by Anthology
Silhouetted against the amber lights, she appeared striking. With legs which went for miles and to-die-for abs, it was easy to see why they called her ‘Tono’ after her toned figure, back when she’d modeled.
She adjusted the straps on her bra, and for the first time in ages gazed up at me with a sexual wanting on her face, right before demanding, “Get naked, amore.”
In approval, I laughed and stripped down to a pair of sandals the Minotaur had given me. I had no problem showing off my assets. Whether at the gym or perhaps even there at Circus Bazaar, I enjoyed the attention. I worked out, ate right, and took care of myself, so why shouldn’t I?
Friends say I did it to keep Jemma and Rocco interested, and maybe there was some truth to that. But I also did it for myself. Looking good is feeling good.
Jemma approached, her dark eyes intent and focused. It reminded me of earlier when we were on the plane and her nipples had become erect. I was happy to think that maybe, just maybe, she was coming around again. Cupping my nuts in her hands, she kissed me. “I want you to stay nice and hard all night, amore.” Gently, she stroked my shaft.
A tremble rocketed through my body. I couldn’t remember the last time Jemma had touched me. It took all of my might to resist the urge to bend her over the Minotaur’s podium and fuck her, right there and then. But on the plane ride over to Berlin, Rocco and I had agreed we’d make Jemma beg for our sex that time.
That’s right. We’d hatched a plan to make her crave us as never before.
Rocco had said, “They call it reverse psychology. We’ll sex Jemma up, then right when she gets all moaning and groaning, we turn it off.”
“Bello, that’s cruel,” I’d argued. “And who is they?”
“My nonno.”
“You discuss us with your grandfather?”
“Sì, I talk to my nonno about everything. He says the more we resist her, the more she’ll want us.”
Rocco’s grandfather is a ‘head’ doctor. You know, a shrink. My boyfriend quotes his words of wisdom as if the man was Confucius or something.
“How can you be so certain?” I’d asked.
“Because women are not like men. The minute you give them what they want, they don’t want it anymore. They’re fickle. They change their minds. That’s the whole problem, amore—we’ve been too available, too much at her disposable. We’ve done too many of the things she’s wanted us to do. But if we’re going to save this relationship, we must do what we have to do, and that means psyching her out.”
I was starting to agree with him and his grandfather’s insights. Since puberty, I’d thought I’d had women all figured out. Just give them what they want: love, devotion, faithfulness. Right? But after a few years with Jemma, I’d realized I didn’t have a clue what women wanted.
Ironically, Rocco did. He listened to her. Not just what she said, but he also observed how she acted and reacted to us. His insights were what had prompted us to propose to her in the first place, but we’d been way off the mark on that one. Rocco said her refusal to marry us was because of her cancer. Because of what she’d gone through. But she’d beat it, and she was cancer-free. We had to move on. Didn’t we?
Well, if we were going to do what Rocco’s grandfather had suggested for the trip, Jemma would need to prove to us she wanted our relationship to work as much as we did. Otherwise, it was finite.
On that note…
“Don’t tell me what to do, dolce.” To remind her she wasn’t the one in charge, I slid my thumb, pointer, and middle finger into Rocco’s mouth as he stood next to me.
Getting my three fingers nice and wet, he sucked.
“You like that, Bello?”
He nodded. Reaching down in his pants, he whipped out his dick. A nice, pretty mushroom head at the tip followed by a long shaft. Rocco wasn’t as hung as me, but his penis suited him. It was nearly perfect.
Not that I’d seen many dicks in my day, because I definitely hadn’t.
His was the only one I’d ever sucked, and I loved the way he tasted in my mouth. Musky and salty, there was nothing like giving Rocco head, watching his eyes flicker frantically as he came. The dude was a shooter. Man, he could jizz across the room. It always seemed to hit the back of my throat like pellets of rain.
Under the club lights, it glistened as he stroked himself.
I withdrew my hand. Taking Jemma in my arms, I pulled the panties over to one side and found her clit.
Giving her juicy pussy lips a tight squeeze, she pulsated as if I held her heart in my hands.
“Luigi, amore,” she whimpered in my ear as she started to wiggle her cute ass.
Rocco came up behind her.
Jemma’s breath hitched as her breasts pressed against my chest. I could get drunk on this feeling: her clinging to me, begging for more.
Hungry, she wanted us, and I’d certainly been starved for her. For how long? I wasn’t quite sure. Days. Weeks. Months. We hadn’t made love since Isola di Girasoli.
“My cock will stay hard. Just as your cunt shall remain wet.” I reached down and kissed her gently at first. Then to give her a taste of what was to come, I tongue-fucked her mouth. Her lips, just like her pussy, were pink and warm. But unlike her mouth, her pussy never sassed back to me. Her pussy always welcomed me. That was until when I’d asked her to marry us. “Capiche?”
“Sì,” she muttered into the well of my mouth, grabbing onto my forearm.
“You want me to stop?” I asked.
“No, amore. I want more.” Shoving my hand deeper inside her, she moaned, “There. That’s better. Right there.”
The blood rushed to her face, washing a cherry-colored hue over her cheeks. Between her folds of aroused flesh, I…fingered…on. The heat from her skin told me she enjoyed it as her arms came up over my shoulders.
“You’re burning up, amore. Do you want to come?”
Her cunt muscles tightened around my finger as she panted, “Sì, my darling. Flick my clit.”
She was close to climaxing. I could tell by the way she stood up on her tippy toes, posture erect and perfect. She often straightened her back right before she’d come.
“Dolce, during the rest of our trip, and especially for tonight, you will do whatever Rocco and I want. Say yes.”
“Sì, my darling.
“You will not deny us.”
“Sì. Sì.”
“Your body will be ours to take as we please. Make love as we like, and fuck however we feel like it. Those are our rules for this trip. Can you handle them?”
“Sì. Amore. Of course.”
“Bueno, dolce. Now you can come.”
Rocco knelt beside her. Lowering his face between her legs, he muttered, “Let me drink from you. I. Must. Taste.”
Watching her. Loving her. Jemma’s eyelids eclipsed into the back of her head. I held her tight to my body, enabling her to orgasm in my hands and on Rocco’s face.
“Sweet tiramisu.” Burying his face between her legs as she came, he tongued her.
When her tight body became limp and that raspy, begging voice suddenly went speechless, I gave my fingers a lick.
“Save some for me, you little pig,” Rocco pouted. He grabbed my hands, kissing them.
After he’d cleaned my hand, Rocco got to his feet and peeled off his shirt, revealing his smooth, sculpted chest. As if made from marble or clay, his pectoral muscles were perfectly sculpted. His washboard abs seemed more prominent against the shadows of the room.
Afraid of getting lost amongst the crowd of strangers, Jemma held my right hand with Rocco at my left as we stepped further into the club.
Layer upon layer, we found new and exciting entertainment.
Like its name, Circus Bazaar was a wild ride of varying dance floors with themes. On the outskirts of each level was a labyrinth. Some parts of the maze featured indoor mineral pools that glowed in the dark with phosphorescence. Couples frolicked about each floor which seemed themed based on one’s sexual interest.
Floor two was for only couples. Floor three was men only. Polyamorous couples could be found on the fourth floor. Floor five, the top and final floor, was anything goes. Hmmm. Maybe that meant group orgy. We weren’t interested in that.
“I guess this is us.” We stopped at the fourth floor. The psychedelic lights reflected above us.
“Welcome to the Unicorn labyrinth, a special floor for polyamory lovers. Is this where you’d like to…play?” asked a voice coming from the dark corner.
A small woman stepped out. A dwarf, perhaps, dressed as a pixie.
“Ja. Danke.” Jemma said yes and thanked her in German.
“My name is Ludo. I’ll be guiding you ‘til you’ve reached a patch of the labyrinth you’d like to claim as your own for the night.”
“You mean we can stay here ‘til the sun rises?” Rocco asked.
The pixie nodded. “Before we get started, do you have any special requests? Music? Beverage preferences? Toys? We’ll bring them to your area once you get situated.”
“We’d love to hear Birdie Easton’s Lucifer Mistress remix,” Rocco replied.
Lex’s mom, Birdie, was a rock star who’d had many number one hits in the early nineties. She’d recently sung at Lex and Massimo’s wedding. Rocco loved American pop culture. According to him, he’d been obsessed with Birdie since he was a teenager.
“A pitcher of Bellinis,” ordered Jemma.
“Okay.” The pixie walked up to me. The little thing came up to my waist. “And what would you like?”
“Scusi,” I said.
“What may I bring you to make your night more enjoyable? Something special you have mind? Just ask.”
“Anything?”
The pixie nodded agreeably, causing the fine, blonde hair which framed her face like angel-dust to bob about.
“Can you take us to your most private area of the labyrinth,” I replied. “We’d like to be alone. No onlookers.”
“Now we’re talking!” Rocco cheered. “We’d also like some vanilla candles.”
“Whatever for?” Jemma asked.
“The smell of vanilla bean will help with your apathy,” he replied.
The pixie laughed. So did I.
Chapter Six
Apologies from Rehab
Jemma
Moments later
Floor Four, Circus Bazaar
Finding a bathroom located near the area my boyfriends had selected for us to have sex, I locked myself into the handicap stall. They always have more leg room. Yup. I needed to pee. More importantly, I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. On the dance floor, the music had been so loud I could barely hear myself think.
My brain was racing, sprinting actually, trying to figure out why I was having such reservations about our sexual safari. Before my cancer, I would’ve been all over this. Taddy Brill and her Manhattanites are rather genius. This excursion is brilliant, but I still have my doubts.
Was it because Luigi and Rocco were calling all the shots? After all, I’d given up control, and I hadn’t done that in ages.
Hmm…no. Not really. Come to think of it, I kind of liked that they were taking such an initiative. It gave me a sense of peace.
Is it the kink factor?
Nope. I’ll try anything once. Well, except for American pizza. That’s just totally wrong.
Squatting over the toilet, staring at my legs, I realized that when I’d gotten up that morning, I should’ve shaved them. Who knew I’d be abducted. I don’t feel sexy enough to be here doing this though.
Maybe that was why Berlin was putting me so on edge. I’d been to Germany for various work assignments back in the day, like when I’d modeled for Escada. Those were much easier moments in my life. Once, I had fire in my spirit, courage. I was a woman who believed in myself as if my spine was made of titanium steel. On the inside, I used to be so strong. Nothing could take me down.
I stood and opened the door, making my way to the acrylic sink. I glanced at myself in the oversized mirror.
Dressed in a bra which cut into my skin in all the wrong places. Panties which rode my bum, somehow getting lost inside my crack, and a wristband on my left arm stamped 18+.
That’s me. Eighteen plus infinity.
The year I became an adult had been magical. I’d moved out of my parents’ house, attended college with Prince Massimo, and started modeling. Heavens, I was fearless. That was a lifetime ago.
I’d noticed as I’d gotten older that some women’s confidence levels increased. Take my friend Lex Easton, for example. She’s pretty fabulous! But when I met her, she wasn’t so self-assured. The love of a good man, her fashion empire success, and birth of her babies had given her the will to move past her family’s demise.
And then there’s me. I’d give anything to be that eighteen-year-old girl again who wasn’t afraid of the world. How did this happen?
Oh. Right. Cancer. That was how. It took way more of me than just a piece of my body. It took my hypothetical steel spine, too.
Dear Universe,
If you’re listening…I want that back. You owe it to me, per favore and while we’re at it, grazie for watching over my boyfriends. I may not show it to them often, but I’m grateful to have them in my life. I wouldn’t be standing here today if it wasn’t for them.
When their time comes, you’d better make sure you have their back, because they’ve certainly had mine.
Can you believe they were faithful this entire time? Don’t men have urges? Don’t they stray? Wait. I guess in a poly relationship it’s a bit different, but still. I gave them permission. I told them to go off and have fun with other women, and they didn’t.
Perhaps I’ve focused too much on what I’ve lost in all of this and not realized what I’ve gained.
Luigi, Rocco, and my faith in love.
Ciao for now.
I glanced up at the poster on the bathroom wall. BDSM this and BDSM that was promoted all over the place.
Was all this Circus Bazaar stuff really necessary? I wasn’t big on theatrics. Sure, I liked my lovers in multiples, but other than that, I wanted my sex plain and simple: under the covers, lights off, talk only if necessary, and I come first.
Literally.
I know. Silly me. I’d had sex with those two men for years, more than I could count. But I couldn’t figure out why that day it seemed as if I’d never really been with either one of them before. We hadn’t really had balls-to-the-wall crazy monkey sex since my diagnosis. Would the new me make love any differently? My vagina was the same. I still got horny.
Overwhelmed, I had no idea they’d remained faithful during my treatments. That was a colossal deal. I’d been against monogamy for ages, and in a way, we already were very much exclusive. I thought about marrying them. Boy, do I have regrets for the way I handled their proposal. Ugh. I’m such a bitch. I hope I get a second chance to make this up to them.
I owed Luigi and Rocco my life. I wanted to do this for them, and I needed to do it for myself, too. At least to see if I still had my mojo. If I don’t…well…I could always get a career designing military apparel for the Italian government.
Haahhh.
Leaning my face into the sink, I turned the faucet on and splashed water over my cheeks. Cold. Refreshing.
You’d think for as popular as the club was there’d be a million women in there beautifying themselves. Then I realized our handbags and clothes were all at coat-check. Similar to the rest of the woman there, I didn’t have my Chanel fashions, Birkin bags, and sunglasses to hide behind. Just our bodies and ourselves. Truthfully, I preferred hiding behind things and people.
My cellphone vibrated on my wrist.
I dried my face on a nearby towel, pinched my cheeks for color, and looked at the phone.
The screen read, Viveca Farnworth.
WTF does she want? Last week that woman tried to bury me.
Feeling the anxiety of the fashion show all over again, I took a deep breath, pushed the speaker button on, and greeted, “Ciao, bitch.”
Sì. I’m a bitch, but Vive is a mega-bitch!
FYI.
She cackled. “Honey, it’s your favorite frenemy, calling from rehab. Listen, it’s morning here on Long Island, I just woke up, and saw you and your hawt lovers plastered all over the news.”
“My darling, it’s nice to see the nuthouse lets you watch TV.” My tone was doused in sarcasm, but I couldn’t help it. If she had been standing in front of me right then, I’d have decked her one.
“Funny. It’s a rehab facility, not a funny farm. Although there are a few whackadoos here, if you know what I mean.”
“Uh-huh.” I tried to humor her, but I wanted to scream.
“Your sexual safari story has already gone global and from the itinerary the New York Times published, it’s just getting started.”
“Don’t get too excited. Other than dancing, drinks, posing for the paparazzi, and a hand job, nothing much else has happened.”
She sighed heavily into the phone. “Honey, for someone who is getting paid to travel throughout Europe with two pussy-wetting men, you certainly don’t sound too excited.”
“Wanna trade places? I’ll gladly take your Long Island spa and you can be here in Europe getting tied up and fucked five ways from Friday.”
She laughed.
“Vive, why are you calling?”
“Two reasons.”
I braced myself. Honestly, I didn’t want to know what they were, but I had to be kind. Wasn’t that what frenemies did? So I replied, “And they are?”
“I’d like to apologize for being so harsh with my editorial. I’m sorry.”
“What brought this on?”
“Funny you should ask. Today, I had a session with my therapist. He helped me come to the revelation that I may have taken some of what I’m going through in rehab out on my review of your fashion show and since Debauchery magazine is the number-one source of entertainment, I know the other articles slammed your show because I’d lit the match.”
