The Viscount's Pleasure House (Irresistible Aristocrats Book 1)

by Suzi Love

  Prince Zoltan raised his arms to the sky and prayed for inspiration.

  “My fellow pleasure seekers,” Arthur said. “You realize that was merely a jest. Our great leader Prince Zoltan doesn’t allow anyone to procreate. Precautions will be taken as usual, so you may remove that scowl from your face, my worshipful sultan, our gracious ruler.”

  Justin forced a smile to his face before he stepped forward and spoke, addressing his audience with arms spread wide in true theatrics.

  “Indeed, now that his lordship has mentioned the problem, let me explain. On the tables are preparations to be drunk before participating in any activities. They contain my own secret recipes carried back from the Orient to prevent conception and disease. Drink these ancient medicines often and freely, as they are both aphrodisiac and malady prevention.”

  Justin backed away, hoping to escape and take Chrissie with him but Arthur and his perverted wife refused to allow him to leave. They blocked his departure and with their friends, made a mockery of all his intentions to avoid performing his usual rituals.

  Bart, seated on pillows close to the row of dancers who still wiggled their brown bellies enticingly for the crowd, jumped to his feet. “Perhaps Zoltan would allow his general to perform the rituals for him this evening.”

  “Or me,” Thomas added, bravely facing the crowd as well.

  Justin gave them both grateful glances. His friend’s attempts to save him from breaking his promise to himself to never perform those acts again were gratifying. His family may be far away, but at least he could count on these true friends to get him through the tough times. He dipped his head in acknowledgement of their sacrifice, especially Thomas’s. Knowing the idea of performing a sexual ritual in public would terrify shy Thomas, the gesture became all the more poignant. He clapped Thomas on the back and thanked him in a soft voice.

  “No, my friends. I must untangle myself from this dilemma.” He turned and spoke to two of his servants before he stepped into the center of the billowing tent and bowed to the crowd. Men and women lounged in relaxed positions around the tent’s outskirts, stuffing themselves with excellent food and befuddling their head with vintage wines from his cellar. Unfortunately, they were also exciting themselves into a lather waiting for more of the spectacle for which he was famous. If he failed to provide it, there’d be a riot and the three women’s presence—plus his reason for reopening the palace—would be revealed.

  “My people, the tradition has always been for the sultan to thrust the first knife in the sheath of the first virgin at the commencement of the festivities. Far be it from me to break with the customs laid down by my ancestors centuries ago.”

  He lifted a golden goblet from the table, raised it above his head, displayed it for the crowd, and drank deeply. As he went through the ritualistic part of his display, a deliberate ploy to gain time, he searched for a way to change the situation. But whatever happened, his servants needed more time to make adjustments to the night’s adventures.

  “I shall drink from the potions of love and endurance given to me by my ancestors. My stamina is already legendary amongst my people, and tonight I shall demonstrate why I’m known to have fathered the largest family in the history of my people. The great Zoltan shall outdo himself tonight. I’ll take not only one virgin, but also every woman I desire here tonight. One after the other. Until I tire.”

  He laughed hilariously for the crowd, as if the thought of a prince tiring was absurd.

  “Then, as my honored guests, I will grant you a great gift. You shall share the exquisite bodies of my slaves alongside me. You shall slake your lust with the most beautiful women and men the Pleasure House has ever seen.”

  At his elbow, he could hear Bart and Thomas voice their objections to each other and to him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Bart hissed in his ear. “Are you mad? I thought you’d finished with all that.”

  “I have. Trust me. Follow my lead and it will all work out. Between the three of us, we’re going to work the others into such a frenzy there won’t be a woman, or man, left standing for me to fuck.”

  “But you still have to fuck the first one,” Bart said, his face contorted with lines of worry.

  Beside him, poor Thomas looked terrified. “Justin,” he hissed in a frantic effort to attract his attention, “You’re going to have to do it in front of the whole crowd, like you used to, but this time with our three more innocent friends watching every move you make.”

  “Ah, but they’ll not be watching. They’ll be bent over and being ploughed like all the other women.”

  Chrissie still stood close enough to Justin that she overheard his crudity. He heard her shocked hiss of breath. “Justin,” she said in a croaky voice that sounded nothing like her normal confident tone. “You … you cannot expect us to display ourselves like … like them.” She waved at the crowd who now stood, stomping their feet and clapping hands in a clamorous din. “Please,” he murmured close to her ear, “trust me to keep you safe. We’re going to give the illusion you’re participating, but in reality you three ladies shall be with us, and no one else. Bart, bring Gillian and Edward, and Thomas, escort Anna. Make certain they’re wearing full costume.”

  The men nodded, understanding his hidden message even if Chrissie didn’t. He drew her aside. “Are you wearing the undergarments I sent for all of you?”

  When she nodded, he placed her in the center of the tent and ran around collecting his props. When the men arrived with Gillian and Anna, Justin went into his supposed trance for his performance as Zoltan.

  To the women he commanded, “Come, come, every one of you. Come to Zoltan, the greatest sultan ever known. My rod is the longest and the strongest and every woman will bend before my prowess.” He waved his arms to signal for all the women to crowd around him in the middle of the tent. “My beautiful harem, fall to your knees before your ruler.”

  He smiled his most radiant smile and rotated in a circle, arms upraised as the women scrambled for positions close to him. “I call upon the most powerful gods in the kingdom to give me the stamina of a hundred stallions so I may touch the womb of every mare in my stable.” He looked down at them. “And you, my beauties, do you promise allegiance to your prince? Do you pledge to obey me this evening in my palace of pleasure?”

  The female guests, already excited by the spectacle unfolding around them, lost their remaining inhibitions from the drug in the incense and the effects of the wine. A loud cry went up from the women.

  “Yes!” The word filled the air, while the male guests provided background noise by stomping their feet and cheering, seemingly as aroused as their women.

  Justin prayed the three ladies for whom this spectacle had been arranged would understand, and forgive, what he was about to do. “I command my harem women to unwind the veils from their upper bodies, so I may see your beautiful bosoms, so my staff will rise up as strongly as maize growing to meet the sun. For now though, you will keep your faces veiled, as the sight of your combined beauty will be far too shocking for these men to view just yet.”

  Starting the disrobing process, Justin drew his heavy outer robe over his head. The most uninhibited women, ones who’d romped naked around these gardens many times before, threw off their veils with gleeful shouts. Several were almost naked in seconds. Some clung to a small remnant of dignity by retaining a sheer veil around part of their bodies.

  Justin caught the eye of Thomas and Bart, who nodded and helped Anna and Gillian discard one outer garment so they stood in their specially designed leather undergarments. While the strips of leather may shock these conservative women, the corset-like top supported their breasts adequately while the pants fitted like tight pantaloons. He nodded at the three women as he drew off the remainder of his own top garments.

  He stood proudly before the cheering crowd clad in his sheer loose pants, thrust his hand through the hidden front opening, and drew his penis from the folds of material of his pants. The gasps
from Chrissie and her friends made him flinch, but he ignored them and concentrated on pulling off his performance. It would be the performance of his life if he could fool his paying guests into thinking the three straight-laced ladies present were part of the audience. It would be a miracle if he could convince them the ladies were participating and yet keep them out of the activities.

  “As the most lowly slaves in my harem, it’s your task to ease your master’s tired body when I return to the camp after a hard day’s ride in the desert. My men, and my visitors, need to be tended as well. This is your opportunity to please me, to please my guests.” He waved his hands to indicate the excited men standing around the tent watching the performance and waiting their chance to join in.

  The most decadent of the women, with Chrystal leading them, rushed at him. With a resigned sigh, he pretended this was nothing more than a momentary relapse into the debauched world he was determined to leave behind. He lifted his gaze above the crowd so he didn’t need to look anyone in the eye, didn’t need to show his shame. He loosened the string of his trousers and let them drop to the carpet.

  He may no longer be emotionally driven to demonstrate his virility in every second bed in the city, but his physical equipment seemed to once again be in working order. Though, he recognized it had only sprung back to such vigorous life for one driving reason. Since he’d met Chrissie and started having nightly lurid and erotic dreams about her, what could be termed his manly vigor had been resurrected with a vengeance.

  And since he was forced into this display, he was eternally grateful that his dick stood proudly rather than hanging limply in his trousers as it had done for several months.

  Not even to Bart and Thomas had he admitted that he’d become deeply concerned, that he’d believed impotency to be his deserved punishment. Though some part of him had still longed for the day when he’d have a wife he’d be able to service enough to produce an heir—and possibly even the spare child. Some part had still longed for the conventional society life he’d been so long denied. Ridiculous, really, that after all the disgusting things he’d observed in this same society he still wanted to join it in some small way.

  He shook his head and mentally fortified himself to face the forthcoming events with his head held high. After all, he was already notorious, so what he could he possibly do to worsen the situation? He glanced once again toward Chrissie. Oh, yes. He groaned and dropped his head. There was plenty he could do to disgrace himself. He could become less of a man in her eyes.

  At least before when Chrissie had come searching for him she’d believed him to be a scum on the face of the earth—but a virile one. After three days here with these greedy, grasping women to endure, he may just become the scum of the earth with not a sign of his previous vigor left to him. His virility seemed directly dependent on Chrissie, and his whole aim was to protect her from any close physical participation in these games. Not to bring her closer and closer to him so that his own arousal grew and grew and so to the onlookers he became the invincible sultan he portrayed.

  He flinched, winced, as anonymous hands grabbed and groped at him. Fingers stroked every part of him, especially his penis, which now bobbed straight and high, a contrast against his tanned workman’s skin. Determined to ignore the assault upon his body, he stood to rigid attention. In fact, every part of him stood to attention. He clenched his jaw and tamped down his impatience, waited for them to finish. He’d endured it before and he could endure it this time.

  Glancing over, he saw Chrissie had looked away. However, Gillian and Anna stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at his penis as if his protuberance was a giant ham on the bone cured especially for a picnic for the hungry hordes. They looked up at him, and he winked to relieve the tension of the moment. Gillian laughed behind her veil and he sensed the cheeky enjoyment she drew from this mad moment of his exposure. He’d call it humiliation but after three years, the word no longer suited. Apathetic resignation seemed more apt.

  Anna appeared transfixed with what he presumed was her first eyeful of a man’s naked form. She stood still, eyes wide and fixed on the direction of his groin. He caught Bart’s amused grin, and he shrugged. There was little he could do but grit his teeth and endure the agony until they could be finished with it all.

  Chrissie still refused to look at his body, nor would she meet his gaze. He watched her pick a path around the edge of the crowd of women and keep her gaze fixed on the ground.

  Damn her. He couldn’t decide which was worse—to have her avoid looking, or to know that she looked at him and suffer the agony of his body being aroused beyond bearing. Finally, she took the place furthest away from him and stood with her head bowed like a supplicant in a convent praying for forgiveness for her future sins. Although, to him, she looked anything but a penitent woman of the cloth as the many patches of bare skin he could see were pale white, lush, and alluring. A body made to experience every sort of sin he could deliver to it.

  At the remembrance of his latest erotic dreams, the ones about the many different places on his estate he longed to take Chrissie’s supple body, his shaft swelled and lengthened.

  While he’d been helping his workers prepare the areas, his mind had constantly envisioned Chrissie posed in every area he prepared. He saw her body, oiled and perfumed, reclined upon the rocks and warmed by the hot steam of the underground springs. Imagined her lying naked in the field of wildflowers where the maids picked bouquets to scent the rooms.

  Thought about bending her over the carpenter’s bench, spreading her limbs as though he had her chained in the vice, and plunging into hot, tight pussy from behind.

  Each hiss of the blacksmith’s dipping water reminded him of the noises she made when he kissed her. Those little inhaled breaths at first, and then the escalation to hisses and whimpers and begging words. His arousal grew and the women cheered and called lewd encouragements.

  Knowing he had to continue, had to hurry and finish this pantomime before he lost control entirely, he raised his arms to address his subjects in a commanding manner. “Kneel, my slaves. Kneel and give me your allegiance.”

  He waited until each woman dropped to their knees before him, noting the very last to do so was Chrissie. For her own sake, he hoped she’d follow his directions or he’d not be able to guarantee her safety. “Each of you will have one chance to touch my staff, with your hand, your tongue, your mouth, however you choose. The one who arouses me the most, and who excites the lust of every man watching … “ He waved his hand at the men crowding closer, their lust palpable in the heated air. “The one who stirs me beyond bearing from a single touch, a lick of their soft tongue, a suck of their wet mouth, will be the one privileged to receive my staff first. I will plow my rod into her tight passage and give her my royal seed. This slave will then be blessed for evermore.

  “If, however, you do not entice me enough to draw out my seed, you must attempt the same with my generals, each one in turn, over and over, until you satisfy one of us. Only when one of us spurts our come into your body will you be granted your pardon.”

  Drawing a deep breath for courage, Justin moved down the line and braced himself for the onslaught of sensations. When he’d invented this game to start the first night’s play three years ago, he’d never dreamed that it would come back to haunt him like this. Luckily, his staff had been able to locate enough of his old medicines from the Orient and he’d anointed his genitals with the ancient Chinese recipe. His balls were mostly dead to the touch and his rod, while painful, was mostly numb and immune to the torment inflicted by these ravenous carnivores.

  Hungry hands gripped him hard and he winced. Greedy mouths sucked him sloppily until a steady stream of wet saliva dripped from his balls to the Persian carpet. For several minutes, he ducked and weaved his way around the line of female attackers.

  “Christ!” He flinched, and cried out when someone’s sharp teeth ripped skin from his penis as he tried to drag it out of a grasping mouth. Rolling his eye
s, he looked toward Bart who gave him a solemn and commiserating wave of his fingers.

  Justin looked to where Bart pointed. Hell! Now he stood before Chrystal, who’d deliberately placed herself near the end of the harem line in the belief she’d be the one he stopped at. In past times, he’d done just that. He’d spent several nights in lusty romps that involved her, her extremely rich husband, and whoever else he’d invited and paid for. Arthur ‘s cheers were often the loudest as Justin swived Chrystal before a group of their friends.

  Poor miserable Arthur, who became aroused as a viewer rather than a doer, gained the most return for his money when he stood dead center of a romp. And that romp became all the better if his own wife was the center exhibit. Arthur was a man who exalted in owning the best of everything, and being able to brag about his possessions to others. His town house claimed to be the largest in Berkley Square, his balls and soirees the most lavish entertainments of the season, and his wife possessed of the most succulent fanny to fetter that Arthur could buy.

  Justin managed to avoid Chrystal’s excited gestures and calls, much to her obvious disgust, and he moved to stand before Anna. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides, praying to any god who’d listen for guidance. For the first time, the supposedly emotionless Hawkesbury felt shame and embarrassment. Not merely for himself, but for her.

  Past experience had taught him to cope, but Anna was different. She wasn’t a hard-hearted schemer like him but a pure-minded innocent unused to seeing a man’s flesh exposed. Probably not even a glimpse of bare chest in private. To endure the mortification of a stiff penis jiggling inches before her eyes would be as far from her normal evening’s activities as sailing the seven seas.

  And tonight, Justin’s consciousness continually pricked, knowing the intrusive eyes of a lusty crowd watched him, observed his every movement and registered his every emotion. Wrenching open his eyes, he looked down and prepared to whisper something to Anna, anything to put her at ease. He stopped, taken aback. The look on her face wasn’t anything like what he expected. Instead of revulsion, he saw what looked to be awe. His own face must have looked thunderstruck, not hers.