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.