a predator. And the way he smelled. Like the sea and the earth, and a fresh breeze. And his startled, startling eyes, partly due to their shocking paleness, mostly his expression;

Something about her seemed to shock him. He'd taken a deep breath of her as he passed. Had he been as bedazzled by her too? She was dressed in her trench coat, baggy peddle-pushers and walking boots. She wore no makeup that morning. Her big hair was unkempt and loose. But he made her feel like she'd sashayed by him in lingerie after a five hundred pound makeover.

Then, further along her walk, she saw the meat-head again, in the woods beside the path. He was doing pull-ups on a thick branch.

She found herself wandering from the path and weaving through the trees toward him. ("I felt like you, Red Riding Hood, stalking another wolf!) She ambled over to the man, her knees jelly. He didn't stop hefting his body up and down, up and down.

She put the thick trunk of a gnarled and ancient horse-chestnut between herself and the path, standing practically at the man's crossed feet as he dipped. His aura made her woozy.

She unfastened her trousers and dropped them.

He dropped from the tree.

Then he dropped to his knees.

He yanked aside the gusset of her everyday panties and nuzzled his bristly chin between her thighs. His tongue slid into her like an overexcited eel, squirming into places only her fingers ever visited, but with a fluidity and speed only a tongue can manage. It tugged her inside out. In a dozen puffed breaths she squealed and tumbled into a quivering orgasm, clawing at his sweating buzz cut and shoulders, chewing her cunt at his mouth for more and more of that gorgeous muscle.

Then it was too much. She shoved him away. He grinned omnipotently, wiped his wrist across his lips and stood. He adjusted the front of his tenting shorts, winked, and trotted into the mist.

Gabrielle didn't see the stranger on the heath again, even though she spent as much time as she could there after that. And even more time fantasizing how else she might get this brute to please her next time they met. And then how she might please him. Maybe they'd please each other at the same time. The thought made her weep once, when she was hog-tied and suspended in a stainless-steel cage, Alex face-fucking her, the cum from his first orgasm dripping from her lips and down her throat while he rammed her for another.

 

 

Then one week Alex was away "on business" and Gabrielle knew he was with his mistress because he never freshly waxed his balls for AI conferences. She should've been tortured by jealousy but was glad for the break and, honestly, was more preoccupied by her dark stranger's whereabouts than her husband's.

She was in her new rooftop studio when her life model, Tarquin, cancelled. She was doing an epic painting based on the song "It's raining men" and had spent months painting naked bodybuilders in different positions in the feeble hope one of the thick-cocked beauties might have the balls to do her like the stranger did. Unfortunately, those that weren't gay were more into themselves than her.

So she was bored and needy, browsing on her laptop, flicking through the porn Alex left for her ("I will test you on it when I return!") when her door chime sounded.

She pressed the answer button and the screen lit up to reveal, surprise, the dark stranger.

He winked. "Tarquin says you need a life model. Will I do?"

She charged down the stairs and threw open the door. The stranger staggered back a couple of steps at the sight of her. It seemed like her beauty walloped him, but she was only wearing her work overalls. She clutched the door frame as his fragrant aura hit her. He took a breath too. His tight jumper bulged. So did the front of his jeans. Her mouth watered. It was like they'd discovered each other in the wild wood again.

"So, will I do?" he said again.

"Those eyes;” She sighed. Then her cheeks inflamed.

"All the better to see you with."

The world seemed to summersault. Was that a joke? Did he know her work?

He flushed, then he gathered himself, stood tall and put out his hand. His hard, warm clasp unhooked Gabrielle's limbs. It was all she could do stand aside and let him in. She lead him up the stairs into her studio. All the way, she felt his eyes on the wobble of her bottom in her loose clothes, and tingled for the sharp teeth that might sink into her any second.

She pointed to a sturdy table with a set of library steps beside it. "I need you to take off your clothes and stand on this. I am working on a painting of naked men in the air, so will take reference pictures from a low viewpoint. This is Okay?"

He cleared his throat, nodded.

She pointed to a modesty screen in the corner. "You can; oh."

He pulled his top off over his head, and kicked off his shoes. For any other stranger, she might've averted her eye but after weeks of fantasizing this man, she couldn't turn away. There wasn't a millimeter of fat on him, yet he was beefier than she remembered, his shoulders so mountainous he even looked compelling taking his socks off. He unfastened his belt and dropped his trousers and boxers in one motion.

He was powerfully hard.

He shrugged at his cock, embarrassed. "Sorry. It's just;”

"Just me?" Gabrielle's voice, squeezed through a knot in her throat, was almost a whisper.

He pressed his lips tight. Nodded. "Since I first saw you. Is it a problem? I can go."

"I make you hard? Even In my horrible work clothes and my hair all; "

"You're extraordinary." He actually used that word. "And what's that perfume?"

"Again, just me. But merci, monsieur." She tapped the tabletop.

He hopped up like an ape, as if his arms bore his weight like legs, and stood proud before her. They both stared at his bucking cock. Gabrielle picked up her camera, hands shaking so badly she put the strap around her neck just in case. "Your cock is beautiful, but there will be no erections in my painting. Maybe there is a way you can; calm it?"

He grasped his unwanted axe. "I can come, that'll help for a little while, but to be honest I've been like this since I; since we last met."

"Since you licked me."

His cock nodded.

"So I made this lovely monster."

He tugged his length in a firm fist, a droplet beaded and rolled over his bulb. She stepped closer to him. His elevated hips were level with her face. "If making me come left you like this;” She stepped closer still, gripped his tight buttocks. "Then it is only fair, I should;” She took him into her mouth.

His rumbling made her hum, like their bodies singing a primitive song together. No fancy ball-licking and sucking. No toying with his frenulum and slurping her tongue. She nodded once, twice, three times and he growled, "I'm coming." She nodded four, five times and he roared and flooded her mouth with thick, hot saltiness. She sucked, gulped, sucked. His hips spasmed, trying to pull out, but she dug her claws into his ass, kept him in place while she drained him like a vampire.

His knees buckled and he dropped, shoulders heaving with a basey cackle, he swayed for a bit then tumbled onto his back like a slab of meat on a butcher's block. His cock was still rock solid. It pumped lazily.

Gabrielle licked off his last drips like she was cleaning a cub. He blinked down at her in a daze, his eyes moist. His cock nudged at her lips as she kissed it. This beast was never going limp. Good. It had work to do.

She unfastened her boiler suit, stepped out of it, and onto the table.

She stood astride his naked, hard frame. Her pussy drooled. Cock or mouth, it purred, cock or mouth.

Mouth.

First.

She shuffled over his face. His elemental scent floated off his skin, a blushed tinge to it, like blood. She breathed deep and took it into her. He smiled, blinked like she was too bright to look at. Tears trickled from the corners of his eyes.

She squatted. And fed.

"And here we are." Gabrielle gestured to her two beautiful children. Both with jet black hair and crazy pale eyes.

"So you've seen him at least twice, then."

"Oh oui! Many times. It's primal, what we have, no, elemental. Whatever. We're hooked"; she pressed a fist to her stomach; "here."

I grasped her massive diamond ring, pretended to wrestle it off her. "You won't need this anymore then."

Gabrielle cackled. "I'll stay married. I love my husband. He gives me and the children so much. But he has his mistress, why can't I have my; " air quotes "; mister-ess? I just make sure Alex comes in me whenever my lover does. Alex believes the children are his. And they might be, non?"

Her little boy, with animal agility, sprung onto my lap. He held up chubby little claws. "Grr!"

"Maybe," I said.

What I'm trying to say Bill, in my roundabout, horny girl way, is that even if we did fuck, and I got pregnant; which I won't, because I'm on the pill you loon; would that be so bad? I'd like children one day, why not have them now when I've nothing else to do and I'm young enough to enjoy them? I could go to university when they're grown. We could go together! Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying let's have sprogs. I'm just saying, if the universe should step in and monkey with the laws of biology and undo all my contraceptive precautions, you'd be my ideal sperm donor.

Oh! A text! Is it you?

Hmm no. It was Jules: "I enjoyed your diary. As you've shown me yours, let me show you mine. Do with this what you will."

I thought the attachment was a dick pic, but it was even better than that.

I shan't say why just yet, but one hour later, I fell into a blissful, happy sleep.

Only to be awoken by thunder, lightning, and the flash of a large silhouette at my windows; my second story windows.

I'm ashamed to say I froze. I keep a cricket bat under my bed, and my phone is always at my side, but it didn't occur to reach for either. I just sat there, gawping, while the figure gripped the bottom of the sash I always keep open for fresh air, and heaved. The window, swollen by rain, seemed jammed.

I grew some balls, but they were stupid, they made me shout, "Go away!"

The figure rocked the sash, and levered it up by degrees. It was a man, judging by the gravelly laughter.

Then the window flew up, and along with a blast of wind and rain, came a drowned brute.

Bill.

"What're you doing?" I flew to him, wrapped my warm, naked body around his cold, sodden-clothed one, squeaked and flew away again.

His face was bruised. One eye nearly shut. But he was still laughing. He apologized and shut the window behind him. "Couldn't find my keys. We should get some anti-climb paint on that drainpipe, Madam."

I stroked his poor face. What had I done? Tears popped and rolled down my cheeks.

"Now." He thumbed my tears away, took my hands. "I need to tell you something."

This was as many words as I ever heard Bill say. He was the kind that settled most issues with a nod. He took a deep breath, his jaw rippling. When he spoke it was through his teeth. "I won't be bullied by the likes of him."

"Father?"

 

 

Nod. "I've done nothing wrong." He kissed my fingers. "We've done nothing wrong."

"Bill, I need to tell you some; "

"That's all I'll say. He can arrest me. Get his goons to beat me. But I'll always come back to you. As long as you'll have me."

Soggy clothes or not, I jumped into his arms. He plucked me off him like a naughty cat and lay me on my bed.

I immediately sat up and unfastened his belt. "You don't need to worry about Father. Or the police. I sorted it."

He blinked, watched me unbutton his fly, then pulled his top off. Lord, what a torso that man has. I blathered on, "His rent boy, a friend of mine, sent me a video he made of one of their sessions. Very graphic. Would you like to see it?"

"No thank you, Madam." He struggled pulling his trousers, boots and socks off at the same time.

"Well, Father is old-school. He's not proud of being bisexual. And that's his undoing, because I sent the video to him and asked if I should send it to the police or the press next?"

A smile tugged his lip, though that might have been me kissing his cold, but stirring, manhood. "Father dropped the charges. He told the police it was a mistake, that it was just his spoilt daughter's wicked imagination."

Bill growled. Whether he was bothered with Father, or with me for gathering his cool cock in my mouth, I couldn't tell. He tried to push me back, but I was determined to feel him swell against my palate.

He gave up fighting, and stroked my hair. "The police told me nothing, just left the doors open and walked away. I thought I escaped."

I laughed a cock-plugged laugh. He laughed too. It made his erection kick in my mouth.

"Okay. That's enough." He tried again to unlimpet me from his shaft.

I gripped it hard in both hands, stopped sucking only to blurt, "My turn!" and stuffed him back in, rubbing this time.

Diary, now I was going to taste him. I've never wanted a man's cum so much. Or at all for that matter. My lucky gardener groaned and swayed, so I maneuvered him onto his back across the bed then poised on all-fours beside him like some sex-hungry beast from Gabrielle's wild wood universe.

His cock pulsed. My mouth went salty with his precum. He tasted of me! I rubbed him fast against my curled-out tongue, turned my gaze up to him. He looked tortured, even accounting for the bruises.

"C-careful, Madam."

"Bash." I sucked him in again, gave him my best, neediest, twist and slurp. Gabrielle would indeed be proud.

Bill rumbled. He stroked my bum, ran fingertips under, sliding along my embarrassingly slimy groove. He rumbled again, and stiffened.

He went rigid as a tree. I rubbed, sucked. He creaked, grunted. I squealed with muffled glee.

He burst.

Oh my.

Diary, love is hot, and thick and silky. Love is honeyed oysters. Love fills your mouth in frantic jets and it's all you can do to gulp it without spilling any.

It must've been love, not just rude, animal, cum. It must've been love because when I swallowed, my body flowered. Bill wasn't even touching me, yet my middle bloomed, a surge that swept me up and had me screeching on his cock. I gasped (dribbled!) and dropped back on him again, trying to control my exploding body, to focus on finishing Bill the way he deserved, but I failed, and cackled out my head rush instead while he pumped the last of his lovely stuff all over my tongue and lips.

I collapsed on my side, fetal around Bill's spent rod as it nodded off, and licked the last of his orgasm in the vain hope of drawing our pleasure out. I blinked up at him, sucked my lips showily, hoping to catch how much he loved me loving this, but we were already both half-asleep. My eyelids were too heavy to lift.

And even then, even as I dipped into post-orgasmic, salty-mouthed sleep with Bill's thigh for a pillow;

I wondered if he might take a day off tomorrow.

Diary, picture this.

Nestled between three wings of an ivy covered, multi-turreted gothic pile is a sun terrace shaded by a lemon tree. On the terrace's open side, a mirror-still ornamental pond reflects half a mile of landscaping and lollipop topiary. Some have called this the most desirable house in the world.

Between the potted tree and the pond sits a woman. The wind ruffles her sharp, black bob. The marble is warm against her bottom through her silvery silk dress, and her toes are cool in the pond. Some have called her the most desirable woman in the world. Though not enough for her liking. This is because her mouth and bottom are too big and her eyes too scarily dark and because she's too short.

Glimmers dance on ripples as the woman kicks her podgy little feet. Across the lawns, pine trees wave like benevolent giants while her own benevolent giant, Bill, gives a dying tree a short-back-and-sides with rhythmic strokes of his mighty saw.

An innocent scene. But take a peek in the black windows of the girl's eyes and it's a different story;

It's flushed purple in there. They say the brain is the largest sex organ and this girl's brain, this morning, is swollen to bursting with her imaginings. Diary, of course, the girl was, is, me.

No prizes for guessing why I was so; engorged. Before Bill started sawing I'd been happily lost in my prime considerations of the day: What is the best oral sex one could ever have? I awoke pondering the question and had decided to describe to you today the absolute best sucking or licking someone might ever give or experience. Then; as is my wont; I'd enact it later with my long-suffering manservant. For this reason I'd even sent the staff away so we had the house to ourselves. My oral imagination would not be restricted to my bedroom!

So I was happily lost in things licky. In fact, I'd had a marvelous idea and already set it in motion with a few choice texts to relevant parties. So on top of my steamy dreaming, I was a little giddy with anticipation. That's when Bill, invisible in the woods somewhere, started his relentless, manful strokes.

Diary, I needed those strokes on me, in me, so badly it actually raised a lump to my throat. My need was so keen because, remember, fucking is something that Bill and I agreed we wouldn't do. And when I say, "we agreed" I mean, "father insists.” My father doesn't approve of me, a lady, enjoying the beefy delights of my commoner boyfriend. He would split us up if he could, but Bill and I persist because a: We're adults and make our own decisions and b: We have videos of my in-denial father in flagrante with a rent boy; what can he do to us?

Perhaps I shouldn't leave you lying around for him to read though, dear Diary. Father's response to my juicy stories was to take Bill aside. "Enjoy my daughter's lascivious attention if you must, but she's been bred for a prince, not a gardener. I have read how she likes to please you. I suggest you make the most of her mouth because a man like you can never have her hand. Or her cunt." Classy! But he went on. "And if you dare impregnate my potentially royal daughter I will have you executed for treason."

"Contraception!" I hear you cry, but remember Bill's larger than most and hasn't found a condom that doesn't split. And yes the pill is effective, but not protect-us-from-murder effective. It's difficult to fuck with a gun at Bill's head. So. Hence my oral fixations.

Part of my plan for today involved a promise to myself that I wouldn't come until later with Bill. The best oral, surely, had to follow a period of abstinence. However, with a head full of head, and the steady, hard push of my man in the woods, I found it difficult not to scratch my itch.

Impossible, in fact.

So, I lay back on the warm stone. I shut my eyes and considered my Ultimate Oral while I rubbed my tingly bits through my dress. I wasn't breaking my promise to myself. In fact, if I thought only about sucking and licking, while keeping said fidgety digits out of my hole, then rubbing out a quickie was even a kind of therapy; like methadone for a heroin addict.

I was very pleased with my plan for today, it was going to blow our horny little minds.

I'd considered all kinds of ways of coming on Bill's tongue, from my favorite dirty girl crouch on his mouth, to him spreading me on the breakfast table and devouring me, to me bent double and him devouring me. Me up a tree. Him up a tree. Either of us tied naked on the chaise. Sixty-nine on the chaise. I considered silly things we'd done already, like when he squeezed under my desk while I wrote, and made me come by humming on my clit with his sexy, deep, boomy voice. (I returned the favor one afternoon swinging on a garden seat. I hummed all five verses of "God Save the Queen" on his cock, quite tunefully too, until he came and I got a fit of rather messy giggles.) In my oral fever, I even recalled how a French tourist girl shouted something at Bill once, and her friends all laughed. Later he asked me what they'd said. I told him. "Turn me upside down and eat me like an ice cream." He grinned malevolently and right there in the potting-shed flipped me; like I was light as a seedling; straight to his mouth. This has been his favorite position since.

And what about Bill, other than that; what would be the best for him? Well, I asked his opinion first thing. As he hauled a stump past the terrace where I sat ruminating, he doffed his cap good morning and I said, "What would be your ultimate blowjob?"

He didn't bat an eyelid. "Madam, if I had a favorite, that would imply others weren't as good. And they're all the best with you."

Sweet! And that's what gave me my idea. I was So going to prove him wrong.

So, back by the pond, I stirred at my clit through my dress. The tingling had spread, flushing across my belly and tits where a cheeky kiss of wind brushed silk across my nipples. Perhaps my imagination wandered to Bill's thick phallus plundering my depths because that's when I noticed his sawing had stopped.

I opened my eyes to find him standing over me, glittering. "You've had a fall, Madam?"

"Fuck me."

He folded his arms.

I sighed a trembly breath. "I'm not wearing any knickers."

"I presumed you didn't own a pair, Madam."

I laughed and walloped his thigh, then resumed my silky stirring, peering at the bulge in his trousers.

He sat beside me, eyes darting from my lips to my fingers. He adores my big, plump mouth. Sometimes I find him just staring at it while I speak.

I rolled my hips. "You like this?"

He cleared his throat.

"I'm madly wet." I squirmed. "It's dripping between my bum cheeks."

His eyes narrowed. Isn't it funny how deadly serious horniness looks?

"You don't believe me?" I ducked a hand up my skirt, wriggled two fingers between my slippy folds, and withdrew them, stringing and glistening between us.

"You need to come." He took my small hand in his great paw and kissed my wet fingers tenderly. He licked his lips. "Madam."

"Make me. Fuck me."

"No."

To be continued. Based on a post by A Big Cat, for Literotica.

Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 5.

My quest for the ultimate head goes deliciously wrong.

Based on a post by A Big Cat. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"Why won't you fuck me? Am I so hideous?"

"You're the most beautiful flower I've ever seen, Madam." He kept hold of my hand and watched my other work. A breeze flicked a curl across his tanned and wrinkled brow while he brushed his thumb pad over my knuckles. God. Was he actually considering it? "But if you get pregnant, your father said he'd have me killed and disown you. If you're happy with that risk, I'll fuck you."

"Lick me, then."

He stroked my thigh through my skirt, from hip to knee. I opened my legs, ready for the fresh air on my hot folds should he pull my skirt up. He didn't.

"No," he said to his hand.

"Why not?"

He growled and flopped onto his back. "Because in this mood, you'll want me to fuck you after I lick you. You always do."

I hopped to my feet. "Eat me till you come then, like you always do!" I stood over his face and jiggled, but our playfulness had soured. It felt more like an argument.

He scowled up my skirt, and pressed his lips tight.

Diary, forgive me, because I know it's not what he wanted, but I sat on him. Not even sat; I squatted on him, hard. And ground my hips.

It felt very wrong, but I was in a very wrong mood. And anyway the man is six four and all muscle, all he had to do was sit up suddenly and I'd be flung into the woods. For example, once we were enjoying a languorous 69 on the floor in his gate lodge (I'd pounced on him!) when Father buzzed to be let in.

 

 

Bill wrapped an arm around me, stood, wandered over to the buzzer and let father in, all without taking his mouth from my bits.

He could stop me if he wanted, so I went ahead and wiped my slimy cunt on his shut, bristly mouth.

So much for the ultimate oral.

Then, dear Diary, fate stepped in to save us. Or rather Gabrielle did. My petite, Parisian best friend-cum-lover (and cum-lover!) padded barefoot across my terrace, swinging her hips. A coppertop Audrey Hepburn, her wild red hair was trapped under a neat white sunhat and her neat body wrapped in loose white muslin. She smiled as if to say, "Yes it's really me."

"Bonjour! I thought I was early but you have started without me, non?"

"Hmm!" Bill contorted under me.

"Oh stop!" I bore down harder and grabbed his hair. "It's a fucking surprise for you, dolt."

Gabrielle stooped, kissed both my cheeks, then regarded our struggles. "Are you wrestling? This is quite a beast you have trapped." She addressed my skirt. "Bonjour, monsieur!"

"Um." I think that was an actual pussy-smothered hello.

"This is Gabrielle, Bill. Remember? She taught me all I know."

Gabrielle laughed brightly. "All that is worth knowing of a man, anyway. I hope you have enjoyed it, Bill." His name came out "Beel" in her lovely accent.

Bill's nasal sigh warmed my cunt. Sat on his head, I could almost feel his brain recalling every Gabrielle-inspired sucking I'd ever given him. He'd never been swallowed before he met me, and I'd never swallowed before I met her. Then a strange thing happened. And a rather unique sensation. His anger softened under my rude splay. He relaxed, and his mouth opened. His tongue slipped along my groove.

I caught my breath, and bit my lip.

Gabrielle stepped back and regarded us. I felt like I saw us in her smoldering gaze: Bill laid out fully dressed in his serge groundsman's trousers and oxford shirt. (Bill works in an old-fashioned uniform that even includes braces. Father insists. So do I, come to think of it.) I was crouched over his head, my long dress tenting over my knees and covering our join. Underneath, invisible to her, Bill's muscular tongue slurped me like a dirty secret. I shivered.

"Merde. So discrete, yet so explicit." She strolled around us like we were an exhibit. "You said you wanted the best oral sex ever, but I don't know if I want to lick you or sketch you."

Bill sucked on my clit. I gripped my knees and tried to hold off the tide swelling in my midriff.

Gabrielle paused by Bill's trousers, struggling with his arousal at licking me. "Darling, this man is in love with you." This choked me up. She was right. How could I be such a spoilt brat to him? Bill was devoted. If I demanded it, really demanded it, he would fuck me, and fuck the consequences.

She finished her voyeuristic tour and, after a long kiss to my lips so our tongues could greet each other, she stood to present her hips to my face. Reaching up her skirt, she wriggled off her panties, then lifted her hem to reveal her vibrant red tuft framing the bare pink petals of her sex. I lunged. "Oui;” She dropped her skirt over my head. "Let us all be discrete yet explicit!"

It had been months since I last ate a woman. I didn't realize how much I missed the yielding flesh of a pussy against my lips. Especially Gabrielle's. I pressed a polite(!) kiss to the old friend at the epicenter of my old friend, then kissed more firmly under her fur, into the smooth, delicate folds beneath. I was rewarded with a wet kiss in return and a tremble in her hips. I lightly nibbled her prominent clit hood and she stroked my head. Meanwhile, my own clit was drawn into a warm, fleshy whirlpool; a sucking pull that somehow filled my insides to overflowing.

In my muslin cave, steeped in Gabrielle's Chanel and musk, the tip of my tongue sought her salty slickness and teased it over her bud. Licking someone of your own sex has an entangled autoeroticism about it, so my licks echoed on my own clit and made me feel attacked by two tongues. I flickered at her lightly, then couldn't resist pressing my mouth over her whole vulva. She cupped my head, widened her legs and nudged her hips at me. I squeezed her bottom, pulling her to my rhythm, to the rhythm of my rocking, to the rhythm of Bill's licking.

Gabrielle's thighs wobbled and she gasped. I think it was as much this as the insistent flip of Bill's tongue that tipped me over, not to mention her breathy muttering: "Oui. Oui."

I moaned into her cunt. Bill moaned into mine. Gabrielle arched onto tiptoes. "Oui!"

I snorted, she always sounds like a child on a swing when she comes.

I tried to control my quivering tongue while shuddering on my man's exquisite mouth. Waves of invisible lava gushed from my cunt, over my belly and tits, coursed up my neck and cheeks, poured into Gabrielle's cunt and out of her mouth, swearing for the both of us.

Bill took my entire weight in his palms, or I think I might've collapsed. He poised me over his mouth, thumbs holding me open, lapping, drinking. Gabrielle shoved at my mouth, even as I yanked her to my face and ate her like a sexy fruit.

Bill gently kissed me down. Gabrielle lifted her skirt and glowed at me, her hair a burning halo in the sun. (We never saw her hat again. I'd blasted it into space I think.) My lower face was chilled with her wetness and she held my cheeks to dance her tongue around my lips and chin. "Merci." she croaked between tasting flicks and kisses. "Merci."

Bill toyed with me, licking me to oversensitive spasms, and then lifting me off his face. He loves to watch my hole pulse in aftershocks. He can bounce me up and down for so long I feel like a beach ball.

"Your man is still hungry, oui?"

I jerk again, his tongue jolting like a taser. "A; always."

"Oh, I am like this too. Can I try him?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "You like la cuisine française, monsieur?"

Bill was midway through a loving kiss to my clit. He lifted me off his mouth. "Very much, Miss Gabrielle."

Very much?

Even though I'd planned to share Bill today, the actual words, aimed at and an actual other woman, skipped my heartbeat. I faltered climbing off him.

"Quickly, sweetie." Gabrielle gently pushed my shoulders. "I am a Ferrari and you have twisted my key."

I stood, she knelt, and all Bill would've seen was my sloppy great orchid replaced with Gabrielle's elegant, dewy rose. So far, neither had even seen each other's faces. She straddled him. A grin spread across her face. "Merde."

Bill hummed into her. Her. Not me.

As if reading my mind, Gabrielle kissed my hands. "Merci, darling. For sharing your man. Take off your clothes."

She swept her dress off over her head and tossed it, then spun me round as I pulled mine off too. She kissed and bit my bottom, growling, "Oui!" as she rubbed her face on it like an adoring cat. I don't know why Bill and she go so silly over my big bubble bum.

Her cool hands slid over my ribs, scraping her fingernails lightly over my tits. I watched her over my shoulder. Her nudity was prim and smooth and pale on the ruddy leather of Bill's face. His heroic chin was thrust enthusiastically between her creamy thighs, his tongue lapping quickly as Gabrielle lightly bounced on him.

Damn. How could something that hurt so much, look so sexy?

I couldn't watch and turned away, giving myself over to Gabrielle's exploring hands and lips. Even as I enjoyed the bristle-less, silky smoothness of a woman's face in my intimate places, I tried to put the jealousy from my mind. But below my despondent head, Bill's cock strained at his trousers. This is one of my favorite sights, when I've aroused him, but now it struggled for freedom because he was licking another woman. It wanted to get to Gabrielle, not me. The pain seemed to tug between my legs.

"Let me see it." Gabrielle was watching his trousers too. "Show me."

I bent over to unfasten his buttons and braces. This curled my cunt toward her. "Trop belle," she whispered, opening me up. "Trop; hmm" A kiss to my clit, then a slim impalement, a finger, gently probing. It felt like she was looking for my heartache in there. After my yearning for cock all morning this intrusion threatened to unhinge my legs. My hole stretched scrumptiously. Two fingers? I dipped my hips on her digging digits, and she curled them just where I liked them.

I took a settling breath, and yanked Bill's trousers and boxers over his hips. His great cock unfurled in the lemon tree's dabbled shade and bounced even harder, clamoring, "Me! Me! Me!"

Gabrielle laughed huskily. "Lucky cow!"

I turned to agree, to remind her who "Beel" belonged to, but her eyes were closed. She clawed her bare tit, the fingers of her other hand stiffened in my cunt.

 

 

Bill's cock bucked, laced in veins. His hips rutted the air and his thighs shook. No. Would he come licking this woman? I thought only my orgasm had the power to bedazzle him to eruption.

Then a part of me wanted him to spurt for her while I watched, the same part that relished this self-inflicted unfaithfulness. But his cock jumped lustily before me, and I could never resist my Sweet William. I squeezed his balls, and pulled his warm staff. He was as familiar and exciting in my palm as my own sex. Gabrielle cursed, her cheek pressed to my hip, hugging it, fingers digging between my legs. I pulled Bill in time with her finger-fucking.

Bill's cock dribbled pre-cum and I bent double to take his end into my mouth. (A life of ballet lessons has its uses) This is how I claimed him. She might come on his mouth, but he'd come in mine.

"Oh God, oui." Gabrielle peered at me sucking him. This seemed to hit the spot. Or maybe it was Bill. "Oh God I'm coming," she blurted. "Merde, merde, merde, I'm; " She hugged me tight, rammed her fingers deep into me and squeaked.

If I'm sucking Bill when I come he always comes too. It's adorable, that overexcitement in pleasing me, even if it means our sex is sometimes over in seconds. (Only sometimes though. I can usually keep him hard, for all the use it is.) I presumed Gabrielle's orgasm would do as well as mine, so braced for his lovely flood. But he'd stopped trembling. He seemed to have reigned himself in and silently, carefully licked my friend as she twitched on his mouth, his cock savory with pre-cum but nothing more. At first I was proud of him, but that was quickly followed by worry. Who was he trying to impress?

Gabrielle cackled and kissed my bottom and cunt as if they were her own and she was calming them down. I dragged her face to mine. Who can resist kissing a post-orgasmic woman?

She kissed me back, but then reached for his dick. Her immaculately manicured hand looked polite and tiny on his club. "Will you not fuck him?"

I shook my head. "We don't; "

"May I?"

Our silence crackled.

She spoke to his cock, sliding her hand up and down it. "I know you are worried about babies, monsieur, but I'm on the pill, so it is impossible, and anyway I like babies and I'm no royal so no one will kill you."

I waited for Bill's protest but he seemed lost in thought, petting Gabrielle's labia. He was awkwardly trying to find the right words to reject her. I melted for him, and was about to suggest we suck him off together, when he reached into my chest and tore my heart out.

"Okay," he said.

All the blood dropped from my body and left me a husk. Gabrielle squeaked, hopped off his face, and darted around me to stand astride his cock.

He sat up and kissed my bottom like a favored pet. His thumb slid along my groove. I wanted to scream, but my throat had clasped shut. In a delirious synaesthesia, his thumb's push at my opening was his cockhead as it slid into my friend. I wanted this to stop. I wanted more.

He seemed a tight fit in her, she eased slowly down his length in a series of little dips, then finally settled with him lodged deep. Her eyelids drooped. He dug his thumb deep into me. I clenched at it.

"Nice to meet you, Beel." Gabrielle smirked and put out her hand, a formality at odds with grinding wetly on his cock. "You are very handsome, and I like your cock."

Bill withdrew from my cunt to shake her hand. "Thank you Miss Gabrielle. And you are very pretty; um. All over."

Gabrielle flushed, pulled his thumb to her mouth and sucked me from him. I bounced between heaven and hell. He called me beautiful and her pretty. Was "beautiful" better than "pretty"? You'd call a horse beautiful, or a vase. Pretty meant desirable too, didn't it? She gave his thumb a blowjob, the thumb that should be pleasing me, while she waggled her hips waspishly on him. His breath hitched. She released his thumb, which immediately sought out its drooly equivalent between my legs.

Perhaps it was the echo of his thumb inside me, or my closeness to Gabrielle, or just the strength of my longing for his cock, but I could feel him wedged inside me, pressed to every singing cell of my cunny. If I couldn't fuck him, then surely this was the next best thing? I needed to grow up. Jealousy in a three-way was not a good look, especially in front of someone as stylish as Gabrielle.

I kicked him. "You don't come in her."

"No, Madam."

"Your cum is mine."

"Yes, Madam."

I prodded Gabrielle. "His cum is mine."

"Oui, M-Madame!" Gabrielle picked up her pace, and pulled my hips toward her. She pressed kisses to my belly. "You are a good friend." She dipped to my mound. Bill's kisses dropped under me too and suddenly tongues assaulted me front and rear.

Gabrielle fucked my man, a sinuous wave of bliss that rolled from her hips all the way to her tongue, where it slid over my clit, into my hole, joined Bill's tongue which then curled cheekily around my anus, before sweeping back though his body to whiplash his cock into her cunt and set her off again.

Both worked at me as if their fucking was the engine for pleasuring me and nothing more, and this, my mounting pleasure, was all that pleasured them. Gabrielle, knees at her shoulders, bounced on his lap as she ate me. I raised a foot on the edge of the tree planter, to open wider to them. She wrapped arms around my standing leg and around Bill's neck as their cheeks pressed beneath me. He hugged her to me and to him, their faces pressed to my bottom and cunt. Their tongues wriggled over my most private, delicate places and I felt poised on the tip of intrusive, wet flames.

I'd come hard on Bill just moments before but under the onslaught of this, the best licking of my life, I found myself puffing to another high. Everyone should be so adored once in their life! I wanted it to never end, but my leg grew tired and Gabrielle's tongue erratic as Bill pumped harder. I pushed back against him, pulling away from Gabrielle, until he was on his back and was I perched once more on his mouth, this time facing my beautiful best friend while she frogged on his rearing hips.

Bill's breath huffed hotly between my thighs, and his familiar licking was almost calming after my intense double-head. Gabrielle's little tits bounced enticingly and I buried my face in them, then suckered myself to her gaping mouth. We hugged and kissed and let our tongues play while Bill worked hard between our legs. His fucking made her pant in my mouth. His tongue made me pant into hers.

I reached down between her legs and tickled her clit. Her movements grew jerky. Bill went up a gear. He rammed abandoned laughter from Gabrielle and sucked my clit into him, motor-mouthing his tongue on it. I hugged Gabrielle tight and pressed my mouth to her while Bill tossed her insanely in my arms. His tongue frothed me over and I felt like a shaken champagne bottle.

I popped. Gabrielle squealed in my mouth. We spasmed on Bill like two ends of a live wire rammed together. Her cries became mine and our thrusts on Bill became thrusts into each other, as if he was just a massive, new sex organ coupling us. He disappeared. Rutting and grinding, I tumbled into her, she tumbled into me and together we tumbled into the sun.

Our cries dissolved into giddy chuckling, and we landed soft as dropped blossom back down to earth.

I leapt off Bill, his tongue too much, but kept kissing my delicious girl as she breathed out her climax. I pecked along her jaw and neck and tits.

Bill smiled triumphantly, sheened in sweat and my arousal. He stroked my leg, and this felt reassuring and bonding, even as Gabrielle ground on my man's cock.

"He is still very, very hard." Gabrielle stroked my other leg and blinked up at me and for a moment I lost myself in her oceanic, thankful eyes.

"Of course." I felt like a proud teacher. I knelt by Bill to unbuttoned his shirt and show off his torso too.

"Délicieux."

"Oui," I answered, forgetting who was who. I kissed his nipple, squeezed the packs of muscle on his chest. He tossed away his shirt. I think he even flexed. Sweet. Gabrielle's face appeared by mine, half covered by serpentine tresses as she leant on all fours over him. She was still plugged by his indefatigable hard on.

"Merde." She bit a pec. "His cock feels so, so good. You sure you don't want him in you?"

I thumbed a bead of sweat from Bill's forehead. His pale eyes filled the world for a moment. "More than anything," I whispered into his ear.

He leant to mine. "I'm pretending she's you."

We tittered into each other's necks.

"Merde, I am being fucked, yet I am the odd one out?" She slapped Bill's abs. "Giddyap!"

 

 

Now I knew what he was thinking, I stepped away like a naughty ghost taking a break from her body for a moment and watched Bill fuck Gabrielle/me. Us.

His hips rammed his cock in and out of her; our; fully stretched hole. I yanked off his trousers and boots and lay between his thighs, watching his easeful, well-oiled piston. When he slowed, Gabrielle took over, gloving and re-gloving herself on him. I imagined that cunny lighting up with every downward stroke and sucking on every upward stroke. A collar of juices formed around the base of his staff, and dripped over his balls. I nuzzled and licked them, covering my cheeks and lips in the essence of their sex. Don't ask me why, my dirty compulsions are dark and mysterious even to me. Under my tongue, Bill stopped, letting Gabrielle find her own groove and letting me lick him clean, even as she made him wet again on each upstroke. His thighs trembled and I couldn't hold back a chuckle.

Gabrielle made little yelps as she slid herself along his length. Throwing a messy-haired glance over her shoulder she caught me licking him. She swore, and; with expert fluidity; spun on his cock even while she was deeply impaled. The sensation drew a deep "Hmm;” from usually quiet Bill (I made a note to try twisting my mouth on his cock sometime!) and left her spread to me as well.

What fun! An all-you-can-eat buffet of clitoris and slippery shaft and joggling balls. While Bill rammed, I licked Gabrielle's clit under her hooded scrutiny. While she bounced, I licked him. Who would come first? Maybe even me. Our primal dirtiness had my hips humping the marble, and wringing my feet together in the air over my bum.

I wanted Bill to come. I wanted him to splash all over her cunt so I could lick her to orgasm cleaning her. I sucked his balls and he groaned. I groaned. Gabrielle groaned.

Well something was bound to happen; I wasn't sure what, but was looking forward to it. I sucked her clit, and wriggled a cheeky finger under his balls, dabbing his anus. Bill juddered to a halt.

Yes.

But in a smooth kind of flurry he tipped Gabrielle forward to leave her on all fours in front of him and between my knees. He gripped her hips and shoved, "Oui; Oui; Oui" from her. She rocked back at him, her ass slapping on his hips. But Bill wasn't watching her. His stoic expression was fixed to my naked splay.

I'd spread my legs tendon-poppingly wide for him, leant back and played two fingers into my yearning hole, trying to make his fuck rhythm mine. Bill's eyes devoured me. Followed by Gabrielle's mouth as she dipped her head between my thighs and dipped my whole cunt into wet warmth. She replaced my fingers with hers.

Her face and fingers nudged between my legs from Bill's powerful pummeling. Bill and I locked eyes. Something billowed inside me. He was fucking me through her. My body dissolved, the world dissolved. Bill and I merged. His cock used Gabrielle to stuff joy into me, then more joy and more. Gabrielle was our sexy condom, her muffled squeal of orgasm a hundred miles away.

I wedged her head between my thighs, forcing her cries into me. Bill fucked harder. I turned inside out and inside out and inside out again, pedaling into an enormous flower. Blossoming.

A minute or an hour later, Gabrielle's face appeared against the blue sky over me. Her cheeks looked slapped. "Are you dead?"

I must've blacked out. Wow. I kissed her. Bill appeared, standing over us, his meat shellacked and; still rigid?

"You haven't come?" My voice was croaky, like I'd been screaming.

"I'm fine, Madam."

I sprang to my knees and, blinking big eyes up at him like a harlot, kissed his flushed bulb. I licked my lips. Gabrielle was at my side in a chuckle. She tucked into his length like a dog with a bone.

Together, we ran tongues up and down him, laughing at his strangled noises, kissing with his cockhead between us. He slid between our mouths, muttering "Good lord" as he fucked our kiss. But I couldn't resist any longer, and dropped my head over his end. Gabrielle dipped under to suck his balls and he lightly cupped our heads as if to stop us bolting.

I wanked him into me, then into Gabrielle, even though she struggled to fit him in her small mouth. I think she sensed he was close, nodding quickly, hungrily even, as if to claim his well-deserved release as a prize for herself. And she was a pro, she slooped her tongue under his end with every dip of her head and rubbed him with me, speeding my hand up. I watched his face. He'd clamped his mouth shut and was glossy with concentration. He winked at me and it was clear she could suck him forever and he'd save himself for me. So when she (finally!) unsuckered from him I dropped on him like a starving cat on a fresh kill. Gabrielle licked him up and down, then jostled for another go at his end.

She squeezed his balls, and I rubbed him, we both slurped and sucked. He became scaffold. His cock might burst like a balloon before he came. I'd never seen him so hard.

We tried to synchronize sweeping our tongues up and down him, or flip-flapping them under his head, but kept collapsing into uncoordinated feeding frenzies. Four hands rubbed him into waiting mouths, taking our turn as he plunged into one and then the other, like a luscious game of Russian roulette.

Then suddenly, out of the blue, he reared onto tiptoe. Muscles popped from thighs to abs to chest. Even his jaw rippled.

"Ladies," he warned.

I gobbled his end into me. Gabrielle rubbed briskly, scowling.

But damn my clit, buzzing vicariously at his swelling climax. I pressed my thighs tight, tensed them, but the constriction only made it worse. "Oh oui." Gabrielle, as ever, seemed to sense my horn. I trembled, moaned on Bill's cock. Not languorous, "Yummy" type moans like Gabrielle as she attacked his testicles. A full-on "Fuck I'm cumming" moan.

Bill knew it too. He flexed rigid. I wanked and sucked. Gabrielle licked and sucked.

He roared so loud birds took the sky.

A thick, hot jet flooded my mouth and my world blew apart. It was all my jerking body could do to lick and keep my mouth open as his every frantic pump lit me up. I giggled in my head rush, profoundly messy, and slid my super-lubed tongue around Bill's spurting head. Arcs of cum spattered Gabrielle's tits as I slipped my dirty mouth up and down him, drawing more out and guzzling before Gabrielle could get to it.

But she was preoccupied, running fingertips around her cummy nipples, gazing at my depraved behavior, then frantically rubbing her clit with his semen. She trembled uncontrollably. I laughed uncontrollably, more in abandon than anything, and nestled Bill's pulsing rod gently on my tongue. Gabrielle frowned at us as I sucked him with soft lips and he spasmed sporadically. Her fingers slopped obscenely at her cunt, then clamped her legs over her busy hand, her eyes rolling to whites.

"Fuck, you are a sexy couple." She flopped onto her back, bringing her messy fingers to her mouth, licking them.

I released Bill, and kissed the last of my man's cum from her lips. Just out of principle.

We must have dozed, because the next thing I knew I was lying, limbs tangled with Gabrielle, the sound of a chopping axe punctuating her snores.

Where Bill had been was a bucket of ice containing two glasses and an open bottle of champagne.

I sat up and there he was, hard at work hacking out another stump at the edge of the lawns. He wasn't wearing a top and his brown muscles bunched and shone in the afternoon sun. He never did that, no matter how much I begged him to. Why now? For Gabrielle?

"Oh oui." Gabrielle was awake. My heart lurched. Now we were sated, there was no horniness in my jealousy. Just jealousy. "Champagne!" she added and I relaxed.

She poured two glasses and we sipped. The tart sherbet of the drink was delightfully, illicitly brined by Bill's taste, which still haunted my mouth. My ears heated as I realized what I was thinking.

Gabrielle swilled her mouth and rolled her eyes, then swallowed showily. "Ah! Jizz and fizz!" She belched. "We have sunk into debauchery!"

We sipped and watched Bill work. I didn't like her eyes on him. I didn't like his taste in her. I wanted her to go now.

"What a man you have, sweetie." She lay back, sliding one shin up the other. "I think I will stay for a while."

Diary, my house has 10 bedrooms, all with their own bathrooms, some with their own kitchens and libraries, and yet Gabrielle wants none of them. I told her she could have an entire wing to herself if she liked, but no, she insisted on sleeping in my bed, with me.

She's behind me now, spread eagled across the entire mattress while I sit at my desk telling you about today's delights. They were every bit the festival of oral sex that I'd hoped for, yet I am left with a sourness. I hadn't anticipated she would want more than a tongue can offer or enjoy.

 

 

 She wants to fuck. And of course she would. I do, after all. And there's nothing to stop her fucking as much as she likes with whoever she likes, so of course she's going to try and tempt Bill. I'm surprised about him, though. It seems his need for more than oral is stronger than I thought. As strong as Gabrielle's and mine. And what's holding Bill back from doing what he clearly wants? Me, my fucked-up father, and my precious status.

It's clear Gabrielle has taken to Bill. Why wouldn't she, he's irresistible? But now I don't know if I can trust him not to return her affections because she's every bit as desirable. I don't know if he can trust himself.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring. And how I'm going to get rid of her.

After a night of kicking Gabrielle back to her side of the bed and of her insufferable snoring, I awoke late. Or rather lay in a deep doze, my back to her, enjoying Bill's whistling and hammering in the garden: happily building the world for me anew every morning. He sounded especially happy today. He sounded like a man who'd had the blowjob of his life yesterday and who might well have another today.

My bedroom door creaked open and I realized Gabrielle wasn't with me. She entered the bedroom dressed in my antique kimono and rattling an espresso cup in its saucer as she tottered to the bed.

"Bonjour, sweet sleepy head! I bring you strong coffee!"

I rubbed my eyes. "Your hair's wet. You showered already?" Her cheeks were flushed as well. What was she so excited about?

"Oui!" She plonked the coffee cup on my bedside table. "I bring you breakfast in bed too."

I blinked blearily; she wasn't carrying anything else. She hopped onto the bed, grinning and unfastening the kimono. She threw it away with a flourish, standing naked over me.

Maybe having her stay wasn't so bad after all.

She dropped to one knee, poising her pussy lips over my mouth. She smelled of my Aveda body wash and something animal. She was already drooly. I pressed a kiss to her labia to find them shockingly, exquisitely, flushed and tender. "Fuck," she blurted. It seemed she'd worked herself up already.

"Someone's been busy down here," I said.

"Um-hmm." She steadied herself on the bedhead.

I licked along her groove and gathered up her arousal to sloop over her clit but she overflowed my tongue and dribbled down my cheek. She tasted deeply, illicitly familiar. A single lick jolted her hips. Lord she was juicy today. And on a hair trigger. I figured I was either the Mozart of cunnilingus or this woman was really into me. Both pleasant options.

Father insisted I take his one-of-a-kind monstrous Chippendale mirror which I had Bill fix above my bed. I only say because our reflection from above was most diverting as I tried to hold off the hyped-up inevitability of Gabrielle's orgasm. I tossed off my sheet so I could see my own nudity reflected above us too, my feet pressed and knees spread as I fingered myself to see if we might come together. But Gabrielle was miles ahead. I only had to flick my tongue on her clit and she was needily grinding on me for more, cunt clenching. I kissed her thighs and waited for her to calm.

God, she was yukkily, lusciously dribbly, though, and tasted so good. Not like champagne good or parfait good. Sex good. Good according to the animal in me, not the duchess. I couldn't resist, and took Gabrielle's sloppy vulva all into me to drink my fill and she cried out and shook madly on my mouth.

I paddled my tongue through her squirming and jerking, slowing and getting gentler and gentler until I was just bathing her flushed cunt in hot breath.

She beamed down at me between her legs. "Nice breakfast?"

I licked my lips. "Yummy." I wriggled under her. "You hungry too?"

Still trembling from her orgasm, she slid her body along mine, downward.

"Oui." She said to my hips. "Very."

She hid my fizzing folds with her messy, post-shower hair. I felt my outer slips slide open. Something dry, warm and squishy dabbed at my clit. A wet probe unzipped my inner lips. I groaned.

Gabrielle hummed, and looked up at me, juices stringing to her bottom lip. "You're very wet from licking me."

"Of course." I danced my hips. "Don't stop."

She stroked arousal from my hole and teased my clit with her fingertips, but kept her gaze fixed on me.

"What?" I pulled my legs apart and back, grasping them behind the knee. "Eat me."

"You still have your breakfast on your face. It is very sexy."

I looked up at the mirror. True enough, my cheek sported a long drip of; white?

Gabrielle's eyes were slits. "Did you like it, his taste and mine, together?"

I snapped my legs shut. Recoiled. I wiped my face with my wrist. "You fucked Bill? This morning?"

Gabrielle shrugged. "Of course. For you. This is wrong? I brought you his cum. You said his cum was always yours. I; I thought you'd like it."

My lips curled. "What? It's not about his; stuff, it's about Bill."

"You didn't like it?"

I shut my eyes. Buried my spinning head in my knees. Bill and Gabrielle fucked. On their own. Without me. Oh God and his happy whistling outside; that was after he'd fucked her. A hot blade slipped into my gut and sliced, eviscerating me. But I wanted more details. More pain. I wanted my insides spread on the bed. "Where did you fuck him?"

"In the kitchen. I was making coffee, and he came from the garden smelling of earth. He stood by me when I poured him a cup and his trousers, they moved. I squeezed them and he was very hard. So I pressed my face to his lump and he didn't stop me so I; "

"Stop; no. Go on."

"Well, I took out his cock and kissed it. He pushed his hips to me, so I sucked him. Then he made a noise like a bear and picked me up and put me on the kitchen table and spread my knees and ate me."

"You came?"

"Non! He was too desperate. Too quick. Passionate maybe, like a lover's kiss but to my secretest lips, non? So, all too quick, he stood up and stuck his cock in me. He fucked me hard, magnificently, but then came too quick as well."

It stung my core, my very cunt, that she overwhelmed him. He had never come too quickly for me. I brushed a hot tear from my cheek.

Gabrielle pressed her palms to my knees, her tits pushed against my shins. "Darling, it was for you, remember? I fucked him for you. I didn't come. I saved his semen inside me. His pleasure, and came straight to you."

"How passionate was he?" I spread my legs, pushed up my hips. "Show me."

She dragged me by my ankles to the edge of the bed, knelt on the floor and ate me like her life depended on it, then shoved two fingers deep into me. "Like this." She withdrew them, then plunged. "And this. And this. And this. Then he came."

My panting hitched as I swallowed a sob. "Again."

Diary I came hard on Gabrielle's fingers and mouth, and with a roar I didn't know I had in me. I left her knelt, doe eyed and puzzled at the foot of my bed and locked myself in my bathroom. When I came out, a 45 minute shower later, Gabrielle had gone.

I found her in the kitchen, cooking. Around her, every drawer, cupboard, fridge and pantry had exploded their contents all over the kitchen table, joining the humping ghosts of her and Bill.

"Darling, I am making a picnic for us. Some salmon, some baguettes, some salads and summer punch." She turned from the stove and wrapped her arms around my neck to kiss me tenderly on the lips. "You will have all my attention for lunch, oui? Our picnic blanket will be a no;” kiss. "Cock;” kiss. "Zone." She nudged her hips at my thigh, her mound clearly definable under her light, summer dress. My light, summer dress, in fact.

"I'm sexed out, Gabrielle. Can we just sit in the sun and drink?"

"Oui! And we will not even talk sex. Our cock free zone will include even whispering about cock. Our mouths will be cock free!" She laughed so loud, the windows rattled.

We ate in a blissful, sunny silence under the shade of the lawn's sculptural Japanese maple. It was impossible to stay angry with Gabrielle. She might be fucked-up but she only ever meant well. Once we'd eaten, she topped my glass up with her lethal fruit punch. "You know darling, I was thinking. About what you and Bill need." She grinned like she was about to offer me a precious gift. "A dildo!"

"Umm hmm." Glug.

"Oui, I have an artist friend, she makes them. If you give her a cast of your lover's cock, she makes this fabulous dildo for you. You can even it fill it with warm water! Like blood? I have one."

"I'll bear it in mind."

"You know what I did? I got my lover's cock cast and I use it on my cunny when my husband only wants to fuck my ass." She drifted into a reverie, twirling the glass stem between thumb and finger. Her eyes saddened.

I kissed her cheek. "Thank you."

She sighed. "Pourquoi?"

"For coming to see me at short notice, and for; you know."

"For fucking your man?"

"No." I sniggered. "Though maybe, yes. I do believe you were trying to help us."

Gabrielle shrugged. "Mais oui, but it is easy to help sexy friends with sex, non?"

Bill appeared as if awaiting his cue. He fiddled with the tree, then; when we ignored him; flushed and strode off across the lawn to fiddle with something else.

Gabrielle's gaze snuck after him, then noticed me watching her. She flushed. "You really are a lucky bitch."

"If I was lucky, he'd be a prince and I'd be married to him." I swilled from my crystal cup. "If anything I'm unlucky. Having my ideal man dangled in front of me, but always out of reach."

"Boo-hoo. Poor little princess."

I glared at her.

She shrugged, squinted at Bill shoveling a flower bed, and sipped.

I think she'd meant her put down light-heartedly, and has said much worse before, but her comment darkened the air between us today. Literally, in fact. Thick clouds swooped on the sun and before we could pack up the elaborate picnic, thunder clapped and a bolt of lightning unzipped the heavens.

We sprinted the two hundred meters from the tree to the nearest part of the house, the conservatory, finding some hilarity at least in getting drenched on the way.

I shut us in the ornate glass house, all echo and fractured reflections, curly ironwork and phallic palms. We dripped onto the upturned faces of terrazzo gods. I recalled dripping on Bill's grin, one afternoon when he was lying under the windowsill while I argued with Father outside. The thought pricked my chest and sex; my new melancholy arousal.

"Merde, merde, merde." Gabrielle plucked at her sodden dress. "My life has turned into a porno. I have to get out of this. You have some towels?"

I squelched off to the laundry but all the fresh towels had gone. I rummaged out the cleanest from the ready-to-wash pile instead.

I returned to voices. One French and high. One English and deep.

"Don't do that, Miss Gabrielle."

"But you're drying me only makes me wetter."

"That's a poor joke."

I crouched behind a fat-trunked pineapple palm, my knuckles white on the lip of the planter. Bill must've been watching us earlier, and had the towels ready, because he was stood over Gabrielle's semi-naked form, rubbing her tits and back dry while she peeled off her panties. Gabrielle's dress was plopped soggily on the floor beside them. I'd chosen not to wear underwear, despite our agreement for a sex-free lunch. Not sure why, I think I'd just forgotten to put them on. Jesus, Bill was right, why do I even own knickers? And now, the person I shared such cheeky observations with was enjoying crude banter with my best friend.

He crossed his arms over the towel, bulging his arms too tight for his shirt.

Gabrielle squeezed one of his biceps as if I'd drawn attention to them. "So hard." She spun round and slinked bare ass at his front. "All over. And see my hair, it is wet like this morning? It is dark like Bash's again, non? This is why you are hard?" She put on a bored, posh English voice. "Dry me, William."

That's what I sound like?

As if in a spell, he buffed her ass with the fluffy towel.

"Good gardener." Gabrielle peered over her shoulder lasciviously and gyrated her hips, still impersonating me. "You like my massive arse?"

Bitch!

"Don't look at me, Madam." He dropped to his knees.

She tipped up her bottom and planted her feet apart. He licked her cleft while he unlooped his braces, unbuttoned his flies and dropped his trousers. His cock jutted out stiff as bone. Gabrielle bent over and spread her cheeks. He buried his face between and licked her from bottom to clit.

A drip landed on my bare toes. A warm drip. Looking down revealed my juices stringing from slot to feet. A unique sensation with a tear spilling down my cheek. I collected my tear, added it to my juices and stirred it at my clit.

Bill stood and yanked his wet shirt off, finally naked but for his trousers and boots at his ankles. His cock was so hard it curved like a sprung bow. He nudged it under Gabrielle's bottom cheeks. "Oui! I mean yes. Yes, William."

"Quiet, Madam."

I slid my fingers knuckle-deep inside myself, wobbled, and gripped the palm tree for support. The leaves shook, but I don't think anyone noticed.

Bill grabbed Gabrielle's bare hips and slid her onto him. She arched. Her jaw dropped. "F-fuck."

He didn't tell her to be quiet this time. She noticed that too, muttering louder in her horrible impersonation of me. "Fuck me, William."

Bill pushed, pulling her onto him too. "Yes, Madam."

Amidst an explicit squelching and slapping of skin, Bill fucked my friend while I finger-fucked myself. He swung her against the same palm tree I hid behind. She braced herself on the trunk and planted her feet wide, up on tip-toes. He rammed harder. I worked myself harder, adding my own brisk slurping to their indecent echoes.

Bill's eyes were screwed shut. "Oh Madam," he muttered. "Madam."

Gabrielle droned, "Yes. Yes. Fuck me. Yes." But her eyes weren't closed. She'd leant around the trunk and she stared straight at me. Triumphantly.

God, but they looked so fucking good fucking: Bill huge and powerful, ramming Gabrielle's small and perfectly proportioned body. With her darker hair, when she dropped her head, she did look a little like me. It wasn't impossible to imagine that we'd look like this.

To be continued. Based on a post by A Big Cat, for Literotica.

Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 6.

Garden Fantasies Abound.

Based on a post by A Big Cat. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Was it better that Bill pretended he was fucking me, or did that just make the betrayal sweeter for him, and more bitter for me; underlining what I couldn't have? And the pain of watching, fuck. It was mouth-watering. Delectable. The kind of throb one can't help but pick at and tease.

And still Gabrielle stared. A smile spread across her lips. Then her eyelids drooped and she ground to a halt. She gasped. "Yes!"

I filled my void with my own sad fingers, clamped my mouth shut and pretended Gabrielle's cries of ecstasy were my own, even though I couldn't come.

Bill ploughed on, grunting with each deep dig as Gabrielle quaked on his cock. Were those grunts the effort of shoving, or of holding back his orgasm?

I wanted him to come in her, to fill her like this morning, to overflowing, but the thought also emptied me.

Enough.

I found myself standing beside them, one hand on Gabrielle's wobbling buttock, the other on Bill's driving hips, trying to prize them apart.

They were so lost in each other they didn't seem to care I'd discovered them. I think they even thought I was trying to get a better look. Gabrielle raised a leg, digging her toes into the shaggy tree bark, tilting her hips toward me. Her cunt looked impossibly stretched around Bill's thick, glistening rod. Judging by her dopey smile and blissed out gaze this caused me more pain than her.

Bill took my hand. "I'm coming, Madam."

Had he gone mad? Was he my torturer now, too? I wriggled my hand free of him. "You are not!"

"B-but Madam." He looked like he might weep.

"Bill, please."

He slid out, and staggered back, clasping his cock like an unexploded rocket; so hard, his cockhead bulged like a beef heart from his fist.

"Oh Oui!" Gabrielle flipped round and dropped to her knees in front of him. "Explode for me."

"No, Bill!"

Bill twitched a few times as if in pain. Then took a deep breath and let himself go.

Gabrielle cursed and lunged at his cock, but I yanked her hair. She spun and cat-hissed.

Only then did Bill seem to notice my wet cheeks. He reached out to me. "Oh, Madam." His erection, aroused by Gabrielle, not me, seemed alien and dangerous. I stepped away from him. His cock flagged.

"I thought this is what you wanted?" He reached for me again. I flinched.

"Why would you ever think that?"

Bill blinked at Gabrielle, expecting her to answer, I suppose. But she avoided his eye, shaking her head and wrapping a towel around herself.

 

 

Bill picked up another towel. "Gabrielle said you wanted; you know;” He held it open to me. "To watch."

My body was on autopilot while my head spun somersaults. I shrugged off my damp clothes and stepped into Bill's cottony embrace. Gabrielle's eyes danced over my nudity. Her foot twisted at the ankle and she bit her lip. Did she ever get enough?

"I never said I wanted to watch you fuck." I lolled against him, still avoiding his troublesome half-mast cock. His hands were comforting and enlivening at the same time.

"And yet, here you are? Peeping?" Gabrielle tilted her head, regarding us like her private show.

"Well, yes. This time," I said. "I caught you. But not earlier, when you fucked on the kitchen table. That wasn't for my benefit."

Bill's rubbing faltered. "You weren't watching that?" He turned dark eyes on Gabrielle. "You said she was watching us."

Gabrielle shrugged coquettishly. "Oops."

His hands wrapped around my front and fluffed at my tits. "I would never have indulged her, Madam, if I; "

"I know, Bill." I nestled my ass against his cock. Hard again, this time from me. I raised a finger to my torturer, to tell her to go, when Bill's fluffing moved to my worked-up pussy lips and suddenly I didn't care what she did.

She dropped to her knees, I thought to get a better view of us, but she was; begging? "I am so sorry, Bash. Bill." She lowered her head, spoke quietly to her knees. "It is just; sex with you, with the two of you, it is like a drug for me. I have never felt so; " She searched for the word. Gave up. She looked up. "You two, together, you are like the perfect sex animal. As soon as I have you I want you again. Bill, this morning when I lied to you, I was lying to myself. From guilt. I wanted my delicious Bash there, to enjoy us enjoying each other. I imagined her aroused by watching you fuck me, and wanted you to imagine it too. Is this wrong?" She addressed Bill's hands between my legs, crawling toward them as if hypnotized. She looked like she was stalking us.

"And when you lied to me just now?" He spoke quietly, into my neck, hardly even addressing her. He tossed the towel and let his bare hands play with my bare tits instead, teasing my nipples to bullets with rough palms. My knees wobbled. My thigh tops chilled in a breeze.

Not a breeze. Gabrielle's sigh as she knelt at our feet. "I didn't lie. I knew she would watch us. She finds it too horny. Regardez." With feline speed, she lapped up the arousal treadling down my thigh, and jumped to her feet, pushing her mouth to Bill's.

"Umm!" He flustered, then calmed. "Hmm;”

She stepped away. He swallowed, then chuckled and kissed under my earlobe.

"Merde. See! Look at you! How wet you are for him. And how your taste hardens him. How can I resist this?" She unwrapped the towel. "I'm only human."

Bill's cock nudged at my bottom. He pulled back, probed his bulging cockhead under my ass, between my thighs. "I'm going to fuck you now, Madam."

I melted. My cunny actually clasped with salivating longing. But I crossed my feet and locked my knees, and wished I didn't have such a big gap between my thighs. (Gabrielle keeps telling me that big bottoms and a wide thigh gap drive men crazy, but I keep reminding her: I'm not a man.) "Bill, it's not safe."

"I don't care." His fingertips brushed my clit hood, opened my lips. "I'd rather risk being shot in the head than upset you again."

"Fuck-sake." Gabrielle sent her hands between opened knees.

I was so wet, his cock slid effortlessly under my ass, between my inner thigs. We both caught a breath. "I won't let you endanger yourself." I rode his thick meat like a broomstick, arching until my clit rubbed on his perfect wood.

"Please, Madam." He angled his lunges, trying to slip into me.

"No, Bill." I moved away, still enjoying his hot hardness sliding on my clit.

Gabrielle peered as his end protruded a good fist's length from between my thighs. "Fuck."

"You." I snapped. "Be my cunt."

She immediately opened her mouth over his end as it poked from my thighs, licking my clit on his backstrokes and humming at everything that entered her gob.

Bill's hips shook.

I whimpered as he worked my clit with a gorgeously indirect power. My empty, squeezing hole drooled over our join, and Gabrielle received us both on her eager (guilty?) tongue, fellating her perfect sex animal.

We swore; all of us I think; and Bill's torso stiffened against my back. I reached behind his arse and pulled him harder to me. He wrapped arms about me and hefted until my toes left the floor. I gyrated on him, flexed my thighs, possessed with odd image of sliding down an infinite, lubed banister. Gabrielle added her unique slobbery gobble, her fingers flapping between her spread knees.

It occurred to me dizzily to push her away before she was covered in cum, not to protect her from it but because she'd love it and that stuff was still mine. But it was too late. Bill and I always come together, and as my orgasm fountained and his cock tensed, he muttered, "M-Madam;” And rapture drowned me.

I grasped Gabrielle's shoulders. She strained to keep her mouth in place, the pad of her tongue under his end. His cock bucked at my clit, pressed so hard it felt like he was part of me and I was coming like a man. A white rope from shot from between my legs, all over Gabrielle's top lip and tongue. Then another and another. My orgasm hit me like a slippery juggernaut, ramming into my back. Or was that Bill? My cunt exploded with him, bursting me with bliss, then showering Gabrielle in bliss made liquid. With silent intent, she lapped and sucked as if to steal our pleasure, but her silky licks only drew more out and stole our breath instead. Bill thrust behind me like a jet pack for my own sex. I felt turbo charged, doubled-up.

"Oh oui," Gabrielle said hollowly, her tongue shockingly white. "Oui."

Bill lowered me back to the ground, and I stamped my foot. "Bitch!"

Gabrielle shone huge eyes up at me, smirking as she made a show of rolling my man's semen about her cheating gob. She even stood up so I could see better! I kicked her shin. She sniggered.

What was she playing at? "I told you, his; "

She pressed her messy lips to mine, then her tongue. Just as she did for him, she did for me, passing on my love's; love. Bill's blood warm, oystery flavor filled my mouth, slickly stirred by my best friend's adoring kiss. An orgasmic aftershock sent a wave of tingles across my skin and I whimpered and kissed her back greedily. Bill "oofed" behind me, like he'd been punched, but then I suppose he was treated to quite a sight: us wanton harlots kissing his cum between us!

Gabrielle sighed, eking out her kiss, cupping my cheeks and seeking Bill in my mouth to pass him back to me again. I didn't mind, each pervy slurp twisted my insides, but then I became aware of her slinking in my arms. As if she was dancing. And Bill, even though he'd come, was still rock hard between my legs, and pushing. I thought this was because of our hardcore heavy petting, but his arms, which had been wrapped about me, encompassed us both now to clutch Gabrielle's bottom. Meanwhile, Gabrielle pulled at his ass behind me, squishing me tight between them.

I swallowed our salty kiss, and my lover's essence slid down to my belly along with a lascivious trickle of realization. Bill was fucking us both.

Well, our clits anyway, sliding along mine to nudge his end to Gabrielle's as she rolled her hips to meet him. This made me laugh, or maybe it was more aftershocks making me giddy, but again my chest (and cunt) puffed in pride that my Bill was endowed enough to please us both like this.

With my back pressed to Bill's front, it was easy to imagine being Gabrielle's perfect sex beast. We kissed her with two mouths, squeezed her arse with four hands. I brushed stiff-nippled, pillowy tits to hers, while Bill teased her clit with steel that I oiled; a key if you like, inserted and winding us all up again!

Diary, it had been the best and worst of days, but now that I was trapped in this hard-soft love-lust sandwich, my world was complete; conjoined with my lovely man to give my best friend the sex of her life. And better than that, he joined her to please me, and then she and I to please him! I had gone through the bitter side of sharing a lover, and this side was all treacle.

Bill's relentless rod on our pussies was like a baton orchestrating our kissing and stroking. All echoes and contrasts. Silky-chinned kisses were followed by bristles. Great leathery paws followed by small, gentle claws. Gabrielle's ass rolled under my needy kneading, squeezed firmer by Bill covering my hands with his before following in the wake of my caresses up her sinuous back, then over her tits.

 

 

Bill stood beside us, clearly still enjoying our kissing, judging by the ever-ready cock he slid between our bellies. He stroked us from neck to bottom, which though performed calmly, left a glittering wake of horniness behind each caress.

I can never get enough of Gabrielle's kiss (sorry Bill). It's so yielding, yet exquisitely needy like a pussy that loves you back. It's doubly sexy when she tastes of Bill, so he can at least take comfort from that! And of course a kiss is always enlivened when your man curls his hand under your bum to squish your cunny. And your lover's cunny too.

We all but twerked on his deft fingers, sniggering into our kiss, catching our breaths as he slid thumbs into us while working our clits like little triggers. We tugged on his meat and bit his pecs but Gabrielle needed more, swiveling to face him, squeezing his bulges and turning her perfect kiss on him. Her back snaked along my front, and the contrast of her sleekness against his caveman bulk will haunt my erotic dreams forever. I stroked her tits, cupping them to Bill's kisses, while he slipped open her labia to my finger-tips and, as I dropped little bites over her back and bottom to kneel between their legs, he spread her wide to my tongue.

She curled a leg around his waist and her pussy nudged at his cock and my mouth like; well like the indecisive, hungry cat it was. Her juices looped from thigh to slavering hole, and she squirmed to get his end lodged inside. I teased her with his taut bulb, nudging it at her opening until she tried to impale herself on it, then pulling him out and sucking him instead. Fun for all. I especially enjoyed Bill and Gabrielle's curses. They could fuck, but at my pleasure. Not theirs.

Rain rattled the glass above us and flares of sunlight cast trickling shadows over our skin, I was lost in a dream from which I never wanted to wake. A dream of yielding, florid hollows and straining lumps. My sex thrummed, delighted by delighting the people I desired most. I licked and sucked and rubbed and teased, relishing that resonant throb of my own bits. It was so dreamy I wasn't at all surprised when Gabrielle's feet left the floor and she floated into the air.

If I was light as a beach ball to Bill, my petite friend seemed hardly a balloon. While I was enjoying my cock and clitty delight, Bill had bent down, taken a good grip on my girl's hips and stood, inverting her so he could, of course, eat her like an ice cream. He did it so casually and with such fluidity she didn't even scream, just gave over utterly to his strength like she was flipped up to man's mouth all time. I suppose Gabrielle's billionaire husband was all about the harnesses and toys and swing sets, she was no stranger to acrobatics.

So she joined me at Bill's cock, upside down, her legs a waving, wide Y to his mouth. Another rush of pride overwhelmed me and I sucked on him with renewed vigor. My friend's cheek pressed to mine, her hair covering us both, as if to discretely veil our adoration of his phallus.

She supped on my man, as comfortable as if she was reclined on a chaise. Bill thighs quivered like a race-horse every time our mouths slid along his shaft. He rumbled into Gabrielle's cunt so forcefully it croaked from her mouth and suddenly I wanted to be the one getting those cute noises from her.

Yesterday's Bathsheba, even the Bathsheba of an hour ago, would never leave Gabrielle's mouth alone with Bill's cock in this state. But since he'd offered to fuck me whatever the consequences, this Bathsheba was more confident. She was adored by this man. Not even a coppertop Audrey Hepburn with the oral skills of a thousand-dollar whore would steal his heart, even if she stole his cum. So I left my dangerous friend to do her worst, so I could do my worst to her.

I hopped up to share Bill's ice cream. He held her writhing little body steady and we ate her marshmallowy spread entirely for our own pleasure, taking turns to suck the fleshy cherry of her clit hood or swirling it between us like the third tongue in a particularly dirty three-way snog.

Bill's tongue grew uncoordinated and I sensed that when Gabrielle wasn't muttering French curses at our licking, she was giving as good as she got. Bill would come again soon. Sure enough, he tremored and had to brace himself. Gabrielle gave a little yelp on his meat. As impressive as my lovers were, I worried about them coming in this position. I dropped back to my knees. Despite her little elfin mouth she'd taken his entire length into her throat. I'd never managed that even with my massive gob. I waited for her to unimpale herself while tea-bagging his lovely great testicles. They clenched in my mouth. He blabbered, "C-careful ladies."

Gabrielle, our Ferrari, naturally took this as a sign to change up a gear. Bill staggered. She stopped deepthroating only to wank him vigorously onto her curled out tongue, her eyes shut, panting, "Oui; oui;” I quickly nuzzled her off his cock.

Bill swore, relieved I think, as I persuaded Gabrielle to kiss me instead of sucking him. Luckily, like Bill, she finds it impossible to ignore my plumpy great lips. I was sat beneath her, leant back on my hands. Once I had her attention, I made sure she could see my knees flop apart and my hips rock needily up at her

"Oh baby, sorry;” She wriggled, slapping Bill's thighs until he lowered her as obediently and gently as an elephant. She slid her body down mine to get her face between my thighs. Bill positioned her astride my face, glinting mischievously, and kissed me and I wanted to blub.

Then a hungry electric eel attacked my cunt. Gabrielle, with her characteristic sexual restraint, ground her mound on my mouth and her mouth on my mound.

Above me, kneeling astride my head and poised at Gabrielle's rear, Bill watched our sixty-nine. Seeing us through his desirous eyes doubled the thrill, especially as he ran a hand along his length. His masculine fist held his cock like an axe, a sight that flopped me even wider to Gabrielle's feeding frenzy.

I dug my fingers into his ass, dragged him closer to us, but tipped my face to him before he impaled my friend. He needed no persuading, sliding into my ready mouth. While every muscle on his body strained with the holding back his urge to come, I used every muscle of mine to draw it from him. When I tasted his precum I unsuckered from him, squeezed him hard until his spasms subsided, then slid the end of his cock into Gabrielle.

He plunged and she cried out. I lapped his balls and her clit simultaneously, slooping Gabrielle from his slimy shaft on each back stroke. Gabrielle panted between my legs, unable to focus on her licking, giving me a much needed moment to calm as I watched, in gory close-up, Bill fuck her from behind.

When he dug deep and pulled her hips to him fast as fist, I yanked him out of her and sucked her off him again. Meanwhile my clit melted into Gabrielle's warm hums, along with my entire lower half, tingling waves rolling into and out of the hot cave of her mouth. She slid two fingers into me and I bleated on Bill's pulsing cock

I quickly stuffed him back inside her to distract her from popping me. He pumped while I sucked her clit, and I opened my mouth for him again. Again I licked her off him, his cock on my pallet merging with my cunt on Gabrielle's, until my tongue felt like a monstrous clitoris, my mouth and sex like one plunderable, pleasure bringing orifice.

I controlled his meat, where it went and how deep and how fast, into her, into me, into her until even that fused into one and I couldn't tell if he was fucking her cunt or my mouth. Both sensations plugged a shivery electric bliss into my body, packing it in, brimming me over with it.

Meanwhile Gabrielle became the joggling, licking tip of Bill's cock on my cunt and I became the licking, sucking tip of her tongue on his ramming cock and balls. A single monstrous climax thundered around our three bodies, gathering pleasure from our licking and fucking and moaning, from the press and slap of flesh.

Gabrielle's squeals grew insane, like a chipmunk smothered by my pussy. No, that was me, into her. Bill pistoned our runaway train full steam off a cliff.

"Oui!"

He exploded deep into Gabrielle, ripping through her, out of her mouth, into me. The floor quaked. I screamed. Liquid heat splattered my lips and tongue. I pressed into it, to the source, lapped wildly at everything I could find. Everything flashed too bright. I screwed shut my eyes;

When I opened them again I was licking Bill's cum from Gabrielle's clitoris while he shuddered inside her, and she shuddered on me.

He withdrew and I took him in, sucking the last of his climax while Gabrielle lay starfished on top of me, panting hotly on my oversensitive folds.

 

 

"Merde." She flip-flopped around like a beached mermaid until she could kiss my face. Her stomach still trembled against mine. She was still breathless. "Merde, merde, merde, merde." She sucked a drop of cum from her bottom lip; she must've kissed it from my lips. "I feel I had three orgasms at once, you feel this?"

She joined me, loving up our man's happily dribbling phallus, while we rubbed our tingly mounds together.

We lingered like this for some time, enjoying the press of our bodies and Bill's post-fuck, tender hardness. Gabrielle cleaned drips from my chin, or joined me in licking them from him. She passed her gatherings to me in a kiss. It was so sweet she still respected this. And I have to say, dear diary, licking your lover's cum is utterly one of life's underrated pleasures. However, taking your lover's cum from another, because they love you too; this is a whole new world of off-the-scale, fucked-up deliciousness.

Diary, when Gabrielle left later that day she was still wobbly on her feet! Me too. Bill had to take the afternoon off as we managed to drain him a third time before we were finished. It was simply too convenient and comfortable a position, lying there with his cock between our kissing and the more we tried to calm him the more excited he became. As hard as I've tried, I've never managed to get three orgasms from Bill on my own, but I didn't feel jealous. It seems only polite to come three times in a threesome, don't you think?

Footnote:

Diary, I'm returning to this entry some three weeks later because today we received a gift in the post. From Gabrielle. I was so excited by it that I accosted Bill straight away, in his shower, to show him.

By the time I was naked and under the jets he was already hard, so I got to test the accuracy of our new; actually our only; toy straight away: a life-size replica of his finest hard on! As a dildo!

Diary, the joy of being fucked by a man when you've been denied for so long, even remotely, brought tears to my eyes. Bless him, he insisted the first time that he control the toy, holding it under his actual cock as he fucked me. The oddness gave us the giggles initially but having his real cock slide on my clit while his doppelganger filled me soon wiped the smiles off our faces. Then back on them again, dreamily. And watching your man spurt all over your belly and tits when you come on his cock is a multisensual head-fuck. Anyway. That's when I wept. And by the way, diary, you cannot know the pleasure of being licked and fucked at the same time by one person! Or maybe you can, who am I to judge? Oh, and yes, Diary, he is an exquisitely snug fit, even in my slobbery great maw.

A perfect day.

However.

Tonight we were lost in our upgraded sixty-nine. I was happily practicing my twisty deep-throat on his real cock, while he happily practiced fucking me with his prosthetic while licking me, when a troubling thought occurred.

When did Gabrielle make a cast of his erection?

An orgy, an illicit video, and love.

Dear Diary, picture this:

A small slim woman with big black eyes, massive podgy lips, and an annoyingly big bottom struts across her lawns toward a waiting mirror-black helicopter. Her fists are clenched. Her little feet are bare, as is her annoying bottom under her black Bellenciaga cocktail dress. Her dress and her sharp black bob are blown all about by the whirling blades and she finds this exhilarating, especially the powerful wind about her naked nethers. In the distance, behind her, stands her annoyingly big-choppered gardener-stroke-boyfriend. She tosses him a glare and flicks up the back of her skirt so he gets a; hopefully torturing; flash of bare buttock.

Bullseye! His eyes swell with worry, and his hand raises in a confused farewell.

"Fuck you, Bill," the woman says. But the helicopter drowns it out.

Now, picture this:

One hour later. The same furiously desirable woman is starfished naked on a graphite silk bedspread, writhing in orgasm as she's fed on by eight naked billionaire starlets while their rippling husbands watch in sated, post-coital awe.

Yes Dear Diary, dear Father, dear Bill, dear Whoever-the-fuck-is-reading-this, today I was angry with Bill and took revenge in my own unique way.

Remember, my muscle-bound giant of a gardener and I, Lady Bathsheba Ottoline Lovecome have been having an illicit; if not a little cliched; affair. In my last instalment, my best friend Gabrielle came to stay, then stayed to come, and much excellent fun was had. Eventually.

A few days later, Gabrielle sent me a dildo replica of my apparently loyal gardener's erection. This, remember, is her art, so it's not as odd as it might sound. She has many casts of many excellent phalluses. So more fun was had. I think I even confessed to you, dear Diary that nothing feels better than being simultaneously licked and fucked by the same man. But then it hit me: how, and when had Gabrielle made a cast of Bill's erect cock? Not just your everyday morning glory either, we're talking Bill at his biggest and hardest, as if someone had been playing with him for some time;

As an aristocrat, I have a rather unique little-black-book. You know that list of numbers everyone has for when they're lonely or needy down below? Well mine is full of invitations mostly, to upmarket sexy soirees that want their reputations made by nearly-royal patronage. I collect the invites for fun because generally they look just awful. And anyway, until recently Bill looked after me rather well down below so I haven't needed to party in that way.

Not today. Today I chose the most exclusive sex party I could find, the kind that sends a helicopter to collect you, and I scrubbed inside and out, deep down clean, ready to be dirty as I liked.

Diary, Bill, It was epic, and I'm going to recount it for you, and then make sure you read it. I understand we're not a couple in the traditional sense, or even exclusive fuck buddies. You're just my gardener for fuck sake. In fact we're doomed to part as soon as Father arranges a marriage for me; the only downside to a life as an entitled billionaire. But still, I didn't expect you to fuck my friend; well, not secretly anyway, not without me. I want you to see how it feels imagining me with someone else, like I'm forced to feel your betrayal every time we use the fucking dildo She cast from your monstrously erect cock. What did she do to get you that hard Bill? For me, you only get that veiny when I suck you, and when you're about to come. Or sometimes when I've come on your mouth. Is that what she did? Come on your mouth and suck you? Did you fuck her after? The one thing we deny each other since my father's death threats over getting me pregnant? Where did you come, Bill? In her cunt? Did you like coming in her cunt more than in my mouth? I've never enjoyed cum with anyone before, you know that don't you? Only yours.

So read this. And know I loved every last drop of it.

The Unicorn And The Beast Of A Thousand Mouths

The party was in a Bond villain mansion on its own island somewhere. Doesn't matter where. When I arrived, eight beautiful couples were milling about a golden terrace, sipping sunset cocktails and making awkward pre-sex small talk. They were the world's most highly paid models; all female; and their trophy husbands, all of them buff, witty, and; it turned out; very eager to please.

Jaws dropped when I walked onto the terrace. Mouths actually gaped. Any self-consciousness I had about my bubble bum offending these lithe angels fled. In my enforced solitude at Father's estate, it's easy to forget how the press has built me up into something of a unicorn. "The Most Desirable Woman Of All Time" Vogue called me. Little me! And the more invitations I ignore, the more desirable I become it seems. You'd do well to bear that in mind sometimes, Bill. Anyway, you should've seen how these beauties converged on me. I felt like a zookeeper at feeding time.

So many flirty smiles. So many pink cheeks.

The host bowed and scraped and I ignored her, grabbed a glass and drained it, then reached for the tallest, poutiest, cheekboniest girl I could find. I pulled her face down to mine and kissed her hungrily. She tasted as good as she looked, and perhaps she felt the same about me, because she whimpered in my mouth then melted and hummed on my tongue. My hand sought her husband's approval with a huntress will of its own, grabbing the swelling lump in his trousers. He very much approved. In seconds, with a flourish, and without unsuckering from his wife, I had his trousers unfastened and his naked rod bucking in my palm.

The onlookers laughed. Some clapped. All drew closer.

"A room," I said to my glowing host. "Now." Then I strode after her with a beautiful woman in one hand and a beautiful cock in the other. "All of you. Come," I demanded. And not for the last time either.

 

 

In a blink and a sashay we were in a bedroom that jutted out from cliffs over the sea. Aside from a floor-to-ceiling panoramic view of the surf, the room was decorated in shades of storm cloud, including a cumulus bed set beneath a mirror; like a silver lining! The monochrome interior of stone and leather and silk seemed purpose-made to make us baubles pop.

Eight couples, that's sixteen people, smooched over me as we explored our possibilities. Other than the one cock I'd unwrapped, we were all still dressed, and the planet's finest fabrics slid over me, hinting at hardnesses and softnesses beneath. Wherever I turned, smiling lips met mine, and glorious perfumes, and hands slid over my arms and back, and, as I filled my grip with firm ass and hard fronts and pert tits, so my admiring crowd's hands returned the favor. I felt like a ball of dough being deliciously kneaded, but also deliciously needed.

Have you ever been adored by a crowd, Bill? I mean tenderly pawed at by sixteen beautiful, highly successful and tasteful people? For their pleasure? Well I can heartily recommend it.

I felt wrapped in some fabulous creature intent on my pleasure, thirty-two hands stroking and squeezing, sixteen mouths seeking mine, or just any bit of skin, and pulling my clothes aside to find it. It was a girl who first discovered I was naked under my dress, because I remember the purr of delight and the claws digging into my bum. My knees wobbled but even gravity didn't matter against this kind of sexual force and my toes left the floor, born aloft by hungry doting. I threw back my head and laughed and the mirrored ceiling showed me flat out and held high, like a stage-diving rock-star, caught and totally in the hands of her adoring fans.

I watched my Ballenciaga unfurl itself from my body and snake away, leaving me naked and exquisitely vulnerable among the elegantly dressed crowd; this beast of a thousand mouths. Happy lips found the places they craved with moans and giggles. My feet parted, and touches got cheeky on my inner thighs and abdomen, spiraling in but still restrained. I was like a starfish floating on an ocean of caresses, being loved up by soft, hot jellyfish.

They turned me this way and that for their delight, while I squirmed in their grip to kiss whoever I could, wherever I could. More clothes peeled away, from my admirers this time, and soon nipples were offered to me, then, tipping me almost upside down, bouncy bottoms met my kisses, and sweet sexes, some yielding and wet, others hot and hard. Meanwhile a thousand little kisses rained down on my tits and bottom and, at last, my clamoring sex. Then held like a bloom into which they nuzzled and cooed.

My adorers sat me in the middle of the bed, and there were so many naked bodies pressed in on me, I was bewildered by sweeping curves and veiny muscles, all smoothed in every shade of brown and bronze and pink, all shoving or spreading for me. I worked by touch alone, exploring proffered limbs with fingers or lips or tongue in order to determine their masculine or feminine form. Even unexpected combinations of both: a girl stood astride my lap to offer me a kiss with her rudest lips, but a huge and eager cock slid under her from behind until I was licking and sucking both at once. Remember when Gabrielle did this for us, Bill? I didn't, I was enjoying the juicy meat in my mouth too much. Then my eyelids grew heavy. Tongues took turns beneath my splayed, kneeling thighs; and bodies seemed to morph. I mean one minute I'd be running my tongue down the lovely grooves of some epic abs, but just as I got to the great club I was after, the shapes all changed into a bottom, which bent over to present a sopping slot and little pink knot, which melted on my tongue into lovely warm balls dropping into my upturned mouth.

All the while, men rutted at any soft cleft on my body, while women rubbed wetly on any lump, and my mouth couldn't keep up with the demands of it. My cunt, licked by two, sometimes three people at once, fizzled like a firecracker.

Too much. So I put my foot down. "Stop," I said. "Girls, wait. Men, fuck me." I stretched out on my side, cocked a leg, and reached under to spread my cunt and bum cheeks wide. "Fuck all of me."

What do you think of that, Bill? Would you like that? To fuck my cunt and my arse? Or would you agonize over it, but fuck Gabrielle instead? Well, all eight of these muscle-bound fuckers leapt right to it.

The women stopped feeding off me to become my handmaidens, maneuvering their husbands into place for my pleasure. There was a rush for my cunt at first, but I made them promise this was an "excuse me" dance, and all should move on if asked to do so. I also told them that no man could come without my permission and when they came they should do so together and, most importantly, withdraw. I wanted to watch them explode on me. Women were to make sure their men behaved, but in the process could cum as much as they; we; liked. Lucky us.

So, Dear Diary, dear Bill, dear Father, dear Strangers, I was utterly, utterly fucked. Cunt, anus and mouth obviously, but also my hollow fists too as I rubbed a couple of monsters on my nipples. Even the soft pads of my feet joggled on a couple of clubs and my ears were teased by dancing tongues while another cockhead pattered on my giddy clitoris.

I shut my eyes and let myself get profoundly stretched and deeply stuffed. After so long denying myself I felt like an itch was finally, properly getting scratched. Sorry Bill. But isn't that how you felt fucking Gabrielle?

The women did a marvelous job of synchronizing their men and licking; or dripping on!; cock tips so they were always slippy on nipples or clit or toes. I felt like I was being force-fed pleasure. The dough of me was pulled this way and that, to let new configurations get access to my arse and cunt and clit, while a constant delicious rut of cocks presented themselves to my mouth and fists for a royal blowjob-cum-titwank.

What started as sensuous, almost exploratory slidings, deep in and out of me, became harder and demanding. I grew needy too, taking meat into my throat, and grinding hard at thrusts down below, possessed of the delirious notion that I might get all the cocks to knock together in my middle. I gobbled at every end. Even my hands milked hard and fast. Even my feet!

The women were crimson-cheeked and glistening-thighed, smirking as they fingered themselves or helped their men swap holes, or just panted into frothy little orgasms. Their men were clearly having trouble holding back, and soon each hot head that plugged my gob was salty with precum. Since you Bill, this taste always sets me off, did you know that? Well it did again today, but this time it wasn't my gardener's precum was it? It was the overexcited juices of a slew of strangers. I sucked as many as I could before I couldn't hold back any longer, and joined my sisters in orgasm. I went rigid, and exploded in rolling, tingling waves. I screamed, cock-muffled by one lucky specimen. The women cheered. The men groaned, but thankfully fucked on. One of them cursed and begged to cum, probably the one in my mouth. I gasped nasally on him and juddered against my pummeling strangers.

My climax didn't go, not really. It left a need behind it, so I ignored the men's quivering, uncontrolled thrusts and the women muttering to hubbies to, "Hold on, hold on!" and the men moaning, "Madam, please;” and I shoved and rubbed and sucked for more.

Flash frame: A lithe dancer kneeling by my head arches back, rigid in my mouth while his wife wanks him into me. A dark hulk standing between my splayed thighs is lodged deep in my cunt, his knotted muscles popping. Another huge, hard mattress of a man lies trapped under me, shoving up into my anus while his wife watches, jaw thrust and two fingers knuckle-deep in her cunt. My fists blur two cocks over my stiff nipples, while their wives dip into the scrum to wriggle wet tongues over their tips. A woman, standing behind her sleek, bronzed man; both straddling my leg; jiggles his cockhead on my slippery clit and he rises onto tip-toes and grinds his teeth at the ceiling. Powerful, hirsute twins rub my soft feet frantically on their clubbish cocks while their wives suck their balls.

So I said, "Umm! Umm!" And they understood. And eight men roared in chorus, and came.

And they kept their promise too. All inside withdrew; even the man in my mouth; and blasted thick liquid heat over my cheeks and lips, and my cunt, and my bum and my nipples and fingers, and all over my toes. Jet after jet glazed me while men cursed and spasmed in their wive's milking fists and I deliriously nuzzled for more, more, more.

A new ball of fire swelled in my middle, as if filling the space the fucking left inside, ignited by laval splatters across my skin.

"Girls! Now; now; now!" I blathered and the women all but clawed their spent men from me to have their go on the most desirable woman of all time. In the mirror, I looked attacked by lionesses, barely visible beneath the feeding-frenzied heads. Hot tongues lapped every inch of me, cleaning, eating and reheating me. They slurped and sucked at my nipples and fingers and toes, and, oh my good fucking God, my gooey clit and anus.

In a split-second of crackling-edged clarity, like a calm before a storm, I watched their dirty dance. Dutiful husbands took station behind and beneath their wives, burying heads or indefatigable cocks between slippery spread thighs.

 

 

The world's most beautiful faces licked cum from me, and from each other, while writhing on their men, gasping, and offering me white-slicked lips and tongues like kisses of life.

Too much! My skin furred, then blossomed, and I released a squeal that came right from my soul. A lightning bolt arched me onto my shoulders and heels and I writhed as if tasered. The girls came with me, grunting and grinding on their lover's mouths or cocks, gaped jaws dripping semen. I wrapped my arms and legs about them, my adoring beauties, and held them tight as I cackled insanely and they jerked and spasmed and cackled with me.

Spent, I drifted into a doze. A few last cat laps cleaned me up, then languorous kisses covered my body, while bass and alto voices murmured breathless thank yous into my ear.

One-by-one, the happy couples gathered their things, and their loved-ones. And they left me alone.

Outside, the surf sighed. For a silly, comatose moment I thought it was your breath.

And here I am, Bill, one helicopter ride and one soapy soak later, wrapped in my towel and thinking about how I'm going to get this into your head. I hope it turns you on as much as it did me. I hope it breaks your heart like you broke mine.

Oh dear. Oh no. Oh fuck.

Diary, this arrived on email. A video from Gabrielle. I'll describe it to you.

The Video.

"Bonjour, petite! C'est moi, your sexy little minx best friend. Mwah. Mwah."

It was filmed on a laptop camera in her bright, creatively messy artist's studio. Gabrielle looked gorgeously Hepburn in a sixties baby-doll dress. I was considering how silly Bill got when I wore mine, then realized Gabrielle was wearing that actual dress and that she must've stolen it. I filled it better than her, though. It hung like curtains on her neat little frame and its turmeric color clashed with her copper curls.

"So, today sweet Bash I am doing you a favor." She leaned conspiratorially into the frame, even though she was quite alone. "I have invited your lovely man to my studio and I will test him for you. I sense you both are hiding big feelings under your skins, so it is my duty to make sure Bill is a man you can trust, non?"

She reddened, like I needed any other proof her motivation was bullshit. She just wanted to fuck my gentle giant. Again. She twirled her hair, and stared into the distance, then cleared her throat. "So. You watch while I tempt him and let us see." A doorbell rang. "Bon!" She scampered off.

Bill wandered into the frame. Too close to see more than his hips, but unmistakably him judging by the tweedy gardeners' uniform my Father made him wear. Then I noticed Gabrielle had set a mirror behind them, revealing their full frames as well. She clearly wanted me to see every detail of what was about to transpire. I guessed this was the day she made a cast of his erection. My stomach flip-flopped. Whatever happened next was bound to hurt.

He looked like he was being dragged into the room. I'd seen him approach a wasp's nest with more bravado. "Miss Gabrielle," he rumbled, and took off his cap.

Gabrielle pressed her front against him and threw her arms around his neck. He patted her back lightly.

She held on too long, strained up on tip-toe, her hips nudging at his front. "Bill, I have been thinking too many thoughts about this morning. My knickers, they are ruined."

She leaned back to check his reaction, kicking a playful foot behind her. His cheeks blazed. "Miss Gabrielle, I must remind you; "

"I know I know. You said in your message. You're just doing this for Bash, so you can fuck her."

He uncoiled her arms from his neck. "That's not what I said. I want Lady Bathsheba to be happy, and this seems a way I can; please her without risk of pregnancy and her father having me killed."

"Bof." Gabrielle shrugged. "I don't get it, but she's your girlfriend, so;”

"She's my employer not; "

"Merde!" Gabrielle clawed her hair. "I don't care. You are both too fucked up. Just;" she waved at his hips; "get it out Okay? And we'll start."

Bill shifted awkwardly.

"Oh come on, I have seen your cock. In detail. I have orgasmed on it and I have sucked it dry, and now you are shy of showing it to me?"

"But that was for Lady; "

"Stop talking." She unfastened his belt, dropped his trousers and yanked down his boxers. She picked up his long shirt tails and peered under at his flaccid cock. "Monsieur this is pretty but will please no one." She pulled his shirt off over his head and threw it away. She sighed over his powerful torso. "Hmm. Bash is so lucky."

Bill squeezed his cock and balls. "Um. Perhaps I should?" He flapped at his meat. I'd never seen him do this. With me he was always hard. Or spent. This gave me a flush of pride, then a dip of sadness.

"Oh oui;” Gabrielle chuckled and swung a foot as she watched him tug at himself. "Life sometimes, it is just too sexy. N'est pas?"

But aside from a general thickening and blushing, his cock refused to rouse.

My heart burst. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad. Then I clocked the super-hard dildo on my dressing table and braced myself. Something, or someone, got him rigid.

Of course, Gabrielle dropped to her knees, setting her face at his hips and close to the screen. She winked at the camera, at me, then swung dollish eyes up at Bill. "Oh well, I suppose I will just have too;” She opened her mouth and ducked to collect him between her lips.

A whimper left mine.

Then Gabrielle sprang into the air. No, not sprang. Lifted. Bill had picked her up.

"No, Miss Gabrielle." He plonked her at arm’s reach. "I thought this might be an issue."

To be continued. Based on a post by A Big Cat, for Literotica.

Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 7.

Captured on video.

Based on a post by A Big Cat. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

He rummaged in his discarded trousers and pulled out a familiar, leather-bound notebook. My diary! "Perhaps you might read this for me?"

Gabrielle could hardly speak for pouting. She opened the pages, her flush deepened. "Fuck;” She flipped through. Giggled. "Fuck, my friend is dirty;”

I flushed too. Squirming inside at the thought of my secrets being laid bare. Then I remembered, I wrote it to torture my father anyway, and he'd even shared it with his rent boy. I was always reading it out to Bill too. So why not let Gabrielle read it too? She was in half of it anyway.

Bill mumbled the same sentiments to Gabrielle, who I am certain, was looking for mentions of herself.

Perhaps she found something then because she went quiet. Her eyes widened at a page, then peered, then welled up.

I had nothing to fear, I'd only ever expressed adoration for Gabrielle. Which is what made this betrayal sting so. "Oh, how I adore that girl," she whispered, then swung her hips and winced at the sensation, presumably something to do with her underwear. "Too sexy. My poor panties. Monsieur, I must remove them."

"I'd rather you didn't, Miss."

She tutted, reached up her, my!, dress, and wriggled her knickers down. She grabbed one of Bill's great paws and stuffed the little white garment into his fist. "See what you do to me?"

Bill cleared his throat, shook the knickers out, then neatly folded them and put them on the bench. He wiped his hand on his bare buttock.

Gabrielle snorted. "I will read for you, then, to get you hard;” she cupped his balls lightly and he flinched. She stamped her foot, quivering her unfettered bottom under the dress. "Bill you must let me touch you or how are we to make the cast?"

She explained how she'd need to wrap plaster-soaked strips around his phallus, smoothing out bubbles as she went. Bill cleared his throat again and nodded. "But no more," he said.

Gabrielle picked up my diary and read the section about, "Three Bells for Belle.” Remember, the time Bill spread me on a chesterfield and licked me while I read the story to him? Or tried to. No doubt Gabrielle was hoping to put the notion in his head to repeat that performance on her.

But it certainly had an effect. My words bounced him almost immediately erect. Her sweet, husky little voice and her thick French accent didn't do any harm either.

He wasn't as bustingly hard as the dildo they made, but it seemed enough to spring Gabrielle to action. She grabbed a jar, scooped out some ointment and made to apply it to Bill's bucking meat. He twisted away. "What's this?"

"It is to protect your sensitive skin. I work quickly, and use a special plaster, but it can still burn a little." She reached for his cock again. He swiped the cream off her fingers and covered his erection, working vigorously to keep himself hard. I had to cross my legs. I salivated at both ends! Diary, I adore Bill's cock, what can I do? It's like an addiction.

Gabrielle knelt before him again, this time reaching under the bench and lifting a dripping white strip of fabric. She dangled it over his erection and flopped one end on the base of his shaft. She wrapped it round. "Is not too cold?" she said breathily, working carefully, pressing the strip to his skin and smoothing it dead flat as she worked. Her tongue was caught between her teeth.

"It's fine," he said.

She cast a gaze up at him and dimpled a smile. "You like me doing this, hmm?"

He didn't answer. I think he'd closed his eyes.

She wrapped him from base to tip, and he started sagging. Was that the weight of the plaster or was he losing his erection?

"Perhaps you might read again for me, Miss Gabrielle?" I grinned when he said this. Even my friend at her flirty best couldn't keep him hard. My words were more arousing to this man than a woman like Gabrielle lovingly stroking his cock.

She growled, perhaps thinking the same. "No, I cannot read and work. You read your lady porn yourself."

Bill opened my notebook and, as if by magic, nudged rigid again.

Gabrielle whistled. "That worked. Which bit are you reading?"

 

 

Bill took a breath, as if computing whether it was Okay to answer, then reported in his basey whisper: "Lady Bathsheba described how, alone once in her room, she squatted over a hand mirror, pretending it was my face. She ah; she dripped on it. Rather a lot."

Gabrielle laughed throatily, "You really like eating her, non?"

"Very much."

She wrapped another band around his erection, smoothed it. Hummed. "I thought you liked to taste her, when the three of us, we had sex together. You liked this too? Us three together?"

"I liked that Lady Bathsheba liked it."

"I think for a fact you liked it too. You came many times."

Bill didn't answer.

"Read me a bit, monsieur. From the three-of-us part. Let's see how indifferent you are."

Bill flipped pages and read about our first three-way together, on the terrace in the sun. I was crouched on his mouth while Gabrielle dropped her skirt over my head so I could lick her.

He stopped reading after I'd described our orgasms, and she rolled her hand for him to continue. When he got to the part where she sat naked on his face while I watched, her wrapping fingers trembled.

"You have a world-class tongue, Bill." She spoke to his cock, working her winding way round it. "And what happened after this? After I came on your mouth? While Bash watched and sucked you?"

"You know what happened."

"Read it to me."

I didn't like how rigid he looked now. It seemed he was enjoying this strange once-removed sex with her. He turned the page and read my description of us riding both ends of him, Bill fucking her while he licked me. It was safe enough, I suppose, I mean we had actually done that, and very much enjoyed it, but it felt wrong, like they were getting off on each other all over again, but this time without me. Was this it then? What got him so quiveringly hard?

But no. He softened.

Gabrielle cursed. "No, no, no. Don't go limp now, what is wrong with you?"

"I'm sorry. It just feels wrong. Even just talking about; it. With you."

"Fucker! You know you are lucky, being here now with me! Men fight over me! One travelled the world for one hour with me! Another, when I was naked for him, he was so intimidated by my beauty he couldn't harden, yet so excited he came anyway!"

"You are exquisite Miss Gabrielle, that's not the point."

"Don't patronize me."

"I do. desire you. How could I not? After all we've done together. With Lady Bathsheba."

"So, prove it! Prove it in stiff flesh for me."

"It's not so simple, Miss. My fear of hurting Lady Bathsheba is just greater than my desire for you. Even though she's not here."

"My God. You are desperately in love with her, aren't you?"

Bill didn't say a word. He cleared his throat, then cleared it again and took a shaky breath. Pages turned and he read another passage about me sixty-nining him in the conservatory, His dick hardened.

Gabrielle finished her wrap and smoothed it all over one more time with both hands and a lascivious giggle. She washed up, shouting over her shoulder, "Now you must stay hard just for a few minutes."

She took the book off him and sat in an armchair to read my words in her sultry accent. She told my stories with her knees together and raised, her feet propped on the seat, and twisted at the ankle to display her glistening, puckered sex. Perhaps this way she could believe he was aroused by her, while I was sure it was my words exciting him. His eyes seemed closed. Mostly. Mine weren't. They drilled into Gabrielle's sweet cunt, watching her drip between her bottom cheeks. I imagined scooping that lovely stuff on my tongue, swathing it over her clit. I don't know how Bill resisted. He is far stronger than I.

After a few minutes, she gently took the mold off him, and I presumed they were done. So did he. He grabbed his shorts and stepped into them.

"No darling, wait! One more for luck." Gabrielle grabbed an airtight container. "I need to make a safety mold. Those plaster ones, they never work. So I always use alginate too. It is quicker, just ninety seconds, and much more detailed. Works every time."

"So why;” Bill sighed hard. "Why bother with the plaster?"

Gabrielle pouted a shrug. "It is sexy." She shook the canister, biting her lip at his erection. "It is even harder down there now, anyway, non? Shame to waste it. Bon. I mix warm water with powder in here, you put your meat in, and take it out, et voila!"

She put the canister on the floor, stirring the sludge inside it briskly. "Okay, you do a press-up over this, lower your cock into it, like into a woman, then absolutely do not move until I say you can, you can do this? Quick, go, go."

Bill dropped onto his hands, and lowered himself into the tube of gunk.

Gabrielle squeaked. "Bon! Do not move! I read for you!

My cheekster friend of course had it all mapped out. Bill's braced position put his head right in front of her armchair. With a fluidity that suggested she'd practiced this, she jumped into her chair, shuffled her bottom to the edge of the seat, flopped back and looped her legs over the chair arms. Her mound was so close to my man's head she could probably feel his breath. Her lips slowly petaled open under him and he turned his head from the explicit spread. She grasped him back in place. "No! Still! Be still!"

Chuckling, and kicking excitedly, she picked up my diary. She read from a part where she'd sat on Bill's cock, reverse cowboy I believe they call it, and I knelt between their legs, licking them both. While she read, she toyed with her flushed folds. Bill strained, eyes shut, but with his ears no doubt full of her sloppy sounds and panting. His muscles tensed in the prolonged push-up, his naked ass quivered.

"Miss Gabrielle, two minutes has passed, I; "

"Shush!" Gabrielle got to the part where she and I finally sucked Bill off, fighting over his eruption. Bill groaned. Gabrielle squirmed and shoved my notebook between her legs, rubbing her clit hard with it, coming on my pages, on my handwriting, cackling like a witch.

She was still crimson and sliding my diary around her cunt, when Bill stood from his task and dressed.

"Thank you Miss Gabrielle," he said, shoveling his still hard cock into his boxers. "Lady Bathsheba will be delighted."

"Can't you see how I drip for you?" Gabrielle fanned her sex with my notebook, and slid two fingers into her podgy cunt as if scratching an itch. "It is a shame to waste it. And a shame to waste your hardness too I think."

"It won't go to waste." He put out his hand for my diary.

"Fuck me, Bill." Gabrielle tossed my diary, pulled her feet apart and back, and spread her lips. "Please."

"No, Miss." He collected my notebook and left the frame.

She made a sharp squealing kind of growl and flapped her feet. The door shut behind him.

Gabrielle swore and clamped her thighs over her hands, then smacked her puffy mound as if telling it off, and came back to the screen.

"So, you lucky bitch. I guess you'll get the joy of that cock this afternoon. I'd like to say it was my doing but, it was all you." She sucked her fingers, sighed. "Sweetie, be careful though. He properly loves you, and this cannot be. You have duties. You know this. Today, if he fucked me, that was the desirable outcome, oui? Because then he was just a good fun fuck, or lick, and maybe you could have been together even if you were married, just for the fabulous sex, and no one would be hurt. Like you and me? But now;” She grimaced. "Be careful, sexy lady. This is not the husband you need." The screen went black.

Diary I only got this video after I'd slotted the pages describing my shameless orgy under Bill's door.

And, shit, he loves me.

I think we might have said this to each other, or I probably had, but only in the heat of the moment, not in a way that counted. I mean we say we want to eat each other too, all the time, but we never actually go cannibal. This was this serious kind of love. The kind that quietly, inextricably binds.

And I'd blown it, throwing my supposed sexual freedom in his face. Worse, I'd probably broken the heart of the person I cared about most in the world.

But maybe that was a good thing. We could not be together, not just because so much was expected of me, but for Bill's own safety. Father had threatened to kill him if he swayed me from my familial duties. Perhaps we needed to finish this. Rip off the band aid. Perhaps I should let him go.

Diary, the dawn is rising. I'll go to him now.

 

 

So as I walked across the dewy grass in naught but my bathrobe that chilly morning, heading for the gatehouse Bill lived in, I had a grownup plan. I would apologize for rubbing his nose in my shit with that diary entry, but then lay it on the line. We were getting too close. I cared too much. He should leave.

But the morning sun was spilling gold all over the place, and as I found the open window I always used to sneak into his bedroom, the gold piped in there too. It gilded my beautiful man asleep in his bed, naked on his covers, on his back, his cock half-hard and nodding and squirming in dreams of its own.

I'd intended to use the front door for once, like a responsible adult, but found myself mesmerized by his rod and climbing in through his window again. I leaned over Bill's sweet cock and told myself, one last time. Then it was warm against my lips, then warm against my tongue, and then warm in my mouth. It wasn't until it was clenching against my palette that I checked Bill's other end, to find pale green eyes sparkling down at me.

"Morning, Madam," he said.

He seemed happy. Had he not read the diary yet? That was something, but it didn't change what I needed to do. I shrugged off my bathrobe and climbed into bed with him. Not beside him, but wedging between his legs so I could keep sucking.

I didn't say a word, just gazed at my gorgeous man and sucked and rubbed. One last time.

He made a ragged, growling sigh. "Careful, Madam. I'll come."

I rolled my eyes at him, as if to say, "Isn't that the point?" and rubbed him faster. He stroked my hair. His eyes filled mine so I had to shut them, for fear they'd leak. I clogged the lump in my throat with his hard end. His legs shook beside me.

"Madam," he blurted. I drew harder on him. He shuddered violently, as if still trying to hold back.

"Hmm!" I said. "Hmm!"

He shoved up at my face and shot his hot, salty-sweet love into my mouth. Another day I might have guzzled him, but today I took it slow as I could. I let his frantic pumps flood my tongue, coat me, and overflow. I swirled him round and round, like wine, groaning like a connoisseur, and took deliberately small gulps, to relish each oysterish slide down my throat. I sucked and squeezed until I could get no more from his tip and even then I sucked on, halting his softening as long as I could. I wanted more, another release from him, and could probably get it, we'd managed before, but no, I'd promised myself that was the last.

So I let him go, kissed his happy cock goodbye, then each drained ball, and crawled up his body, licking spillage from my lips. As ever, this made him blush, but smirk. He was far too polite to say how he loved me doing this dirty thing, and that made it even sexier doing it for him. I wanted to kiss him, and he leant up to me to do so, but we knew we didn't do that. It felt too good in the same dangerous way fucking would be too good. Instead I stood astride his face and let my dangling juices glisten in the sunrise as I dripped for him. Let him see how much I loved his cum. How much I loved him.

He stroked my legs. "I thought you'd be exhausted after your orgy." He grinned and smacked my bum. So he had read it. I wondered if he didn't believe me. Perhaps he thought it was a story. I answered by opening my labia, and wriggling.

"It's Okay," he said, his gaze lost in my sex. "I can see why you did it. I should've explained how we made your dildo. Did Gabrielle send you the video?" A long, sticky drip landed on his lips. He licked it off. "And you clearly did it to get to me. Which proves you like me. So that's something, even if it did hurt at first." He chortled at another long drip dangling over him. It landed, he licked, hummed. "All those adoring fans. I'm so lucky." He regarded me like I shone. "Bash. I; "

I crouched on his mouth and shut him up.

Bash. He called me Bash.

I came too quickly. I came too quickly and so hard I couldn't bear his magical mouth on my flaming, jangling clit any longer. I wanted it to last longer.

I wanted it all to last much longer.

I flopped off his face onto his chest and shuddered in his arms. I took a breath to say the words: "You should go." But he tipped my chin to him, and kissed me. We tasted of each other. I felt like I was tumbling into him. "Stop," I said.

"I love you," he said. "Marry; "

"Stop."

"No." He turned us over, lying above me. He rocked his hips at mine. He was rigid again, just from licking me. How could I dump a man who worshipped me so much? I leaked a tear, I couldn't hold it back. It rolled down the side of my head and he kissed it away. Something perfectly blunt and hard nudged between my cunt lips. He paused. His fat cock at my opening was a promise: this man would risk his life to be with me. Suddenly my grownup plan seemed weak and hollow.

"Marry me," he said.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't say no. But I couldn't say yes either. I curled my hips up at him, and brought him a little deeper. A little closer. This wasn't a need to be fucked. I could have that anytime. This was a need for much more than that, it was a need to be with him, and that would cost me dear. To be with Bill I'd have to give up my inheritance, my title; all the life I was born to. And worse of all, Father would seek murderous revenge.

But Bill slid deeper still. He'd made his decision. He waited for me, half inside me, half out. Our skins coalesced where they touched, aching to become one thing. Our breaths locked step. Our hearts too. I wrapped my arms about his neck, and my legs about his hips;

Fuck it all.

"Yes." I pulled him in. "Yes!"

My last entry starts in heaven;

Dear Diary, do you know what a story arc is?

It means the path a story takes from beginning to end; hopefully ending in a different place than where it started. Ideally, the opposite of where it started. Since I learned that, I never trust anything that starts happy.

And Bill and I started this part of our story in actual heaven. By heaven I mean shacked up in a Mayfair townhouse loaned to us by Gabrielle (her hubbie was a tech-trillionaire, remember) under the certain, not unpleasant, condition that we were her "fuck bunnies" and had to please her whenever she came to visit.

We were hiding from my father, who'd told the world's press that Bill had coerced me into running away with him because Vogue declared I was "The Most Desirable Woman In The World" and he wanted me for himself.

Remember, Bill and I had agreed to marry, even though that would mean me giving up my title, as Father would never permit me to marry our gardener. Also, and worse, the old bastard promised to have Bill killed if he stopped me elevating the blood line by marrying royalty. He didn't put that in the press. Meanwhile Gabrielle was loving the subterfuge and had sent decoys of us into the world. Square-jawed, muscle-bound slap-heads and black bobbed, pillowy-lipped sex kittens popped up in Paris, Milan, New York and Japan. Yet here we were, hiding in plain sight.

I was 23 at the time, and even though I was due my inheritance at 21, Father had held it back from me. His logic; if one can call it that; was that age was irrelevant. The family fortune would only come to me when I was an adult, and I wasn't an adult until I'd done the grown up thing and married someone he approved of. I decided that, short of having my father killed; and Gabrielle said she'd happily do that herself; I would have his actions proven unlawful. I would lawyer my way to my fortune. Then my great big beautiful man and I could hide somewhere until nature did the job of killing Father for us.

So our story starts with us hiding from the world in our Georgian townhouse, in our kitchen with the shutters drawn, me reclined on the altar of a granite kitchen island, and Bill standing between my legs. Heaven indeed!

It was our first day alone together and I'd promised him breakfast, so I laid out a naked girl buffet for him on the countertop. He was taking sweet, sweet time over it too. Me, that is. He was taking sweet, sweet time over me.

 

 

He lifted his head from my happy cunt. "Okay, my love?" He kissed one of my feet where I'd propped them on his mountainous shoulders. My spilled juices strung from his chin to my toes. He licked them. "You look; feverish."

My entire mound was buzzing like a doorbell and fat as a football. I couldn't speak. He kept fucking me to the edge, then licking me to the edge, then fucking me to the edge again. I couldn't say how long we'd been at it. I felt suspended at the top of the world's tallest roller coaster, while it grew and grew and grew and the view got scarier and scarier. My body tingled from the tips of my toes right to the end of my glossy jet follicles.

And it was fuck time. He stood, gripped my licked-and-fucked-floppy legs by the ankles, splayed me, and slid his glossy wood deep into me.

"Let; me; come," I begged. He dug in and out, building his pace. I considered reaching for my clit and finishing myself but the minute I made any kind of cummy breath at all, Bill swapped and I didn't want to lose that; fucking; great; fucking.

He scoffed, and drove on, faster. He was sheened in sweat from forehead to abs, and not just because it was summer and the shutters were closed. Bill always worked hard. His every thrust sent waves of bliss coursing from my hot cunt to froth over my skin, then more, and more, and more again, filling me to bursting then pumping even more. The tsunami of my orgasm rose until I could see nothing else.

I arched; gasped. Now! Now!

He pulled out, dropped and sucked my entire cunt back into his mouth. The monster fuck-wave lulled slightly, but loomed over me bigger than ever behind the sparkles he licked over my swollen clit. He spread my lips and flippered his tongue, fanning flames, flaring them brighter, ready to explode.

"F-fuck;” I hissed.

No! He lifted. I tried to clamp my feet behind his head, but it was too late. He stood again and slid his slobbery rod back to work. I growled, he laughed again. I think he'd grown actual horns. He pumped and pumped and pumped.

Thank the merciful orgasm God for Gabrielle. She slammed the front door, shouting, "Bonjour fuck bunnies!"

Bill shone, doubled his speed, then, at last, curled over and kissed me. I locked my ankles around his shoving hips, my arms around his neck and laughed in his mouth because I knew that was it. That was my permission. He loved me to orgasm in a kiss.

So I did. I turned inside out and screeched, my tongue quivering in his mouth, juddering on his cock and grinding my clit needily on the prickly bit of fur he never shaved above his balls. Double whammy, clit and cunt exploding together. I could hardly breathe for guttural, shuddering squeaks.

Gabrielle appeared. "Careful Bill, you are killing her with orgasm, I think."

A huge steamy hiss. Was that me? No, it was my BFF making herself a coffee right beside us.

I think Bill had planned on climaxing with me; it was the thought of blasting cum all over my clit that had got us worked up in the first place. Instead I could almost hear his locks thunking into place. Our landlady was no doubt here to collect her rent.

I sighed and slinked on the granite, stirring on his thick meat. I found Gabrielle perched beside Bill's rocking ass, smirking as she sipped an espresso. She looked edible in a flowery summer dress, with her mass of copper curls tied up but barely contained.

"Darling." I put out trembling fingers to her.

She kissed them, while sending a long, lascivious gaze up and down my man. He stayed lodged in me, idling in there, both of us relishing our completeness. I clasped at him inside, and took Gabrielle's cup off her.

"So;” I gulped her rocket fuel. "What would you like for breakfast, Madame?"

But Gabrielle was already sliding from her stool, sinking to my fiancé’s feet. She pushed his hips back to reveal his slimy dick, and lapped it from balls to tip, dipping over the end for a popsicle suck. "Hmm." She smacked her lips. "You haven't come yet, monsieur?"

"No, Miss Gabrielle."

"Bill," I curled over to watch my wickedly pretty friend be very rude indeed with my fiancé’s messy phallus. "You call me Bash now, so Gabrielle can be plain Gabrielle."

"No she can't." Gabrielle buried her head under Bill's girl-glossed balls. "I like to be called miss."

She looked up at us, her irrepressible hair already loosening over her face. "Can I have his cum?"

Bill looked to me for permission too. It seemed like I'd done all the work getting him there, and it was a pity I didn't get to let his rocket off, but a deal was a deal, we'd promised Gabrielle whatever she wanted. I shrugged.

"So I can have it?" She grinned.

"Eventually," Bill picked her up, and put her on the kitchen island next to me.

Gabrielle tittered, and waved her knees excitedly, her skirt riding to her hips. Her tits wobbled under the light cotton, so I unbuttoned her frock to take them out to play.

Bill lifted her skirt, regarded between her thighs, and she sagged sluttily to his gaze. He was in such a teasing mood he just stood there, enjoying the sight of her be-knickered, plushy gusset, his cock bucking. She turned crimson at his scrutiny, then impatiently tugged her panties aside.

Finally, he dipped his head and kissed her sweet little cunt lips.

I teased her nipples into bullets and she grew writhy beneath us. Goodness, she was very, very horny that morning. As if to prove it, Bill offered me a kiss, while pulling her knickers off over her feet. His tongue was drenched in her.

"Hey." She pulled us apart. "It's my turn." She pushed me onto my back and rolled on top of me to plunge her tongue into my mouth. Her finally loose hair made a red tent about our naughty snogging. She jiggled her hips, for Bill I guessed. Then she stiffened and groaned in my mouth, and I guessed something else was getting attention down below. She started sliding back and forth on me and I realized Bill had got to work.

I suppose us girls must've offered Bill an enticing spread, our two cunts plopped one on the other, because Bill got mischievous, sliding between our mounds so we could rub our clits on him, or as I grew ready for more, swapping from Gabrielle's hole to mine and back again, drawing ridiculous syncopated meows from us with each push.

But it was clear who needed him most. Each time he withdrew from Gabrielle she growled in our kiss and with each return she squeaked louder. Soon there was no denying her; she shoved back at him, up on all fours, her tits bobbing over my mouth. I cupped her mound and rubbed her slippery nub too, to help her along, but mostly for the delicious feeling of my man repeatedly stretching and filling her.

She screwed shut her eyes and her ass cheeks slapped against Bill's front as he pulled her onto his thrusts. She arched up at the cooker hood, a rapturous smile across her face. "Oui, oui, oui;” She puffed, then with her trademark kid-on-a-swing cry, screamed "Oui!" and went rigid, letting him plough her through her climax.

"M-merci;” she gasped and kissed me, thanking the wrong one. Then Bill shuddered and swore and she hopped to action.

She quickly swiveled, shoving her fucked-plump and soggy cunt in my face and gobbling Bill with actual gobbling noises. I licked her slot, and felt a little crestfallen. It was exciting hearing her feed on my fiancé and his mounting curses, but after all the talk this morning I'd been looking forward to seeing, or at least feeling, his hot eruption all over my clit.

And of course Bill knew this. In moments, Gabrielle's slurping sounds were augmented with the familiar fap-fap-fap noise of Bill rubbing himself.

"Oh, oui," Gabrielle said hollowly as she licked him while he worked quicker than we'd dare to unlock himself. He knew how much Gabrielle loved this too. I could picture her, curling her tongue out, opening her mouth over his bouncing tip like a baby bird ready to feed. Her hips shivered on my mouth as if to prove her excitement. Then she dropped between my thighs to suckle my clit and the sixty-nine felt divine and slippery and hot, even though I'd just come. Bill hummed approval at the sight of us jezebels pleasuring each other, his fapping sped up. Gabrielle moaned deliciously into my cunt. I moaned into her delicious cunt.

Bill worked harder, faster, Gabrielle flip-flapped at my tingling clit in between kissing and lapping at him, then he grunted and Gabrielle squeaked. Thick heat splattered over my hyper-sensitive clit, and all over her mouth judging by her moans and the slooping of a cummy tongue all over my cunt lips. Gabrielle juddered to a halt again, twitching on my mouth, coming even as she blissfully licked Bill from me. She suckered to him, making his last spasms her own, then had to return to licking him from me again as it proved too much for me and I tripped over into another squeaky climax.

 

 

We ground at each other, the three of us, then Gabrielle swung her hips off my face, I supposed because my tongue had her hyper-sensitized.

It turned out I was wrong. I leant up on my elbows to watch our friend lick us clean. I assumed this was a post-coital relish but looking back on it, she was trying to keep us going.

"Bon," she announced, tonguing a white drip from the corner of her mouth. "Bill you are still nice and hard so now we shower, oui? And then you will fuck my ass, while darling Bash, you lick and finger-fuck my cunt? Okay?"

She said this like it was a question, but it really wasn't. She hopped off the kitchen island, tore her dress off over her head and rolled her naked, world-class ass toward the stairs, all but singing over her shoulder: "Merci for the lovely amuse bouche!"

So that was our first problem. Too much of a good thing. Gabrielle had the appetite of a starved wildcat. I'd never known her so insatiable. Something about having us captive in her house and on a permanent promise to please excited her beyond all sense. And I suppose, why wouldn't it? But after a few days of this we came to dread her visits. They were just visits, never more than an hour or two, and she never stayed, but they could happen anytime of day or night. Twice a day on some particularly exhausting days.

It's lucky for her that she was so beautiful, and so into us, that we couldn't resist her. And Bill and I were still in the first flush of our relationship so we had plenty of energy, but after two weeks we stopped making love on our own together, saving ourselves for the full-on porno sessions of Gabrielle's visits.

All I could do was lean on my lawyers so I could get my money as quickly as possible. Then we'd be independent, and could get our own place. It was flattering that she found us so exciting, but also a little creepy. Especially when I woke one night to find her perched on Bill like Fuseli's Nightmare, trying to get his sleeping half-mast cock into her. Another night, I dreamt of being smothered by an alien face-hugger, and woke to her naked and sopping cunny pressed to my mouth.

It came to a head, as it were, one cleaner's day. On these days we needed to hide in the attic, in case the cleaner saw us and might be tempted to sell our location to the press, thereby putting Bill in danger. We were certain that the minute Father knew where we were he'd send a hitman for my gentle giant. Gabrielle said Father would never do that, who in their right mind would? But I didn't want to take the risk. Father was rarely in his right mind.

It was a sunny morning in the entirely black-marble, walk-in shower and Bill and I were slowly soaping each other under the hot jets. As ever, we held our urge for sex at bay in case Gabrielle visited, and increasingly this meant we found great joy in these little sensuous moments. We were just kissing and enjoying the slide of slippery flesh all along our fronts, giggling softly. Bill reached for a shower head and ran a rinsing jet over me, down my spine, over my bum, and under my legs. Damn that was lovely. I lifted a foot onto the shower's seating ledge, and opened up.

"Oh oui;”

We jumped to find our French torturess on the other side of the glass, leaning against the doorway into the bedroom, her hand down the front of her unfastened jeans. She cackled at our shock, then withdrew her hand to suck her fingers.

Bill and I gripped each other like life-preservers.

Slap-cheeked, pouting and slit-eyed; she was always deadly serious when horny; Gabrielle pulled off her top, wriggled off jeans and knickers together, and stepped into the shower.

Initially, she let us slide our slippery nakedness over her, and indulge in some kissing and gentle fondling, but in moments, she pressed her hands on our heads and pushed us to our knees.

Then we were put to work. Gabrielle was a self-serving sex boss. Our pleasure didn't matter, we were; all three of us; in service of her orgasms alone. Her many orgasms. I didn't know she could come so many times. I didn't know any woman could.

First, she stood over us, feet apart, while we licked her front and back until she came. Second, she propped a foot on the ledge and got Bill to fuck her from behind while I stayed put to lick her clit, and she came again. Third, her knees got wobbly and she dropped to all fours and lay me down on the wet marble so she could lick me; I think more to taste my wetness and check I was enjoying her pleasure than anything; then made me masturbate for her while I watched her come again on Bill's unstoppable cock. Fourth, she pushed back at him to seat him on the shower ledge and rode him, her legs splayed while I licked them both. And she came again!

Fuck sake, it was bonkers. The water started pruning my skin. My mouth hurt from all the licking and my pussy throbbed from needing some attention of its own. Bill grunted and thrust and grunted and thrust. She spun on his cock to squat on him, her back to me, bouncing on him with her knees by his ears while I licked her ass and reached round to tickle her clit until she came again, screaming into my fiancé’s mouth.

The trouble was she would keep going; or keep coming; until Bill came, and he wouldn't come, or rather couldn't, not when he was being treated like a non-stop fuck machine. My man and I cast round, anxious eyes at each other, as Gabrielle shuddered off her umpteenth climax on his cock, then stood astride his lap to shove her cunt at his mouth. As his slippery rod bounced free, and she forgot to tell me what to do to her, I grasped my opportunity, and his dick, and sucked. If I emptied him, we'd have to stop.

I wanked and sucked and licked with every trick in my dirty little book, but still couldn't unlock him. What was wrong with the bloke? Gabrielle ordered me to lick and finger her from behind, again, and as I stood astride Bill's hips to gain access to my friend's hungry hips, he rocked his up at me.

I sat on him, filled myself up with his most filling of phalluses, and suddenly the morning's stimulations, and all the orgasms I'd given Gabrielle, hit me. Within a handful of bounces on him, while I licked and fingered Gabrielle's insatiable maw, I couldn't move for a swelling rush in my middle. Even as Bill licked Gabrielle, he gripped my hips and rammed up at me and within another handful of pushes I was crying out into Gabrielle's cunt.

"Oui! Oui!" Gabrielle squeaked, slapping the wet wall, no doubt thinking I was overwhelmed to orgasm simply from the joy of licking her anus and cunt.

"Yes!" I said into her. Or rather. "Hmm!"

Then, at last, Bill growled. His muscles popped and knotted.

Diary, after all our fucking and sucking him, it was me coming that unlocked him! This thought still keeps company on a lonely night.

My climax still twitching my hips, I dropped to my knees and sucked him. Likewise Gabrielle, who would never be cheated of a cum shot. She settled beside me, and we tussled over him. He stood, knees trembling, stroking our heads, rumbling, "Oh. Oh."

Gabrielle and I ran our mouths up and down him, sucked his end, his balls, our joggling fists a blur.

He raised onto his toes, arched.

That's when we heard the cleaner whistling back in the bedroom.

Panic jolted me. We had to hide.

"Hmm!" Gabrielle said and rubbed him quicker into her mouth. She would never stop now.

He gripped his balls as if to hold the cum in. "Miss." His hips shook. "Miss there's no time!"

He made to pull out. She gripped his ass in place and sucked like a demon.

What choice did we have? We needed to get him off quick, not for his sake, but for this insatiable woman. I ducked under, sucked his balls and wanked him above me into her mouth.

"Come my love," I begged, rubbing him and licking around his anus, probing. "Come!"

He rocked, once, twice, then spasmed. Gabrielle squealed and I didn't fight her for the blast, as much as I wanted it, I just let her guzzle him for speed. Which of course was not in her dictionary. She sucked him languidly, and sent her fingers back to work between her thighs, and, the selfish cow, came again!

That's when I got angry. I wriggled out from under Bill to snog my man's cum from the coming, greedy bitch, his still-pumping cock trapped between our hungry hippo mouths. And that's when I found the cleaner at the door, jaw dropped and eyes wide;

Gabrielle shuddered out her last climax, clocked my expression and turned to see the cleaner fleeing. She cursed, and gave chase, naked, with semen all down her chin.

 

 

"Is Okay." Gabrielle found us drying and changing a few minutes later. "She won't leave me. She said she's seen worse. And I promised Bill will stay in the attic when she's here."

What? "You know we're only hiding for his own safety? Not because he's dangerous!" Sometimes Gabrielle worries me. "Can your cleaner be trusted not to let on we're here?" The last reward my father offered for my location was £50,000.

Gabrielle shrugged. "I pay her well."

"It's a matter of life and death, Gabrielle."

"Oui! Oui! It's fine." She picked up a bottle of moisturizer. "Now. Who will rub this all over me?"

It wasn't fine, the very next day, a shitload of paparazzi gathered outside our house. "Lady Bathsheba!" They shouted, shutters clicking as I peeked through the curtains. "Is your gardener with you?"

I spent the day on the phone to my lawyers. They were waiting on one last minor judgement, then my father would be overruled, my money could be transferred and we'd finally be free. A very discreet agent friend found a luxury cabin for us somewhere way out, somewhere even Gabrielle wouldn't find. As soon as my cash came through, I'd charter a jet, a helicopter, hang glider, anything and disappear.

Then the knocking started. "Lady Bash! Lady Bash!"

Two days were spent like this, hounded, with Bill and I holed up, hiding from the world. At least Gabrielle hated it so much she kept her distance and our poor nethers got a chance to recharge. Well, except for a couple of tender sixty-nines that were more therapeutic than multi-orgasmic. Though we did both come a few times, now I think of it.

On the third day, two things happened. First, my money came through, so we were hurriedly packing, with a helicopter coming to pick us up from a nearby embassy roof. The second thing was that our new cleaner arrived. Or rather both our new cleaners.

They hardly looked old enough to work: Two identically pasty, round little girls in tracksuits. They couldn't have been much older than fourteen. When they caught me sneaking up to the attic, they couldn't stop giggling and gawping. "You're Lady Bash ain'tcha? Can I get a selfie?"

"Yes I am Lady Bash. And no, on no account can you take my picture."

"Well la-de-fucking-dah." Then they split up and, strangely, commenced charging about the house, slamming about from room to room.

"What do you need, girls?" I shouted after them.

"Where's the attic, Miss?" One shouted. The other shut her up. They both cackled.

I followed them up the stairs, with a jolt, finding the attic steps lowered and a nike-trainered foot disappearing into the loft.

"Oi mate!" One girl shouted from inside the attic. "You're Bill aintcha? The gardener?"

"Can I get a selfie?"

Fucksake. Had the papers paid these girls to get an exclusive?

I charged up the ladder after them to find it was worse than that. Much worse. The scene that greeted me was something out of a gothic horror.

The huge loft was lit by a dusty beam of sun from a single small roof light. A blade of light.

In the middle of the crooked room stood Bill. He was clutching his stomach. His shirt bloomed red. Red dripped through his fingers. Red dripped onto the floorboards.

The girls turned dead eyes on me, huge kitchen knives clutched in their podgy little fists. One blade was red.

Bill took a step toward me, then dropped to his knee. Both girls turned on him, stabbing, laughing and stabbing again. He crashed onto his back.

I picked up the nearest thing to hand, an old lamp, and swung at them. A roar escaped me, a roar I didn't know I could make: a curdled, banshee shriek I never want to hear again.

The girls jeered and danced from my swings, laughing. They jumped down the ladder.

"Posh cunt!" one shouted and they pounded off down the hallway.

Bill was white, shaking, and bleeding everywhere.

"I love you, Madam," he blathered, his mouth bubbling blood. "I love you."

I fumbled out my phone and dialed 999.

But that's not the sad ending I warned you about.

One week later I went to visit Bill in hospital. No, that's not quite true. One week later, my father took me to visit Bill in hospital.

Bill would recover, in time, but I realized that if I really loved him, I'd value his safety. I visited him to tell him we couldn't marry, and that he needed to forget all about me.

He squeezed my hand. "That's my risk to take," he said. "And it's worth it to be with you. Let's try again. Hide somewhere better."

I didn't answer. We held hands until they told me I had to go.

A year later, I saw Bill interviewed in a documentary: "Great Loves." He said it was all made up by the press, and that we never ran away together. He said he had quite a crush on me, but we were from different worlds so he never acted on it, and that eventually we drifted our separate ways. It stung, this lie, but it sounded more true than the facts: That a Lady loved her gardener so much her father had to hire teenage girl assassins to kill him.

I think of murdering Father every day.

One last note, Dear Diary.

I won't need you anymore, but please don't think this is the end of our tale. For, some years later still, nature took hold of the situation and Father died; not by my hand, I hasten to add!

If you'd like to read what happened then, you might like Bill's own confession: "Tending Lady Lovecome's Garden." You'll find it where you found these tawdry tales, I suspect.

And when you read it, bear in mind what happens when a story starts sad.

Mwah.

Lady Bathsheba Ottoline Lovecome.

 

 Based on a post by A Big Cat, for Literotica.