“Our bath is still very warm,” Mademoiselle Noire called to him, her voice all velvet. “It would be a shame for you to miss the opportunity to join us, would it not?”
His eyes fastened upon hers, desiring so very much to be near her. MacCaulay removed all items of his evening dress, placing them neatly upon a chair. He took pains to ensure that his actions were without undue haste, and then slid into the comfortable embrace of the water, placing himself at one end, so that the three women faced him at the other, all but their shoulders hidden.
“So, you discovered my name,” he said at last, his eyes searching hers, keen to detect any nuance of feeling. “You know that anonymity is one of the Club’s watchwords.”
“I thought it only proper,” she reproached playfully. “A lady requires a formal introduction in polite society and this is not, after all, our first time of meeting.”
Her tone, as ever, was mocking. Her self-possession was without question, but her finer emotions remained a mystery to him.
“As you can see, I too have laid myself bare before you. If you were to pass me on the street, you would know me at once. My own anonymity is now also compromised.”
She added, after a momentary pause, “As is that of dear Hetty and Daisy. However, I believe our secrets are safe with you Lord MacCaulay.”
“They are,” he replied. ”Although the secret of your true name is yet to be disclosed, so your advantage over me continues.”
At this, she laughed in genuine merriment. “Of course it does Lord MacCaulay and the revelation of my name would perhaps hardly change that, since I appear to control the outcome of all our encounters.”
Her face assumed a more serious expression now. “I invited you here being desirous of better acquaintance,” she admitted. “Since the time of my arrival, you have not once followed the other gentlemen into the hall of games, to sport gaily with the majestic ladies of this establishment. Had you done so, I would have been able to observe you at play, seeing the cut of your cloth Lord MacCaulay. I know but little of your tastes in truth. Perhaps you have none, being content to follow the whims of others?”
He began to remonstrate but she moved at once closer, placing a single finger upon his lips. Her proximity served to quiet him at once. He felt the smooth skin of her leg brush his below the surface of the water and her hand rest lightly upon his thigh. Droplets glistened at her throat and at the inviting parting of her cleavage, but her body remained concealed, the suds of the bath preventing him from casting his eyes over the rest of her form. Of course, he had beheld her nakedness in the salon but hours ago; however, the theatricality of the performance rendered those images as if from a dream. At this moment, she was real, close enough that he might feel her breath upon his cheek.
Her finger lingered, and he took pleasure in drinking deeply of her eyes. He saw now that they were most certainly green, flecked through with the same gold as was found in her auburn hair. To his satisfaction, she allowed him to search her face in this manner, with softness new to his experience of her.
Her features were exquisite: not childishly rounded like those of Hetty and Daisy, who now watched he and she with interest, but noble in comportment. Her nose was slender, her forehead high, her lips sensual in their fullness, rather than doll-like. Her bearing was imperial. He believed it would never occur to her to consider herself inferior to another being, much less any man. In others it might have irritated him, as pure arrogance; in her, it inspired only his admiration.
Eventually, it was she who broke the spell.
Eyebrow raised, she joked, ”My dearest Lord MacCaulay, I might begin to wonder if you attempt to woo me, so intense is your gaze. Of course, that would not do at all, and is assuredly not my desire or intent. I only wish to conduct a more thorough assessment of you, and to that end, Miss Daisy and Miss Hetty have kindly consented to help me.”
MacCaulay felt the retort but allowed her to reprimand him. For the moment, he was content to be near her. Whatever game she had in mind, he would do his best not to disappoint.
Hetty and Daisy began now to lather their soap and commenced their washing of one another: first stroking the foam over their shoulders, then squeezing water from their sponges. Their heads, one dark and one fair, they held close, glancing at MacCaulay at they worked, alternately lowering their lashes in modesty, then daringly meeting his eye, as if to say: ‘Be good enough to look upon us and say what you think of us now my Lord.’ To his knowledge, both were relatively unsophisticated in their knowledge of men, although he doubted not that a week or two in the playrooms of this establishment would have opened their minds considerably. At any rate, the experience seemed indubitably to have agreed with them, since their complexions were rosy and their eyes glittered most mirthfully. They had learnt quickly how to tease and flirt, with impish whimsicality. Yet, they retained some degree of naïve ingenuousness.
Giggling now, they sat up higher in the water, so that their breasts were revealed: Hetty’s modest in size, with their girlish rosebuds; Daisy’s smaller, but delightfully pert, with dark nipples placed high on the crown. The pair began to finger the peaks of each other’s breasts, casting their eyes at MacCaulay, seeking interest in his expression, eager to stir him. Daisy then lowered her head, to lock herself about the coral fuchsia of Hetty’s pale orb. There she sucked, her girlish mouth daintily nibbling. Hetty twined her arms about her companion’s neck and shoulders, encouraging her in her task.
The pair then rose fully onto their knees, so that the peaches of their buttocks came into view and the down of their pubic triangles: one dark; one golden. Daisy raised her mouth to that of Hetty and the two kissed lightly, as if still testing how this might be done.
MacCaulay had been watching the pair with natural interest, since their antics were such as would rouse any man, but his thoughts remained with Mademoiselle Noire, and his knowledge of the closeness of her body, naked and alluring, within arm’s reach.
Hetty then turned her back, so that Daisy might soap its length, and stroke the graceful arch of her spine. Daisy moved her sponge over her friend’s generous buttock, rubbing suds into the under-crease, and kneading the slippery skin. The sight of the girl’s fingers fondling, squeezing and stroking brought a small leap to MacCaulay’s cock.
Mademoiselle Noire must have detected a change in his face, for she looked at him pointedly and drew close to his ear, so that he felt her breast brush his arm.
Her voice was no more than a whisper, her breath catching at the hairs of his neck. “What should Daisy do next?” she asked.
He licked his lips and turned to look at Mademoiselle. Her movement towards him had lifted her breasts almost clear of the water, so that he was tantalized; damp and full, the nipples upward curving, how he longed to cup them, and lower his own lips to their perfection.
However, he sensed that she wished him to wait, that her interest lay in his interaction with the girls before them.
Thus, he replied that Hetty’s cunny must be deserving of attention.
Daisy moved her hand into the cleft of the other girl’s buttocks, to which young Hetty facilitated her access by bending towards the side of the tub, parting her thighs slightly, so that her friend’s fingers might probe as they dared. Hetty’s labia were already plump, showing her excitement. Daisy squeezed her sponge over their golden down, to remove the suds of the bath.
Daisy enquired, ”Like this sir?”
She gently inserted her two middle fingers into her friend’s ready cunt, seeking the special spots which turn women weak. Hetty’s buttocks clenched a little and she rotated her cunny against the instruments pleasuring her.
As he watched this pretty scene, MacCaulay remained aware of Mademoiselle still so near, and then felt her hand move between his legs, seeking out his member. She encircled the base of its trunk, then reached to cup his testicles. She was pressed close now, her breasts against his arm, one hand resting lightly upon his lower back. Her chin was at his shoulder, her
lips almost touching his throat.
Her fingers reached down further, stroking his most delicate of parts, between his anus and his testicles. The sensation was delicious, and he parted his legs so that she might cradle him more easily. Of a sudden, he became aware that her touch might bring upon him an untimely release, but she moved her hand upwards again, this time taking the end of his shaft. Her stroke twisted his foreskin on each upward caress and her hand moved in synchronization with that of Daisy, who had been all the while pleasuring her friend, as MacCaulay had instructed.
Hetty reached her crescendo, gasping as the flames grew tall within her. Mademoiselle Noire touched her lips against MacCaulay’s neck and then, with unexpected ferocity, scraped her teeth against his skin, biting passionately. He could contain himself no more, bursting forth, overwhelmed by the sensation of her hot breath and the urgency of her gnawing upon him. She wrapped her hand firmly about his penis as the pulses came, spending his semen into the warm waters of the bath.
When his orgasm had subsided, she shifted her position, to straddle his right thigh. He felt the tickle of her pubic hair against his leg, and the slight pressure as she pushed her cunny against him. She left her hand upon his member. Her eyes were liquid now, soft and deep. He felt safe, comforted, loved. Her embrace was everything to him.
She motioned to the girls to continue their play. Daisy now presented herself to Hetty, sitting upon the side of the bath and opening her legs, so that she might receive her turn at pleasure. Her friend soaped those open thighs, and sponged them, moving ever upwards, until at the threshold of Daisy’s garden, to which she bent her head. Hetty’s tongue worked daintily, licking Daisy’s nub, so that it was all the poor girl could do to sit still. She grasped the rim of the tub and lifted her cheeks, urging her friend to send her tongue deeper, to offer her more.
Mademoiselle wriggled her own delta of pleasure against MacCaulay’s leg, and stroked his growing organ with her expert touch. Each caress was like that of an angel, sending his heart soaring. Soon, his balls were aching for release once more.
Hetty had grasped Daisy’s buttocks now, raising them towards her, so that she could bury her mouth against her friend’s cunny, penetrating devotedly with her tongue and lapping against the juices. As Daisy tumbled over the brink, giving great voice to her delight, Mademoiselle moved her leg about MacCaulay so that she straddled him fully. Her secret place pounded for him as much as his for her, so that she slid upon his truncheon with all ease.
He felt at once the warmth of her, the tightness of her inner walls squeezing him, and her labia pushing down upon his groin. She rocked herself against the hardness of him, drawing him into her. Her soapy breasts crushed against his chest and her fingers twined in his hair, pulling back his head. She sought his open lips, covering them with her own. The rawness of her desire overpowered him, pushing him towards the precipice. His hands found the curve of her buttocks and claimed her steadfastly, holding her firmly against him as his rod shot forth once more, this time into her deepest channel.
She kissed him fervently and then allowed his mouth to find her neck, nuzzling it as he moaned. She arched her back, offering him her breasts, eager for his hungry kisses. His mouth clasped to her nipple, suckling as if she were his saviour in a desert-world. He bit down upon the tender areola, taking her over the edge, so that her womb shuddered within her and his cock was lifted upon her waves of pleasure. He felt the ripples of her orgasm as a mouth upon his penis, massaging him, coaxing him ever closer within her. She gave a great cry and then a series of gasps, struggling to breathe against the ferocity of the tempest rising through her body. At last, only sighs remained, and she held his head to her chest.
Chapter Ten
A Close Shave
They remained clasped together for some minutes, neither wishing to relinquish their hold on the other. At last, it was the impatient murmurings of Hetty and Daisy that roused them.
Mademoiselle Noire was heavy with the afterglow of her lust but she rose from the water, droplets cascading down her sculpted limbs, and shimmering upon the hair of her pubis. She stepped from the bath, MacCaulay’s eyes following her all the while, feasting on the beauty of her form.
Hetty and Daisy rose also, so that MacCaulay was finally obliged to follow. He allowed Mademoiselle to steer him towards the bed, his head growing sleepy now that his body was spent. He perhaps dozed for a few minutes, for when he opened his eyes he discovered her tying a sash to the last of his limbs. His legs and arms were spread in the manner of Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, fastened securely to the corners of the solid wooden bed frame.
Spread-eagled on his back, his penis loomed large, already reviving at the thought of her next intention for him. She placed a large cushion beneath his buttocks to raise him and he closed his eyes, waiting for her mouth to close around his member. The sharp sound of a razor being sharpened against leather jolted him to his senses. There she sat, neatly between his legs, his jewels at her mercy. Seeing the look of horror upon his face, Mademoiselle Noire let forth a great peal of laughter.
“My goodness,” she cried, wiping a tear of merriment from her eye, “How brave you are!”
A bowl beside her contained soap, which she lathered with a brush, in readiness to shave him.
The shame of it: being stripped of the hair about his genitals. How would he enter the Club sauna with his cock and balls as naked as a baby’s; he’d be a laughing stock.
She began to daub the brush around the base of his shaft, and then into the nooks and crannies of his sac. The bristles felt a little harsh and the soap cold, so that he felt his erection fading fast.
“This will be much easier done if you remain upright my Lord,” reproached Mademoiselle, grasping his truncheon and delivering several long, slow strokes. The soap at its base offered pleasant lubrication for the job.
“Hold very still,” she warned. “It’s not my intention to injure you.”
She proved adept at the job, holding his skin taut, so that the razor could do its work effectively. Finally, wiping away the soap and hair with a sponge, she sat back to admire her handiwork.
“You see, we can more easily admire you now,” she smiled, smirking slightly, as she always did. “Don’t complain, or I’ll shave also between your buttocks.”
She then called Daisy and Hetty to sit a little closer and explained to MacCaulay that, as part of their ongoing instruction in how best to pleasure themselves and, thereby, pleasure the gentlemen they might encounter, she would appreciate MacCaulay’s assistance. As he was already placed so fortuitously upon the bed, it would be a shame to forsake the opportunity.
He recognized the small bottle of oil she now held, and the fragrance of orange oil. Just as she had rubbed it into the skin of Semele, she did so now to herself, her hands travelling languorously up her arms, over her belly, and across her breasts. She watched MacCaulay’s face closely as she massaged her flesh, her orbs squeezed upwards, glistening, then released, and pressed upwards once more. Her fondling inflamed MacCaulay greatly, so that his organ was soon fully engorged. She continued to touch her breasts for him, acting where he could not, being tied as he was to the bed. Her nipples she twisted and slid between her fingers, the oil enabling her hands to move fluidly, caressing the soft loveliness of her curvaceous body.
She roamed then to her thighs, stroking the orange fragrance over them, so that her skin gleamed in the gentle lamplight of the room. Her fingers next found her cunny. Her lips opened as she touched her flower, pulsing her pressure, as felt best to her. MacCaulay admired once more the genuine desire within her, and her shamelessness.
Her eyes met his with an expression of unadulterated lust, her pupils fully dilated. She lowered herself now, so that her entire body, slippery with oil, lay across his: her legs she spread upon those of MacCaulay. Flesh touching flesh, she began to slide herself back and forth, his penis between her legs, but hitting only her buttock cheeks. Her cunny pressed hard against his newly shave
n upper groin, her breasts against his stomach and torso.
She rocked herself, slithering this way and that, rubbing herself against him, and biting at his nipples, until he felt he could barely endure more. He was acutely aware of every inch of his body, being used to pleasure his Queen of the Night.
At last, she moved upwards, towards MacCaulay’s face, and turned herself the other way, sitting astride his chest. As she bent, his view was of her smooth thighs, her golden moss, and the cleft of her buttocks. She was able to reach his cock, using the oil upon her hands to stroke its delicate skin rhythmically. Her nipples brushed lightly upon his belly. As she bent over further, the better to minister to his phallus, her buttocks parted, revealing the rosebud of her anus, pink from its recent bath. How he’d love to place his tongue upon it and play with the lily-white cheeks of her naked bottom.
She moved back now to straddle his face, her moist slit hovering teasingly above, her heated aroma reaching his nostrils. Her pubic hair brushed the tip of his nose. The smell of her was intoxicating: the heady scent of salt and musk overlaying the orange blossom.
Mademoiselle called Hetty and Daisy forward, requesting that they might do their part. One upon each leg, they kissed MacCaulay’s inner thighs, up, up, towards his balls, which they took, one each, into their mouths, sucking lightly thereupon, and then harder, hearing his groans of anguished delight. Mademoiselle’s own mouth found his hot poker, wrapping her lips tightly upon it. Even in his most debauched fantasies, he had never imagined three mouths applied to his private parts, each acting independently, offering its own rhythm of attention.
The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series Page 5
