Triple Major

by Lana Hartley

  “You can probably hear insects crawling,” I say.

  I don’t know if this scares her or what, but she stands up and walks back to the bench. I watch her as she puts her dress back on, but it’s wrinkled and has a mud stain.

  “Oh, your dress,” I say.

  “It’s fine. It’s honestly nice to get messy,” she smiles. “I really like what we did.” She’s struggling with the zipper so I go over to help her. I zip it up, careful of her hair, holding it up so it falls graciously around her face. I zip it all the way up, and there’s something disappointing about putting clothes on her instead of taking them off—no matter how pretty she looks.

  She turns around after I let of her hair go and it falls down over her breasts, and she laughs.

  “What?” I ask. “Do I have something on my face?” I wipe at whatever might be there off.

  “Yes,” she says. “Your hand.”

  “Ah.”

  I drop my hand and look at her.

  “I’m a mess,” she says. “That’s why I was laughing.”

  “I could give you a bath.”

  “Okay.”

  I start walking toward the castle when she tugs on my arm.

  “No, no.” She points to the outside bath, in the middle of the garden over by the gazebo.

  “What?” I’m amazed and very excited all at the same time.

  “Why not?”

  She walks over to the old porcelain bathtub, and I go over to the where the hose is hooked up to the golden faucet and turn it on; it drips around the hose onto the ground, lovely cool water hitting my palm.

  I drag the hose over to the tub, and it snakes along in the tall grass to where she is once again taking off that dress.

  “Here, sweetheart,” I say, offering my hand. I take her dress and carefully place it on the bench so it doesn’t get any messier than it is. I look at her, and I’m offered the gorgeous view of her backside. The moonlight hits her skin just right. I pick up the hose and douse her with it, and she cackles out loud and covers her breasts.

  “It’s cold,” she says.

  “What did you expect?”

  “Maybe if we both got in, we could warm it up with our body temperatures,” she suggests innocently.

  “That’s a thought,” I say, already taking off my jogging pants. “And we all know I do need a bath.”

  “Yes, you’re disgusting,” she laughs. She picks up the hose and starts to fill the tub. I can feel the cool mist coming up from the water as it starts to fill to the rum. I get the bottle of wine and place it by the tub, considering what’s missing that could perfect this glorious night.

  “We only need candles,” I suggest.

  “We don’t need candles, Vincent,” she says. “We have the fireflies and the stars.” She lifts her little foot and places it in the tub, and I get in with her. The tub is small; it’s nothing fancy, but there’s just room enough for the both of us to squeeze in to it.

  I laugh as she wriggles her ass between my thighs, the swell of her cheek brushing against my cock.

  “Now, now behave yourself, princess,” I say. “Mind your manners.”

  “You mind your manners,” she says. “You know what? We don’t have any soap.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “What will we use to get clean?” she asks.

  I reach down for the wine bottle and watch her face explode with surprise as I douse some wine into the tub.

  “VINNY!” she says, watching a red cloud form in the clean, crisp, cold water.

  “I can’t believe you just did that,” she cackles.

  “Why not?” I say. Our bodies have been soaked by rain, the purest cold water from the hose, and now wine.

  I splash it on my face.

  “Is wine good for your pores?” she wonders.

  “Oh, it’s heavenly for them,” I say. I don’t really know, I’m just talking nonsense. But what an amazing night, and I really don’t want it to end.

  I look at Isadora and her breasts have a pink tint about them from the wine. I stretch out my long legs and put my feet around her on the rim of the tub. I wonder if I have big toes.

  “Do I have nice feet?” I ask.

  She turns and looks at them.

  “They seem so big right now,” I say.

  “Monstrous.”

  “No really,” I say. “Do you like them?” I know Nathan has nice feet, she’s said this before. I mean, I’ve never really thought about feet before that much, let along my own.

  “I think they’re great. Feet are funny. I feel like we take them for granted. We use them all the time.”

  “Do they smell?” I wonder, sticking a foot in her face. She laughs and gets up on her hands and knees.

  “Oh, you are going to get it,” she says, with a mean gleam of a smile.

  “I should hope so,” I chuckle. She has the bottle of wine in her hand, mischief flaring in her eyes.

  “Hey, don’t…” before I can finish the sentence—don’t waste the wine—she pours it on my head. I shut my eyes as the precious liquid runs down my face and into the water. We’re now a sticky mess, and sort of smell like wet bread.

  My foot drops into the water, and I place my toes between her legs. She shuts her eyes and moans, and I can’t even believe what I’m about to do. She moves against me, and I push my big toe inside of her.

  “Vincent,” she mewls.

  “You like my feet now?” I ask.

  “Yes…” She shuts her eyes tight and I run my foot around her inner thighs.

  She giggles and turns, straddling my lap. My cock makes an appearance out of the greyish/pinkish water and she looks at it awe.

  “Uh oh, seems to be a rubber ducky in the water or something,” she laughs.

  “That’s not a rubber ducky,” I say.

  “What is it then?” She plays dumb. “What’s in this tub with me?” she gasps, a full-on act of a damsel in distress.

  “It’s a swamp monster maybe,” I say, “and it’s going to get you.”

  She plays like she wants to escape as she hangs over the edge of the tub, and I get behind her. Her skin has a nice glow to it because of the wine and bathwater and also because she is just so naturally pretty. My hands rove over her ass, and my cock is against her lower backside and she pushes back against it.

  “Are you having a lovely night, Isadora?” I kiss her neck and inhale her sweet scent.

  “Vincent, I always have…a nice time…” she sighs, unable to get all the words out before I place myself inside of her. I find her perfect spot and she hangs over the tub, her long blonde hair touching the wet grass. The moon illuminates the night sky, finally making its appearance from under the clouds. I study everything as if it’s all on the big screen—as if this night is a movie playing at the drive-in—and I push my way inside of her. She reaches back to bring me closer to her, and we move in sync as she pulls at my hair. I continue to thrust, and I realize that this is the best night of my life. Hungry for more of Isadora, my hips thrust faster, my momentum building as the excitement courses through me faster and faster. I normally don’t fuck this fast, it’s not my style, but I think this is how she likes it. I manage to keep a solid traction against the porcelain tub as Isadora’s ass meets my thighs, her pussy clenching my cock with a starving need for release.

  “Ahhh…” she lets out this amazing sigh that travels over the garden like the rainy smell has, and I look up at the sky and I swear I see a shooting star just as I’m shooting up into her.

  * * *

  After the bath, we go for a long walk around the garden—her hand in mine.

  We’re talking about our favorite childhood memories, and I tell her about the first time I went to the car wash.

  “Your favorite memory is about a car wash?”

  "Just listen,” I say, squeezing her hand. “You know how guys are about cars, right?”

  “Sure, what did you have some kind of muscle car?” she wonders.

  “No, I be
t Nathan did. No, no, I had a classic car; it was very appealing, so nice to look at it—not as nice as it is to look at you, but close. I got immense pleasure from driving this car. You know how if you adore something then you want to take care of it, right?”

  “Sure,” she says, walking along, her tiny feet touching down on the moist ground. Everything seems so pleasant right then.

  “Well, anyway, I took this car to the car wash, and there was a hot dog stand there and I just ended up spending the day there, with my best friend, and just washing this car.”

  She’s quiet, and I wonder if I’m boring her. I guess some stories, when told out loud, just aren’t that riveting. But in my head, it just seemed like this amazing thing.

  “Anyway, I just drove it around town afterwards,” I keep going anyway. “And I was like yeah, look at my car. And I picked up…” I stop.

  “Picked up what?” She responds to let me know she’s been listening.

  “I picked up…a girl.”

  “Oh, you had a girlfriend?”

  “Yes…” I don’t know if I should keep talking about her. Isn’t it not nice to talk about your ex-girlfriend? Don’t’ girls hate that or something?

  “Savannah.” There, I said her name. I get it out there, and I honestly feel better now. “I picked up Savannah, and do you know what the funny thing about all of this was?”

  “What?”

  “She didn’t even know that was my car, because that’s how dirty it was this whole time. She thought I got a new car!”

  Isadora laughs, but I think there’s something forced about it. I think it’s horrible I just told a story about a car and this ex-girlfriend of mine.

  “I like the memories I have of me and my mom,” she shares. “We used to spend the day sunbathing, and that was nice. My mom loved to sunbathe, and I think that was when she was the happiest. And she made the best lemonade, I’m telling you, Vincent. It was just incredibly delicious.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “You know I can make it some time, I have the recipe. I mean, if you and Nathan are even interested.”

  “Nathan will spike it with his alcohol, surely,” I snide.

  “Yes,” Isadora laughs. “You’re probably right as rain about that one.”

  “Right as rain,” I repeat. “I like that expression.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I like you and I love this blessed night.”

  “Me too, Vinny. I like how you appreciate things,” Isadora says. “I feel like people take so much for granted. They get up and go through their day, probably having a better day than most in this world, and they don’t even seem to appreciate it. That annoys me, but you really seem to appreciate everything, and I like that.”

  “Thank you for saying so, Isadora,” I say.

  We continue our walk through the gardens, admiring the beauty of the night we’re sharing together. A relaxed chat, the bright stars lighting our path, and the sweet smell of the beautiful flowers. The horses are just off in the distance in a little kingdom all their own.

  We eventually come back to the bench and I watch her get dressed, helping zip her dressed closed. It’s a nice sight. I take in the last few sounds of night before dawn comes and certain creatures go away and the birds replace those night mating calls with their sweet chirping sounds. Isadora pins her hair away from her face, and her cheeks have a nice tint, like a dewy post-sex glow. Tendrils of blonde hair cascade around her face, but no matter because it’s only going to tousle while she’s in bed.

  There are words on the tip of my tongue that I want to say to her, but as I start to speak she kisses my lips. I pepper kisses down her neck, along her shoulder, and over the swells of her breasts, though we both smell delightfully gross. She claims my lips once more, and I allow her the control, the hard nibble she places in the plump of my lip, but when she pulls back she’s breathless. I lick a slow trail up the curve of her neck and over the shell of her ear, closing my lips over the lobe before the words slip into her ear.

  “Night is my favorite time of day.”

  Nathan

  I arrive in the tea room a few minutes early for my meeting with Queen Ileana. I always arrive early for any engagement. I casually stroll the perimeter of the room. To all appearances I'm simply taking in the decor, perhaps considering if it suits my tastes. Actually, I'm checking for surveillance equipment. One turn around the room satisfies that there aren't any cameras or listening devices within sight.

  Rather than comforting, I find the lack of surveillance equipment strange. A palace that hosts royalty and diplomats on a regular basis without a surveillance system in the main areas? It's unusual to say the least, and it could be dangerous. I take a seat in one of the high-back leather armchairs and wait for Queen Ileana.

  I look down at my watch. The queen has exactly two and a half minutes before she’s late for our meeting. The click of heels on the floor tells me that a woman is approaching, but the steps are much too hurried to belong to Queen Ileana.

  I stand just as Queen Ileana’s secretary, Theresa I believe her name is, comes rushing in, looking flustered, apologetic, and very nervous.

  “Hello, Theresa.”

  “Good morning. Prince Nathan, Queen Ileana sends her apologies, but she's unable to have tea with you this afternoon. She asked me to reschedule, at your convenience, of course.”

  “Of course,” I say. “Tell, Theresa, is Ileana not feeling well?”.

  “No. I mean, yes. I mean, Ilea—her Highness is not sick.” Theresa’s voice trembles slightly. I suspect that Ileana isn’t a particularly kind person to work for.

  “If the queen isn’t ill then why has she cancelled our meeting?” I ask as kindly as possible. I’m worried the poor girl might faint from anxiety, and I need information.

  “She had a scheduling conflict. It’s all my fault, really,” Theresa stammers.

  “Really?” I smile at her and she relaxes just a little. “I’m sure you’re not entirely to blame.”

  “Well, I scheduled the tea, but… But I didn’t know Queen Ileana had another meeting scheduled.”

  “You didn’t?” I raise an eyebrow and step closer. “But aren’t you her scheduling secretary?”

  “Yes, but . . .” She trails off, hesitating.

  “But?” I push.

  “The queen scheduled this meeting herself.”

  “I see.” Now I’m certain the queen is up to something.

  “I didn’t know about it until today, you see, and I didn’t want to disturb you this morning.” Theresa blushes.

  “Understandable, and no real harm done. It’s still early, I’m sure I’ll find something to amuse me.”

  Theresa breathes a visible sigh of relief. “If you don’t require anything of me, I’ll just be going now,” she says, edging toward the door.

  “No, I don’t need anything else. I’ll have my secretary call you to reschedule.”

  “Yes, your highness,” she says, turning to leave.

  “Oh, Theresa, one more thing?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Who is the queen meeting?”

  “I'm afraid that's confidential,” she says, shifting nervously.

  “Is it?”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about this meeting, not even who it’s with, sir.” She looks me directly in the eye, and honestly she’s too nervous to be anything close to a good liar.

  “That’s all then, Theresa.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She scampers away.

  We'll see how confidential Ileana’s meeting really is after I speak with my staff. This confirms my suspicions. Ileana is definitely planning something, and I need to know what. I leave the tea room and head toward the garden; perhaps Isadora is still there. I'm surprised I've resisted the temptation to seek her out for this long.

  Last night is still fresh in my mind, and the truth is I really would rather be buried inside Isadora's sweet body than buried in intrigue with the queen. I'm sure I
sadora would prefer it, too. She's nothing like what I expected based on what sources told me. I hardly expected to find a woman whose appetite for passion could match my own, yet Isadora's does. More than that she's witty, intelligent, and capable. She's everything I could have asked for in a wife. I step out into the lush green gardens of the palace. I have to admit there is something calming about it, the quiet and the greenery.

  A garden so vast you could easily lose yourself for hours. I wonder how many days Isadora kept herself hidden here. Though if her last garden visit was any indication I doubt I'll find her alone. I turn down the winding garden paths until I hear one of Isadora's breathless cries. The tone is unmistakably one of pleasure. I feel my cock stir. Such is Isadora’s hold on me that just hearing her in throes of pleasure arouses me. I walk further down the path and hear Vincent's voice added to Isadora's own. I turn a corner, and what I see is certainly much more pleasant than tea with the queen. I step back just inside the shadow of the leafy archway.

  Isadora is naked astride Vincent. Her eyes are closed, head thrown back, and her beautiful body is on display. Her gorgeous full breasts, their nipples hardened with desire, bounce as she moves up and down riding Vincent’s cock. His hands are in her hair, and his mouth is on her neck. I feel my cock harden almost instantly. I’m tempted to unzip my pants and truly enjoy the show, but I decide to wait. Not that I worry about being seen. There aren't any cameras in the gardens, either. That's something I'll have to change for my own benefit if nothing else.

  I could never get tired of seeing Isadora taken over by pleasure, completely lost to her physical desires. I press my palm against my rock hard cock. Isadora's eyes opens, and she looks directly at me. I see a wicked smile creep across her lips as she crashes her mouth into Vincent's, grinding her hips against his, fucking him that much harder because she knows I'm watching. It sends a sharp jolt of desire straight to my cock.

  God, I want to fuck her until she’s completely spent, I want to wring every drop of pleasure from her body. She breaks her kiss with Vincent and her lips move beside his ear, no doubt making him aware of my presence. He looks over his shoulder, and they both look directly at me as the come.

  I give them a moment to dress before I saunter over to them. Helping Isadora up from the grass, I kiss her lips.