She moved her hips against him, meeting him thrust after thrust. She was hotter and wetter and needier with every stroke. She needed him deeper, and harder, and she put her foot on the bench behind Freddy and put her hands on his ass to draw him to her, into her.
He responded by moving even closer; he grabbed a branch above her head to hold himself cleaved to her, every inch of his body against hers, the two of them moving as one.
And then they came as one, in an explosion of energy that enveloped them so completely that they almost lost their balance. Together they felt the storm of sensation, and together they enjoyed the feeling of its ebbing and then dying away, leaving them profoundly satisfied.
“And is this why you left the party at the house?” Gretchen asked him in a soft, teasing tone as they extricated themselves.
“It was an easy decision,” Freddy said. “You have much more to offer than the party does.”
He was thinking, of course, of his aborted attempt at Miss Niven, but had Freddy known what was going on in some of the more secluded corners of the party, he might not have been so quick to condemn what it had to offer.
As the hour had grown later and the liquor had flowed and the lights had dimmed, what was left of the inhibitions dropped away. The bobby and barmaid Alexandra had seen kissing behind the plant had found a commodious closet and were engaged in exactly the same activity—in the same position, even—that had just occupied Freddy and Gretchen.
Two floors above the heads of the bobby and barmaid, in one of the smaller guest rooms, a cricketer’s costume lay scattered on the floor as the erstwhile cricketer made love to the Queen of Sheba on a bed that belonged to they knew not whom.
All over the house, in tucked-away nooks and shaded corners, small groups were forming. Some were engaging only in conversation, others in genteel versions of what the villagers were doing outside: teasing, flirting, tantalizing.
The dimmer the lights, the less genteel the version, and nowhere were the lights dimmer than on the path around the pond. The electric lights that Barnes had been so proud to show Georgiana were not lit. Earlier, they had been, but somewhere along the way one of the partygoers had decided that an unlit lake was more in keeping with the spirit of the proceedings than a lit lake was.
Strolling along that path, with a silk-sheathed Isis on his arm, was Napoleon. Isis was unsure of her footing, and cleaved as closely as possible to the general as they made their way slowly around the pond, talking of the loveliness of the evening and the pleasures of the party. And then Napoleon took Isis in his arms, and the talk ceased.
The sheer silk dress of the young lady had left little to Napoleon’s imagination, but he wanted very much to have his hands confirm her shape and her feel. Where the fabric had hung, just so, over the gentle rise of her ass, there was a fine, firm hillock that fit his palm perfectly. Where it had brushed against her leg as she walked there was a smooth, muscular thigh. Where it had dipped provocatively at the neckline, there was a valley between two lovely, upward-facing breasts.
Napoleon felt all of this, and Isis reveled in it. A powerful hand on her flesh, warm lips on hers, and she gave herself over to the pleasure of the moment. She let her hands explore his body as his hands explored hers, and she felt the solidity and strength of a well-made older man. His shoulders were broad, and still tapered to his waist, although he had none of the slimness of youth.
She unbuttoned his uniform and the shirt beneath, and ran her hand through the abundant hair on his chest. He groaned as she took his nipples between her fingers and pinched softly.
When she put one of the nipples in her mouth, his grip on her tightened and he held her clenched against his erect cock, rocking her back and forth across it.
She put her arms around his neck and jumped up to wrap her legs around his waist. He staggered back a step, and then balanced against a tree.
He put one hand under her ass to hold her up—she was delightfully light—and used his other to free the folds of her dress from between him and her. And then he found skin. He ran his calloused hands over it, first lightly and then harder, up from her knees to the tops of her thighs, as she threw her head back and leaned away, staying anchored by her hands around the back of his neck.
And then she looked at him with a mischievous smile. “Do you swim?”
“Do I swim?” Napoleon was surprised at the question, but only for a moment. “Of course I swim. I learned to swim when I learned to walk.”
She released her legs’ hold on him, hopped down, and reached for his hat. “Let’s go for a swim.”
He had never, in a lifetime of fairly adventurous living, had an offer like that.
“By all means, let’s,” he said, and took off his coat.
She had her dress off in one small motion, revealing the briefest of drawers and a tightly laced corset. As she reached behind her to unlace it, her breasts jutted provocatively in his direction.
There was just enough moonlight for each of the lovers to make out the shape of the other. She was slim and sylphlike, old enough to be no longer a girl but young enough to have lost none of her shape. He was compact and substantial, older than she but not so old as to have lost his appeal.
He reached out to take her by the waist, but she slipped from his grasp and was in the water before he could turn around. He followed and reached her in two strong strokes. He reached for her waist again, and this time she did not slip away. She clung to him, and again wrapped her legs around him as he stood on the sandy bottom.
He had marveled at her lightness when they were on land; in the lake, buoyed by the water, she was weightless. He held her to him and felt again her thighs, her ass, her breasts. His hands slipped over her wet body and his heart beat faster as she squirmed against him.
She reached between her legs, where his cock was lodged, and took it in her hand. She pressed it up against his own abdomen, pointing straight up, and rolled her palm back and forth against its underside. Almost involuntarily, his hands stilled as all his attention was focused on what she was doing to him.
She shifted so there was a little space between them, and had started to maneuver his cock inside her when he stopped her.
“Shhhh,” he said. “Listen.”
She listened. Voices were coming down the path. It was a man and a woman. Although their words were hard to make out, their tone indicated that they were at least a little tipsy, and their accents indicated that they were villagers, rather than Penfield guests.
Had the moonlight been brighter, Isis would have seen that Napoleon was grinning. “I think they have the same idea we have,” he whispered to her.
“Should we make a noise, so they know we’re here?” she whispered back.
“I think perhaps we should just let them get on with it,” he said.
Getting on with it was just what they were doing. Napoleon and Isis heard no more voices, but they heard sighs, and little moans, and the unmistakable sounds of clothing being removed.
“Here goes,” Napoleon whispered. And then, aloud, “Come on in, the water’s fine!”
The woman gave a gasp that was almost a shriek. “What? Is someone out there?”
“Someone is,” he replied. “In fact, two people are.”
“You could make it four,” Isis added.
The woman giggled. “Oh, I think we’ll just leave you two in private,” she said. “Come on, let’s go,” she said to her companion.
But her companion had other ideas. “It does look lovely out there.” He could just barely make out the shape of two heads above the water. “And perhaps you’d enjoy a swim,” he added.
They heard a female murmur that had the tone of reluctance, and then a male murmur that had the tone of encouragement. And then a little more reluctance, and then a little more encouragement.
And then a splash, and another splash.
It started off awkwardly. None of the four knew any of the others; both the pairings had been impromptu affairs, as wa
s the pairing of the pairings. When the villagers joined Napoleon and his lady, they first treated it as though they all just happened to be taking a late-night swim in the same body of water. They stayed at some little distance away, and talked quietly to one another.
But they became accustomed to the charged atmosphere just as they became accustomed to the bracing water. Both couples picked up where they had left off.
Isis, as she reached again between his legs, found that Napoleon’s erection had softened. She took the base of it between her thumb and forefinger and, pressing gently, ran them slowly up the length of him. He felt it first as almost a tingling, and then as a tantalizing omen of what was to come.
He groaned softly, aware of the other couple just a few feet away. But as his pleasure grew, so his scruples faded, and he found that the presence of other people was beginning to heighten, rather than dampen, his ardor.
Isis was fascinated, and very aroused. She took her hand away and started rubbing her pussy against his cock, which was now fully erect and stiff as a board. She made the tip of it rub against her in just the right spot, over and over, and her groans joined his own.
As she was doing this, Napoleon started to drift over in the direction of the other pair. Slowly, without making a ripple, he was inching closer and closer. It was too dark to make out features, but Isis could see which was the man and which was the woman, and it seemed that the man was holding his lover just as Napoleon was holding her—against him, with her legs wrapped around him.
When they got close enough, Isis patted Napoleon’s shoulder in a way that told him she wanted him to stop. He did. The other pair clearly knew they were there—there was only about a foot between them—but they didn’t move away.
Isis reached her foot out under the water and ran her big toe up the other man’s thigh. He gasped in surprise, and she did it again. And then he moved closer.
Isis put her leg behind Napoleon’s back once more, released her hands, and leaned backward to float on the water. She reached her hand over and, as if by chance, grazed the arm of the man.
The woman with him was fascinated by this, but felt a coy sense of propriety that prevented her enthusiastic participation. She wasn’t quite ready to jump in, but neither did she want to put a stop to the proceedings. Instead, she climbed around and hung on her partner’s back, leaving his front exposed, but hers comfortably covered. From there, she felt almost like an observer.
The man’s cock, erect and monstrously large, was floating on the surface of the water, and Isis reached for it. She held it in her hand, feeling its heft and its hardness.
The villager put his large, rough hands around Isis’s small, soft ones and tightened her grip. “Harder,” he said, as he moved both their hands up and down the shaft.
Napoleon watched this and felt his own cock harden in response. He had lived long, and had had many sexual encounters, but he had never held a naked girl as she touched another man. He was riveted.
He watched as the man turned Isis’s head and brought her mouth up to his penis. She flicked her tongue out and licked the very tip, which she was holding above the water.
The man moaned softly, and the woman on his back felt her body begin to respond to what was going on around her. The stirrings she’d felt before Napoleon had made his presence known were returning in full force, and she maneuvered her legs so she could better rub up against the back of the man.
He felt her movements, and understood. As Isis licked his cock, he reached one of his hands behind his back and found the woman’s asshole. Gently, he played around its outside edges and then began to work his finger inside. She responded by gasping and pushing harder against his back.
And then she froze.
“Stop!” she whispered, but it was a whisper with urgency. “Listen!”
And then they all heard what she had heard. It was a man’s voice, still distant. “Esme!” he called. “Esme, are you out here?”
“Oh, lordy!” said the girl, still whispering, as she slid off the man’s back. “It’s me young man, come to find me. We’re supposed to be married Sunday next and if he spots me here it’ll all go for nothing!”
“That’s news to me,” said the villager whose back she had just climbed down from, but he said it in a low voice, not wanting to give her away. He had just met her this hour, and saw the situation as more amusing than offensive.
“Sorry,” she whispered to him. “I just wanted to have a spot of fun before I got all settled down, like.” None of them could see her grin and her shrug, but they felt it in her voice. Then, loudly, she said, “I’m right here, Henry. I went for a little swim is all.” She splashed toward shore, making what she hoped was enough noise to cover any sounds that might escape the other three. Once on dry land, she quickly found her clothes and moved down the path toward her accepted lover, hoping that darkness would shroud the activity in the water and the other heaps of clothes on the bank.
The three listened to their erstwhile companion go down the path and reunite with Henry. Then, when the two voices had faded into the distance, they turned their attention back to one another.
Isis, still with her legs around Napoleon, still with her back floating on the water, reached both hands out for the stranger. She coaxed what remained of his erection back to its previous hardness. She fondled his balls; she felt the contours of his ass. And then he began to touch her in return. He stroked her face and he ran his hands under her shoulders, under the water. He held her arms in his huge hands, almost encircling them. He ran his fingers over her breasts, fingering her hard little nipples until she moaned.
Napoleon watched the man’s hands on her breasts, and he put his hands on her waist. The man looked up, for the first time, into Napoleon’s face. Napoleon couldn’t see his features, but could get only a sense of what he looked like and what he wanted.
The man ran his hand down from her breasts, down between Napoleon’s hands on her waist, and down to her pussy. With one finger, he found her clitoris and rubbed it gently. Isis let out a long, vibrant moan.
Then the man moved his hand so that, as his finger rubbed Isis, the back of his hand brushed Napoleon’s cock. Napoleon closed his eyes and abandoned himself to the feeling of another man’s hand on him. The combination of the naked girl being coaxed to climax while her legs were around him and he himself being led in that same direction by that same hand was electrifying.
Then the man turned his hand around so the back of it was against Isis’s cunt and he circled his fingers around Napoleon. His rhythm was slow, and his touch was sure, and the rest of the world faded into the distance.
The man stopped just as Napoleon couldn’t have taken much more, and moved around behind him. He unwrapped Isis’s legs from around Napoleon’s waist so he could step in and nestle his own cock up against Napoleon’s buttocks. Then he put her feet behind him so she had both men encircled in her legs.
The stranger reached around and put his hands on her thighs, holding her so that she was pressed up against Napoleon’s rock-hard penis, and he rocked the three of them back and forth. He felt his cock nestle in the space between Napoleon’s ass cheeks. Napoleon and Isis were rubbing up against each other, and the threesome felt the ecstasy mount.
Isis, still lying in the water, felt far away, and she pulled herself up and put her arms around Napoleon’s neck. The stranger’s head was right there, and she explored the contours of his face. When she traced his lips with her index finger, he took that finger in his mouth and sucked it, hard. He didn’t let it go, and the wet warmth of his mouth echoed the wet warmth that was emanating from inside her.
Still the man kept control of all of them. He held Isis to Napoleon’s front, and himself to his back. He would speed up, just a bit, and then slow. He would hold them all together more firmly, and then give them some breathing space. He would take them right to the edge, and then he would make them all step back. It was all but unendurable.
Finally, he let it happen
. Napoleon felt Isis tense in every muscle and push herself against him at the same moment that the man behind him did the same. And then the three of them were enveloped by an orgasm that ran through them like a tidal wave.
After it died away, Isis let go her hold and floated away on her back, and the two men separated and drifted in different directions. After a minute or two, the stranger walked out of the lake, put on his clothes, and simply walked away. Napoleon and Isis got out a few minutes later, dressed as best they could, and headed back toward the house. No word was spoken.
The three had shared an experience, but they shared nothing else. None had ever met the others until this night, and chances were good that the three would never meet again. They hadn’t even exchanged names, and Isis and the stranger would no doubt have been very surprised to find that they had shared such an experience with the Earl of Grantsbury.
TWENTY-ONE
The changed atmosphere of the party and the charge in the air made Alphonse Gerard, still wearing his oilcloth sou’wester but not his mask or his hat, think about Rose. If only he could find her . . .
But no. He had said his good-byes to her already, and he had sworn to walk the straight and narrow, at least until his courtship of Miss Niven was resolved one way or the other. But he had a lascivious side, and his abstemiousness cost him a pang.
Instead, he went to find Miss Niven. There were still a few couples dancing, and perhaps he could lure her out on the floor once more.
He found her on a sofa, unmasked, sitting in a large group of guests, most of whom were somewhat older than she, and all of whom seemed to be at the point of exhausting their party endurance. Gerry stood behind her and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Hullo, Miss Niven,” he said.
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