The Pleasure Chateau: The Omnibus

by Jeremy Reed

  One boy was wearing a pair of transparent panties over his face, so that he could inhale their perfume while he ferociously fucked their wearer. She could be seen tantalising his balls with long scarlet fingernails, while he worked at her with unabating fury. The scene was exactly as Donatien had anticipated, and was expanding to oral gratification as the groups of bodies grew more complex. It seemed impossible for anyone present to find a liberating form of appeasement, as one orgasm was quickly succeeded by another and another. One of the blondes was being shafted by two youths, and was at the same time rimming a boy who was being orally devoured by a green eyed pussycat. Donatien noted that some of the youths had come six or seven times, but still showed no signs of exhaustion. All of their hothouse fantasies were being fulfilled, and the blondes were in a state of agonized repeat orgasms.

  Donatien resisted the idea of thrashing the participants, and settled for the vicarious pleasures of the spectator. One of the youths was being initiated into the cult of the anal staircase, and he buried his penis in the constricted orifice of an insatiable blonde. Donatien observed the boy's ecstasy as he began to rhythmically assert himself and find his way to a different interior.

  At the other end of the spectrum, a youth with a wrist-thick erection was being wanked into a pair of transparent panties. The blonde had placed the transparent black fabric over his penis like a face-veil, and the boy rippled with the sensual friction of her wet panties being drawn up and down his indomitable cock. The boy's face commented on the deliciously agonizing pressure that was mounting in his penis. He clearly both wanted to come and didn't, for the pleasure was so overwhelming that he kept holding back on his orgasm. The blonde perfectly understood his need, and continued to tickle and tease the nerve-points along his frenulum, withdrawing the panties from contact with his skin each time he was about to explode, and then refitting the fabric to the prepuce and tightening it all the way to the base as the potential orgasm subsided. Donatien envied the youth this protracted form of torment, and decided that at a later date he would have the blonde administer a similar treatment to his sex. The boy was starting to push himself off the ground with his bottom, so urgent was the need to come, and Donatien sensed that he couldn't hold out much longer and would soon surrender to ejaculation. The blonde was tickling him through the invisible black fabric with one red fingernail, and then sensing this time a point of no return, moulded the fabric like a condom to his penis, and sucked him to a tempestuous orgasm. The rush of his explosive semen was delivered in unending spasms, as the blonde positioned herself to take it deep throat.

  The other youths were growing progressively more audacious, and three of them were firmly entrenched in their partners' bottoms. They were hard at it in the way that Donatien had spent his life, and he was quick to inwardly commend their movements and experimentation. For a moment he was tempted to join the orgiastics and demonstrate the art of consummate sodomy, hut instead he decided to leave his viewing station and visit the Black Room.

  The Marquis called for Jacques to accompany him on his journey through a labyrinthine maze of passages that led to the Black Room at La Coste. As they made their way through the corridors, Donatien would stop at various cages and feed grapes to the occupants. There were midgets in a number of receptacles and a series of snakes and exotic birds. One of the midgets licked Donatien's hand, and received a blessing as a consequence. Donatien fed him large purple grapes, and promised him that in two weeks he would be admitted to the House of the Six Blondes, so that he could appease his sexual frustration.

  When Jacques unlocked the three doors to the Black Room, Donatien took up a position in an anteroom also equipped with two way mirrors and video equipment. What he saw was what he had expected. The room was divided in two by a glass partition, and in one room were an assortment of dusky southern beauties, and in the other a group of tattooed sailors who had been lured to La Coste after docking at the port of Marseilles. Both groups who were regularly fed on aphrodisiacs were prevented reaching each other by the glass partition. The girls sat around in micro skirts and eight inch heels, striking up provocative poses that had the rabid sailors attempting to climb the glass wall, so desperate were they to reach their equally aroused temptresses. Most of the sailors had their cocks in their fists, and the sweat was running in bright drops over their indigo and green tattoos.

  Donatien watched both parties struggle with tormented sexual energies, and after watching the proceedings for ten minutes, he decided he would have the cock-holes opened in the partition. A remote was directed at the screen, and a number of apertures the width of a thick dick appeared in the partition. The sailors all ran towards the glass, and with agonized longing inserted their cocks into the necessary apertures. Their lengths made it through to the other side, and the girls ran forward to begin acts of stormy-haired, frenzied fellatio. Donatien had seldom viewed such voracious appetite for deep-throat. The men were howling with want and fed their cocks into vermilion lips with unsparing ferocity. The girls were all tongue and sibilance as they gorged and choked on rhythmic muscle. Both parties were clawing at the glass, but Donatien was determined that their bodies would never come into contact, other than through the narrow cock-apertures. The sailors were in a state of convulsive orgasm as the girls tongued, kissed and swallowed their pulsating cocks. Strings of incandescent pearls were being ejaculated into throats, and the girls went through motions of nymphomaniacal auto-eroticism as they sucked cock.

  Donatien grew bored with the oral debacle, and motioned to Jacques to close the apertures. A warning light came on as a sign to the sailors that, they should immediately withdraw, and they raged with frustration at being so suddenly separated from their equally frustrated partners. Some of them had been on the point of orgasm, others were in the process of coming, but Donatien's arbitrary decision could never be questioned. The sailors knew that if they protested then they would be whipped near to death by the Marquis De Sade.

  Donatien made it clear to Jacques that he would only visit one other room before returning to the château. He had decided on the Mauve Room, and commanded Jacques to lead him still deeper through the tortuous maze of corridors that arteried themselves in the castle's abyssal depths.

  Jacques struck out at a fast lick and Donatien followed in his wake. Donatien read the names on doors that he hadn't dared open for centuries, due to the deformities that marked their cowering inhabitants. There was a room marked the Valley of the Freaks, and another one announced the category Two-Headed Hybrids, and still another one Human Bestiary. Donatien lashed each door with his bullwhip, as a reminder that his authoritarian presence had survived the centuries.

  The two men continued for a considerable distance, and at last stopped outside a door that was painted purple. As had been his practice in visiting the two previous arenas of sexual perversion, Donatien entered an anteroom, and took up his place seated behind a two way mirror. The room he looked into was the den of the Purple Princess. All the walls were painted purple, and a series of mauve spotlights on dimmers contributed to the almost indigo volume of light that gave the room an underwater density of mauves graduating into blues. The Purple Princess could be viewed sitting in front of a mirror. Her hair was dyed purple, she wore extravagant mauve make-up and a bruise-toned lipstick, and was dressed in a transparent purple nightie shot with gold silk. She had been in mourning for over a century, and Donatien was so moved by her absolute devotion to her dead lover, that he had decreed that no man should ever be allowed to touch her again. Her lover's lips had been preserved, and it was these that she faced, for they had been implanted in the Princess's mirror.

  Donatien assured Jacques that if he should die then his sister would observe a correspondingly devotional grief. It brought Donatien incalculable pleasure to imagine Marciana mourning him in a mirrored room at La Coste. Donatien continued to observe the Purple Princess, as she placed an endless series of kisses on her dead lover's lips. She would alternately dab them with light
kisses and then crush them with hot-blooded passion. She would place her tongue in her lover's lips like a shrimp attracted to the suction-pad of a sea anemone. Donatien observed her necromantic fixation with a sense of awe. The Purple Princess was the only one of his captives who provoked compassion in Donatien, and he looked upon her as a protector, and as a sympathiser with her extreme grief. He watched her in silence and instructed Jacques to oversee the delivery of a thousand purple and black roses to her room the following day.

  Donatien remained watching the Purple Princess for a long time before he decided to leave. He saw this occupation as a necessary shot of emotion to his inflexible psychology. He reminded himself that if in the remote possibility of his ever having to re-encounter reality, then he would need at least a degree of emotional activation if he was to survive.

  Donatien opted for a golf-cart as a means of transport back to the château's living quarters. The vehicle hummed through recessed mazes with Donatien occasionally stopping to view a particular exhibit in a cage, or to listen to a cacophony of inmates testing their strength against metal doors locked with bolts the width of logs.

  When Donatien returned to his quarters, the screams that assailed his ears came from the château's bedrooms. The bedrooms were thumping with excited lovers, and the sound of women's voices imploring their partners to go still deeper and harder raised a throaty chorus of hoarse gratifications to his ears. Somebody nearby was orchestrating a woman to multiple, thrashed out orgasms, and Donatien imagined a man fastened to a she-leopard so intensely animalistic were the extended series of shrieks being extracted from the woman.

  Donatien was preoccupied with marriage plans for the following day. Already a vast number of servants were preparing the chapel, and he decided to withdraw to his private rooms and reflect on the monumental idea of marriage to Marciana.

  *

  Part VI

  New Day

  Donatien had decided that his nails should be painted silver with a horizontal orange strip, for his marriage day. Nina sat up with him that night, in one of his familiar night watches at La Coste, and experimented with a variety of make-up colours to suit his pigment, and in the matching of a number of costumes appropriate to the occasion.

  Donatien was anxious to extend the night, and to deepen his occupying it by being totally present to the moment. He wanted to situate himself in the great night, and to remember. The payload in his nerves hummed with connections. Donatien was on overload, and his back-tracking through the centuries to isolate memorable particulars lifted into consciousness the good and the ugly. But mostly he celebrated the sexual life he had shared with this sister, the red autumns he had known in his globe-hopping, and finally the joy of resuming life in the permanent autumn that flowered in the microclimate at La Coste.

  'The night,' he told Nina, 'is essentially the wolf's hour.' He spoke in terms of it being the flip-side of consciousness, and of how familiarity with the night permitted him to live permanently in the imagination. 'There's no end to the unconscious,' he told Nina, 'a single image is as subdivisively expansive as a black hole. We could journey through imagination for ever in a way that journeyer craft travel out of the solar system into deep space. And the interior of this house is the unconscious,' he observed.

  Nina was sitting opposite him, dressed in green silk panties, and mauve velvet thigh boots. She was applying needlework to one of his orange satin shirts, and was re-elasticating the pair of Marilyn's Monroe's black panties that Marciana was to wear on her marriage day.

  'Nobody has walked with me at the interior of the castle,' he continued. 'Nobody would dare. The depths of the place are too terrible for even me to penetrate. There are chimeras hidden there, for which no language is adequate. Jacques has come with me into the immediate underworld, but that is an intelligible place in which the sexual freaks can be contained. There is a lift built into a shaft to the depth of five thousand feet. And that is only the beginning of the cages. I have walked there for nights and days and days and nights again, and returned as someone who has undertaken a great journey. I have come back from the interior, and only with Marciana's help have I rehabilitated myself to living in the château.

  ‘I was going to return there tonight, but I have abandoned the idea. I had thought to take XZ there, and to lock him into one of the cells. It may be the only way I will ever extract secrets from him. But instead, I have decided to stay, and to relive memories of my love for Marciana.'

  Nina continued sewing. Marilyn's black panties were appropriately translucent and tight-fitting. She re-elasticated the band on which they depended, and fastidiously scented them with 1,000, the complex scent by Jean Patou which was a favourite with Marciana.

  Donatien watched Nina's fetishistic handiwork, poured her a glass of pink champagne, and then resumed talking.

  'Our marriage, Nina,' said Donatien with enforced gravity, 'is the vision for which all mystics have searched. It will bring about changes in the heavens. Stars will come on, and stars will go out. Our mutual astrobiologies will alter the future of the species.'

  Donatien paused for a moment, and looked up at the black velvet ceiling. He was continually amazed that the enormous overreach of his mind could be contained by his body. Despite the input of telemedical repair, he was still composed of cells and genes, and yet for the past hundred years he had not so much as cut himself. Marciana too had enjoyed optimum health, and neither he nor his sister, he reflected, had ever considered the possibilities of illness or disease. He recollected how he had suffered in prison. He had feared the loss of sight, and his body, deprived of exercise, had grown obese. On reflection, he considered he had suffered enough during the long years of the eighteenth century, and in the years he had spent at Charenton — an institute for the mad.

  Donatien could feel the night in his veins. It felt to him like his blood was praying for an extension of dark, and a dawn that when it came would be shot through with stars. He let Nina continue her sewing in silence, for a while, and continued to meditate on the nocturnal aspects of his psyche. He experienced again the indignities and social disgraces he had suffered in a past periodically reduced to the horizons of a freezing cell. For a period of thirty years in his life he had been stripped of freedom. His revenge had been to outlive his enemies and their sons and the sons of their sons. He had lived subsequent to imprisonment, like somebody burning a Cadillac across the American highways. He was determined that no impediment ever again would stand between himself and the open horizon. And now he was resolved that nothing would stand in the way between him and admission to the gates of the mystic city. He looked across at Nina, and wondered if they would all be altered one day, and correspondingly transfigured by light. He wondered if he would sit with Nina one day in a heavenly mansion, and as he was thinking this, so she arched her legs, and his eye telescoped to the green ridge of fabric tightly encasing her crotch. He traced an orange fingernail over her gusset, and continued to tease it with the distracted air of someone who is evidently bilocated.

  'Although I have forbidden it always,' said Donatien, 'I want you to model the black panties that Marciana is to wear tomorrow. I want to see the exact cut on your bottom, Nina.'

  Nina stood up, and with a stripper's trained expertise slipped off her green silk panties. Donatien weighed Monroe's black panties in his hand, assessing their transparent flimsiness, and inhaled their scented fabrics. He handed them back to Nina, who slipped them on, and presented her bottom. Donatien's obsessive fascination with the sit of transparent fabric on a heart-shaped bottom was unappeasable. He ran a finger up and down the crack of Nina's buttocks, so as to establish the correct tautness of the fabric. He needed to oversee the exact moulding of the garment to the curvature. There was to be no give to the material, and he was satisfied with Nina's re-elastication of the item. For Donatien a pair of panties had to represent a provocative window on the flesh. He favoured the sort of seamless window in which the garment was indivisible from flesh itself.
He had arranged it so that Marciana's trousseau would include a great number of flesh coloured transparent panties, as garments that would prove indivisible on her body.

  Nina was asked to model a number of these, with their lace edge in a variety of colours. She was each time asked to present her bottom as evidence of the garment's skin-tight fit, and correspondingly ordered to submit to Donatien's re-inspection of her bottom. After having tried on twenty-five separate pairs of panties, Nina was allowed to return to her sewing.

  Donatien returned to his night thoughts. He told Nina of a time in his life when he had visited a Princess's house in the Marais.

  ‘This woman,’ he told Nina, ‘liked to have her bottom made up like a cake. She would lie face down on the bed, her midriff supported by cushions, and it was my job,' said Donatien, 'to place the hundreds of edible pearls in the glazed icing sugar that coated her buttocks. I had the decorations look like constellations on her ass. The more pearls I placed on her bottom, the more there were to lick off. When the pearls had set on the icing sugar, the masked Princess would open the red velvet curtains and go and stand in the window with her bottom facing the street. And when she tired of her exhibitionism she would draw the curtains again, and ask me to extract the cake decorations from her bottom with my teeth. omitted to say that the crack of her bottom was filled in with icing sugar too, and it was to this chasm that I was to hungrily return. She would call that place the wedge or the ravine, and it was so sensitive an erogenous site that my oral contact with it would be sufficient to give the Princess multiple orgasms.