Once Upon a Time

by Luna Doerr

  Behind her, Sim moans. “Oh god.” I feel him come inside me. Well, that answers that question. Sim’s hips tremble against my ass for a moment or two, then he pulls out. I’m about to straighten up when Sim’s large palm cracks across my ass.

  “Hey!”

  A tiny smile cracks Alaric’s stern expression.

  I feel Sim’s hand caress my ass where he spanked me. “Sure he doesn’t spank her some more? You can’t write that in? ‘Cause she has a sweet little derriere.” Sim strokes my ass again, then slips his fingers between my legs.

  “May I?” he asks, but the question is directed toward Alaric.

  I, it seems, have little say in what is going on.

  Alaric looks up from his laptop and frowns. “No. I want to save her for after lunch.”

  Sim inserts a finger into my aching pussy and strokes my wall. “Sorry, sweetheart. The master has spoken.” He pulls his finger out.

  I’m surprised to find that I want to come. Really want to come. National Geographic notwithstanding, I am dripping wet and aching with need. But Sim merely rubs my lower back for a minute, then pulls me upright.

  In the kitchen, Alaric wolfs down his soup, then retreats to his office to make phone calls, leaving Sim and me alone in the kitchen. I’m wearing the cashmere robe Alaric gave me. Sim sits there, godlike, in ripped jeans and nothing else.

  “So how are you feeling?” he asks.

  “Fine. A little sore, I guess.”

  “Yeah. Sorry. I am, as they say, well hung.”

  I laugh softly. “Is he always like that? Totally quiet?”

  “Mostly. Unless I’m screwing something up—” He rolls his eyes at his pun. “Or making the assistant laugh.” He takes a long draw from his beer. “You wanted to come this morning, eh?”

  I feel my face grow hot.

  “I wanted to make you come.” He looks at me thoughtfully. “Pity he’s not having you stay in the carriage house. That’s a first. Normally, we’d get to rehearse a little.” He winks at me, then stands and carries his empty soup bowl to the sink. “See you in the office in an hour.”

  19

  Alaric

  Charles couldn’t stop thinking about Erica. The curve of her hips, the softness of her bottom beneath his hand. Some of the women at the brothel liked to be spanked and he happily obliged, turning them over his knee and swatting their bottoms until they were bright red. He’d like to redden Erica’s bottom, he thought.

  I backspace.

  Some of the women at the brothel liked to be spanked and he happily obliged, turning them over his knee and swatting their bottoms until they were bright red. He would never treat Erica that way.

  I backspace again.

  He’d like to redden Erica’s bottom, he thought. Just the thought of it had him swelling in his trousers. Well, they wouldn’t be doing that again. He had consummated their marriage and alleviated her fear of abandonment. That was that. He was still angry that she had even entertained such a thought. For starters, he’d never find another woman to take him as her husband now. He was a broken man, hardly a desirable prospect in the marriage market. The women in the brothel didn’t care if he limped toward them on the bed. They were paid not to care.

  But he also didn’t want to live without Erica. He couldn’t be a real husband to her but he was a selfish enough man not to want another man to be a real husband to her, either.

  The numbers in his ledger book swam before his eyes as Erica took control of his thoughts. He’d seen precious little of her body that morning. Her breasts were small and perfect—not large and swinging like a cow’s udder—but he had spun her away from him and lifted her dress before he gave into the urge to bury his face in them. His ugly, scarred face. He had taken her from behind so she wouldn’t have to look at him that close, feel his hot breath on her cheeks.

  “So this scene is Charles’ fantasies of Erica,” I say to Sim and Caterine waiting naked by the bed. “So nothing is off limits, but let’s not act out everything in one scene. Pick something and really explore it. Charles spends a lot of time fantasizing, so you’ll need to save something for later.”

  I watch Sim whisper something in Caterine’s ear. I can’t hear it from my chair across the room but whatever it is makes her blush. I made the right decision bunking Caterine in the main house. No doubt about that.

  Sim strides to the supply cabinet and pulls out a drawer. He comes back with a black blindfold. “Charles wouldn’t want her seeing his face,” he explains as he ties it around Caterine’s head.

  On the other hand, I think, Sim is certainly good at his job. No denying that. I watch as Sim picks up Caterine and lays her across the bed, her head hanging over the edge, her breasts jutting into the air. I am suddenly as hard as a rock, and glad for the protective cover of my laptop.

  After all these years, watching Sim play with the women I choose as assistants no longer turns me on. But Caterine fires my senses. Maybe because she is entirely new to this. I am watching a man do things to her that she’s never experienced before. Her reactions are genuine. More genuine than Annabeth’s ever were.

  I’m smart enough to know that’s going to complicate things.

  In Charles’ fantasy, his Erica was spread out on his bed—entirely nude the way the women in the brothels were. She wore a blindfold instead of the elaborate feathered masks the brothel women wore. He climbed over her hips and dipped his mouth to her breasts. She cried out in pleasure as he circled the tiny nub of her nipple with his tongue. With his hand, he caressed her other breast, teasing and teasing until he felt her hips fall open beneath him. Yes, he wanted her open and wet and warm for him. Round and round he tongued her nipple until she began to beg.

  “Please my lord.”

  “Please what, my lady?”

  He would not be coarse with her, the way he and the women at the brothel were. There would be no “fuck me!” or “harder!” in his marriage bed.

  “Please give me release.”

  “Soon, my love. But not yet.”

  Sim takes Caterine’s breast into his mouth and sucks, causing her hips to buck up off the bed. I remember how I had soaked Caterine’s panties in the hotel room just by licking those lovely little nips.

  I shift in my seat and push the memory away. I need to get down these details. If I don’t, I’ll just have to ask Sim and Caterine to do the scene over again.

  In the past, I wouldn’t have cared whether Sim and my assistants fucked until they were too sore to stand. I doubt Sim could get to that point anyway. The man has the stamina of an ox. But I don’t want Caterine sore later. I push that thought away, too.

  Erica moaned and twisted beneath him on the bed. He suckled and suckled her breasts, first the one, then the other. They were so sweet, so soft in his mouth. Her hands were tangled in his hair, holding his lips fast to her breasts—unlike the women at the brothel who would push his head away after a minute or two. “Times a wastin’, laddie.”

  But there was no limit to the time he could spend with his Erica’s breasts. They were all his, touched by no one before him. That thought made his cock grow even harder and the surge of pleasure that burned down his spine made him fear he would come all over her. He’d done that the first time at the madam’s. He let her nipple slip from his mouth and he placed his hands on the inside of her thighs, pushing them apart further. Her folds glistened wet and slick for him. His Erica wanted him. Only him.

  I clear my throat. Loudly. I have the breasts stuff down. I don’t need to see Sim suck Caterine’s tits any longer. Besides, in her “interview” I had all but promised to make her come someday just by sucking her breasts. I don’t want Sim to beat me to that and from the way her hips are rocking, Sim isn’t far off.

  Sim looks over at me, eyebrows lifted in question.

  “Go ahead. Charles plays his fantasies all the way through,” I answer.

  He spread apart her most intimate flesh, enjoying the shiver of pleasure that rolled down her spine. He w
ould give her the release she was aching for. He leaned his head in and kissed her sweet pussy, then ran his tongue through her folds. All this sweet honey for him alone.

  Sim dives between Caterine’s legs like his life depends on it. Sim lives to eat pussy. He lives to fuck pussy. Hell, Sim’s entire life pretty much revolves around pussy, thanks to me. Sim had won the roommate jackpot in college when he got matched up with me.

  Sim takes a long moment to just stare at Caterine’s pussy, admiring it, formulating a strategy for it. Caterine has Sim’s favorite kind of pussy, waxed bald to reveal dark pink flesh. Some men like porn star pussy, all neat and tucked in, but Sim likes a pussy he can play with—and he was about to unleash his cunnilingual talents on Caterine’s playground. Watching Sim eat pussy is to watch a master at work.

  Caterine’s legs quiver in anticipation. With the blindfold on, she has no idea when Sim will make his move. Sim likes to begin slow, though. With his thumbs, he spreads her open to reveal her clitoris. He blows on it and the sigh that flows from Caterine’s lips is like delicate music—baroque music—to my ears. She pushes her hips toward Sim’s face and he rewards her eagerness with a long slow sweep of his tongue.

  “Oh Charles,” she moans.

  Sim’s grin is buried in her cunt, but I spot it all the same. Good girl. She’s getting into character. My fingers fly over my keyboard.

  Charles patiently licked and kissed Erica’s pussy until her hips were lifted off the bed in desperate need. When he finally sucked her pussy into his mouth, even he was surprised by her anguished cry. The women at the brothels didn’t usually have orgasms, not with him anyway, though occasionally a newer girl would pretend. Charles didn’t care whether they were pleasured or not, just as they didn’t particularly care whether he was. He was renting their body for an hour to meet his own needs, nothing more. But he wanted his Erica to feel that ultimate ecstasy, and to feel it from him. He slipped his hands beneath her bottom and pulled her soft skin harder against his face.

  I had worried that Caterine might be shy about these scenes at first, but apparently I had worried needlessly. She’s rocking her pussy against Sim’s mouth so hard and fast that Sim has to press her hips firmly into the mattress to slow her down. When Sim dances with a woman’s pussy, he never relinquishes the lead. I watch as Sim plunges his tongue deep into Caterine, fucking her with it.

  “Oh please oh please oh please,” she pants.

  I never film these scenes or take photographs, but what I wouldn’t give to be able to watch this scene over and over again: Caterine’s spine arching off the bed, her tiny breasts jutting toward the ceiling, her hands clenching the sheet by her hips as Sim pulls her inexorably—expertly—toward the cliff.

  Sim replaces his tongue with two fingers deep in her wet pussy, then begins flicking his tongue over her clit faster and faster until Caterine shouts into the room, her hips bucking against his face, her orgasm thundering down her spine. I watch as her arms and legs fell limp and Sim soothes her pussy with soft, slow kisses.

  Charles licked her sweet folds hard and soft, faster and slower, past the screams and shouts of her orgasm, past the trembling of her hips in his hands, past the confused pleadings of stop-don’t-stop-oh-please-don’t-stop. He hungrily lapped up her desire until her body fell still, spent but sated.

  “My lord. My lord,” she whispered.

  20

  Caterine

  I pour myself a second glass of wine as I toss the green salad. Alaric’s wine is the best I’ve ever tasted. Not that my bar for wine is all that high. All the wine I drank in college had come out of a box. I’d die before admitting that to Alaric, of course.

  I’m still trying to gauge his current mood. It’s eight o’clock, our work done for the day. Sim disappeared hours ago. I have no idea where to. Not that it is any of my business. Alaric is on the patio out back grilling steaks. He had been rather testy yesterday, but today he was almost too calm. Disinterested. Clinical, even.

  I’m beginning to worry again that I am doing something wrong. Did I enjoy myself too much with Sim that afternoon? But how am I to know how to act when he won’t tell me anything about the scenes ahead of time?

  I still have no idea what today’s scenes were about. Sim fucked me on a desk and spanked me. Then there was some back and forth between Sim and Alaric about Sim making me come, with Alaric voting down that idea.

  That left me simmering with sexual frustration for several hours. The incident had been hotter than I expected it to be—both the spanking and the two men discussing me as though I wasn’t even there. I consider myself to be an independent, autonomous woman but there was something tremendously arousing about two men in control of my body, in control of my pleasure.

  My frustration was relieved—and then some—in the afternoon. I gathered they were acting out the male character Charles’ fantasies. But why was he fantasizing about his wife? After having sex with her in the morning?

  I understand that Alaric doesn’t want me acting with a capital A, but being in the dark makes it difficult to know if I’m doing what he wants. I had glanced over at him a couple of times while Sim was going down on me, but Alaric’s expression had been impassive, his fingers pounding away furiously at his laptop.

  “Cat?” I hear his voice from outside. “Steaks are ready. Bring the wine, will you?”

  I grab the wine and salad bowl and join Alaric on the back porch. His house is to die for. No wonder Sim agreed to this weird setup. He gets to live here. Earlier, I wandered down to where the inlet’s water laps at the perfectly green lawn. Writing smut pays well, that’s obvious.

  Alaric and I sit on adjacent adirondack chairs and eat dinner.

  “Is he okay?” I ask.

  “Sim?”

  I nod.

  “Sure. He needs to get out of the house, that’s all. You don’t want to see Sim when he’s stir crazy.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “He probably hiked some trails in the park, then went into Bar Harbor to grab dinner and a few beers at a bar.”

  Alaric is quiet for several minutes, drinking his wine and watching the sun sink below the horizon. “He’s annoyed that I’m not letting you stay with him in the carriage house. That’s where all of my assistants have lived in the past.”

  “Why not me?”

  “Well, as you’ve probably guessed by now, Erica is a virgin.”

  “Or was until this morning.”

  He laughs in the dark. “Right. And I know you’re not, obviously. But I don’t want you and Sim to be too comfortable with each other. I want to hold onto that unease between you—the way Erica and Charles are not at ease with each other—for as long as I can. If you were staying in the carriage house, you would be having your brains fucked out right now instead of having dinner with me.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh—but nervously. “I’m glad to be having dinner with you, I guess.”

  “I’m glad of it, too.”

  “Was … was I okay today? I felt a little like I was flying blind, like I didn’t know what exactly I was supposed to be doing.”

  “You were fine today, Caterine. I want you to be a little blind. Sim knows what he’s doing.” Alaric refills his glass of wine, then tops off mine. “In any case, I would stop you if the scene was going in the wrong direction.”

  I take another sip of liquid courage. “Is it weird, watching people …”

  He chuckles. “Watching people fuck in front of me? I’m used to it by now.”

  “So it doesn’t turn you on?” I want my words to sound casual, almost flippant, but I can tell they don’t. Especially given how long it takes him to reply.

  “Not usually. I’m very focused on capturing the scene, the actions, the sounds. Getting it down in words, even if just very roughly.” He swirls the wine in his glass. “Did it turn you on today, being watched?”

  I wait too long to answer.

  He has just zeroed in on what has been bothering me for the past s
everal hours. Sim was amazing that afternoon, a miracle worker with his tongue, and his cock that morning … “well-endowed” didn’t really do justice to Sim’s equipment.

  Sim was perfect, his technique smooth and practiced. It was clear he’s eaten out a million women before me. He knew just when to speed up and when to slow down, when to be firm and when to be teasing.

  “I thought I was going to hate it. Being watched.” I finger the stem of my wine glass nervously. “But I didn’t.”

  I’m afraid to admit to more, but there was more. Much much more. It wasn’t simply that I didn’t hate being watched while another man fucked me hard. It had turned me on more than anything has ever done. Knowing Alaric was watching me as another man ate out my pussy … it had been his eyes on me as much as Sim’s tongue that made me come.

  “I’m glad to hear that, Caterine. I very much enjoyed watching you.” He stands and pulls me up out of the adirondack chair. “Sim, less so, of course. Though I always learn something new watching him.” He chuckles softly again. “But you.” His hand folds around mine, his finger tracing a delicate circle on my palm. “You were glorious.”

  21

  Alaric

  It’s two o’clock in the morning and I’m still in my office, typing and backspacing, typing and backspacing. I’m wired and tired. My inbox has filled with more messages from my sister. My father’s health continues to fail. I need to get this book done before Weston White dies. That requires me to write a book faster than I’ve ever written one before.

  No problem there, right?

  Caterine went up to bed shortly after dinner. Sim stumbled in right after midnight.

  God, Caterine has been fearless so far. It was a huge risk, hiring a woman as inexperienced as she is, but so far it seems to be working out. Gratitude swells in my weary chest.