by Iris Astres
“We’ll keep that in mind.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you did it.” That thought propelled her body forward. “Do you do it?”
“Do what?” asked Malcolm.
“Do you make love with men?”
Malcolm let Raj answer that one. His own attention shifted to the beast within his cave of darkness.
“Our mission here is to serve women,” Raj explained. “But when a homoerotic embrace is required for that purpose, we’re more than happy to oblige.”
Solange’s breathing quickened. A touch of red tinged both her cheeks.
Raj had his tunic open. He slid it off one shoulder, then shrugged it back and frowned. “It’s a bit like getting naked in the presence of…” He stopped and searched his memory. “I’ve forgotten what they’re called.”
“What what’s called?” Solange asked helpfully.
“Those big brown mammals with small eyes and great black claws. Indigenous to geo region four.”
“Grizzlies?” Solange laughed. “That’s an apt enough description of my husband.”
“And is he violent?” Raj finally let his tunic fall. His muscles rippled underneath his skin. Malcolm knew the man enough to know it wasn’t his own safety that concerned him. If either of them thought Solange Clay was in danger, they’d have to change the focus of attention to her safety.
“He’s only violent when provoked.”
“If you provoke him?”
“Me?” That made her laugh. “I always provoke him. He doesn’t seem to mind.”
“Not even when he’s in his cups?”
“Is he in his cups?” Her eyebrows raised a minute with surprise. Then she squinted into the dark corner. “How many bottles do you have with you, my love?”
“One,” he answered, sounding bored.
“That’s nothing,” she assured them. “I once watched him drink three bottles of Draggo. It only made him sing a bit in bed.”
“So he won’t mind if we make love to you,” Raj clarified.
“Why in fuck’s name do you think I brought her here?” The sharp complaint boomed from the corner as the glass slammed hard against the marble floor. “Do what you want. Do what she wants. I only want one thing, and that’s to hear her beg.”
Raj had paused in the removal of his trousers. He recovered his composure soon enough, stepping out of the loose-fitting cloth. He stood naked a few feet from Solange Clay, who stared at him with wonder. “Can you do that?” she asked, sounding somewhat dazed.
“Do what?” Malcolm rose, shrugging from his jacket.
“Can you make me beg?”
“Oh yes,” he said and unbuttoned his shirt.
Chapter Four
Solange Clay had followed her husband to the Body House the same way she followed him everywhere—blindly. Happily enough as far as that went. Whither thou goest was just the way things were between them.
Had they made an actual decision not to leave each other’s side? Her memory was shaky on the subject. If so, it would have been over a decade ago now.
At some point early in their marriage she knew she’d made a point of going off without him, driving miles on her own to search estate sales for abandoned journals. Probably she’d thought that she should be an independent sort of wife. The only problem was that independence wasn’t that much fun. When she’d come home, she’d found her husband in his study, pacing like a tiger, furious and thwarted in its cage. She herself had felt like a swimmer, surfacing from an unending dive. Her gaze met his, and there was air again. There was space and life. That was the last time the two of them had separated.
And so of course she’d followed him into a brothel. Why wouldn’t she? At no time had she thought she’d actually have sex. Not with strangers.
But of course the Bods weren’t strangers. They were marvels. Living, breathing works of art. That tall, dark prince with all his leg and shoulder would be bad enough—stand him next to that tortured male beauty with his jet hair, pale skin, and breathtaking blue eyes and there was just no point in trying to resist. They’d seduced her by existing. That was it. She no longer had the will to question what she would or wouldn’t do with them.
On one point she was fairly certain: If she did anything, she’d do it all. Never had she been the type to dole out her participation in half measures.
But what about Amin?
Solange felt her heart leap toward her husband. She had to concentrate to keep herself from going off to join him in his corner. He was in pain. Walled in. Hunched over like a wounded animal, needing comfort and refusing to be touched.
Still, it was a strange exile he’d brought her to—unless he truly thought two hired lovers would provide some magic antidote to this miserable day. Raw sex at night to counteract a morning spent with violence and terror? It was a strange idea, but only fools discounted Amin’s reasoning. He was uncanny in his intuitions. Unmatched in his predictive skills. Wasn’t that precisely why so many people hated him enough to want him dead?
She listened to his silence. It was absolute. Like an avid audience of one. She could sense him rapt and ready for the drama to proceed. They might as well raise the curtain.
The Bods were naked and aroused. Spectacular. Inviting. She was enjoying them. That much was definitely true.
“Allow me.” The dark, romantic one said this. Death Angel. Raj. He was advancing on her with his princely manners. Naked, he was almost impossible to look away from. She cataloged his body’s different hues—sealskin, tree trunk, and ink.
Solange rose and stood beside him at the foot of the big bed. He curled his long fingers around the hem of her sweater. She lifted her arms and felt the fuzzy fabric graze her cheeks. He looked at it a moment. It was a lovely sweater. Then he tossed it aside, leaving her skin to gather in the air along her chest and arms.
The other one—the hypervigilant god who’d begged her forgiveness for the sin of a stray thought—he was seated on one of those awful benches, watching his compatriot undress her.
“Malcolm,” she whispered the remembered name. His piercing gaze landed on her skin and made her heartbeat skitter like ice water on a burning skillet. To steady herself, she touched a hand to the bed. It bounced back with a firm sort of give. That was a relief. It too was blinding white, but not, at least, another marble slab.
The dark one’s ministrations moved unerringly to the catch of her skirt. The garment soon pooled at her feet. She stepped delicately from its silky circle, standing now in bra and panties.
Raj moved behind her. He toyed with the edges of her bra, his touch provocative and soothing. His slow exploration continued until he reached her hips and hooked his fingers under the elastic of her panties. Malcolm stared fixedly at her assisted striptease.
“How wet is she?” asked Raj.
“From the look of her, I’d say she’s very wet,” his partner answered. “Put your hand between her legs and see.”
Raj pulled down her panties, leaving them stretched tight around her thighs. Two experimental fingers dipped into her sex.
He bent his head. His breath was hot. “You’re inches from coming,” he said. The soft words teased the skin above her ear. “I could have you there in seconds. But to make you beg for it…” His voice trailed off as though to indicate a need for some degree of torment.
Malcolm lowered to his knees in front of her. She felt a tiny tremor in her legs. It was true what Raj had said. They could make her come now if they wanted to. Their actions were depraved. And she liked that.
Raj had left her panties bunched around her thighs. Malcolm slid them to her ankles. When she’d stepped free, he tossed them with her skirt and sweater in the corner.
Her bra came next. The fabric fell away. Her nipples gathered painfully tight. Raj soothed them with his palms, and that same tremor rose a little higher, shooting up and down her spine.
Malcolm looked up at her breasts cupped in the other man’s hands. “I’m going to use my mouth on her,” he s
aid. He closed a hand behind one knee and drew her leg over his shoulder. “Can you reach?” His gaze moved up her body, looking at the man behind her. He seemed to be calculating distances like a hustler playing pool. “Hold her open for me.”
Raj obliged him. Solange saw two long fingers split into a V, parting her pussy. “Lovely,” Malcolm said, admiring her. “Deep pink with darkened edges.” His finger skated over her terrain, tapping gently at her clitoris. “Plump and red and swollen,” he announced. When he licked her, a violent shudder radiated from the center of her stomach to her skin. Raj moved a little closer; the heat of his chest against her back tightened her nipples even more. She reached one hand behind her to his cock.
“Yes,” he urged. “Touch me.”
Malcolm licked into her again.
“I won’t last,” she said with some regret.
“You will,” Raj promised. “You’ll beg for it. We gave our word.”
“I’ll beg now.” Solange let a tiny laugh escape her at the joke. She could always beg if they agreed to make her come.
The dark one’s chin twitched side to side against her neck. “It has to be in earnest.”
The gentle licking stopped. “You want a turn?” Malcolm’s voice was husky now. He lowered her leg and sat back on his heels, looking like a man whose appetite had been unreasonably whetted.
Behind her, Solange heard a growling affirmative, after which her feet were hoisted high into the air. Raj lifted her like so much cotton wool and dropped her onto the bed. She moved to sit up, searching for her bearings. He wrapped one hand around each of her knees and dragged her down to him so he could get his head between her thighs.
Raj’s touch was firmer than Malcolm’s but slow. Extremely slow. His lips were like dripping molasses, descending the full length of her slit. When he finally reached the base of her vulva, he moved lower. His hands pressed the backs of her thighs until her bottom tilted higher. He kept licking, inserting his tongue into the groove of her buttocks. She shuddered at the violation and found Malcolm standing over her. Something passed mutely between them. His steady gaze told her he’d seen how much she liked it. Solange didn’t argue with him.
Raj exerted more pressure on her thighs. He squeezed her buttocks to part her flesh and showed her what the years of Temple Sex had taught him. The way he used his tongue was both controlled and unreserved. The possession made a wild feeling bubble up inside her. When Solange whimpered, it was not the usual encouragement, the oral form of sexual applause. It was a genuine sound of pain at being too close to the edge and also much too far away.
Raj lifted his head and rose to standing, pulling Solange with him so she sat upright. His cock was inches from her face, big and full and tempting. She stared at it. The two men turned away, conferring. “She has an angel’s face,” said Raj. “But that’s the end of it. The rest of her is dark as starless night. She wants it rough and dirty. Don’t you, dear?”
“No,” she said.
Raj frowned at her.
“I don’t want rough,” Solange repeated. After today she hadn’t any stomach for hard treatment. “I want you to be sweet to me.”
Both men exchanged a blank expression. Raj touched her chin and made her look at him.
“When you feel my fingers clutching at your hair to make you suck my cock the way I want you to, it will be sweet,” he said. Solange didn’t object. The image he’d created did sound pretty good.
“And when,” Raj went on, “Malcolm has his cock nestled deep in your back passage, that will be sweet too.” He stroked her cheek, still looking like a monarch offering indulgences.
“Absolutely sweet,” he affirmed. “Fellatio and anal sex are similar for women in some ways. When properly done, both pleasures are deep and full from the beginning. But orgasm doesn’t build, not like it does when one deft fingertip strokes a hardened clitoris. The pleasure of sucking while being anally fucked, that pleasure saturates like syrup saturates a cake. Malcolm and I can use you for a very long time. When we’ve had our fill, your body will be ripe and full and dripping. Then, I promise you, you’ll beg.” He paused and looked at Malcolm as if seeking confirmation. “Real begging is a startling sound,” he said, moving the full force of his attention back to her. “It’s almost mournful, very real. But it’s sweet, Solange. I promise you. Everything we do to you will be extremely sweet.”
“All right,” she said. Her blood already felt like syrup.
Malcolm knelt on the bed behind her. He stroked his hand over her buttocks. She twisted around and looked at him. No more stray thoughts, she noted. The worries were all gone.
Body forward, she took stock of things. They had her on her knees near the foot of the big bed. One beautiful man behind her, the other standing so she only had to dip her head to lick the swell of his erection.
Which she did. Solange took the head of Raj’s cock into her mouth and felt the size of him rasp against her throat and stretch her cheeks.
She didn’t mind the excess. Years with Amin had given her some skill at working teeth and tongue around a mouthful. Any tension in her jaw had long ago imprinted with the best of memories. It was good making her husband come into her mouth. Very good the way it brought him to his knees. Taming this Bod’s cock would be a pleasure too.
“She thinks she has you, brother,” Malcolm said.
“Perhaps she does,” said Raj.
Solange frowned. How did they know what she was thinking? Could they really read thoughts from her breath? The color patches on her skin?
She pulled her mouth away and looked at Raj. “Let me have you,” she said. “I want to win at least one thing tonight.” She took him in her mouth again and held him in a constant, rolling pressure.
It felt good to her. Any talent for fellatio she had was loving it enough to take her time. She knew to settle in and not exhaust herself. Not to start with too much suck and swallow. In the beginning she kept it easy with a lazy bob and lick.
The hands were better for keeping things interesting. She scratched a nail along the muscles of Raj’s taut belly. He twitched a little, and she soothed him with her palms, stroking over his ass and the back of his strong thighs. He was beautiful. Even to her fingertips. Her hands and tongue found him exquisite.
She sucked down hard and moved her head back slowly, all the way to the end of him so she could tongue his cock’s eye, taste its tears.
The first drops of Amin’s arousal tasted so much like her own tears that she never cried without thinking she tasted him. It was a good image to hold in her sorrow. Even without tears she’d conjure up her husband in a moment of distress. He always used his body to console her. Even when they argued—especially then—they’d finish locked in sex so hot it melded all her senses into one.
How was he now? Brooding in his corner. Would the sight of this showy carnality have shaken him from his dark thoughts by now? She listened for some sound to indicate his state of mind, but there was nothing. Still nothing at all.
Malcolm’s mood was easier to read. He was fondling her bottom like a sculptor warming clay in preparation for a masterpiece. The repetition of his movements was hypnotic. The sensation exquisite. He took his time. Only occasionally did his fingers delve between her cheeks, circling her opening. Even then he tapped and stroked so lightly, she let go of thought and went back to the slip and slide of tongue caressing prick.
Raj had a wonderfully responsive cock. It pulsed and plumped and jerked inside her mouth. The muscles in his thighs were gripping as he pivoted forward. His reactions made her feel powerful, which in her current mood was what she wanted most.
At some point the air on her buttocks cooled unpleasantly. Something thick and slippery was spread over her opening.
Solange paused in her cock-sucking efforts. Anal sex was such an intimate experience. Did she really want to be that naked?
She cupped Raj’s balls and reached between his legs, running her fingers down the groove of his buttocks the same way Malc
olm did to her. The hard-on in her mouth swelled with appreciation. Raj, it seemed, was voting yes on anal play. She fondled him more deeply.
“If I could take you to my Temple on Backus, you’d be worshipped by a hundred lovers every day,” he said. She acknowledged the compliment with a muffled sound, making him more snug inside her mouth before she twisted on his cockhead.
Malcolm had his fingers in her. One or two or more, she didn’t know. Aided by the lubrication, they tugged against the edges of her anus, and her cheeks grew hot with the intensity of pleasure. It excited her somewhere outside of pleasure to be touched that way—in the dark space Raj had mentioned or somewhere deeper still.
She moaned around the hardness of the cock filling her mouth. Saliva spilled over her lower lip. She raised her hand to catch it, but it wasn’t thick enough for her to play with Raj the way that Malcolm played with her.
Behind her, she felt him rise into the final positioning before penetration. The slippery cock swept up and down the groove of her backside. It rested fat and full against her opening, and her heart stopped. Her breath did too. She worked her mouth away from Raj’s cock so she could fill her lungs with air.
Malcolm’s warm hands ran over her breasts and settled on her hips. He waited, waited for his moment.
The moment came. Her body was invaded in a slow, seamless thrust. Solange moaned at the pleasurable fullness. A rush of sensation radiated through her, spilling outward into everything.
Malcolm’s damp forehead lowered to the space between her shoulder blades. “You win,” he rasped. And that was sweet. She felt the nip of teeth at the tip of her spine. He grabbed her hips, and his cock withdrew a fraction of an inch before he surged into her hard. “But you’ll still have to beg before I let you come.”
More hard thrusts and Solange was shaking. Shaking with how good it was. The way he used her triggered something uncontrolled that made her spread her knees farther apart and arch her back to get more of him into her.