Faye's Story

by Robin Gideon

  Dirk sighed wearily and replied, “Look at it this way—it’s better for us to share Faye than not have her at all. Now, isn’t it?”

  “Truer words were never spoken, my friend.” Radburn lifted his snifter and touched it to Dirk’s in a toast. “To Faye!”

  * * * *

  Faye wondered, How can it be? How can a woman feel both sublime and wicked at the same time?

  She’d been asking herself the question repeatedly since that fateful day when Dirk and Radburn had first shown up at her office so many weeks earlier. During those weeks, Faye had discovered she could love more completely and more honestly than she had ever dreamed possible. And to make this epiphany even more staggering to Faye’s nascent sense of sublime wonder, she had simultaneously fallen in love with two gorgeous men who, although they hadn’t used the words, seemed to love her in return. She loved both Radburn and Dirk equally, taking as much delight in their differences as in their similarities, adoring the way they took great pains to protect her outside of the bedroom yet dominated her body inside the bedroom.

  Faye thought, Only we don’t use a bed very often. But if Radburn’s custom-made carriage could talk—Oh, the stories it could tell!

  A mischievous smile touched her full-lipped mouth.

  What had triggered Faye’s current state of utter serenity was a combination of soothing factors. Instead of being at home, where she never actually felt at home with all the hot-chocolate comfort the phrase implied, she was at Radburn’s country estate. Though the estate was not as lavish as his ancestral home in Edinburgh, the nine-bedroom, two-story marble structure had withstood more than two hundred years of English sun, rain, sleet, and snow, and looked as if it could withstand another two hundred years without requiring major improvements. And with two ancillary structures, one for the in-house staff and another for the groundskeeper and the livery, the estate had more than enough room for guests and servants alike. Faye felt blissfully feted while at the estate.

  But even more important than Faye’s physical surroundings was the smile on her daughter’s face—which gave Faye her greatest sense of joy. Standing thirty feet away and presiding over a frightfully formal high tea beneath a blue, canvas awning, Lisbet was playing the perfect hostess to her guests, Radburn and Dirk.

  The table and four chairs, Faye suspected, had just been purchased. Radburn would never have needed children’s furniture without Lisbet’s entrance into his world. With Dirk’s legs being as long as they were, while he sat in his chair to sip the pretend cup of tea and eat the invisible cakes Lisbet was dispensing, his knees extended far above the tabletop. And Radburn, though not as tall as his friend but considerably wider across the chest, appeared like a giant against the miniature furniture and even smaller tea cup and saucer in his massive hands.

  “It’s so very good of you gentlemen to come visit me,” Lisbet said with a dignity far outpacing her years as she poured more pretend tea into the cup Dirk held up for her. “Being away from the city means I don’t often get to hear what people have got up to.”

  “All the proper gentlemen are wondering when you’re having your coming-out ball,” Dirk said with absolute earnestness. “It seems the other girls”—he was stopped cold by Lisbet, who was displaying as much sternness as a four-year-old missing both front teeth could muster—“um, rather, young ladies, are jealous that you’re the topic of conversation on the lips of every dashing bachelor in all of London. They say it’s not fair that all the gentlemen should have their sights set on just one young lady when there are so many seeking beaus.”

  “And it’s the same in Edinburgh,” Radburn piped in quickly. “The debutantes there are beside themselves with jealousy. All so lovely and still so ignored because of a lass named Lisbet.”

  Lisbet’s face broke into a smile of unalloyed joy, as only a child’s can. “Are they really saying that?” she asked with a sincerity that suggested she thought these men might be telling her the truth and not just playing make-believe. She turned toward Faye, her golden curls dancing against her cheeks and her violet eyes, so reminiscent of her mother’s, exuberant from being the recipient of adult male attention. “Maman, I want to stay here forever and ever and ever! Do you want that, too? Tell me you do, Maman! It would make me ever so happy!”

  The words brought as much sorrow to Faye as happiness. As long as the black cloud of Agatha Smythe still loomed along the horizon, spending more than a secret weekend at Radburn’s country estate was an impossibility. But Faye would not let the sorrows and worries of her adult world infringe upon her daughter’s pristine happiness and make-believe world.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Faye said at last, using a time-honored dodge of parents everywhere.

  Forcing her eyes back to the book in her hands, Faye could not look at either Radburn or Dirk, although she could feel them peering at her, studying her, gauging her emotions. Lisbet’s innocent comment had opened up a Pandora’s Box of questions and possibilities that, at least for now, Faye couldn’t allow herself to even consider.

  In nearly every way that mattered, in a court of law it was still a man’s world.

  * * * *

  “She didn’t say where she was going?” Agatha asked.

  Derwin shook his head. “I didn’t even know she was gone until I saw the note. Says she was taking Lisbet and the new maid and going to see a friend in the country.”

  As she often did when she was thinking, Agatha pinched her lower lip between her forefinger and thumb and pulled outward. Seconds passed before the cloudiness left her eyes, and she released her lip. She looked at her son and grimaced as though the sight of him was an unpleasantness that noblesse oblige forced her to tolerate. “The little girl’s the key to controlling Faye. We’ve got to have the child locked up tight before the ceremony and consummation.”

  Derwin nodded. “I’ll be a good stepfather to Lisbet.”

  Agatha let out a barking laugh. “Little girls are expensive. They need dowries. That little girl is going to fall under a carriage’s wheels the instant Faye gives you a male heir. Read the newspapers, why don’t you? Little bastards die that way all the time.”

  “Will the wedding take place soon?”

  “As soon as Faye gets home.”

  * * * *

  “You dismissed all of your servants, just for me?” Faye asked Radburn as they walked slowly along the stone fence perimeter of his estate, heading back to his house.

  “All but one. She’s a good worker, and I thought she might like to meet your new maid—the one you told me about.”

  “Annie?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Radburn smiled devilishly, and Faye demanded, “Radburn McSwain, what have you got planned? And if you say nothing, I’ll say you’re a liar.”

  “I hired Catherine in much the same way you hired Annie. It seems that in her previous employment, Catherine was giving the mistress of the manor baths rather often. Not only were the baths frequent, but they took quite a long time. One night, the master of the house heard laughter from inside the bathroom.”

  “So she got booted out, and you took her in.”

  Still smiling, Radburn nodded.

  Faye used her willpower to keep from throwing herself into his arms. Every new thing she learned about Radburn and Dirk only made her more and more impressed with them as men. True, their profligate ways in the past were still troubling—but Faye had known so little true joy and marrow-deep passion in her life that, with Radburn and Dirk, she was determined to open her heart without putting up the protective emotional walls that had always been a part of her life.

  “Dirk and I will be having a drink in the library later on. Perhaps you’d care to join us.” Radburn gave Faye a look of comical innocence. “Around nine o’clock…after Lisbet has gone to bed.”

  * * * *

  Faye stood in front of the full-length mirror, her body gloriously naked, and picked up a small, circular piece of pliable India rubber from the ornately
carved nightstand. She balanced the rubber carefully on the tips of her first and second fingers, then with her left hand, separated the delicate lips of her sex. With extreme care, since proper positioning was critical, she slipped the cervical cap into her vagina and seated it properly.

  Despite the seriousness of her task, when she eased her fingers between her labia, a warm flush of excitement shot through her. Tonight, she was certain, would be a magical night. For once there would be no clock ticking away, warning her she had to be home within the hour or Agatha’s venomous tongue would spit its poison. For once, she wouldn’t have to hurry home so she could spend time with Lisbet before the sweet child drifted off to dreamland. For once there would be no distractions, no obligations, no duties of any sort.

  With the contraceptive in place, Faye walked naked to the large closet. A Persian rug, with some long-forgotten war scene woven into its pattern, caressed her bare feet. The room had a masculine aura to it, and Faye wondered if Radburn had stayed in this room as a boy.

  For the weekend, Faye had packed far too many nightgowns for so short a holiday. When she had been preparing for the trip, she had been unable to decide on one gown over another. And now that she was here and it was already fifteen minutes to nine, she still couldn’t make up her mind. Perhaps the sheer, jade-green gown Michael had bought for her, which showed so much cleavage? Or what about the navy-blue, silk one with the spaghetti straps that slipped off her shoulders so easily? A little shrug was all it took to have the nightgown nothing more than a heap of expensive silk around her ankles. Or…

  When Faye had arrived at the estate earlier in the day, the closet had been empty except for a single garment. A robe. White as virgin snow, and so sheer it was hardly thicker than a sheet of paper. It would provide cover but very little in the way of warmth. Faye slipped it off the cloth-covered hanger. The robe’s texture was as soft as a mink’s fur. Was the garment Radburn’s? Had he left it for her to wear?

  Faye hurried across the bedroom, back to the mirror. She thrust her arms into the sleeves, which were far longer than her arms.

  “It is Radburn’s,” she whispered, loving the special feel of knowing she was wearing his silk robe.

  Faye had to roll up the sleeves several times, and she spent five full minutes adjusting the lapels to allow the view of just the right amount of cleavage. She was adjusting the sash for the fourth time, making sure it could be easily unknotted, when the ornate Swiss clock on the bedside table chimed the hour.

  * * * *

  “From this very moment until Derwin’s married to that cunt and you witness the consummation, you’re not leaving this house,” Agatha explained to Vicar Wilson as she sat in the brocade chair in her sitting room. The vicar paced nervously.

  “But you don’t understand, Madam Smythe, I have obligations,” Vicar Wilson implored. “I can’t simply abandon my entire congregation and all of my duties—”

  “Your obligations are to me, goddamn it!” Agatha explained in an icy tone.

  Taken aback by the old woman’s violence and sacrilege, the vicar stopped pacing. “Madam Smythe, you blaspheme.”

  “I’ll do more than just fucking blaspheme if you set one foot outside of this house before I say you can,” Agatha replied, and that pretty much ended any additional arguments the vicar might have considered putting forward.

  Chapter Nine

  Faye had wanted to make a truly dramatic entrance for the first time in her life, and to that end, she succeeded unequivocally. She entered the library without knocking, stepping quietly inside the room and closing the door. Dirk and Radburn sat at opposite ends of a long sofa near the fireplace, a crystal decanter containing amber liquor on the small table near them, two of the island’s finest men, comfortable among the trappings of great wealth, perhaps sharing some amusing story as they sipped their evening libations. Though they had loosened their neckties, they were still formally attired in suits worthy of a meeting with the Queen.

  And when the worldly men took one look at Faye, wearing only the sheerest of white, silk robes, both men simply stared at her for a full fifteen seconds in mute appreciation.

  Their reaction was everything Faye had wanted and more empowering than she had dared hope. She crossed the room to them, her bare feet soundless on the Italian marble tile, feeling the weight and unfettered movement of her breasts beneath the thin silk, conscious she had adjusted the robe’s lapels so that almost any jostling at all would cause intimate exposure.

  “What are we having tonight?” she asked. It pleased her enormously that for once she was the relatively calm one, and Radburn and Dirk were rendered speechless by desire.

  “Bourbon,” Radburn explained, managing at last to find his voice. “But if you’d like champagne—”

  “No need,” Faye replied casually. “Bourbon is perfectly fine.”

  She leaned forward at the waist, taking her time, picking up a heavy cut, crystal, lowball glass with slow deliberation before pouring a finger’s worth of the amber liquid into it. Her breasts swung away from her body as she leaned toward the men, and the heat of their collective gazes touched her intimately. By the time she was standing again, Faye’s nipples had become noticeably more pronounced beneath the silk. Both Radburn and Dirk shifted on the sofa, changing positions to help accommodate the rapidly expanding erections inside tailored trousers.

  Nodding at the empty expanse of sofa between them, Faye asked in a tone that was innocence itself, “Did you save a spot for me?”

  When both men nodded rather more vigorously than the simple question warranted, Faye had to fight to keep from smiling.

  She murmured, “How courteous of you, gentlemen.” She took her seat between them.

  It pleased her enormously that Dirk gulped his bourbon and then reached for the decanter immediately—and all the while, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was not a man easily unhorsed by feminine wiles, but it appeared he was now.

  Sipping her own drink, Faye coughed softly as the liquor burned a path down her throat. “I’m afraid I’m not used to hard liquor.”

  Radburn took the glass from her hand and set it on the low table. “Let me get you some champagne. I’ve got—”

  He started to get up, but Faye stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Don’t leave,” she said quickly. “The bourbon’s gone straight to my head,” she continued, her innocent tone an absurd counterpoint to the fact that it hadn’t been twenty seconds since she’d taken her first tiny sip. “Perhaps if I recline for a few minutes the dizziness will go away.”

  She turned on the sofa, stretching out on her back with her head and shoulders in Radburn’s lap, and her legs—now, with her robe opening, exposed all the way up to mid-thigh—in Dirk’s.

  “You don’t mind if I rest?” she asked, looking up at Radburn as his arms encircled her.

  He grinned and replied, “You may recline, my lady. But be assured, you will not rest.”

  In less than five minutes, Faye decided it was a physiological fact—little known, no doubt, but undeniably true, and she was willing to swear to it in court—that two men can give more pleasure to a woman than one.

  No matter how skilled a single man might be, two men—especially if, like Radburn and Dirk, they were virtuosos of the sensual arts—can provide more stimulation than one. This awareness arrived in Faye’s consciousness with all the subtlety of a blow from a sledgehammer while she reclined in Radburn’s arms, trembling from his delicious kisses and shivering with delight as his powerful hands squeezed and caressed her sensitive breasts. And while she feasted on Radburn’s lips, Dirk positioned her legs so she had one foot up on the backrest of the sofa while her other foot was on the floor. Though she was no stranger to the thrills Dirk’s lips and tongue could provide a responsive clitoris and aroused pussy, this in no way lessened the impact on her voluptuous body.

  Because of the power of his physique, Faye could only put her arms partially around Radburn’s shoulders. She ended her kiss with
him and, looking up into his blue eyes, said in a tone of whispering awe, “Oh, God. I’m going to come. I’m going to come already!”

  She gouged her fingernails into Radburn’s shoulders, through his jacket, vest, and shirt. Waves of ecstasy washed over her, and she looked into his face as the pulsing spasms of her orgasm flooded her feminine body.

  “Wait. Stop,” she said when the last of the spasms ended.

  She gulped in air, a sudden sheen of perspiration now glistening on the velvety surface of her skin. Releasing her hold on Radburn’s shoulders, her body went limp on his lap. Looking down between the quivering mounds of her naked breasts, she found Dirk looking up at her, his lips and cheeks glistening with the end result of her passion. The gleam in his blue eyes suggested Faye was in for a long, long night. Whether it would be called lovemaking, or fucking, or something else entirely, would be decided later.

  Faye was absolutely certain she had lit the fuses of two sticks of human dynamite—one named Radburn, and another named Dirk—and before the evening was over, those explosives would detonate again and again and…

  * * * *

  Dirk took a sip of bourbon and was about to say something to Radburn, then decided against it. He wasn’t entirely certain he could formulate the words properly. Sitting so close to Radburn on the sofa that their naked hips touched, Dirk slid down a little so that his bottom was barely on the seat cushion.

  Looking down, he watched as Faye bobbed slowly up and down, taking Radburn’s cock deep into her mouth. She was on her knees, straddling Dirk’s left leg and Radburn’s right, as she took turns pleasuring her men.

  I didn’t think it would be possible, but here I am, watching the woman I love suck Radburn’s cock, and I don’t feel so much as a twinge of jealousy.