Sport of Kings

by Livia Ellis

  With a grand gesture, I put my arm around her shoulders and give her a squeeze. “Thank you for the car. It’s beautiful. It’s not Alejandro, but I do appreciate the gesture. The next time you want to destroy my life, I’ve always wanted a villa in Tuscany.”

  “You forgive Olga!” she crows delightedly.

  “I forgive Olga.” Why not? There is nothing to be gained from letting my anger rule. Alejandro has ended our relationship and not without cause. The miserable truth is I’m a low down, rotten son of a bitch that doesn’t know how to love and has never cared for anything or anyone other than myself in the sum total of the thirty-four years I’ve spent inflicting grief and misery on the world. Alejandro loved me despite the fact I’m an impossible jerk. He made sure I understood this as he packed his bags and moved to a hotel.

  Or something like that.

  I am hard pressed to recall precisely what the verbal mortar shells were that Alejandro lobbed at me that day six months earlier. But there hadn’t been an exaggeration or embellishment in the string of truths my former lover delivered in his parting shot. On every account. His ability to recall a list of my wrong doings, from being incapable of remaining faithful to him down to my almost infantile inability to hang up a wet towel, was both unnerving and telling. He knew me, and he knew me well. On every account, he’d been right.

  I’m as much of the lying, cheating, heartless, slovenly, style-challenged, man-whore Alejandro accused me of being. And more. At least I was before Alejandro. Where my delicious, delightful, and desirable Argentinian amore has gotten it wrong is that I am a changed man. I hang up my towels and wear matching socks.

  Love has shown me the proverbial light. At thirty-four years of age and with more likelihood of winning the lottery, I have fallen in love with a twenty-four-year-old virgin that thinks there is a place for cute kittens on the internet, that Facebook actually serves a useful purpose, and that people are inherently good.

  Probably the reason Olga and Alejandro are so darn friendly. Their unquenchable enthusiasm for life and the absolute conviction good things happen to good people and bad people always get what’s coming to them has bound them together. An amusing world view coming from Olga, whose vast fortune is the result of her Russian Mafioso father breaking thumbs and squeezing the corruptible until he’s amassed a personal wealth that soars into the billions. Even more amusing are the sentiments coming from Alejandro, whose Argentinian family is nothing short of a dynasty and has the largest land and cattle holdings in all of South America. Rich people have the freedom to have ideals.

  I don’t have the luxury of convictions. I’m not the product of a wealthy Argentinian ranchero or a Russian oligarch. It is that shared background of wealth and privilege along with their idealism that has made Olga and Alejandro so close.

  “You know…” Olga turns slightly and looks up at me. Her exaggerated black sunglasses make her look like a bumble bee. That she has chosen a jonquil yellow dress and accessorized with black onyx doesn’t help. “I’m going to solve your little problem.”

  “I’d hardly call destroying my relationship with the only person I’ve ever loved a little problem. But as you didn’t act alone and I hardly expected it to last anyway, I’d really rather you didn’t bother.”

  “But I hate to see you sad. You’re sad, and Alejandro is so grumpy. It’s bad for the skin. My skin. You are unhappy. You make me unhappy. I get wrinkles. I must solve this little problem.”

  I look down at Olga. My lips mash together as my brain scrambles to find the words that will stop her from making a situation that could possibly be fixed into an irreconcilable split. “Stay out of it.”

  “No.” She flicks her wrist. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think there is a hope.”

  True enough. I hadn’t shown up at the invitational for my health. I’m supposedly on an extended vacation. A mental health break—after the stress and grief from my breakup with Alejandro had pretty well made me snap. I’ve worked for Olga’s father, Vladimir, nearly my entire career. First as a player, and then as a coach. Vladimir has been married eight times. He understands what it’s like to have his heart broken. For such a large man, he’s incredibly sentimental. My smashing up the training room didn’t get me fired. It got me a six-month, paid vacation and a trip to Switzerland to spend a month with a psychiatrist with the goal of getting to my feelings. I went to Switzerland because Vladimir scares me, and telling him no when he wants to help is generally a bad idea. In this he is like his daughter. They both mean so well and create such havoc with their good intentions. I returned from my six month vacation a bit more self-aware than I could have imagined. Three cheers for mental health.

  I’ve come to this island owned by a prince and populated only with the very rich and their entertainment for one reason—to put myself in the path of Alejandro. I refuse to give up without giving reconciliation one more shot. “Stay out of it,” I say. “He’s had time to think. He knows I love him. I might actually get lucky and trick him into taking me back.”

  I open my mouth to speak again, and one firecracker pink tipped finger flies to my lips, shushing them. “Say no more!” she commands grandly. “This will be fixed.”

  “Don’t fix anything. Please. I have very bad memories of you fixing things.”

  She places her hands on my cheeks. “Close your eyes.”

  I close my eyes. Her mouth reaches for mine, and I don’t resist as much as I probably should. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any physical affection. A kiss is like water to a man in a desert. I have a preference for men, but I’ve never tossed a beautiful woman out of my bed. Olga, her husband Ollie, and I have had some great times being hedonistic together. She pulls away from me. “Remember that time in Tunisia? At villa of Hortense?”

  “I remember.” I smile. “How could I forget? It was only two years ago.”

  “I’m going to leave you with that memory.”

  Thoughts of villas in Tunisia, placed on the edge between the sea and the desert, replace memories of bad times…

  * * * *

  It is spring in Northern Africa so the heat hasn’t taken hold. The invitation to the villa has come at exactly the right moment. I am between lovers and have no interest in latching myself onto a new one anytime soon. I like having a convenient lover. I don’t like having someone trying to take a piece of my life. Olga and her husband Ollie have been in and out of my life for years. We are in the same circles. We bed the same people. That they are also invited to the party in the villa is to be expected.

  When I arrive at the villa from the airport in Tunis, the sun is already hot, and the sea already beckons. A servant greets my car at the arched doorway leading into the Roman style villa. The interior is cool in the heat. Through a series of open doors, I can see to the atrium at the center of the structure. A small fountain pool is open to the air. I go to greet my hostess, Hortense.

  I find her lounging amidst the potted lemon trees and a selection of her guests. Her body is bare and covered in a sheen of oil. Her brilliant red hair is piled on top of her head, and I can’t help but notice her signature nest of fiery pubic hair shining like copper in the sun. Most women seem to prefer a bare pussy. Not Hortense. Given any opportunity, she likes to show off her fire crotch.

  Sitting on the edge of the chaise with her hand between Hortense’s thighs is a woman I don’t know. Blonde and pretty. Naked and lush. Just like Hortense likes them. The women are laughing as the blonde wiggles a vibrating purple rabbit around Hortense’s snatch. Across the open air of the courtyard, a low platform covered in mattresses and cushions is already occupied by several guests mutually pleasuring each other. The party has already started.

  “Marcus!” she cheers as she looks up at me over her sunglasses. “How delightful. Take your clothing off. I want to see your beautiful cock.” She gestures to the group on the platform. “The party has already started.”

  “Does the party ever really end, Hortense?” I give he
r a smile.

  “Never!” She raises her hand. “Just a moment darling.” Her eyelids flutter a bit as a small moan comes out from between her lips. She stops the blonde with the vibrator from stimulating her. The purple toy is removed with a slick pop and then tossed to the side. With a gesture from Hortense, the blonde slides up between her open legs. Their pelvises meet. Slowly they grind and bump together. The blonde vigorously and purposefully squeezes and fondles one pink-tipped breast while her mouth grasps onto the other.

  “Are you going to join us?” Hortense looks up at me from over the blonde’s shoulder.

  “I haven’t been to my room yet.” I’m tempted, but I know what I really want. Without a doubt, I know that before the week is up, Hortense and I will get sweaty together. Just not yet.

  “Get settled in,” she tells me. “I gave you your favorite room. Come back and meet…” She snaps her fingers a few times, and then pokes at the blonde’s shoulder. “What is your name, petal?”

  “Bambi,” the blonde mumbles around a mouthful of Hortense’s nipple.

  “Liar.” Hortense laughs. “I shall call you Eulalie.” She gives me a little dismissive wave. “Go, Marcus. Get your messy little bags unpacked. I’m feeling a delightful little orgasm coming on. I want Bambi to feel as if she’s earning her keep.”

  I return to the interior, and I’m led to a room at the top of the house. My favorite room as promised. Just what I like. The party will be going on in the atrium below. It will be quiet at the top. The spacious room decorated in carved wood and white linen opens onto a rooftop terrace that has a view of the sea. I discard my jacket and my shoes. I consider stripping down to my shorts, but I hold off for a moment. I want to look around my room. Take in the view. Let the tension escape my body as I mentally switch my thoughts to pure vacation mode. Carved shutters and doors have been left closed to keep out the sun but to let in the breeze. And, apparently, the sound of people vigorously screwing on the terrace.

  I can’t resist myself. I have to see what’s happening. I walk out onto the terrace and there to my eternal delight is the black-haired and luscious Olga riding her brunet and wholly desirable husband Ollie. She has him on his back as he lies on a chaise lounge. Arms behind his head and sunglasses firmly in place, Ollie hasn’t even broken a sweat.

  Olga turns and looks at me. Her breasts, covered in an oily sheen, bob as she continues her ride. The only thing she’s wearing other than her sunglasses are her jewels and an impossibly tall pair of brilliant yellow strappy shoes. She turns to her husband after smiling at me and giving me a naughty wink. “We have company,” she sings.

  Ollie turns and looks at me. He lifts his sunglasses for just a moment, and then slips them back into place. “It’s Marcus!” he cheers. “Now we can really have some fun.” He reaches over to the small table next to them and tosses a strip of condoms at me. These people have absolutely no shame. And I love them both for it.

  I catch the condoms as Olga climbs off Ollie. His bare erection points to the sky like an obelisk. They don’t use condoms with each other, but everyone else that’s invited to play has to follow their rules. Condoms are rule number one. It’s the only one that’s non-negotiable. The rest can be discussed.

  Olga comes to me in her shoes. They add four inches to her height and a lot of sex appeal to a woman that’s already bursting from the seams with sensuality. She wraps her arms around my neck, and her mouth presses to mine. Our tongues twirl together for a brief moment before she disengages from the kiss. “What should I do with him?” she asks Ollie as she stares at me.

  I reach between us and pinch her pussy lips before I give them a small massage. The soft skin is like slippery satin. “I know what I want to do. I’m going to make you come.” I look to Ollie. “That is if you don’t mind?”

  “Have I ever minded?” Ollie asks.

  I don’t have to ask Olga if she wants me to make her scream. She gives me her answer with her body. She opens her legs a little for me, and I cup her sex. She’s wet and slick and ready to continue what she was doing when I interrupted. I slide a finger inside her as my thumb finds her clitoris. She’s close to climaxing.

  One of her long legs kicks up and hooks over my shoulder. This is the former dancer in her showing off. She’s spread wide as my fingers work her cunt. Her arms cling tight around my neck as I fuck her with my hand. I slide two fingers up her anus and work her back passage for a long moment.

  I take my hand back and then hold her leg to give her balance as I slide down to my knees. With her leg hooked over my shoulder, I dive for her pussy. I lick, roll my tongue, and slash at her clit as she rubs her cunt against my face. When she comes, it’s with a loud cry and a cheer.

  She unhooks her leg from over my shoulder. I rise to my feet, wiping my mouth on my shirtsleeve.

  “That was exquisite.” Her mouth covers mine, and her tongue slides in. The kiss breaks after a long moment. “How do I say thank you? How do I say thank you, Ollie?”

  “Undress him,” Ollie tells her. “Make him comfortable.”

  Ollie tugs at himself as he watches Olga undress me. Their relationship is an endless source of wonder to me. How do the two of them manage to be so open with their sexuality and not get jealous? Or if they do get jealous, how do they manage?

  She removes my jacket and tosses it to the side. I take off my watch and stick it in my trousers before Olga decides she likes it and I never see it again. Olga unbuttons my shirt, and then she walks behind me and pulls it off. A pair of firm, oiled breasts rubbing against my back finishes the job of making me as hard as Ollie. She reaches around me and grabs the bulge in my trousers. “You’re very hard.” She steps around to my front and presses her bare ass against my throbbing cock still buried in my trousers. Her smooth cheeks rub and grind against me.

  “Take his trousers off,” Ollie tells her. “I want to see his cock. His lovely, circumcised, American-sized cock.”

  She turns around and undoes my trousers. They drop to the ground and then she kicks them away. I’m naked in the bold Tunisian sun in front of Ollie’s eyes that look at me over his sunglasses.

  “Still foxy as ever, Marcus,” Ollie tells me. “You’re the reason I like boys and girls. What reasonable person would say no to a slice of either of you? It’s really inconceivable.”

  Olga runs her hands freely over my body, purposefully avoiding my cock. She’s behind me again, her pelvis grinding against my cheeks as her hands grasp the tops of my thighs. She pushes me forward just a touch so my cock reaches for Ollie. What I really want is him. But I’m more than happy to have her join in. They know this and won’t deny me what I’m after.

  “Isn’t he pretty?” Olga wraps her fingers around my cock at last.

  “Me or him?” Ollie asks. “Because he’s awfully pretty, pet. Do you want to suck me, Marcus? It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man blow me. We both know men are so very good at oral. Something about the jaw muscles I think. Come and wrap your lovely mouth around my big English cock? Or do you want me to bugger you senseless while you give it to my lovely wife?” He looks past me to Olga. “What do you think darling? Do you want to watch me get Marcus’s big stiffy up the arse?”

  Olga hums for a moment. “What do I want? I would like to see that. But I’d also like to watch the two of you sucking each other. But then where does that leave me? And I’m in a very me, me, me mood.” She releases my cock and goes to Ollie. I tear a condom open and slide it on. I’m pretty sure I know what she wants.

  She slips her leg over him and slides her body onto his erection. Then she lies across his chest, offering me her backside. “Do you think he’ll figure it out?” she whispers loudly to Ollie. “Or should I tell him?”

  I know exactly what she wants. I come up behind and spread her cheeks. Ollie hands me a tube of lube. He is always very well-mannered and considerate. I massage a glob of slick lube into the pink pucker of Olga’s anus.

  “Oh he’s figured it out,” Olga crows
.

  I kneel on the chaise behind her. It’s solid, so I’m sure it will handle the combined weight of three adults. I hold my cock as I press the tip against the opening to her back passage. I give it a small push and then pull back. I press the button again and then back away. She can suffer a little teasing. I slide my knees down to the ground. The sight of Ollie’s big cock in her snatch is like dessert. His balls are smooth and clean of hair as is the rest of his body except his legs. I like this about him. It’s sexy in a very metrosexual sort of way.

  His feet rest on the ground on either side of the chaise, but I push them apart just a touch more. I spread open his cheeks with my fingers and find his hole. I slip my thumb inside past the hard ring of flesh as I lower my face to Olga’s backside. My tongue touches her pretty pink pucker. I lick lightly with the tip of my tongue. Sometimes the lighter the touch, the more intense the pleasure.

  She screams and cries as I pleasure her. They both do. I know what I’m doing, and I aim to please.

  Olga rides Ollie like a jockey on a horse. Just before she comes, I stop stimulating her. I rise from my place on the terrace tiles and kneel behind her. I wait for the wave of her orgasm that is about to break to recede before I start. Not yet. They had the condoms waiting. They had to have known I was coming. This is staged for my benefit, and I’m not going to do anything less than embrace the experience totally.

  She wiggles her bottom at me. I can’t resist such a lovely little peach being waggled in my face. With my cock in my hand, I press against the pucker of her anus. I enter her in one swift and less than gentle thrust. The three of us quickly find a rhythm. We thrust and pull back in perfect sync. I want to come, but I want it in another way.

  Olga screams without abandon as her orgasm shakes her body. I pull out of her. She quickly changes my condom as Ollie comes behind me. He’s already covered as Olga lies back on the chaise with her legs spread wide and welcoming. I enter her quickly and deeply. It takes all of my will not to thrust in and out of her. But I know what I want and it’s coming. Ollie helps me position my legs so my ass spreads wide open for him. The crisp, cool sensation of a dollop of lube being dropped on my anus makes me clench. His fingers massaging, followed by his tongue rimming, relax me enough to take him in.