Damn, he loved her newfound appreciation for sex. He loved how trusting she’d been about letting him in her ass last night. He loved everything about her.
Except—shit—love wasn’t a word he should have on his mind with Jenna or any other Hotel Erotique guest. So he pushed the thoughts aside and found a corset that would give her some insanely hot cleavage—then laughed at himself for being in a position to know so much about women’s clothing.
Tonight’s fantasy would be the grandest she’d taken part in—with more than thirty participants. Most would be facilitators, but this was a rare occasion when seven guests would enjoy the same highly structured fantasy. He’d not originally planned on her being involved in the masquerade, but it fit well with where she was on her journey.
In one sense, he saw it as a reward for her, for all the trust she’d put in him this past week. But it would also serve a greater purpose. The goal moving forward was to give her more power, more choices, to slowly retract and reverse the submissiveness he’d created in her. Before her time here was through, he would even prod her toward the other extreme, pushing her to be dominant, aggressive, to take what she wanted. But tonight’s fantasy was simply about giving her options and opportunities. And he was growing impatient—both professionally and personally now—to see what choices she made.
Of course, giving her so much new freedom would also allow her to regress, to reject the sexual smorgasbord he laid before her, and if that happened, he’d deal with it. But he didn’t think it would.
Jenna had followed the map provided with her invitation and now found herself in another of those small changing rooms that seemed to be the gateway from normal life into fantasy.
As promised, her wardrobe had been provided and she was almost giddy about it. The dress was very Marie Antoinette—not completely authentic, but close enough. The extremely low-cut bodice nearly revealed her nipples while the ivory satin corset underneath shoved them high, making her feel like a sumptuous courtesan. Otherwise, the frock’s shape was much like the green one she’d donned on the beach yesterday, yet with wider skirting and a few lace panels sewn into the ornate brocade.
Beneath the dress, she wore only stockings with ivory bows at the front of each thigh, and ivory shoes that matched the period. According to the note with the dress, “You have decided to forego undergarments tonight as the weather is warm and you are feeling a bit naughty.” True, and true, she decided merrily enough.
Just as she stood before the mirror in the small room admiring her dress—and her breasts—a woman attired as an English maid came scurrying through the door. “Sorry to be so tardy, m’lady,” she said, sporting a thick cockney accent, “but ’ave you a seat and we’ll fix up your hair right nice.”
One thing she had to say for the Hotel Erotique—they understood the value of details. She couldn’t hide her smile as she sat down at a small dressing table to the right of the large mirror and let the maid begin working. With no mention of the modern curling iron and pins being used, the maid chattered about how the party was well underway and how fancy all the ladies looked.
“And oh, them ’andsome lords in their tight breeches!” the maid screeched, fanning herself. “Some of ’em looks like they got a lot to offer a lady, if ya knows what I mean.” Meanwhile, she styled Jenna’s hair into an admirable seventeenth-century coif, complete with tightly ringed sausage curls falling over her shoulders.
“Off ya go now,” the maid said with a shooing motion when she’d finished. But before Jenna could even get to her feet, the maid held up one finger. “Wait! I’ve gone and forgot the most important thing!”
“What’s that?” Jenna asked.
The maid stepped to a cabinet across the small chamber and pulled out a glittery ice blue mask adorned with a clump of fluffy ivory feathers. It was so beautiful Jenna gasped—and the maid smiled. “Can’t very well go to a masquerade without this, now can ya?”
“Definitely not,” Jenna said, warming to the fantasy even more.
Then the maid carefully fit the mask over Jenna’s head, securing it with the attached elastic band, which she hid beneath certain locks of hair, and ignoring that the elastic was a modern addition.
The mask covered only the top part of Jenna’s face, and her eyes shone vividly through, but it still made her feel sexy and mysterious. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror as the maid resumed her previous shooing. “Go now. Ya don’t wants to miss the merriment. But ya best be careful,” she added, winking, “for I ’ear there’s a rascally rogue or two what might try to have his way with ya.”
When Jenna stepped through the door that led to the fantasy, she found herself immediately immersed in seventeenth-century London! Like last night, the sense of being swept back to another era was instantly more profound than in yesterday’s beach fantasy and nearly took her breath away. To one side of the ornate room, a string quartet played, filling the air with classical music. Candles in ornate wall sconces lit the space, drawing her gaze to intricately carved woodwork and brocade-covered walls where period paintings hung. The large parlor buzzed with people in costumes similar to hers—they stood in groups talking, maybe flirting, drinking wine and snacking on fancy finger foods. Some women and even a few men wore tall powdered wigs; others, like her, simply had their hair styled in a suitable way. If she wasn’t mistaken, she spotted Zack beneath a simple black mask, his long hair drawn back in a queue—he was busy charming a woman in a yellow gown and looked surprisingly debonair in a doublet and breeches.
Just then, a hand touched her elbow and she looked up to find Brent, and—oh my—talk about debonair. She wouldn’t have believed he could make the showy men’s fashions of the mid-1600s look so . . . masculine. The dark fabric of his short doublet fell open across his chest to reveal the high-collared linen shirt beneath, and his breeches—tucked into leather boots—were fitted enough to hint at the bulge between his thighs. The small gray mask he wore did little to hide his identity, at least from her. “Lord Sexingham, I presume,” she said with just a hint of playfulness, amused by the silly name.
His eyes returned the emotion. “I am delighted you could come to my little soiree this evening, Lady Jenna.”
“Ah, so my mask does not hide me any better than yours does you, I see.”
He gave his head a dashing tilt. “I would know your beauty anywhere, my lady.”
To her surprise, Jenna felt a blush color her cheeks, and turned away, both utterly smitten and embarrassed by it.
“I trust,” he went on, “that you will find this a most pleasurable gathering.”
“As do I,” she replied, and even as she spoke, she realized that, already, the mood of the room was beginning to change slightly, feeling a bit more . . . tawdry than she’d noticed upon first walking in. On a divan across the room, a woman sat perched on a man’s lap, kissing him as he fondled her breast through her dress. And the quartet had begun a new piece of music that somehow felt more sensual as well.
“Come—have some wine,” Brent said, taking her hand to lead her through the mingling crowd. A moment later, she was sipping on a sweet chardonnay that went down easily. And suddenly, she had the odd feeling she should drink enough to get relaxed. She wanted very much to be a part of what took place here tonight, whatever that might be—and like earlier today, she began to suspect something extreme.
As she drank more wine, she spotted another couple—two girls—beginning to playfully touch one another, putting their arms around each other’s waists, starting to kiss. It looked stranger than usual, given the costumes, yet somehow all the more erotic for it.
“You should feel free to follow any whim that strikes you tonight, my lady. After all, we are all safe behind our masks,” Brent said with a wink.
She lifted her eyes to his with a grin, starting to feel the wine a bit. “What happens in 1650 stays in 1650?”
Brent let out a loud laugh and she liked having shaken him from his role—even if he plainly wasn’t as
deeply in character as he’d been as a pirate. “Something like that, Lady Jenna. You have quite a keen wit,” he added.
“Thank you. And you look quite handsome in your late-Renaissance clothing, Lord Sexingham,” she heard herself say. Damn wine.
Just then, an attractive girl with blond hair, ample curves, and an extravagant beaded mask came scurrying up to Jenna and Brent. Funny how the mask made Jenna focus on the parts of the woman she could see: lush pink lips, seductive brown eyes, and plump, uplifted breasts that appeared ready to burst from the tight laced bodice of her lavender gown at any moment. Leaning into Brent, but with her gaze planted provocatively on Jenna, she said, “Pray, what have you here, Sexingham? I hope you won’t keep this tasty morsel to yourself all night.”
“The lady is most free to dally with whomever she chooses,” Brent replied to the slightly raucous but pretty girl.
“That is happy news indeed,” the lady said, her voice thick with lust—then she boldly reached out to slide her fingertip along the top edge of Jenna’s bodice, just above her nipples, all the way from one uplifted side to the other. “You have scrumptious tits, my lady,” the woman said, leaving the objects of her affection to tingle madly as she dashed gaily off into the crowd.
When Jenna lifted her eyes to Brent’s, his had turned heated—his arousal visible even through his mask. “It would seem the masquerade element of the party is loosening my guests’ inhibitions, Lady Jenna. You cannot be offended by the other lady’s impropriety, however, since she speaks only the truth about your tits.”
The dark desire that had just deepened his voice made Jenna’s breasts heave slightly, and she suddenly wondered if hers would be the ones to spill from her dress.
When a sensual female moan met Jenna’s ears, she turned to see a blond man sucking the breast of a woman in a tall powdered wig. The bodice of her cornflower blue frock had been drawn down to reveal just one small but perky tit, and her eyes were shut, jaw lax, as she sighed and groaned her pleasure.
The quartet’s music now quickened, becoming lively, playful, yet expressing an urgency Jenna began to feel in her bones as she observed the debauchery starting to infest the lavish room. She caught sight of another couple on a chaise lounge—a handsome man in a small powdered wig playfully shoved his hand under the lady’s dress, making her squeal in delight, and then purr with pleasure. A moment later, another woman—a redhead in an even redder gown, alit on the lounge on the other side of the lady, soon reaching up to begin massaging her breast, then kissing her lips.
Brent’s warm voice in her ear made her shiver. “Is your pussy getting wet, Lady Jenna?”
She looked up, meeting his gaze behind the gray mask. “It’s been wet all day, my lord.”
“I hope to make it wetter,” he promised.
Jenna bit her lip as hot desire trickled all through her. She kept her eyes on Brent’s, letting him know she was ready—for anything.
When next he spoke, though, he was more Brent than Lord Sexingham. “Tonight, Jenna, no commands, no submission. But I hope you’ll let yourself be free. No doubts or worries. I want you to do what your body urges you to.”
What her body urged her to, huh? That sounded so easy now. So easy that she said, “If you insist,” then pressed herself against him, breasts to chest, cunt to cock. Hard cock. A warm purr left her throat as that hardness filled her with pleasure. “Mmm, so big,” she breathed, curling her hands into his ass through his breeches.
“And your pussy feels so fucking soft, my lady,” he whispered deeply in her ear. “Is it hot? Swollen?”
She let out a small moan. “Yes, and yes.”
At that, Brent led her to a plush divan upholstered in burgundy velvet and gently pushed her down onto it, stooping in front of her. She’d just begun to wonder what he was planning when he reached beneath the hem of her beautiful dress, his hands closing warm around her ankles, then smoothly slid his touch upward, to her knees, taking the skirting with him. Her spine tingled as his palms glided still higher, soon revealing the playful ivory satin bows at the front of each stocking, halfway up her thighs. She sat with her legs demurely together, feeling at once innocent and naughty.
Until Brent pushed her legs apart, wide. Then she felt only naughty. Delightfully so. She bit her lip as he studied her cunt, appearing enraptured, and her entire body pulsed to realize that, around them, more and more people were breaking into couples or groups, touching, kissing, pulling down bodices, raising skirts. She sensed their eyes on her, too—on her slit, which surely glistened in the candlelight, and it made her all the more eager.
“Lady Jenna,” Brent said from between her knees, “your pussy looks delectable.”
She sucked in her breath, felt her breasts lift slightly within the tight confines that held them, and offered her most inviting expression. “You should taste it.”
When Brent’s warm mouth sank over her cunt, she cried out from the abrupt pleasure. She couldn’t have held in her hot sighs if she’d tried—so she didn’t try. As the classical music swirled around her, as the elegance blended with decadence, Jenna sank fully into the strange ambience of the gathering: the sex, the atmosphere, the fantasy. Brent feasted on her vigorously—licking, kissing—and she relished the way he looked between her stocking-covered thighs, the tightness of the corset, all the finery and rich fabrics, everything. She felt glorious, alive, and indeed, free.
Just then, a pretty woman in a powdered wig sat down beside her, peering longingly at Jenna through a glittery pink mask. The girl was altogether feminine and sexy, from her moist pink lips to the watered pink silk of her gown, trimmed in mounds of white lace and tiny pink bows. “I must kiss you, my lady,” she said, sounding eager and almost demure at the same time.
Without even thinking of Brent for a change, Jenna, caught up in the moment, murmured, “Yes, please.” Then she sighed softly in response to Brent’s continuing ministrations below.
Gently cupping Jenna’s jaw, the girl leaned in for a soft, tender kiss, heightening every sensation rushing through Jenna’s body. Quickly, however, the kisses deepened—when the girl’s tongue pressed between Jenna’s lips, Jenna met it with her own, after which she simply quit thinking, shut her eyes, and kissed her the same as she would kiss Brent. Soon the girl in pink was leaning over Jenna as they made out, their breasts pressing, rubbing together.
When the girl’s lips left hers, Jenna watched in awe as the other woman slowly tugged at Jenna’s bodice, finally revealing her nipples. “Oooh,” the pretty girl moaned at the sight of them, beaded and hard, jutting overtop the laced edge of the fabric. She smiled as she bent to lick one of them, and Jenna bit her lip, watching. She trembled as the effects arced through her, combining with the continued pleasures from Brent at her cunt. Meeting his gaze, she knew, even through the mask, that he was well-pleased—and she tried to part her legs still further, wanting to open herself to him, and to this experience, more and more.
Jenna’s female companion continued to kiss and lick at her turgid nipples, sometimes gentle and playful, at other moments starting to suckle and nibble more roughly—a sensation that shot straight to Jenna’s engorged clit. She began to feel completely devoured by her lovers. And she soon wanted to return the favor.
So even as her new girlfriend licked and teased her tight nipples, Jenna reached to caress her breasts. Like Jenna’s, they were pressed upward in a corset, leaving Jenna unable to truly cup the globes in her palms as she wanted—so she played around the bared upper ridges with her fingertips, teasing the flesh just above the bodice.
Finally, the other girl’s kisses ceased as she sat upright to encourage Jenna’s touches. Jenna leaned in to kiss her soft upper breasts as Brent’s lengthy feasting continued below. Mmm, God, her cunt hummed beneath his mouth, and to make sure he knew it, she paused to peer down at him. “Keep eating me, my lord,” she purred.
Then she looked back to her lady in pink, bit her lip as another last inhibition dropped away, and pulled
at the silken bodice until her breasts were freed—not only from the fabric, it seemed, but the corset had lowered, too, so that the other girl’s tits tumbled freely from the dress, tipped with pale pink peaks.
“Oh, kiss them, my lady,” the girl begged, and Jenna obliged. She raked her tongue gently over one nipple, focusing on the feel of the pearl-like bead—then she followed the urge to run her tongue around it.
Moving to the other lovely tit, Jenna closed her lips over it, sucking lightly, delighting when the girl moaned—a sound she felt between her legs. She pumped softly at Brent’s mouth as she suckled the pretty girl’s nipple, then raised slightly to brush her own bared breasts against the other pair. Both girls sighed, rubbing their tits together.
The light play of hard, pointed nipples against Jenna’s breasts sent such a burst of pleasure exploding through her that she could scarcely believe she hadn’t yet come. The sensations were intense, spreading through her whole body now, and she could only attribute her staying power to wanting to make this last.
When her pretty girlfriend leaned back on the divan, a move that sent her medium tits pointing upward, Jenna returned her tongue to the breast nearest her, again licking, teasing, pleasing—as she molded the girl’s other tit in her palm.
It was when an unexpected warmth came near Jenna’s hand that she looked up to see a masked gentleman with dark, unkempt hair had joined them, leaning in to suck on the spare nipple. Jenna didn’t stop, instantly intrigued by sharing the girl the same as Brent had shared her so many times. And even when the man’s hand reached out, closing around one of Jenna’s exposed breasts, she didn’t stop. She felt wild. Free. Delightfully dirty. Ultimate pleasure was hers. Ultimate sexual freedom.
What She Needs Page 27