Ian had worshipped Rowan and had missed the boat. Now Rowan was getting married—to another fellow as well as to a woman, to add insult to injury—and Ian felt bereft, lonely. Victor might fill that void admirably. Ian might be lonely again when he had to return to DC, but already Felicity was bristling with questions about what might occur between her and Victor.
He was based in Salt Lake City. That wasn’t far from the lodge. Was it possible he might be her first real “boyfriend” since Brad had died? Even her critical superego couldn’t find much fault with the dashing, cultured Dr. Reznik. He was so cultured he probably even went to the opera, something she had enjoyed with Brad. He was so dashing every woman’s head turned when they walked by—something that had happened with Brad. Brad had not looked like a superhero, and Brad was not a doctor. But then, no one could replace Brad. She wasn’t looking for that. She surprised herself to imagine that she was “looking for” anything at all.
Not only was she starting to feel more comfortable as Mistress Felicity, ready to leave Mistress Klara behind, but she was starting to feel more comfortable as plain old Felicity. She did not have to constantly be done up in her fetish outfit to be Felicity McQueen. She could wear an ugly cropped sweater, Ugg boots, and have her hair done up in a high ponytail by an elastic that still had Ian’s pubic hair clinging to it. Yes. She wasn’t uncomfortable dressing like this. Her one nod to fashion was that she still wore the faux pearl choker the Marilyn impersonator had given her when she had returned his dress. He had said she had such a long, columnar neck, he insisted she have it.
And she seemed to slide into the undercover role effortlessly. Todd Beard was expecting her, under his craigslist nom de plume of Gianni Regatta, a porn name if Felicity had ever heard one.
The house was a trashy, ranch-style thing, with indoor furniture placed outdoors. Dingy couches and rickety coffee tables were set in an L-shape in the front yard, as though Todd were expecting friends to watch a football game in the snow. The din of what seemed like a hundred caged dogs assaulted her as she picked her way up the front sidewalk past all sorts of trash. A three-dimensional turkey target bristled with syringes. Bags of cans to be recycled were piled against the snow at the side of the house. And dozens of empty animal cages were thrown into a big heap, layered with down and fur patches of various animals.
Overall, the place gave Felicity the creeps, but she had her mission. Todd Beard answered the door. Ian and Victor had told her he was a lumberjack of a man who wore women’s bras and thongs. But he was expecting her, so she didn’t think she’d see any baby doll straps sticking out of his undershirt.
“Come on in, Miss Lindstrom,” Beard said pleasantly.
The house was dim, as all the curtains were closed, even though it was a brilliant day outside. Even so, an enormous looming pig’s head mounted on the wall nauseated her. From the smell of it, it hadn’t even had a professional mounting job. Felicity didn’t know much about heads, but she didn’t think they should reek like rotten entrails. “Mr. Regatta. Is there a shorter way for me to get back to Monticello? I work there at a tack store, and I’m not used to driving on these scary mountain roads.”
This was to cement in Beard’s mind that she lived in Monticello, the county seat. Ian and Victor had told her Beard seemed eager to talk about himself, so she would use his narcissism in her favor. “Well, between here and Bird in Hand you’re pretty much stuck with that State Route 43,” said Beard, making no motion to show her the lemur. He went on and on about flash floods, snow, crud and mashed potato snow, and snow plows.
“Do you think this lemur will get along with my genet?” she asked.
“Genet? That’s one ornery critter. This lemur is pretty shy,” said Beard. “A genet is a sort of mongoose, and I can’t see them playing together.”
“Oh, I’d never let either one of them out of their cages,” Felicity assured him. “I just think it’d look cool when my friends come to visit, maybe stick the genet into the lemur’s cage and see what happens.”
She already knew Beard would be an irresponsible seller and she was right. He didn’t give a rat’s ass if the genet ripped the lemur to shreds. “You could sure try,” he agreed. “If that’s the entertainment you’re after. Someone once bought a bunch of African pygmy dormice from me to feed to their pig dogs. Expensive way to feed some pitties, but whatever floats his boat, right?”
“Exactly. I want my daughter to be able to amuse her friends with this lemur. You know how easily bored teenagers can get.”
“Boy, do I!” exclaimed Beard. “My last girlfriend used to shoot deer off my back deck until I told her to stop, that neighbors might complain. Sheesh. That’s the last thing I need, the fuzz coming to my door because some bored girl fired off my shotgun.”
Felicity smiled. She didn’t think anyone actually said “the fuzz.” “Neighbors need to mind their own business.”
“Yeah. You want a turtle? I—I heard about someone who has a sea turtle from Mozambique. If you’re interested, I’ll call him and see if he wants to sell.”
“Oh, that does sound intriguing! I guess I’ll start with the monkey first, see if that amuses Tiffany. She says Monticello is so deadly boring, it would just be dope and sweet if she had a wild monkey to amuse her.” She didn’t know if teens said “dope” or “sweet” either.
“Well, you came to the right place.”
Let’s get a move on. Beard kept glancing over his shoulder down a darkened hall, so the lemur must be down there. To get his ass in gear, Felicity withdrew the wad of cash from her fanny pack. “We didn’t discuss money, Mr. Regatta.”
He held out his palms in a “stop” motion. “Whoa, whoa. Hold your horses. We didn’t discuss money because only the fuzz wants to discuss money.”
“Well. I presume you’re not doing this for philanthropist reasons.”
“Phila—? Well, I’d rather see your driver’s license before I see your money, Miss Lindstrom.”
Actually, she had left her license back in her wallet—way back in Victor’s cabin. “I didn’t bring it.”
Beard frowned. “You came all the way from Monticello without a license on scary snowy mountain roads? Now, why am I not buying that?”
Felicity thought fast. “Well, you can see my Jeep. It’s got Utah plates.”
Beard peeked through the front curtains, but wasn’t mollified. Felicity fanned the currency and slithered it around between her fingers, all fifty dollar bills she’d borrowed from Cass Cameron. It smelled like cat urine in that house, not to mention stale beer and B.O., and she just wanted to complete the mission and go. Money had to change hands to make an arrest, so even knowing or believing the lemur was in here wasn’t good enough for Victor.
“That could be anyone’s Jeep.” Beard put his hands on her hips to frisk her. It was uncomfortable to the extreme, especially when his fingers lingered on her inner thighs. “I have to be sure you’re not setting up some kind of sting operation.”
“Sting...? My good man. I know lemurs are a restricted species, but what could the penalty possibly be? You’re scaring me now. I don’t want to buy something that someone might steal for its value. I had no idea there was such a booming market for these things. I just wanted something a little different to amuse Tiffany.”
Beard was satisfied she wasn’t packing, but when he straightened out he loomed above her, too close for comfort, and he had a disgusting hard-on. He looked down at her lustily. “You don’t seem the Monticello sort. That pearl necklace, for one.”
“Oh, this old thing? I picked it up at a secondhand—”
Beard’s hammy fingers were on the choker, as though he could feel if the pearls were real. Her heart was beating faster, and she was getting increasingly uncomfortable, certain this mission would be a failure. “I think I know where you got this necklace.”
Felicity backed away, frowning. “How could you know where I—”
“A fellow staying at the Triple Play Lodge. Name of Harry L
oomis. He had this because she thought it was something Marilyn Monroe might wear. Personally, I think it’s more Judy Garland than Marilyn, but Loomis thought—anyway, I think you’re staying at the Triple Play, lady. I don’t think you really live in Monticello. And if you’re lying to me about that, what else are you—”
He jerked his head at the sound of a vehicle slushing up his driveway. He peeked through the curtains and muttered.
Felicity tried to take the control back. “How do I even know you have a lemur, sir? You could have lured me here just to take my money—”
“Shut up,” said Beard, rushing to his front door. He yanked it open and Felicity peered around his burly back to see Victor on the stoop. He looked even more fuzz-like in his mirrored shades and Tony Stark facial hair. He tipped his baseball-style cap to Todd Beard. Glancing to the side, Felicity saw an express package lying on the coffee table. On an impulse, she swiped up a glass medicine bottle with a screw-on lid sitting on top of the express box. If he was dealing in drugs, they could at least get him for that.
“Mr. Beard. How’s it going today?” Victor stood on tiptoe to make it obvious he could see Felicity around Beard’s arm.
“Who’s Mr. Beard?” Beard said guardedly. “I’ve got company.”
“Well,” said Victor, “I just saw a herd of Russian hogs running up Potato Canyon. Thought you might be interested—”
“Potato Canyon? How many?”
“Oh, I’d say well nigh on a dozen. Several boar and at least one sow running—well, running like wild pigs up the canyon. Afternoon, miss.”
“Afternoon, officer. Thank you for the coffee,” she said loudly to Beard as she tried to squeeze on past him.
“Well, come back for more coffee,” Beard said uncertainly.
“I definitely will,” said Felicity, and headed for Nathan’s Jeep.
That was a close one. Once Beard had pegged her as a guest at the Triple Play, her cover was blown. There was no way a tack store employee from Monticello would be hanging at the ritzy Triple Play—unless, perhaps, her husband was one of the performers at the convention...
She trundled off in her Jeep, hoping Ian was hiding behind a boulder around the next corner. Victor had just done her a great service, saving her bacon like that. If Beard had insisted on seeing the Jeep’s registration, he may very well have recognized the name of Nathan Horowitz, boon companion to Julian “Fresh Air” Longtree, new Assistant Director of the entire Division of Wildlife Resources.
Felicity waved frantically to Ian as he stepped out from behind the expected boulder. She owed Victor a blow job, at the very least, for saving her ass. She could not continue playing the role of Domme if she expected to get closer to Victor. T hat was all there was to it. It was a frightening and nerve-wracking proposition, but it had been bound to happen someday.
She would have to learn to switch, just as Victor was learning to switch.
Chapter Twelve
Victor wasn’t sure if Felicity would be insulted at his gift.
He waited with trepidation as she changed in the cabin’s bathroom. Ian, who didn’t even know what had been inside the package Victor had handed the woman, waited, too, with shining eyes, laughing nervously as he sat next to Victor on the couch.
Reaching out, Victor took Ian’s hand and placed it over his half-erect cock. Ian’s eyes glowed with even more excitement, and he squeezed. Undulating his spine, Victor twined his fingers together at the back of his neck and stretched like a cat, encouraging Ian to fondle his prick. If the truth was known, he was feeling a bit mortified because he’d been the one to voraciously suck Ian’s prick. He needed to turn the tables, reassert his power, balance out the authority in their triad.
“I have to go back to Washington after the wedding,” Ian said. His thumb swept up the underside of Victor’s cock, juicy and plump in his grip. “But I’d like to extend my stay just to play with you and Felicity.”
Victor sighed, closing his eyes. Already he knew it was time to stop pretending they were having a mere fling, a hookup. “That would be nice if you stayed longer. Felicity would like it, too. I think we have a good power balance.” He didn’t really think that. If he kept sucking Ian’s cock so hungrily, Ian would begin to think he had the upper hand. Victor had to restore his authority, so he gyrated his hips, thrusting his cock into Ian’s palm. Placing one hand over Ian’s, Victor squeezed, encouraging Ian. He was gratified when Ian responded by fumbling at his fly buttons.
Ian whispered into his ear. “I want to suck your cock. I want to show you how skilled I am.”
“Have you done it before?” Victor spoke lewdly to his friend. Already his penis was out, heavy in Ian’s hand. “How do you know you’re a good cocksucker? I get the feeling you’ve never done it.”
Ian’s greedy hand smoothed the droplets of semen over the head of Victor’s prick. He licked and sucked the side of Victor’s neck. “You’re right. I’ve never done it. But I’ve wanted to do it. A lot.”
Victor captured Ian’s jaw in his palm. He forced the other man to stay still, to look him in the eyes. “You wanted to suck Rowan’s cock.”
Ian didn’t flinch, but his hand kept up a steady jacking of Victor’s dick. Already, embarrassingly, Victor felt on the verge of coming. He doubted he’d ever been worshiped by a virgin before. The other men who had sucked him off had all expressed know-how and experience. “Yes. I never dared express my desire for fear of rejection. I didn’t want to risk ruining my best friendship.”
Victor said against Ian’s mouth, “You don’t need to fear that here. There’s no way in hell I’d ever reject you.” He licked and kissed the shapely lips. “Now get down on your knees and suck me.”
Before Victor could even take a fresh breath, Ian had vanished down on the floor. Victor quickly learned that inexperienced newbies to the art of cocksucking could satisfy with their eagerness, even if Ian did snag his glans on a tooth.
“Ah!” Victor gasped with the suddenness of the assault. He recovered swiftly, just in time to swivel his hips and plunge his dick into the hot, eager mouth. Oh, God. This is heaven. Soon he was hoovering Victor’s long tool nearly as deeply as Victor had sucked his. The smacking and grunting sounds Ian made only enhanced the lechery of the act. Victor had found over the years that the more prurient and naughty the act, the more it aroused him.
But Victor had forgotten something. Felicity stood at the end of the kitchen counter, one arm running up a pillar. Clad only in a leopard print bikini.
Victor’s jaw hung low. He quite literally forgot Ian was voraciously inhaling his dick down his throat. His clutching fingers loosened from Ian’s shoulders as he slowly, stupidly drank in the sight. He had calculated the bra maybe one or two sizes too small. The tiny animal print triangles sort of sat balanced over her nipples, held up by the strings that tied behind her back and neck. She had tied the neck strings so tightly that the whole lower curve of her tits could be seen, the little shreds of fabric doing not much more than covering her nipples.
The bikini bottom fared a bit better, the flared skirt covering the V of her sexy crotch, the little rectangle of hair she had waxed there. She had left on her fur-lined boots which only added to the jungle allure of the costume, and she lifted one eyebrow, questioning.
Ian suckled him voraciously, oblivious to the woman standing behind him. He detached his mouth with a loud smack, and panted up at Victor. “Am I doing all right?”
Victor snaked a hand behind Ian’s head and yanked his face back into his crotch. “Yes. Suck me.” He lifted a hand, gesturing to Felicity to approach.
She came with an undulating walk that had him changing his entire game plan. He wanted this woman. Now. He could get a blow job from another man any time. But how often could he fuck a redheaded Domme wearing a jungle girl costume? He pulled Felicity down on the couch next to him, at last interrupting Ian’s sucking. Ian sat back slowly on his heels, his eyes growing round and wide with awe.
“You’re gorge
ous,” Victor breathed, only daring to touch his fingertips to her chin.
She smiled, perky and vivacious. “Do you forgive me for stealing those drugs from Todd Beard?”
“Oh, absolutely.” And, in that moment, Victor did forgive her. It had probably been a good move for her to take the bottle of what looked like some byproduct of crack cocaine. She was a private citizen, so it wouldn’t constitute an illegal search and seizure, even if her method of obtaining it would be debatable. Anything they could get on Beard—the more, the better. The crack could be traced back to the sender, for example. But right now, all he wanted to do was lift his hand to her breast and feel under the little triangle of furry fabric.
Of course she knew this, and scooted closer to him, draping one arm around his neck. “You look good, having your cock sucked by another man.”
“I look even better fucking you.” Victor wasted no time in shucking off his long-sleeved shirt, allowing both Felicity and Ian to admire his torso. But he wanted to feel those stupendous, furry tits against his bare chest, so he pulled Felicity to him, kissing her deeply. He was so unbelievably aroused that when Ian suctioned his prick back into his mouth, Victor pressed against Ian’s forehead to detach him. He’d come within seconds, ruining his goal.
Victor was surprised that Felicity was even leaning back submissively in his arms as they kissed. Their tongues entwined lasciviously, and Felicity didn’t even protest when Victor slid his fingers up the firm slope of her breast. In a twinkling, the shred of fabric was shoved aside and he palmed her entire bare breast. He would kick Ian if the other man dared to touch him now, for he knew that his next move was calculated to bring him off instantly.
He took that risk, breaking the kiss to bend low and run the flat of his tongue up the rounded slope of that amazing tit. He felt her chest rise and fall with her panting, and she caressed his head to her bosom. She even squirmed her shoulders to and fro, sighing like the wind through the trees.
Two Sirs, with Love [McQueen Was My Valley 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 11