by Robin Gideon
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
A gasp caught in her throat. The warmth of his breath against her pussy was a physical caress made powerful by its subtlety. She had her right knee up and her left leg flat on the blanket as Laine turned his head and lightly dragged the tip of his pink tongue along the upper edge of her stocking.
“Oh, God…”
Laine bared his teeth and lightly nipped at the delicate skin of her exposed upper thigh. Though everything in her upbringing screamed that she should put an end to such public lunacy, when she pushed her fingers into Laine’s long, silky brown hair, she did not push him away.
She was so entranced in what Laine did, she hardly noticed as Heath reached around her body and under her arms to cup her heavy breasts in both hands. His strong fingers buried deeply into the lush, pliant mounds, forefingers and thumbs finding her nipples through dress and chemise to pinch and fondle.
“Ohhh…Laine, this isn’t the time or place for—”
The boy’s tongue eased between the slick lips of her pussy, silencing her words. He rocked back and forth several times, working his tongue in and out of her, then licked upward, dragging his tongue through the juncture of her labia until he reached her clitoris. There, he flicked his tongue up and down with precision, sending jagged lightning bolts of pure excitement shooting through her body.
Forcing some semblance of sanity back into her life, she curled her fingers into a fist, taking a secure hold on Laine’s hair. She leaned forward just enough to force his mouth to separate from her.
In a half-frantic whisper, Celeste said, “You c–can’t…we can’t…out here. God, what if a boat comes by? We’re not fifty feet from the water.”
But Heath had something else in mind, and as was always the case with him, he acted on it. His long, brawny arms slipped down on either side of her, and then his enormous hands surrounded her wrists. He squeezed quite firmly, and she had no choice but to release her hold on Laine’s hair. Then, even though she put forth resistance, he had little trouble in crossing her arms over her chest and holding them there.
“Go ahead, Laine,” Heath said. Though his tone seemed conversational, Celeste knew him well enough to hear the burgeoning sexual tension in it. And if his tone wasn’t enough to let her know he wasn’t nearly as unaffected by the show Laine provided as he pretended, then the fact that she could feel his erection pressed against the small of her back, straining to be freed from his snug black trousers, was. “Lady Celeste needs to feel loved.”
The single word loved echoed erotically in her ears. She watched, aching with passionate need, as Laine rather calmly got more comfortable on his stomach and then wrapped both arms around her thighs from the underside so his fingers were very close to her vagina. Then, using just his fingertips, he very carefully separated her labia to expose her pink clitoris. She uttered a short gasp when he leaned forward, but when his tongue was a fraction of an inch from her clitoris, he stopped.
Tilting his head back, he looked up into her eyes and said, “Say it. Tell me you want me to lick your pussy.”
“Oh, God,” she wailed. Though it was Laine who had spoken, she could hear Heath’s influence ringing in every word. She wanted to deny the gorgeous young man, to refuse to give in to his blackmail. After all, she was thirty-six and a woman in full bloom, and he was just a mere boy of twenty-one. “I have no pride left,” she declared, as much to herself as to her men. “Lick me, Laine. If you don’t give me your tongue this instant, I’ll die. I mean it. I’ll—”
The application of Laine’s skilled tongue to her clitoris put an end to her rather frantic declaration of abject carnal surrender. She watched him for several seconds as his pink tongue worked magic on her clitoris then closed her eyes and let her head rest against Heath’s chest.
I am now thoroughly and completely a wicked woman. I’m outside in the afternoon, drinking wine, Laine’s exquisite tongue caressing my clitoris, Heath’s erection pressing against my back. I never dreamed I would ever be so…loved.
She liked the way it felt to have Heath’s hands surrounding her wrists. Though she wasn’t tied up, as she had been the first time she experienced Heath’s barbaric sensuality, she felt imprisoned by him, and it added to her excitement.
It was the sound, soft and yet distinct, of waves slapping against the hull of a boat that shattered her rapidly ascending passion.
Her eyes exploded open, and she whispered frantically, “Heath, let me go.”
Laine lifted his head, and Heath said sharply, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop until the lady comes.”
The bow of a boat came into view, moving downstream in the canal. The boat was moving with the current, drifting very slowly. There were dozens, if not hundreds, of small fishing boats like it in the canals of Amsterdam, though usually at this time of the afternoon they were out in deeper waters working, not in the heart of the city.
On the bow of The Golden Moon, a deckhand, perhaps in his forties, coiled an anchor rope. He was talking quietly to a young man in his very late teens or early twenties, perhaps his son. In the stern of the boat, at the wheel, was a man in his sixties. Clamped between his teeth was a small, clay pipe.
For breath-held seconds, Celeste thought they might actually float right on by without looking in her direction. It was surreal for her to feel Laine’s inexhaustible tongue working on her clitoris while what appeared to be three generations of fishermen floated by on their boat, oblivious to the wanton behavior happening less than a hundred feet away.
It was the youngest of the three who noticed first. He looked up from his instructions, saw Celeste, and nudged the man beside him. Both turned directly toward shore, and in a bizarre way, Celeste was thankful Laine had positioned himself as he had, because—though it couldn’t be more obvious about what he was doing to her—the fishermen couldn’t actually see her intimately, only the back of Laine’s head.
The young man called out to the captain of the boat, and by the time he turned to look at the activities occurring on shore, hot shame and even hotter exhibitionism, combined with Laine’s always-active tongue, pushed Celeste into the abyss. While looking straight into the captain’s eyes, Celeste opened her mouth and began to shudder, her body held tightly against Heath’s chest as Laine moaned soulfully, licking and sucking at her overheated sex throughout the orgasmic contractions.
The boat disappeared down the canal, soon hidden by the rental property’s bracketing shrubbery.
“Please stop,” Celeste said in a very soft voice. “Let me catch my breath.”
Laine did as requested, but when he started to get up, Heath growled. “You’re a long way from finished, Laine. You’re not going anywhere until I say you can.”
Celeste saw it then, that flash of excitement in Laine’s doe-like eyes that happened whenever Heath gave him a sexual demand.
“You can let go of my wrists now,” Celeste said quietly. “I won’t fight you anymore.” A satisfied smile curled her lips. “There’s not enough strength left in me to fight. The boy licked it all right out of me.”
Celeste watched as Heath’s fingers began manipulating the buttons of her morning dress, starting at her throat and working downward. Twice she tried to stop him, and both times he batted her hands away.
“Shouldn’t we at least go inside?”
Heath pushed her forward so that she wasn’t leaning back against him then brusquely pulled the dress down over her shoulders.
“No. I want you out here. And I want you naked.”
“But—”
She would have said more, but Laine bit lightly at the inside of her thigh then once again sucked her clitoris between his lips. She gasped softly, part of her quite convinced that the legal authorities would be showing up at any minute, and part of her wickedly aroused as the thought of being witnessed behaving in ways utterly unacceptable to polite society.
“Laine, get the lotion.”
Heath’s softly spoken demand sent a shiver through Cele
ste.
“Wait. We can’t—”
Before she could say more, Heath took her by the shoulders and rolled her onto her stomach, removing her dress completely in the process. Seconds later, her chemise and petticoats were in a heap on the grass nearby. Being outside in the afternoon, wearing nothing other than her stockings, garters, and kidskin slippers made her clitoris pulse wantonly.
“Please, Heath, we—”
It was another sentence silenced by Heath’s dominating ways. Hooking his hand behind her neck, he pulled her close and slanted his mouth down over hers, kissing her fiercely, demandingly. He cupped a plump breast in his hand and squeezed, compressing the firm mound and spreading the flames of lust coursing throughout Celeste’s body.
Blindly, while still kissing Heath, Celeste reached low. Her fingers curled around the thick, rigid shaft of his cock. As she rolled onto her hip, she stroked his erection and was pleased when he groaned into her mouth.
She was completely naked, and Heath was completely dressed. It seemed utterly unfair to Celeste, since she adored seeing her lover’s muscular body naked, but there was also a power differential in being the only one naked that heightened her passion, making her feel dominated, desired, and magnificently sinful. When Heath pushed his fingers into her hair, curled his hand into a fist, then brutishly pushed her down, she did not resist. With a gasp and sigh, she took the bulbous crown of his cock into her mouth, tightening her lips around the throbbing shaft, not stopping until she felt Heath pressing tightly against the opening of her throat.
“Your mouth is so hot,” Heath said with a groan, directing Celeste’s up-and-down movements as she drew a firm suction on his flesh. She was moaning lustily as she sucked his cock. “Every time I think of you, my cock gets hard. I love watching you suck my cock.”
If anyone else had said such a thing to her, Celeste would have been furious, but with Heath, his blunt declaration of lust only made the cream ooze more freely to the lips of her pussy. When he rolled onto his back, Celeste would have been quite happy to continue feasting on the bounty that was Heath until he climaxed, but he had other plans for her.
“Kiss me,” he growled as Celeste straddled his hips with her knees. Her mouth pressed down on Heath’s at exactly the same time that the head of his cock forced the lips of her pussy to spread wide. His mouth was still against hers when he added, “Your cunt is heaven itself.”
Had another man used the word “cunt” in conjunction with her, Celeste would have moved mountains to punish the man, but with Heath speaking in such a naughty manner, his words only made her feel extravagantly sensual. There was nothing he could ask of her that she wouldn’t happily give. Celeste suspected that if he declared a desire to fuck her in Westminster Abbey, she’d arrive for the occasion naked.
Celeste took half his length into herself, lifted up, then sank once again, this time not stopping until she had enveloped everything he had to give her. Her breasts were pressed against his shirtfront, her nipples tingling madly. She felt his powerful hands on the cheeks of her ass, squeezing tightly. When he raised his hips, pushing that additional fraction of an inch of hard cock into her pussy, Celeste knew that her next climax wasn’t far in the offing.
Laine was squatting behind her, one hand between her shoulder blades, when she felt the head of his cock press firmly against the entrance to her ass. Celeste gasped into Heath’s mouth when she felt herself opening, her body tightening involuntarily against the invasion. But Laine would not be denied, and solid, masculine flesh defeated feminine resistance.
“Oh, fuck!” Celeste cried out, the obscene word suddenly strikingly relevant as she felt cocks driving simultaneously into her pussy and ass. Even before Laine had worked the entire length of his cock between her buns, Celeste felt the climax approaching with lightning speed and hurricane force. In a cry of pleasure/pain ecstasy, she shouted, “I’m coming!”
There was no other sensation in the world, Celeste realized, quite like having two handsome men turning their full, skilled, sensual attention toward her. And having one thick cock filling her vagina while another plowed furiously into her ass was a combination of sensations Celeste could not have imagined prior to becoming their lover. Trapped between Heath and Laine, hearing and feeling their labored breathing as they plundered her voluptuous body, she was overwhelmed with sensory input.
She climaxed a second time, and very nearly a third, when she heard Laine growl as he climaxed. And on his back, with his cock fully buried deep in her pussy, Heath made a sound deep in his throat as his hot cum was released inside Celeste for the first time.
“My God,” Celeste whispered, feeling her lovers at last motionless but still inside her body. “The day may come when you two will fuck me to death.” She smiled. “What a wonderful way to go.”
* * * *
Hardly had Celeste finished bathing after having spent a good portion of the afternoon making love with Laine and Heath—outside!—while simultaneously entertaining some of the ancient city’s fishing fleet, when there was a knock at the front door. She checked her appearance in the mirror. Did her earlier sexual exertions still show? One couldn’t be too careful, after all. Reassured, she answered the door.
She received a message by special carrier from the clinic’s proprietor. He needed to speak with her immediately, and he had sent a carriage to take her to him.
After giving Heath and Laine only the briefest of explanations before her departure, she stepped into the carriage and went to the clinic for the second time that day, but this time there was a feeling of foreboding she couldn’t shake. If Ralph had passed away, her money…
The injustice of it, the sadistic misogyny of it, made hot tears of shame and fury pool in her eyes, but she did not shed them. If it was true, if the vile Gregg Fallon really would take possession of her fortune, then it would be time for tears. But until defeat was assured, she would not cry. She was a fighter and would go right on fighting until there was nothing left to fight for.
When Celeste reached the Clinique de Mère Marie, the director, Honoré du Parone, was standing at the front steps to greet her, a grave though noticeably professional expression on his face. Celeste knew right away that her husband had died. On the day they’d first brought Ralph to the clinic, Monsieur du Parone had worn the exact same expression as a corpse was carried out beneath a sheet on a stretcher. Whether it was genuine sympathy or simply the response to losing a paying patient, she wasn’t certain. Considering the amount of death the man had seen, real grief seemed unlikely.
“May I see you in my office?” the director asked, his tone hushed, his English accented.
Celeste thought it strange, when Monsieur du Parone explained how her husband had passed away shortly after noon, that she didn’t feel the slightest bit of grief or any sense of relief. More than anything else, she was aware of her life with Ralph simply being…over.
“I assure you, we did everything we could for your husband. Everything,” Monsieur du Parone said as he took his chair behind a desk laden with paperwork. “And in the end, he died peacefully in his sleep.”
He died because he took a riding crop to a big, spirited stallion that dragged him for miles and then kicked the hell out of him. There was nothing peaceful about it. And if ever there was a man who deserved the death he got, it was Ralph.
“It’s a comfort to me,” she said neutrally.
The director took out a small sheaf of papers, gave Celeste one more look of bereavement, and said, “I realize this is short notice, but this is generally the time when the next of kin likes to settle up their accounts so the funeral arrangements can commence.”
Celeste didn’t just look into the director’s eyes. She tried to look into him, to see what was behind the professional mask of quiet concern he showed the world. There was more to the man than just being the director of a rather famous clinic. She suspected there was something under his fingernails, something he might not like to be made public knowledge.
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br /> “Monsieur du Parone, how many people know my husband has passed away?”
The man’s eyebrows narrowed. “Several of the nurses, I suppose.”
“And who have they informed?”
“Just me. Naturally.”
“Yes, naturally.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs at the knee. She felt a slight twinge at the apex of her thighs. It hadn’t been two hours since she had been the central figure in a rather vigorous ménage à trois, and she was a little sore—though she wouldn’t have changed a thing about her afternoon. With effort, she turned her concentration back on more pressing matters. “And naturally, you’d like me to pay you for the care you’ve provided my husband.”
His cheeks colored just a little. He didn’t know what was coming next. That didn’t displease Celeste.
“Yes, naturally. Though we pride ourselves in helping people, if we do not get paid, we cannot keep our doors open for patients like your husband.”
Celeste cocked her eyebrows. “If my husband dies, you’ll have to stop billing me.”
“Lady Fallon, your husband has died.” Then his expression changed, and he leaned back in his chair, looking at her with a certain suspicion. “We’re alone in this office. Whatever you have to say to me will remain our secret.”
Celeste didn’t trust Monsieur du Parone, but trust wasn’t important. What was important was greed—and she was certain he had plenty of it.
“It’s very simple,” she began, creating the plan as she spoke. “If my husband is dead, then you stop receiving the monthly payment from my bank in London. However, if he remains alive, then you will continue receiving those payments, won’t you? And if the money goes directly into your personal account, who is to know, and who is to care? No one but me, and I won’t mind.” Celeste smiled. “Think of how profitable it would be if you would see there’s always sufficient paperwork to prove my husband is alive.” She smiled. “Alive, and actually getting better, thanks to your skilled treatments.”
