The Merry Widow
Page 12
If there was one player who really wasn’t invested in this poker game, it was little Cerise. She wanted to be in the arms of her woman.
At this stage of the game, sighs of desire were becoming louder than the occasional excited gasps from a winner.
Ghislaine motioned for Mimi to join her and whispered a few recommendations into her ear: “They’re ready for the big finale. Go serve some more of my liqueur, and when you reach the champs’ table, tell them to kick things off by taking Marguerite and Georgette to the stage, so they can flaunt their skills a bit. Marquise’s orders.”
Mimi relayed the message to Jean-Baptiste and Sergio, who jumped to their feet and carried off the two ladies as though they were kidnapping them. The women kicked the air, crying out in surprise. Both men laid down their prey at the center of the bed. Standing, they turned to the room, presenting their raised members before setting the Marguerite and Georgette on all fours. The two men immediately penetrated them from behind, simulating a gallop by spanking their asses. The two friends, eyes crazed, were being taken without any discomfort: all those under-the-table caresses had been more than enough to prepare them to receive such rods.
Applause greeted this first performance. The crowd got on their feet, knocking aside chips, cards, and tables as everyone picked partners and flooded the “dance floor,” as Loustalou had put it. Soon it became a formidable tangle of bodies, of legs, arms, and sexes in heat. Surprisingly, the most shy of the group were those who ended up being the most passionate and enthusiastic.
One could have thought, for instance, that Audrey and Victoria would be somewhat apprehensive of moving on to new partners; on the contrary, they threw themselves at Bertrand and Chopin, respectively. They watched each other as they took these two gentlemen in their mouths, while the men buried their faces in the blonde gold between the girls’ legs.
Not far from them, Jean and Pierre were discovering the charms Marianne and Lisbeth had to offer. The former, who had had such a difficult time taking off her velvet shorts, was impaled on her chosen twin and, her back turned to him, caressed her breasts with one hand and her clitoris with the other as she bounced up and down on his fleshy lance.
As for Pierre, he didn’t quite know what was happening to him. He was lost in the young bride’s downy body and took pleasure in that. Both brothers would look up every now and then to glance at their female counterparts, surprised and perhaps a tad jealous to see them enjoying themselves with others so much.
Marguerite and Georgette were no longer crying out; they were growling and hissing as their athletes made them run a gauntlet of the most complex positions. These two lifelong friends were delighted to have Jean-Baptiste abandon Georgette to pounce on Marguerite, while Sergio took the burning baker in his arms to make her experience hitherto unknown thrills.
Witnessing his wife’s lovemaking and finding it so arousing that he had blown his load much too quickly, Georges had gone to sit in a corner and was staring into space.
Florence, the young rider, was being pounded by the tennis instructor, holding him firmly by the waist to take him deep inside her as she called out loving cries, tightening her muscled rings around his member.
Henri and his Pâquerette had quickly vanished from the podium to go make love more comfortably on a tawny leather couch by the piano. They seemed to be only interested in each other. Perhaps they were in love, having escaped from the crowd in this way and to be content with each other? And who could have blamed them?
Cerise and Bernadette had also moved out of the general entanglement at the center of the room to make each other climax in their own way, with their lips, their fingers, and a reasonably sized dildo. They had no doubt hidden that olisbos before the party, between the cushions of the couch where they had absconded.
The aristocrat, Monsieur Gérald, the poker game’s big winner, was the only person still clothed. Hands behind his back, he paced around the stage, whistling a tune.
The show fascinated him. He would stop and caress a body, tap a bouncing behind, perhaps kiss a breast. The couples that had formed amused him greatly: Eric, who had first set his sights on dear Victoria, had ended up with the young swimming coach. Her bathing suit lay crumpled on one of the bridge tables and, seeing how she squirmed as his mustache tickled her nether regions, the old count correctly inferred that she was enjoying herself immensely. She’ll be even happier when she feels this sodomite’s thick cudgel inside of her, he mused, smiling. He straightened his bowtie and spotted Ghislaine, their common mistress, engaged with a long, thick, and firm tongue probing her. She lay on her back in a nonchalant pose, one arm behind her head, her legs spread open. Her right hand rested on the back of Laurent Dumoulin’s neck; her gynecologist friend was so skilled that his lingua’s infernal dance inside of her was about to make her climax.
The aristocrat tenderly ran his fingers through Ghislaine’s hair and bestowed a chaste kiss on her forehead. She smiled.
“You should lie on your back, Monsieur Gérald. It is an incredible sight, watching this human tide in the ceiling mirror. I can barely recognize myself, so entwined we all are: I have to raise my arm, like this, you see?”
The marquise wasn’t the only one enjoying the scene reflected by the ceiling. He spied many guests who marveled at discovering themselves in the middle of the crowd. He even glimpsed a few changes in people’s behavior when they saw themselves—their movements intensified, their faces tensed … Narcissus. There’s a Narcissus in all of us, he mused as he resumed his pacing. He almost bumped into Mimi who was being taken by a euphoric Loustalou, leaning against the raised bed, one leg up in the air.
“Is this even comfortable?” he inquired.
“It’s just different, that’s all,” replied the maid. “And this way I can take it real deep,” she added with disarming frankness.
Loustalou pretended to get angry.
“Oh really? Because otherwise little Mimi can’t feel her big Loulou?”
Monsieur Gérald was also amused to see that most participants, male and female, weren’t focusing exclusively on their partners. Hands darted in and out of couples, searching for skin in an insatiable desire to revel again and again in this multitude of available bodies.
Cries, moans, gasps, and exclamations rose from this multitude, in a feedback loop of exhilaration—each wanting to attain a level of pleasure equal to, or higher than, the others.
Sated couples and exhausted single men gradually came down from the podium, trying to collect themselves once they were out of the furnace.
Soon it was time to try and sort the clothing in the heap that had been Mimi’s doing. This operation caused many laughs. This post-orgy glow was the grace note of such events. No gloomy demeanors, no postcoital tristesse could be found here, unlike in those cold urban establishments where one never saw a hint of camaraderie or tenderness, and where laughter was an unseemly thing. No, in Ghislaine’s Château des Plaisirs, this kind of encounter finished with smiles, kisses, and affectionate brushes—with thank-yous.
Mimi went to get some refreshments, accompanied by Cerise and Bernadette.
Suddenly, Chopin’s Nocturne in F major Op. 15 No. 2 swept across this great parlor where no music had been needed to accompany the erotic games. Jérôme was seated at the piano playing the melancholy piece that flowed like water.
The twin sisters, still naked, leaned against the great instrument, following the pianist’s slender hands as they danced on the keys. A small group gathered to better hear the music.
Ghislaine’s eyes wandered across her guests. They were all beaming. She was happy.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imag
ination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Originally published in French as Les Chateau des Plaisirs: La veuve joyeuse et Un sacre phenomene
Copyright © 2015 by 12-21, un department d’Univers Poche
English translation © 2015 by un department d’Univers Poche
ISBN: 978-1-5040-1488-5
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