Yet even as she and her devoted knight continued to kiss, and as Gaston’s pulsating, sweat lined cock exploded in the palm of her sturdy hand, Gerald thrust his trim hips forward as his own mighty shaft surged forth to her very core. His hands cupped Catherine's flushed cheeks in a firm but tender kiss and turned her face to his as her newly freed hands touched and roamed the surface of his hard muscled chest—tweaking his rock hard nipples as, with a long, hard thrust, he sent them hurtling across the bounds of an incredible mutual climax.
The couple stared into one another’s eyes as their bodies and beings merged together in the pleasure of a lush, undulating climax, quaking and trembling as their hands and mouths joined to culminate the feeling.
“I love ye,” they whispered, breaking their kiss to share a tender smile as their bodies rolled wild in the divine softness of the ivy beneath them.
Lying off to the side as the tremors of his own pleasure continued to seize his every hard muscle, Gaston finally relaxed as he saw a contented Catherine roll over onto her back; gracing him with a drunken smile as Gerald dropped exhausted beside her, closing his eyes and sighing relieved as his own muscles flexed and relaxed.
Seizing what seemed to be a golden opportunity, Gaston jumped between her parted legs with a catlike flourish and sealed his lips to hers; his full, moist mouth rubbing and massaging hers as his strong hands mirrored their movement, touching and coddling her shoulders and back as she hugged his hard body to hers.
“Did ye ever believe this day would come?” she whispered, drawing back to stare deep into his eyes as he rose majestically above her—the tendrils of his silken dark hair falling forward to tickle the breasts that seemed aroused anew with his attentions. “The day that ye and I would be, not only lovers, but partners in life?”
Gaston shook his head.
“Aye my darling,” he whispered soft and sweet, cupping her flushed cheeks, as his fingers seemed to memorize every line of her face. “We always have partnered in our lives. It is only now that we make it official. So come, my beauty—let us celebrate our love.”
Covering her body with his, Gaston graced her lips with a binding kiss before shifting them downward, his body slithering graceful down hers to create divine friction as he next kissed and licked her neck, her breasts, and her rounded tummy. Finally he seared her with a devilish white-toothed smile as he knelt worshipful between her knees.
“Relax, my love, and allow me to pleasure ye,” he coaxed her, his agile hands rubbing her fleshy thighs as they parted willing before them.
Reinforcing his words with delicious action, Gaston ducked his sleek head lower still as he parted his sumptuous lips to part her folds with a long, resounding lick; next fixing his mouth around her throbbing nub to grace her with an intimate kiss.
Kissing and licking her feminine nub, her lover shifted his bronzed head from side to side to increase the friction of his lips on her clit; listening with pleasure as her cries of ecstasy filled the air above them.
Catherine’s eyes flew wide as she thrust her hips forward to intensify the sensation; lowering her trembling hands to stroke his silky hair as her vision brimmed with a brilliant kaleidoscope of golden sun and pure azure sky.
“Beautiful,” she mused soft and sweet, laughing outright as Gaston braced and tickled her sensitive hips and plied his soft lips on her throbbing clit.
Although his heated, intense ministrations sent shards of pure ecstatic feeling shooting upward to tease and satisfy every fiber of her being, Catherine still purred with happiness as her other lover awoke from his brief nap; filling her vision with a golden perfection that rivaled the sun above them.
Likening an angel with his long golden hair and pure crystalline eyes, Gerald graced her with a pure, beneficent beam as he descended upon her, kissing her lips soft and sweet even as his magical fingertips did the devil’s work.
She sighed as he caressed her breasts and kneaded her sensitive nipples, repaying the favor as she reached her hands upward to rub and adore his massive pectorals and his sculpted flawless abdominals. For a long moment the couple shared a tender beam as their hands touched and explored one another’s bodies; finally surrendering to mutual passion as he lowered his head to engage his intended in a deep, adoring kiss.
As his long, wet tongue glided back and forth in her mouth, simulating with perfection the movements of sex, Gaston’s tongue mirrored these movements on the surface of her heaving clit; flicking its tender skin as lightning shards of ecstasy spiraled upward throughout her entire body.
She took in her breath as her fair haired lover plied her lips with a passionate kiss; her dark haired paramour, meanwhile, laid a last resounding lick across her nub, sending her careening across the bounds of an incredible climax.
Her heart and pulse pounded in sweetest accord as she writhed shameless in her nature made bed; the doves and nightingales singing an ethereal duet in celebration of her newfound love—a love found with two immaculate men who worshipped her with their kisses and kindest devotion.
Laying back and opening her arms to both her ardent lovers, Catherine sighed with contentment as they wrapped their arms around her and collapsed exhausted in the ivy beneath them. Tendrils of heather tickled their bare bodies as the gentle winds of a London afternoon sang in communion with a chorus of bird song; singing a lullaby that lulled the trio into a light, easy sleep.
Chapter Three
An hour passed before the revitalized trio rose finally from the ground, talking and laughing as they made their way with arms interlinked to the spectacle of a nearby sparkling pond, where their horses had been drinking and sunning themselves—blissfully oblivious to the carnal frivolity that had been transpiring behind them.
Catherine knew, however, that the trio’s anonymity was fragile at best. Soon the whole of her family, court and kingdom would know the secrets of her heart and body. And how on earth would her people react when she married both her duke and her knight?
This was the troubling question she pondered as she and her lovers completed their ride through the countryside. And while she smiled as always at the beautiful and very sentimental vision of Castle Ballamore, where she presided as the sole heir of Lord Dirk and Lady Sophia, servants of the royal crown, she felt a wave of tension seize her being as she sensed the impending end of her fantasy world; a place where she and her lovers lived and thrived in a land of passion and natural beauty. Here they could revel freely together, naked to the world and without the burden of ever-watchful eyes.
“Yet the moment that I cross that bridge and step into that courtyard, I step once again into the constraints of a society I did not choose,” she mused silently, saying aloud to a watching Gerald, “Are ye certain that ye wish to accompany us inward, my love? Ye may wish to go home to Castle Goldsworthy, to tell your family of our—ahem—change in plans. Leave it to Gaston and me to relate the blissful news to my own parents, Lord Dirk and Lady Sophia.”
Gerald shook his head.
“Nay, my sweet love,” he cooed, covering her hand with his own. “As your first husband I must remain always by your side, to offer my hand and my aid in every situation you might face.”
Gaston nodded.
“And I as your knight husband also must remain strong and steadfast by your side, to help ye weather every storm and serve as your eternal protector,” he assured her, clutching her free hand with his own.
Energized by the support of her lovers, Catherine sat tall and proud in the saddle as she cast her gaze in the direction of Castle Ballamore: a tall, towering structure of pure, pearl pink stone that boasted statuesque towers and turrets and winding balconies, along with a soaring ivory pennant that bore the image of a graceful, gold hued swan.
On this day Lady Catherine felt every bit as graceful, beautiful, and outright powerful as the swan pictured in this image; and it was with her chin lifted noble in pride that she approached the long, winding bridge that would lead her home.
“And I as a
lady of this castle shall bear my title with pride,” she declared, adding with eyebrows arched, “As well as my future husbands.”
Chapter Four
These words echoed in Lady Catherine’s mind three moons later, as she stood at the adorned altar of Lavender Abbey; a grand structure of stone cast arches and stained glass windows that stood on a far corner of her parents’ palatial estate.
The lady stared with wondering eyes at her apparel for the day: a radiant silk concoction of puffed sleeves, lacy cuffs and long flowing skirts embellished at the breast with a gold embroidered swan to symbolize her family crest.
She had to admit that the gown’s rich scarlet hue was an unusual color for a wedding frock; this owing to the fact that, to people of her time, the color of red symbolized ultimate strength and was often won by warriors.
Yet considering the events of the past few weeks, a time when she and her lovers had battled with family members and council representatives to secure their right to marry in peace, she felt that this color befit her spirit and her eventual victory; as she insisted to any and all who would listen that she would marry the men of her choice.
As an added benefit, this rich, vibrant color also served to match the ebullient rose headdress that adorned her fiery tresses; and, for that matter, the lustrous rose bouquet, intertwined with graceful stems of heather, thistle and sweetest myrtle and tied with a rich ruby red ribbon, that adorned her sturdy grasp.
“In the view of William Shakespeare, that gifted bard, a bouquet of this sort serves to convey a solitary message,” she mused, lingering to take a long, deep sniff of her gathered florals, “I love you.”
And she most certainly felt nothing but love for the handsome men at her side, the grooms who joined her at the altar today to claim her hands in marriage.
Both of her grooms were adorned that day in tight black leather pantaloons and rich embroidered tunics of brilliant emerald green; a hue that in their time symbolized joy, hope and loyalty in love. Embroidered across the massive chest of each handsome groom was a gold hued insignia that symbolized his family crest. While Lord Gerald bore the mighty likeness of a roaring lion, the knight Gaston wore a ceremonial crest that matched her own; along, of course, with the symbolic chain mail hauberk that signified his exalted role as a knight of the royal court.
Both of her grooms wore their hair free and unbound for the occasion of the wedding; their silken locks flowing free across their broad shoulders and down their planed backs as both offered her their hands.
Gracing both with beneficent beams, Catherine next cast her gaze across the breadth of the abbey where they planned to be married that day.
She stared in open admiration at the radiance of this temple, ensconced on all sides and across its lustrous domed ceiling with rainbow patterned panes of sparkling stained glass; individual artwork affixed by borders of pure gold as well as ivory crown molding, and lined at the bottom with a stone cast floor that—just moments before—had echoed with the steps of the wedding procession.
After taking a moment to stare in wonder at the blazing crystalline chandeliers that lined the walls of this glorious temple, Catherine’s eyes came to rest on the polished mahogany pews that lined its center. These aisles were filled today with a large crowd of attendants (the women seated on the left side of the abbey and the males on the right, as per tradition) who represented the families and friendship circles of three people; along with representative of the royal court, bound by duty to attend the nuptials of a noted duke and duchess—as well as an exalted knight.
Although Elizabeth the First, Catherine’s worshipped mentor, was unable to attend that day, the monarch had sent a sparkling gift of three ruby rings that today adorned the fingers of the bride and grooms. In regards to her other guests, the lady couldn’t help but notice that they all shared a common expression, one that seemed to combine emotions of love, happiness, sincerity—and complete and total bewilderment.
“Aye, it is passing odd to get looks that both shower me with love and question my ever lovin sanity,” she mused, now turning in full to face the man who would marry them that day.
Himself dressed in a coat of scarlet velvet and a golden cap atop his baldhead, Bishop Charles was a short, stout gentleman well known to Catherine’s family. He in fact had christened her at birth, and oversaw the weekly church services conducted at Castle Ballamore.
Warm and kind, Bishop Charles had supplied a defined spiritual angle to her family’s holiday celebrations, hosting spectacular Christmas and Easter services in particular; and to her everyday life, as he often offered her advice and counsel to carry her through the trials and travails of youth.
In the early days of her engagement to Lord Gerald, Bishop Charles had offered the couple a great deal in the way of knowledge and encouragement in regards to their life together as a happily wedded couple—even going so far as to champion Catherine’s right to remain active and independent throughout the course of their married life.
“If ye donna wish a wife who is active and independent,” he advised Gerald with a wise smile, “Then ye’d best not be marryin’ our good Lady Catherine.”
Yet when she’d approached him for counsel and advice about her oh so slight change in wedding plans, he’d promptly plugged up his ears and began to sing the lyrics of a hymn devotional he counted among his favorites.
Catherine felt a shot of pain now as she saw uncertainty and even a touch of sadness reflected in the eyes of her longtime mentor and spiritual adviser; the same emotions that she’d noted in the gazes of her parents, her aunts and uncles, and her closest friends when they heard the news of her nuptials.
Yet even before Lord Charles she lifted her chin with pride, clutching the hands of her intended mates as she shifted her focus to the decorated altar that oversaw their ceremony that day; an engraved stone marker adorned with additional bouquets of Catherine’s precious ruby red roses, along with a plethora of lovely lavender water lilies intertwined with bountiful springs of heather and baby’s breath.
Finally she focused on her two beloved men; both of whom graced her with long, loving gazes as they took her hands in theirs.
The trio listened intent as a visibly addled Bishop Charles recited traditional vows approved by the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Church of England; offering their prompts and assents at all of the preapproved times.
Then the three turned away from the altar to face one another, their public surroundings dissolving around them--although, of course, they couldn’t help but notice the 10th consecutive look of horror that passed the face of Bishop Charles as they commenced with their own handwritten vows.
Nonetheless Catherine beamed at Gerald as she told him, “My love, this is the day that we have awaited since the eve we did meet, five summers ago at that fateful royal feast. With you I have discovered romance, eternal bonding and the meaning of true and lasting love. And on this day I am proud beyond measure to declare myself your bride.”
Gerald’s eyes brimmed with tears as he replied, “My love, for the past five summers I have dreamed of nothing but making ye my wife. Ye already honor my life as a lover, a friend, a companion, and an intellectual equal.”
“A lover?” Catherine cringed as she heard her mother, the prim and proper Lady Sophia, whisper from the front pew. “Do ye think that she and Gerald already have been to bed?”
Yet she smiled seconds later as her father, the ever practical Lord Dirk replied, “Truly, my love? Our daughter stands now at the altar, ready to take two men as her husbands. And that is truly the part that shocks ye the most about this entire situation?”
Silently thanking her father for his eternal good sense, Catherine returned her attention to her longtime love; a man who now took her hand in his as he stared deep into her eyes.
“My blessed, beautiful Lady Catherine,” he breathed, erasing all distance between them at the altar as he added, “I hereby take ye as my beloved and eternal wife, to have and to hold, to love an
d to treasure, for the remainder of our natural lives.”
With these words he held forth a shiny gold ring that he slipped on her third finger, an ebullient token that glowed in the light of the surrounding chandeliers.
“Be my wife,” he told her, entwining their fingers in a binding stance as he leaned forward to claim her lips in an equally binding kiss. “I love ye, Catherine.”
Far from the brief, sweet peck often witnessed at the vast majority of marriage altars, this kiss proved deep and truly passionate; with Gerald plying his full, moist lips into hers, rubbing and massaging her own as their tongues entangled between them.
Their public surroundings dissolved around them as Catherine leaned into his kiss; a tapestry of their life together unfurling in her psyche as she pressed her lips to his. Their mouths, tongues and breaths entwined in what seemed an eternal bond.
Hearing yet another deep expressed breath—this one a frantic, ragged breath torn from the throat of her visibly chagrined mother—Catherine finally broke their kiss; standing back to sear Gerald with loving eyes as she told him, “Ye are now my husband, Gerald. And I love ye, so very much.”
Turning now to Gaston, the man who stood silent and patient at the opposite end of the altar, Catherine took his hand in hers and said, “My sweet, gorgeous Gaston. Ye have been a part of my life as far back as I can recall, my friend. We played together, grew together, schooled together; sharing in the process all of the innermost secrets that only the best friends, the fondest confidantes, can share. Throughout the course of our journey in this life, we have developed a bond that cannot and will not be broken. So it is truly only right and true, regardless of what others might say,” with this she snuck a swift, pointed gaze in the direction of a red-faced Bishop Charles, “that we now should join as husband and wife.”
ROMANCE: THREESOME : Billionaire Brothers' Party (MFM Menage Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Threesome Short Stories) Page 73
