The Pleasure Chateau: The Omnibus

by Jeremy Reed

  ‘Sinbad's abnormally volatile erection was already signalling at his belly-button, and climbing up from there to his thoracic cavity.

  ‘Nicole sat down on the bed, pointed to the bedside lamp as the offending item, and taking out her compact proceeded to apply a burgundy-coloured lipstick. Sinbad busied himself investigating a standard lamp fixture, and felt the force in his penis rise with laval pressure. Within minutes he was biting at Nicole's perfumed mouth, while her dark red fingernails began to run up and down his cock with the persistence of a delicious irritant.

  ‘But Sinbad knew that there was no way in which Nicole could accommodate his impacted width. He could feel the desperate frustration in her pleading to be fucked. He knew from her undulating movements that she would like to be spread across the bed and walked up and down on all fours. Already her tongue was flickering over his prepuce like shock-waves of current.

  ‘If Nicole was staggered by his totemic size, then she expressed no sense of recoil from her task. Her small red mouth worked its way up from the base to the head of his cock with a mountaineer's sense of arriving at the summit. Then she would stay there right on the peak, coaxing the head with her tongue like somebody polishing an apple. When she performed this circular motion Sinbad would be ecstatically vocal in his appreciation of her expertise. As he felt his torrential orgasm rise, so Sinbad eased himself away from Nicole's lips and astonished her by writing her name in nacreous glitter across the near wall.

  ‘Orgasm brought no appreciable loss of size to Sinbad's erection. On the contrary it set off a chain reaction in him to want to keep on coming. Nicole slipped out of her kimono, unhooked her black bra and lay face down on the bed beside him. The sight of her convexly proportioned bottom still windowed through sheer panties had Sinbad propose to give her oral gratification; but Nicole turned down his suggestion, and seemed inwardly engaged in trying to figure out how to make their two bodies fit.

  ‘Sinbad's pythonic muscle stood alert as Nicole hurriedly traced out geometric sketches on a notepad. But whatever the configurative possibility she sketched, there appeared to be little chance of making it into a palpable reality. Size was the prohibitive factor she conceded, and lay back on the bed, her legs arched and open.

  ‘Inspiration came to them both simultaneously. It occurred to Nicole that if Sinbad was first to wind his cock round her waist, and then tuck it in at the back and pull it forward, some of the blood flow to the mains would be restricted and entry would be facilitated by reduced girth.

  ‘Nicole tweaked the elastics of her panties down from her hips and over her ankles, and left the garment provocatively suspended from her right foot. She lifted Sinbad's triggering member, and wound it once around her waist, knotted it in the small of her back, threaded it under her bottom, and then turned it round to face both orifices. True to imagining both the knot and the circular loop reduced the intractable blood supply to Sinbad's penis. It suddenly seemed a real possibility that he would be able to accommodate both apertures. "Try," Nicole whispered, "I'm aching for you, cheri."

  ‘Sinbad weighed his reduced penis in his hand with loving attention to detail, inchingly moved forward, placed the head in position and drove his stiff, still-formidable volume into Nicole's sex. Nicole's eagerness had her open to receive the tight fit on which she pivoted, and the two began to beat out a rhythm on the bed. It was the first time that Sinbad had entered someone, and the excitement of finding himself inside Nicole had him push hard for her interior. Nicole's legs sprung an elastic arch over her head, as Sinbad began to regulate the beat of their lovemaking. Sinbad who was in the process of losing his virginity delighted in the wall to wall friction he experienced inside Nicole. Nicole's first orgasm was gutturally protracted, her voice achieving high notes as an ecstatic commentary on her lover's increasingly confident prowess. Clearly denied sex by her husband, Nicole's vocal response to Sinbad's rigidly authoritative cock encouraged him to experiment with both passages. Nicole's violently pleasurable affirmations let him know that whatever he did to her was good.

  ‘After an hour's flexible lovemaking, Nicole's fatigue was evident and Sinbad knelt back from her intending to withdraw. But there was a problem. As Sinbad's excitement showed no signs of abating, so his swollen penis remained locked inside Nicole's vagina. Her muscles which had tightened round Sinbad's extraordinary girth wouldn't unclench. The two lovers were joined to each other, and neither could find a means of working free.

  ‘Hours went by without a remedy suggesting itself, other than that of occasional hysterical laughter. When they heard a key turn in the front door lock, they knew that the sea captain had returned. Both huddled towards each other, terrified of the possible outcome of having been caught together. The situation was an impossibly embarrassing one. Nicole was still sitting on Sinbad's engorged cock when they heard slow deliberate steps mounting the stairs and a fist drum a loud tattoo on the bedroom door.

  ‘"I'm home darling," the voice called out as a prelude to Sinbad's father entering the room. To Sinbad's astonishment, and no less to Nicole's open-mouthed incredulity, the captain was neither angry nor hurt. He stood in the middle of the room collapsing into himself with period bursts of laughter, while the lovers did their best to explain their unenviable predicament.

  ‘As though emphasizing the unnatural sense of elation he was experiencing at their expense, the captain retrieved Nicole's flimsy panties from the bed, and twirled them round on his finger.

  ‘"Now I'm free to go with boys," he exclaimed. "I had hoped all along that the two of you would become lovers, and so relieve me of onerous marital duties." He laughed again. "We've all been hiding," he said, "and now things are finally out in the open. I can get on with my life and the two of you with yours, and we'll stay under one roof. But first of all I should call a doctor..."

  ‘And so it was that Sinbad came to have an operation to reduce the impractical size of his cock. He settled for nine inches, and while he no longer decorated his member with rhinestones and tattoos, his size was exemplary in terms of pleasuring Nicole. The captain too benefited by growing more youthful, and the air of oppressive secrecy which had previously coloured his movements was now brightened by a sense of having come out. The captain had a young Algerian houseboy move in with him, and it was part of the boy's domestic routine to paint everyone's toenails in the evening. The ritual would take place after dinner. Nicole chose to have her toenails painted black, Sinbad blue, and the captain elected a classic Chanel scarlet. In time the ritual extended to the making up of genitalia, and Nicole chose to have her vulva painted violet, the captain settled for a bright red tip to his cock and Sinbad opted for a silver glitter which gave a space-helmet effect to his always tumescent penis. Colourful applications of make-up and body art came to be a prominent feature in the captain's household. The houseboy was called Mohamed, and apart from serving as a cook and general domestic, he was sent to school to learn computer skills.'

  Nina broke off her narration briefly to fit herself more fully on Donatien's straining lap. He had slipped a hand down the back of her silk panties, and his fingers cupped her right buttock. Marciana was sitting serenely distracted by the story, and signalled with her eyes for Nina to continue.

  'Mohamed soon became attracted to Sinbad, and his designs were clearly erotic. As Nicole's days varied little in following the familiar pattern of her spending much of the day in her bedroom making up, and reading novels, so Mohamed and Sinbad would sit downstairs and converse over coffee in the kitchen. The captain maintained his routine of distributing his time between the cafés and bars he patronised.

  ‘One morning Mohamed risked his position in the household by coming up to Sinbad from behind, and caressingly placing his hands over Sinbad's alert cock. That Sinbad's cock immediately triggered by way of response was an invitation to Mohamed to follow a line up from Sinbad's waist to his nipples. His fingers stayed there satelliting the sensitive areolas. Sinbad could feel Mohamed's erection moulding itself
to the divide in his buttocks. It was a pressure he hadn't known before, and he realised instantly that what it was pleasurable to do to a woman, it would be equally gratifying to experience as a man. He felt his libido orchestrated in a new way, and offered no objection to Mohamed's delicate fingers finding and taking Sinbad's cock into his mouth with the facility of a CD drawer closing on the disc.

  ‘Sinbad relaxed into the glutinous rhythm of being sucked. Mohamed was attentive to every nerve running like frets from the frenulum of Sinbad's penis. His tongue brought hidden chords to the surface, and Sinbad's pleasure was communicated by his driving deeper into Mohamed's accordion-squeezed mouth. Both men were so ecstatically concentrated into the experience that they didn't hear Nicole come downstairs in her stockinged feet and enter the kitchen.

  ‘Nicole was dressed in her bra, suspenders, panties and stockings. Her sultry, femme-fatale bedroom-air emphasized by her state of undress brought a cloud of Chanel into the kitchen. Before the two men had time to look out, she had taken up a cross-legged position on the kitchen table.

  ‘"I hope you'll both save some for me," Nicole said, before bursting into laughter. "And now that you've paired off, I'm free to bring Annie into my life."

  ‘So it was that by the evening, and to the captain's evident satisfaction, Annie had joined the household. Annie was a research consultant, had black hair cut in the style of Louise Brooks, wore all black clothes, and was clearly not open to male approaches. She was withdrawn, but her eyes were playfully expressive, and it was through these that she keyboarded a specifically non-verbal participation in dialogue.

  ‘When it was time for bed, a slight uncertainty prevailed in the company as to sleeping partners. Without hesitation the captain went off with Mohamed, and Sinbad decided that it would be best if Annie shared he and Nicole's bed. But there was dispute as to who should sleep in the middle. Should Sinbad receive the favours of two women, or should Annie lie between him and Nicole, or should Nicole be the lucky one to be tended by a man and a woman? In the end they decided to alternate positions, and Sinbad found himself learning from the sensitive manner in which Nicole and Annie performed oral sex on each other. By following their methods he was able to provide both women with a pleasure they had thought exclusive to themselves. And after seeing Nicole fucked ecstatic by Sinbad, so Annie conceded in surrendering to Sinbad's indomitable penis, developing in the process a voracious appetite for orgasm.

  ‘It wasn't long before the three sleeping partners grew to speculate on the prospects of entertaining the captain and Mohamed in quintuple pleasures. Three men and two women seemed the ideal combination for total sexual adventure. The geometric multiplicity of positions...'

  Here Nina stopped abruptly, for Donatien signalled that the great night was advancing and that he required to be alone with his sister for what were to be their last hours at La Coste. Nina got up from Donatien's lap, provocatively bent over in her silk panties, and proceeded to struggle into her sequined hotpants. When she had left the room, after being significantly praised for her story, Donatien resumed his monologue, taking up again with themes which pressed for release.

  'I've never told you Marciana,' he said, breaking the sexually charged silence, 'of meetings I had with Bill Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg and Leonard Cohen in the 1960's. Two are dead now and one is in a Zen Buddhist monastery in California. There are so many people I have denied this formula. They have all gone away into a world of communication breakdown. What you and I are about to discover is that we can freely travel between life and death without being constrained by either state.

  ‘I mention Burroughs, Ginsberg and Cohen because at the time of my meeting them they were revolutionaries: prototypes of what they took to be a new species. Burroughs' obsession with drugs and all manner of weird mind-sets, Ginsberg's belief in poetry as a means of social revolution, and Cohen's conviction that song was a way of reaching and changing everyone kicked into my own beliefs at the time. If I was to blame Marciana, it was for keeping you a prisoner in this house. I should have taken you with me on my travels.

  ‘What I'm telling you tonight is no different from any other night. It's part of our story, but not everyone's story. Burroughs would drink himself sober and in the process discover truth. Cohen would break off a song in mid-composition to spend the afternoon fucking a groupie, and then pull the lyric tight as though he'd never suffered the interruption.

  ‘If I've grown to be a philosopher, Marciana, it's because suffering has given me profound insights into truth. What you find out when you hit an impossible low is that the absolute bottom has a reflective surface.'

  Each new sentence shaped by her brother's extraordinary repertoire of experience was a hit to Marciana's chemistry. She flipped on to her stomach, head supported by a red heart-shaped cushion and manoeuvred so that her cosmetically lifted bottom was fully presented to her brother's viewing. In her transparent panties Marciana knew she was the event horizon across which Donatien's nerves played. They had conducted this game with studied deliberation again and again. Marciana knew how at a certain point in his narrative her brother would stop speaking, get up from his chair and begin the sexual ritual which would culminate in the prolonged fucking of her bottom. For Marciana the experience was like being entered by indomitable legend. She cushioned her head in the knowledge that the journey to her interior would soon begin all over again, and that her brother's sensory adeptness would transform her into a voice orchestrating pleasure with elastic octaves. Marciana imparted a ripple to her bottom, a circular shiver transmitted to the tissue, which she extended to a full undulation. It was Donatien who had taught her how to walk from the hips and so display the full provocative range of her buttocks. He had made of that erogenous zone an arena in which his cock grooved like the rhythms on a dance floor.

  ‘The night is by its context, sodomitical,' resumed Donatien. 'How else explain the dark. I've stood in underground car-parks at dawn, and I've fucked boys in tunnels underneath Paris and Venice. And we're married in what I have come to call the night side of sex, Marciana.'

  Donatien's voice lapsed into fade out, and again Marciana grew conscious of the castrati lifting an aria to full falsetto pitch. This time she expected Donatien to call for Nina to oil her bottom preparatory to sex, but once again her expectations were put on hold. Instead she rotated her hips like a belly dancer, the movement being traced out in ripples through her buttocks. Marciana was growing aware that her brother was reluctant to close down his discourse with the night. It was clear to her that he wanted to leave La Coste with the night in his veins. She tried to reassure herself that together they would know these things again, and she held to that thought now, as he achieved the tinkling pact complicitous between whiskey bottle and glass.

  ‘I have decided to have the château torched tomorrow,' Donatien volunteered. 'The underworld prisoners will be released into the open countryside, and the Purple Princess taken by car to a friend's home outside Paris. She will be looked after there in her life of perpetual mourning. When we return Marciana it will be to a different location. I have in mind a small castle in the Alps, where we will continue with our genetically altered lives. We will live as a concealed Web cult; the guardians of genetic longevity.

  ‘Can you imagine Marciana what it's like to forgive everyone? To do so is to reverse the course of justice. I who was always innocent of the crimes of which I was accused, am placed in the position of condoning the injustice done to me. You could say it was in my destiny to learn the meaning of this bitterly unresolved equation. It was part of my night journey, this one big night in which I've thought and fucked and celebrated loss as gain.'

  Marciana was conscious of the autumn rain falling outside. Its molecular distillation alerted her to the hundreds of autumns she had known at La Coste, the red leaves tumbling into a yellow residue which smelled of damp basements and oppressively foggy days. The shower had come on while her brother had been talking, its brilliant glissando tracking alo
ng the night sky.

  'What we have in our possession, Marciana,' Donatien took up, this time in an animated voice tone, 'and never forget it, is the key to genetic indestructibility. I personally have identified genes that have the capacity to make a cell last indefinitely by repairing damage. Life I discovered centuries ago is dependent on the quality of your cell repair capability. Most human beings die of the by-products of environmental damage. You and I are immune to the latter process. That I've linked cell repair to neuronal activity has led by complex routes to my discovering the secrets of zone travel between life and death without loss of individual identity. We'll be the same people always, Marciana. Our implants have made us immortal.'

  Marciana heard her brother shift in his chair to press a button for Nina to enter.

  Nina came into the bedroom in her pink sequinned hotpants, carrying a number of ritual items on an oval-shaped silver tray. Uncorking an aquamarine flask of essential oils, she began working the quintessentially compounded mix into Marciana's pliantly responsive buttocks. Nina's fingers danced like a pianist's over the convex planes of skin. Each time she tickled a runnel of oil into the crack dividing the two buttocks, so Marciana wriggled in an unrestrained spasm of pleasure. She would arch herself up from the coffin in which she was lying, and remain locked in a state of orgasm before sinking face down on the black cushions which lined the coffin. Nina was forbidden by Donatien to enter his sister, and so the latter's torment was heightened by the peripheral mapping out of her erogenous zones which Nina accomplished with such provocative expertise.

  Donatien got up abruptly from his deep velvet chair and flexed a whip against the wall, the cut reverberating with angry feedback. Tonight he intended to spare Marciana the savage whipping to which she had grown accustomed. He wanted her buttocks to be unmarked as he entered her sphincter and began his journey through the mysteries disclosed by her accommodating passage. His first cut was followed by a second and a third, and the fury established by this practice triggered a characteristic nervous tremor above his left eye. Donatien always grew spectatorially aroused by the sight of Marciana's transparent panties pulled down over her bottom and clinging on tight elastics to the tops of her thighs.