One Wicked Night

by Noelle Mack

  "I should like to stick a dildo up you, " he mused lewdly. "And if you would be so good as to hold it half in and half out—I want to see you like that, Corinne. Enjoying a fine big cock that is neither mine nor Rob's.”

  "I don't mind.” She looked over her shoulder at Quinn but only saw his arse. He had not turned around.

  Quinn stepped off the rug and went to a different cabinet, his thick rod bobbing in front of him, stiff and strong. Rob sighed and got up, taking the opportunity to remove his clothes. His master returned.

  Corinne's eyes shone with pleasure when she saw what Quinn held. A rod of smooth leather around a hard core, thicker in the middle than at either end, with a huge knob at the tip.

  "Sit up, " he commanded. "Play with this and see if you will like it. "

  She sat on her haunches and considered the possibilities of the thing, running her hand over it and squeezing the end.

  "I like the softness of the big knob, " she said. "With the hard rod driving it in, it will feel very good deep in my cunny. "

  "Oh? And have you such a device by your bed, my girl?"

  Corinne blushed but only a little. "No. But if I had to invent something for women's pleasure, it would look like this. "

  Rob sat down again, his back as straight and stiff as his rested cock.

  "Come around behind her, " Quinn said. "The wench loves to be wanton. "

  The apprentice shook his head. "I would rather see her face. And I shall play with her tits while you fuck her with that. "

  "As you wish, lad. But you are missing the moment of pen­etration. And Corinne is extremely hot. She needs this rammed in, with all due respect to her person, as far as it will go. Do you not want to see that?"

  Rob laughed and got up again. "Yes, I do. "

  Corinne handed over the dildo to Quinn and dropped her head down between her arms, eager to experience this new sen­sation. With two men watching her from behind, she seemed more excited than ever. A delicate flush crept over the skin of her neck and upper back.

  Quinn's fingers separated cunny lips that were almost too swollen to be separated. He gently pushed the huge knob in be­tween them, showing Rob how—after all, the young man was an apprentice in lovemaking too. Corinne pushed her bottom back, hungry for more, but Quinn's big hand stilled her. He rotated the knob just inside her tight cunny, then began to push it in, back and forth, but less than a fraction of an inch.

  "She is tight, lad. And she has not lain often with men," he explained. "I can tell.”

  Her face covered by her abundant ringlets, Corinne nodded. The rosy flush upon her skin grew darker as embarrassment mingled with naughty delight.

  "Are you ready?" Quinn asked. "Do you wish to be fucked now, love?"

  She nodded again.

  The older man thrust the dildo in, deeply but not hard, until it would go no further. Then he began to plunge it in and out, in and out. Corinne gasped with excitement, rocking on hands and knees to make the most of each stroke.

  "There, Rob, you have seen that. Now you may look at her face.”

  The apprentice nodded and went around to the front of the rug, pushing her hair, now damp with sweat, away from her face. He stroked her back, soothing her, talking to her softly and telling her how beautiful she was.

  "Like a young mare, eh?" Quinn said jovially. "All she needs is a pretty little saddle on her back and a silver bit in her mouth.”

  Rob made no reply as his master slid the dildo in and out, continuing to talk. "I have seen a mare take a big horse-cock for the first time, my lad. The animal was not so willing or so well-behaved.”

  The apprentice nodded absently, concentrating on Corinne, who was trembling. Quinn stopped and held the dildo in as far as it would go for several moments. "There, there, love, " Quinn said. "It is deep inside, the way you like it best. I shall not stop again.”

  His voice was as soothing as Rob's caresses. Quinn resumed the steady thrusting. He looked down when the retreating knob made her cunny lips swell but never let it pop out, and al­ternated thrusting with delicious screwing. Corinne gave her­self over completely to intense sensations that made her cunny drip upon the rug she kneeled on. The precious drops sank into the design without a trace until Quinn reached under to catch one in his palm, licking it up like the connoisseur of female flesh he was.

  Quinn, an experienced rake, knew well that she could not reach orgasm unless her tiny bud was touched. He, however, was getting close to release. He stopped, leaving the rod half in and amused himself by making the half that was outside her body bounce, slapping it lightly. This new motion caused Corinne to cry out with frustrated pleasure. Rob craned his neck to see what his master was doing, and caught a glimpse of the dildo's rise and fall.

  "Do you want to taste her, lad?" Quinn asked.

  "No... no, " Corinne moaned. "Do not take it out.”

  Quinn patted her behind. "Of course not. I meant for him to slide underneath you now and attend to your cunny. I shall push this big thing in and out and spin the knob, and he will suckle your clitoris all the while, as tenderly as female friends give each other pleasant relief when men will not.”

  Rob shook his head, not to say no, but in wonder at the erotic ease of his master's talk.

  "First...” Corinne's voice was the merest whisper. "First let me have his cock in my mouth while that one is in me.”

  "Yes, " Rob said to her. "Dear God, yes.”

  He positioned himself swiftly and she rose up, swallowing his erection halfway and fellating him with skill. He threw his head back and let her do it, not pushing so he would not choke her. Rob thrust his hands into her hair, though, so he could see. Quinn kept the dildo moving as he eyed the younger man's groin. When the muscles there tensed repeatedly, he withdrew the thing in an instant.

  "Enough, " Quinn said to Rob. "I want to fuck her and I want you to watch. I suspect that you like to.”

  A shudder ran through Rob's body, as if his seed, about to spray out harder than before, had been forcibly withdrawn in­side him as well. "I do, " was all he said.

  The older man turned Corinne onto her back at last, letting her relax into a sprawl with her creamy thighs far apart. He picked up the dildo and put the knob to her lips, watching with a half-smile as she licked it absent-mindedly.

  "Mmm. Now you are lazy. How lovely you are, " he said, putting the thing to one side. "I shall take you first. Legs up to your shoulders, if you please. Rob, hold her feet.”

  Corinne raised her legs and rocked on her arse, kicking her feet for Rob to catch. Once more he sucked her toes, then stopped when his master came over the woman they shared, holding himself up with his strong arms while his apprentice kept her in position. In a second Quinn plunged his thick cock into her cunny, pounding down in a perfect frenzy of lust. His balls hit her upraised bottom with each stroke, and the sensa­tion made her wilder than before. It was all Rob could do to hang on, so vigorously did his master swive the girl. But it was not long before Quinn pulled out, roaring in anticipation of cli­max.

  He pumped his slick, throbbing member with one strong hand until he ejaculated, aiming a fountain's spray at Corinne's rounded thighs. In another minute Rob let go of her feet, but she kept her legs up, rubbing Quinn's cum into the skin there as she had first rubbed Rob's into her breasts.

  The older man dropped onto the rug next to her, throwing his arm over his head and panting. "You next, lad. I shall be the cunny man and not you. Up you get, " he said to Corinne.

  She rolled about and got on all fours once more, shoving her breasts into Quinn's face. Exhausted as he was, he sucked and fondled them, making sounds of satisfaction. When he saw Rob's feet walk around them both, Quinn let go and edged backward, resting his head between Corinne's knees.

  "Excellent view, " he murmured. "Come on, Rob. I don't bite. But I might give you a lick too. Can't be helped. "

  The apprentice's thighs appeared behind Corinne, pressing in as his long cock dangled between her thighs. Rob put
the head of his cock at her cunny, then thrust—and slipped. Quinn sighed. He grabbed the younger man's cock, and positioned it properly.

  "There. Go!"

  The excitement that all three were experiencing made inhibi­tion vanish. Rob pushed in, Corinne slammed back, and Quinn brought his head up to give her cunny what it craved. His ex­pert stimulation had her to the point of orgasm a second after Rob's thighs began to shake. The apprentice howled with his final thrust, buried far inside her. Sucking away, his forehead wet from rubbing her cunny, Quinn barely heard Corinne cry out too. It was Rob's name she was calling, he realized. Oh, well... but seeing a huge cock and balls pushing hard into a cunny had got him excited all over again.

  The trio came apart, looking at each other with bewildered but happy eyes. Quinn wiped his mouth.

  "One more time, " he said. "For me, that is. "

  "But...” Rob threw his master a surprised look.

  Corinne only laughed and rolled over onto her belly. "Com­ing twice is not only for young men, Rob. "

  "Really? And how would you know that?" he asked indig­nantly. She did not bother to reply, but twirled a ringlet around her finger and looked at the ceiling.

  "Watch me, " said Quinn. "Corinne, put your feet together. "

  She obliged, kicking a little in a flirtatious way, as satisfied as a well-fucked woman could be.

  "This requires oil.” The older man got up, his erection a proud contrast to the now limp Rob, who looked somewhat abashed.

  He found a small bottle and uncorked it, dripping a little on Corinne's feet, then rubbing them again, taking and giving even more pleasure in doing so this time. She sighed with pleasure and rested her head on her arms. Quinn stood as Rob watched, interested despite his momentary flash of jealousy. The artist put one big hand around Corinne's ankles, holding her feet in such a way that her pretty arches made a hole.

  Into which Quinn's cock slid. She aided him by pressing her feet together, smiling all the while. His knob, flushed dark purple-red, thrust repeatedly through the snug opening she pro­vided for him. Looking down at her bouncing behind and the sinuous curves of her back, Quinn began to groan as he fucked harder. He held her ankles tighter, thoroughly enjoying the well-lubricated friction that reddened the soles of her feet. With one last prodigious roar, Quinn came again.

  Quickly written but written well enough. It was, as I said, the first story in the book. Watching Xavi read it was quite amusing—her eyes widened and she sighed appreciatively in all the right places. Of course, I had to ask if she liked it. Literary vanity can never be underestimated.

  "Very much, Edward. But is it true?"

  I shrugged. "Most stories have a grain or two of truth. What does it matter?"

  She raised an eyebrow and launched into a tale of her own, about her two stalwart footmen and how they had serviced her. I assumed she was merely trying to make me jealous and that all of it was invented, but I could not be positive. Xavi's behavior in the bedroom gave the lie to her innocent appearance, and it was not as if we were always together. What she did in the other hours of the day—and with whom—was a secret known to her alone, and I tried not to think about it overmuch.

  Four

  By the end of the month...

  I begin again. I am getting nowhere. Mrs. Mayhew, a capable housekeeper who sees to every detail so that I may write undis­turbed far into the night, gave me three tall candles hours ago, smooth and straight. They are but stubs now, the last of the molten wax dripping from the candelabra in delicate curlicues. The flames are sputtering. I ought to stop.

  My attempts to organize the papers are half-hearted and I am no further along than I was two weeks ago. As no one will ever read this but me, perhaps it makes no difference if my ac­count moves back and forth in time, and does not follow the rules of conventional narrative. I only confuse myself.

  Nonetheless, at times I find my Sisyphean labor quite enter­taining. Unlike the unfortunate Sisyphus and the monstrous rock he was doomed to roll uphill for all eternity, I find that paper is somewhat lighter.

  Memories and thoughts, of course, are less substantial than air. But they matter. A careful examination of one's past is a worthwhile endeavor for a man who wishes not to repeat past mistakes. And I have made many. It is my nature to act first and think later.

  As to other aspects of my personality, I see that I have pro­vided a description that is accurate and not altogether flattering.

  I am both sentimental and rational, with a marked ambiva­lence about love, like my Anne. I sought out her brother at last, soon after his return to London...

  "Edward! It is so good to see you again!" Thomas rose from his chair and embraced me with enthusiasm.

  Laughing, I slapped him on the back. "You look just the same, my dear friend. Heavier, perhaps. But it suits you.”

  Thomas slapped his ample belly. With a wink, he indicated the gnawed bones on his plate. "I like to eat. I have done nothing else since my return from Jamaica.” I see.

  "Please, sit down, sit down.” He waved the waiter over. "Whatever the gentleman wants—what do you want, Edward? A good English beefsteak? A rasher of bacon? A saddle of lamb?"

  "I am not such a glutton as that. But I will have a small steak, grilled rare. And a mug of ale.”

  The waiter nodded, took up Thomas's plate of bones, and headed for the kitchen. My friend sat back inside the spindled arms of his sturdy chair, content to pick his teeth. My gaze wandered elsewhere. His sojourn in the West Indies had not improved his manners, but he looked robust and happy.

  I had come looking for him at once, advised by my butler, the worthy Decimus, that my boyhood friend had called unex­pectedly at the house and asked me to dine with him at the chophouse in Soho.

  The place attracted a raffish lot, artists and the like. I had been here once before with Quinn, who enjoyed himself roy­ally wherever he was, shouting insults across the table at his chief rival, the painter Will Fotheringay.

  Fortunately neither was here today—I doubted they were even out of bed at two in the afternoon. Thomas and I could talk without raising our voices, the only men among the artists' models and prostitutes who had come in for a late breakfast. I spied Corinne in a corner, nibbling at a lambchop she held in her fingers, her feet crossed at the ankles. She was the very pic­ture of ladylike decorum and did not even glance my way.

  Thomas and I had much to catch up on—I had not seen him in ten years. An hour passed before he casually mentioned his sister, a topic I had hoped he would introduce. To seem overly interested might give me away, but I was perishing of curiosity. The London scandal sheets did not cover the humdrum news of the country as a rule. The Leonard family was very old and its most illustrious members had distinguished themselves in various ways, but they had lived quietly in Devonshire for cen­turies. At the time of Anne's marriage, she had left that life and that name behind, a further hindrance to my finding out what had happened to her.

  Beset by my youthful jealousy of the unknown man she was to marry, I had asked no questions then as to his name or oc­cupation. Showing up at the ceremony would have been un­thinkable and I had received no invitation in any case. I was convinced my presence would have upset Anne. Her hasty ex­planation of her impending marriage on the night we became lovers told me little.

  Looking back, I would interpret her words differently than I did at the time. Her guardian expected her to please him by marrying the man of his choice. Anne had accepted her fate, no doubt not wanting to be a burden to her family.

  "Edward!" Thomas said loudly. He clapped his hands. "You are daydreaming! Is it the ale or—" —he cast a meaningful look in Corinne's direction as she patted her mouth with a napkin— "or has that little tart caught your eye?"

  "Neither, " I replied absently. I pushed my plate aside. "Shall we go?"

  "Don't tell me you are not interested in so pretty a girl. I have heard that you are a great lover.”

  I rose, grinning. "I suppose I ought
to blush.”

  "Only if it is true.” Thomas scraped back his chair and used the table to push himself to his feet. "Ah, my knees are not what they used to be. You are hale and hearty, Edward. What is your secret?"

  "I do not drink or eat to excess, and I take regular exercise.”

  He looked at me narrowly. "Spoken like a prig.”

  "I assure you that I am not.”

  Thomas slapped the table. "Glad of it! Let us repair to Hyde Park and look at the women. It is a pleasure to see so many English roses in bloom again.”

  A hired carriage brought us there in good time, and we alighted near Rotten Row. Our equipage and coachman might as well have been invisible. I smiled to myself, enjoying the ed­ifying sight of the rich at play. Phaetons and curricles passed swiftly by, an inconvenience to those who merely promenaded and complained bitterly of the dust.

  A lovely rider went by without a look to the right or the left, holding firmly to the reins of her gelding.

  Thomas nodded approvingly. "Lord Gilberte's wife, Fiona. I have heard much about her, but I expect only half of it can be believed.”

  "And what might that be?" I looked at her back, admiring her fine seat upon her steed, and the glimpse of glossy brown hair under her hat. "You are more up on the latest tittle-tattle than I, my dear Thomas.”

  "He is old and very rich, and a dreadful lecher. She finds her pleasure elsewhere.”

  A familiar story. He went on, but I only half-listened. The subject of his gossip was far ahead of us by now.

  By the time we parted, I had obtained the information I sought: Anne's address in London.

  I found the house with some difficulty—the door was non­descript and the dark stone of the exterior was forbidding. The high, narrow windows were swathed in some dark stuff and not a flicker of light could be seen in them. I raised my hand to the doorknocker and hesitated. It was made of heavy brass, and depicted a nameless creature whose lips curled back over pointed teeth. From the nose hung a heavy ring. I imagined the ponderous sound it made when employed, producing an effect that was anything but welcoming. The creature's blank eyes seemed to offer a sullen warning: go back.