The Education of Ivy Leavold

by Sierra Simone

  Glasses of wine were set before us, the waiter came to inform us of our dinner choices—Mr. Markham ordered for me—and I stared at the tablecloth throughout it all, vaguely knowing that it wouldn’t be proper for me to be panting and squirming at the table, but also knowing that I was beyond caring.

  Mr. Markham’s hand whispered along the back of my neck. “Ivy has been a very obedient girl today,” he murmured. “Very obedient.”

  “Is that so?” Silas asked, and I could tell by the tenor of his voice that he immediately took Mr. Markham’s meaning.

  “Tell him, wildcat. Tell him about your day.”

  I could not. Words were obscure, foggy things that seemed unimportant, and my hands and legs were trembling; the same tremors were vibrating through my chest and making it impossible to breathe or think normally. All I could think of was unfastening Mr. Markham’s pants—or Silas’s, I was starting not to care about the particulars—and then of mounting one of them, right here in the booth.

  Silas laughed. “It must have been quite a day, Miss Leavold. You seem speechless. And I can see the flush creeping up your neck now, as if you were burning up inside. Shall I check and see?”

  I could only look at him, my lips parted, and then his hand stole over my knee under the table, pulling slowly at my dress. Fabric collected in my lap and my legs felt dangerously exposed to the world, even though I knew the floor-length tablecloth hid everything from view, including Silas’ hand, which now slid against my inner thigh. I held my breath, wanting him to go farther but also unsure of Mr. Markham’s reaction.

  Mr. Markham continued to touch the back of my neck, playing with the small curls at my nape, watching the drama under the table unfold. “Spread your legs for Silas,” he said, and I did. I spread them as wide as I could, suddenly desperate for Silas, desperate for him to use his fingers, tongue, cock, anything so long as it ended in me climaxing.

  His fingers skated past the edge of my stocking and then they were dancing across my center, over and over again. “So wet,” Silas said quietly. “So swollen.” And one finger parted the petals of my pussy, just barely, just enough that he could lift his finger to his mouth and taste me.

  “How does she taste?” Mr. Markham asked.

  Silas smiled. “Perfect.” His finger returned, this time delving further in, and I pushed myself against it, wanting him to stop teasing and actually touch me.

  “How long did you deny her, Julian?”

  “Only since this morning.”

  “She’s so responsive,” Silas said wonderingly, watching my face as he ran his thumb over my clit. I was actively rocking against his hand now, my hands gripping the table to keep my upper body stable, so that our tableau betrayed nothing to our fellow diners.

  “You have no idea,” Mr. Markham said. “You should see her in bed.”

  “I would very much like to,” he said. I could now clearly see the hard ridge straining his trousers, a ridge which he was casually rubbing with his other hand. The sight of it was unbearably erotic; Mr. Markham was right. There was something so powerful in seeing how I affected other men, in seeing how badly they wanted me and feeling Mr. Markham’s possessive touch on me all the while.

  As if responding to my thoughts, Mr. Markham’s arm moved between the back of the booth and my waist, and then his other hand joined Silas’, caressing my cunt with soft strokes. Their fingers moved in between and around each other’s, sometimes wrestling for access to my clit, sometimes sliding into me together.

  I looked down and then I knew it was all but over. Black tailcoat sleeves. Starched white cuffs. Glittering silver cufflinks. And those separate masculine hands fucking my cunt with reverent relentlessness.

  “I—” It came out as a breathy moan, and dimly I remembered that I should be quiet, I should be still, but there was a thumb circling my clit and a finger sliding knuckle-deep into my ass, and then nothing else could possibly exist.

  “You what?” Mr. Markham asked.

  “I’m going to come,” I managed, trying to make it sound like a warning, but failing because the neediness in my voice betrayed me.

  “That’s the idea, darling,” Silas said. “If it wouldn’t have us arrested, I’d pull you onto this table and fuck you as you did.”

  “No fucking, Silas,” Mr. Markham said.

  “Fine,” his friend sighed. “Then I suppose I would have to watch as Markham fucked you. A shame. You have such a deliciously tight pussy, Miss Leavold. I would love to feel it hot and quivering around my cock.”

  It was too much. The sight of them working me—half in tandem, half in competition—their faces casual and placid as they brought me off under the table, the sweet pressure in all the right places…not to mention the entire day hitherto this, of being teased and denied so many times…my hips were rocking even harder now as I tried to ride their hands. My fingers were white from gripping the table edge, and I could feel my breasts swell painfully under my corset. It was coming, that initial wave that would drive me to frenzy, and drive me to frenzy it did, cinching every already tense muscle into a knot of raw physical lust.

  “Harder,” I moaned, my head falling back. “Deeper. More, please, I need more.” I didn’t care how loud I was or how obvious my pleasure was anymore. I only needed those fingers to keep doing what they were doing, and then another finger slid into my ass and the circling against my clit redoubled, and then there it was, the peak, the height, and I cried out, my womb knotting and then exploding, sending white lights dancing around the edges of my vision, sending convulsions tearing through my body. They came and came and came, as the two gentleman in dinner jackets buried their fingers in my pussy right there in the restaurant, and I heard Silas mutter, “Christ,” as my channel kept squeezing his fingers, the waves cresting and crashing and cresting again.

  “Oh,” I breathed, “oh,” and the convulsions slowly turned into quiet little spasms spaced far apart, until I was slumped against Mr. Markham, feeling drained and weak.

  I heard Mr. Markham’s voice rumble through his chest, and then the waiter’s voice, and then Silas’.

  “She’s had a fit. The heat, I think, and the exhaustion of the journey. We must see her to her rooms.”

  “Of course, sir. Shall I send for the physician?”

  “Not yet, but have the staff stay alert for our word,” Silas said, completely seriously. “She may revive yet, but I won’t take any chances.”

  Relief swept through me as I heard the table being dragged away—Mr. Markham quickly tugging down my skirt before it did—and then as I felt myself being lifted into his arms, like I really had fainted. I heard the other diners murmuring around us as we walked out, but I kept my eyes closed and limbs limp. Not hard, considering I barely had the energy to move.

  “Did you see the looks on their faces?” Silas asked, laughing, after we’d been out of the dining room two or three minutes. “That man in the table across from us—I thought he was going to have a fit of his own!”

  “You may open your eyes now, Ivy,” Mr. Markham said.

  I obeyed. We were going up the stairs and his face was close to mine as he carried me. His eyes were soft, loving, and his dark hair was burnished into something lighter in the bright lamplight of the hotel. He looked like a man from another time, a highwayman or a lost prince, with the brilliant glass-green eyes and high cheekbones and a mouth that looked like it wanted nothing more than to devour me.

  I closed my eyes again. “I can’t believe I did that,” I said, waiting for the embarrassment to flood through me. It didn’t.

  “It was beautiful,” Mr. Markham said. “You were beautiful.”

  “Every man in that restaurant was adjusting himself as we walked out, and I think even some of the women were fanning themselves,” Silas added. “The dull ones will buy the story of a fit, but any person who’s been properly fucked before will know exactly what they were looking at. And they will love it.”

  A door opened. We were finally to our ro
om. “Am I invited in?” Silas asked.

  Mr. Markham glanced down at me. “Do you need to sleep? Or do you want more?”

  I would always want more. When it came to Mr. Markham, I would always need more.

  “I don’t need to sleep,” I whispered, and Silas stepped in and closed the door.

  Mr. Markham eased me into a chair, then went to ensure that the door was locked. Despite the fierce totality of the climax I’d just had, the fire low in my belly slowly rekindled as I witnessed those two men shrugging off their jackets and unknotting their cravats as they walked toward my chair. Mr. Markham knelt before me, his shirt now open at the throat, showing his rapidly thrumming pulse.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said, and he gently tugged off my silk heels, kissing each foot as it was freed. “You learned very well today. You learned to trust me with your desire, no matter how far I pushed. It’s time for your reward. What would you like?”

  I looked down at him as he peered up at me through dark eyelashes, his high forehead tilted back in supplication. He was so virile, so male, and seeing him kneeling in front of me sent as much desire spiking through my body as seeing him dominate me. It reminded me that he was more vulnerable than I was, that he was ceding something powerful and precious to me by making me his wife. He may tease me for a few hours out of the day, but his soul was mine to have for the rest of our years.

  Perhaps he saw this realization in my eyes, because he laid his head against my knee in a gesture of humility and submission. I stroked through his hair, the thick, dark waves of it, and after a few moments, I used a finger to raise his face up, past my own and to the ceiling.

  The long, corded arch of his throat was exposed, and I bent down and kissed it, feeling his restraint and repressed strength as I turned my kiss into a firm, sharp bite. He trembled and his hands twitched around my feet, but he remained still and passive for me, even as the unconscious shifting of his hips told me that his arousal was becoming unbearable. I held my teeth there for several seconds, loving the feel of his wild pulse, the smell of sun and greenery that always clung to him.

  I pulled away with one last flick of my tongue dancing across his Adam’s apple, and sat up again, looking down at him like a queen might look down upon a subject.

  “Wildcat,” he said raggedly, “let me reward you.”

  Silas had been watching silently this whole time, maintaining a respectful distance as Mr. Markham and I completed our exchange of power, but now he came forward and knelt before me as well. Two pairs of eyes—one pair fern green and the other pair bright blue—gazed up at me with a heady combination of lust and devotion.

  “Undress me,” I finally said. “I want to feel you both on my skin.”

  They both leapt to obey, helping me out of the chair, fingers digging into buttons and ties, and I sighed against the warmth of their movements, sighing again as I was divested of my clothes. Silas nimbly unfastened my corset, and my sighs turned into a sudden intake of breath as the cool air finally brushed against my aching nipples and swollen breasts.

  Silas brushed his lips around the crescent swells, kissing in a spiral until his mouth was sucking hot and wet on a furled peak. My back arched and my hand went to Silas’ head, holding him fast where he was. I felt and heard his low chuckle at my eagerness, and then he reached down, his hands sliding past the heart shape of my ass and then hoisting me up so that my legs were around his waist, his mouth affixed to my breast the entire time.

  As he walked me over to the bed, I marveled at how different his body felt from Mr. Markham’s. Silas was just as tall, just as toned, but there was something urbane and smooth about him, about his entire bearing, as if he charmed his way through life rather than growled through it like Mr. Markham did. Even his hands under my ass felt polished and refined. And as he laved my nipple with his talented tongue and as I began—more or less unconsciously—grinding my cleft against his stone-hard cock, one got the sense that Silas was never far away from a wide grin or a loud laugh. Joy and mirth—they suffused him, like an affable light.

  Mr. Markham was correct earlier today. What Silas did with us, with the others, that was playing, a game for the wealthy and bored to idle away their time. When Mr. Markham and I were alone together, it was something else entirely—something unique and deep and hallowed.

  Which wasn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy the playing.

  Silas walked us over to the bed, and my eyes met Mr. Markham’s over Silas’ shoulder. He had shucked his shirt, so I could see the planes and furrows of his flat stomach and the way his torso tapered into narrow hips, a defined line of muscle making an emphatic V leading to his groin.

  His eyes moved down, seeing my pelvis flush against Silas’, and his jaw set. In an instant, he was next to us, and there was palpable jealousy in the way he plucked me from his friend’s grasp and laid me across the bed. But his stiffness and labored breathing confirmed what he had told me before dinner, that the jealousy was only fuel for his desire, and so I felt no guilt about reaching for both of them and pulling them both down on top of me, both men all muscle and limbs and roving hands.

  Mr. Markham’s mouth met mine first, a hard kiss that felt more like a branding. His hand cupped the back of my head, and he parted my lips with his own, sliding his tongue against mine, licking past my teeth and deep into my mouth. I was panting when he broke away, heat flushing up my belly and up my neck, and his eyes glittered triumphantly.

  Meanwhile, Silas had been tracing circles on the taut skin of my stomach, looping ever wider loops around my navel. “I’d like to follow this blush down to its source, Julian,” he said. “That is, if you permit it.” There was nothing but brotherly amusement in his voice, as if his friend’s jealousy was an adorable quirk that he’d long since grown used to.

  Mr. Markham’s mouth twitched and a rare smile creased his face. He kissed my neck and then my shoulder. “Am I being selfish with you?” he murmured into my collarbone.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “And I love it.”

  Silas pressed his palm to my sternum and then ran his hand down to the swell in between my legs. “He should be selfish with you. You are quite delicious, and the moment the shepherd looks away, you can be guaranteed that a wolf will be there to snatch you up.” He lowered his head and dragged his teeth along one nipple to underscore his point. Mr. Markham was kissing my neck now, and once again there were two different hands caressing my folds, drawing lines in the crease where my thighs joined my body.

  “But I promise,” and Silas looked at me with mock solemnity, “that you can trust me not to breach Julian’s trust too much. At the very least, I won’t fight back if he decides to hurl me to the floor in an envious rage.”

  A quiet laugh rippled through the three of us, and Silas shed the faux-serious face immediately, grinning widely. Mr. Markham lifted his head and our eyes met and I knew that Silas was right. Intrinsic trust was strung between them, and now it was strung between me as well, and tonight would only bring pleasure, not discomfort, to the man Silas and I both loved.

  And easily bruised egos be damned, as I kissed Julian, I twined my fingers in Silas’s hair and pushed his head down, past my breasts, past my ribs, down to my navel, where he touched his lips to the divot there and began kissing his way to my sex.

  For the next several minutes, there was nothing in my world but the two different textures of Silas’ and Julian’s hair; Julian’s mouth on my mouth and on my neck and on my breasts; and Silas’s tongue licking at my seam, alternating between sucking at my clit and penetrating my entrance. I could feel the sweat sheening on my body as Silas cleverly manipulated me; all my nerves and sinews tightened and tightened, until everything from my chest to my knees felt like a piano wire about to snap.

  But I wasn’t ready yet. I wanted them to worship me like this forever, but I also wanted the rigid steel of their cocks, wanted those cocks rubbing against me, sliding against my palms, burying themselves in me.

  I let go o
f Silas’s hair to tug at Mr. Markham’s pants, which he wriggled easily out of, his large dick springing free as he came back to kiss me. I circled my fingers around him, marveling for the umpteenth time how large he was. He made a low noise of pleasure against my mouth as I continued to stroke him, and his hips were lifting off the bed as he began to fuck my hand.

  “I need you inside,” I breathed. “Julian—”

  Mr. Markham lifted me like I was a doll, and in a second’s work, we were both sitting on the edge of the bed, me positioned so that my back was to his chest and I was facing Silas, who sat back on his heels and watched us with my juices still glistening on his lips.

  The tip of Mr. Markham’s cock was poised at my opening, and with one hand on my hip and the other holding the base of his dick, he slowly guided me down. Inch by inch he stretched me, pushing against my swollen sex, and I was wound so tightly that every incremental movement made me cry out and shudder, which made my lover growl in response.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, as I finally took him to the root and came to rest against his thighs.

  Then Silas was there, and he gently raised one of my legs and hooked it behind Mr. Markham’s and then did the same with the other, so that even though I rested on top of Mr. Markham’s lap, I was now spread wide open, my calves locked against the outside of his.

  Silas knelt, flashing me his amiable grin, and then he pressed his face against my cunt once more. He sucked and nibbled on my bud as Mr. Markham moved underneath me, and then I felt the heat of his tongue moving from my clitoris to the stretched folds around the base of Mr. Markham’s cock.