A Gentlewoman's Ravishment (3 page)

“Relax, madam,” coos Yuri, his hands settling on my shoulders, warm and comforting. He doesn’t massage yet, but just gently smoothes his fingertips in little circles as if I’m a skittish filly who needs a bit of mastering. I close my eyes, as if to shut out the unreality of my situation and just accept it. Clarence pads across the room, as if in search of something, then returns.

Almost immediately, another delicious fragrance floods into the air. I smell tuberoses, patchouli, lily, all distinct, yet in a blend. A flood of guilt washes through me, but only briefly. These are the perfumes Mr. Enderby most likes me to wear. He says he finds them alluring.

But I cannot do anything about my qualms now. I am trapped, swept away, in the thrall of the mysterious master and his handsome servants. Resistance is futile. I must make the best of things.

And things are good.

The delightful odors are encapsulated in an oil, it seems, for massaging with. Yuri begins to anoint my shoulders with it, the soothing circles becoming more forceful and assertive. Down below, Clarence deftly peels off my stockings, then starts at my feet, tickling me at first, and making me squirm a little, but very soon working some strange magic on the delicate bones and musculature there, which has a noticeable effect on other bodily regions too.

Oh goodness, how can something be sweet and soothing, and yet at the same time an utter, maddening torment. The two young men are experts in their craft, obviously. Under the touch and the push and the press of their skillful hands, new zones of sensitivity, trigger points, if you will, are rapidly activated. A thumb rocks and rubs in the most innocuous location, but has an effect in a far more intimate area… How is that?

Within a few minutes I’m a column of wild, unschooled desires, burning and glowing and almost sizzling with rawer, more primal needs. My breasts ache to be touched, to be held. And between my thighs, desire gnaws me, twisting and rolling.

My hips move of their own accord against the velvet upholstery, and I could swear that I’m moistening it with the seeping of my lust. I burn anew, as if the blush of embarrassment is simmering throughout my entire body. I’m such a wanton. Even in this parlous state of kidnap, I’m yearning for more and more and more of this intimate handling, instead of planning or even hoping for my escape.

To my horror, I hear myself moan, while my hips rock and circle. I long for the hand of my unseen master from the carriage now, as well as the clever, working fingers of his minions. Silently, I beg one or another of these tantalizing young men to touch me, really touch me. Unashamed of my own lewdness, I part my thighs, hoping to invite an exploration, and when that doesn’t work, I roll over, offering all the private delights of my body to their eyes, their hands, their…

They want me. I know they want me. Their delightful state of arousal is unmistakable. But when I look into their handsome faces, each so different, I see a look of regret. The expression of a hungry urchin in a confectionery emporium but without a coin to spend.

They each shrug, and give me a quirky smile. “We’re forbidden to touch you in the most intimate way, Mrs. Enderby. A massage, but nothing more,” confirms Clarence, the expression
on his face eloquent. He
so
wants to break the embargo. “But our master encourages you to pleasure yourself in his absence. In fact, I think he expects it.”

While you two are here?

I don’t speak out loud, but I read the answer to my question in his shrug and the way his eyes flicker like those of a sprite of mischief. As I sit up, his expression grows more sultry and he turns toward his friend, flashing me a wink as he faces Yuri, reaching out to him. The darker young man surges forward, slips into his arms, and the two of them kiss.

Good heavens, what delicious new debauchery is this?

Dark and fair, they entwine in a passionate embrace, their mouths crushed against one another’s, their hands immediately roving and exploring. Tight against each other, their pelvises begin to circle and gyrate, much as mine did a moment ago against the cushions of the daybed.

I have never seen men kiss before, even though I must admit I have imagined it in the privacy of my bed, wondering what it would be like to see my beloved Mr. Enderby making free with a handsome stranger. I thought that it was perhaps slightly deranged of me to have fancies about something so impossible and unlikely, a form of feminine hysteria. But now I see my bizarre notions have a basis in reality.

Clarence and Yuri are really quite beautiful. Their hands roving over each others bodies, the mouths, rosy and moist, opening against each other, tongues flicking like eels. And the pair of them moan, just as I’ve been doing, they’re so excited.

Their passion inflames me. All the stirrings and the throbbing in my belly redouble. Between my legs, my clitoris aches. As Yuri mutters something fervent and hoarse in an unknown foreign tongue, I can’t help myself, and slide my hand between my legs.

It’s as if I’m in a dream within a dream. I’m a pool of moisture, and it seems perfectly natural to play in it, slick in it, and stroke myself. The men have forgotten me. I can do anything I want, now unobserved. Even the eyes of the peacock can only see my back.

I am now truly an odalisque, a woman of pleasure. I recline on my couch, propped up by scented cushions, taking my own pleasure while I watch a floorshow of supreme eroticism for my entertainment.

With no further ado, Yuri and Clarence undo their sashes as one, and let their loose trousers slither to the carpet. As they kick them away, their fine young cocks bounce and seem to joust with each other.

And they are indeed splendid!

In all the many excellent works of art I have seen, the male organ is never depicted in the state these young men enjoy. They’re high and hard. Are they excited by each other? Or by me? I suspect it’s a little of both. My fingers almost want to stray from my own groin to either one of theirs, they’re so enticing. Perhaps not quite so regal and all powerful as my own Mr. Enderby in a state of excitement, but I suspect they are better favored than most.

The men continue to kiss and embrace, each stroking the member of the other. They gasp and grunt and work their hips, pumping in a syncopated action, their attention mainly on each other…yet occasionally, they turn to me and smile.

They are well aware of how they arouse me, the naughty boys! And with a grace I can only envy, the pair of them sink to the carpet and lie alongside each other, still touching, still playing, still thrusting and rocking their bodies in a hot dance of pleasure. Their fingers go everywhere, but mine, they stay where they’re most needed. I circle and rub, and I flicker and pinch. I even pluck at my nipple at the same time.

It doesn’t take long. Still roused by my exploits in the carriage, my body was primed before I ever reached this room. Now, with a surfeit of sights and sounds and the work of my own fingertips, I overflow into a sumptuous throbbing orgasm. Rolling onto my back, I ride the waves, and they peak higher as I imagine eyes observing me.

Mr. Enderby, my unknown abductor, the frolicking boys…even the peacock, all watching, watching, watching me writhe in my pleasure. I float for a moment, buffeted, sweet heat pulsating between my thighs, then gradually, I return to my senses, wrenched back to the here and now by hoarse masculine shouts.

Clarence and Yuri are coming too, their bodies surging and straining against each other. White seed jets from each penis, they share the moment, squeezing and caressing, each man loving the other with his hand. At the pinnacle, they kiss, their tongues dancing.

While they’re still straining against each other, the door opens.

“Clarence! Yuri! You wicked, wicked boys, what are you doing?” Warm laughing eyes in a stern face turn to me. “And you, Mrs. Enderby? You too… What are you doing? Your pleasure is for the master, and he alone.”

The newcomer is a woman of about my own age, dressed in loose but elegant robes in the Eastern fashion. She’s veiled, but with a silky gauze so delicate that I can still see her handsome features, and the impish smile that dances on her shapely reddened lips. As she moves toward me, she pauses to poke the flank of Clarence with her velvet-slippered toe, but he just grins silkily at her. “Demon!” she castigates him, but with affection. “The pair of you, be about your business, or I’ll take a birch rod to you.”

The two beautiful young men disentangle themselves, rise and make their way to the door, both turning to me, Yuri smiling, Clarence winking and grinning. Their mistress ignores them for the moment, as they quit the room.

“Now, come along, Mrs. Enderby,” she says to me, reaching for my hand, the very one that’s been between my thighs. To my intense embarrassment, she lifts my fingers to her nose, sniffs delicately, then shakes her head and tut-tuts. “You’re a wicked sensual woman, my dear. Clearly have no control of your appetites. It’s very fortunate that the master likes his bedmates lusty.” She looks me up and down, and I blush—yet again—aware that my thighs are still a-glisten with my silky fluid. “If you were a delicate virgin, I’m afraid you wouldn’t do at all.”

She draws me to my feet, and then takes a length of silk that was tucked into the sash at her waist and ties it around my head as a new blindfold. Holding me firmly by the hand, she leads me in the wake of Clarence and Yuri, out into a corridor. I have a sliver of sight beneath the cloth, and see a light and airy space, filled with sun from a tall, stained-glass window at the far end.

But I’m naked. Am I to walk about like this? My free hand flutters ineffectually, inadequate to cover either my crotch or my breasts.

“Don’t be so silly,” chides my chatelaine. She pauses to tug my blindfold more securely into place, then firmly urges me forward. “You have a fine, ripe body, my dear. You’ve nothing to hide. And everyone here sees tits and fannies every day!”

I can’t help but laugh. Tits and fannies? What is this house?

I pad along the carpet beside her, digging my toes into the soft, thick pile of the runner. The heat pouring in from the big window bathes my skin. Is it still afternoon then? I seem to have lost all sense of time in this strange, sensual environment.

We turn a corner and I sense fate looming ahead.

“Now, come along, don’t keep him waiting.” She chivvies me along, then opens a door, pushing me through, with a warm hand on my back that sweeps downward, cupping my bottom before propelling me forward. “Be a good girl, Mrs. Enderby, and do as he bids you… Good luck!”

Another push, and I’m inside the room and the door’s closed again behind me. The scent in here is delicious as the last room, but there’s a different note, a sharper tang. Something fine and familiar…citrus, perhaps? Bergamot, or something a little green, all blended with sweet exotic spices.

What do I do? I sense I’m not alone, and my heart beats a tattoo in my bosom. The wash of scrutiny across my skin is like the sunshine in the corridor, heating me, caressing me.

There’s a man here. My ravisher from the carriage. I can’t see him, but I know he’s just feet away from me. Boldly, I reach up and unfasten the knot of my blindfold, then I snatch it from around my head and fling it away.

He’s reclining on another daybed. A much wider, more opulent one, piled high with velvet, silk and satin cushions in deep, rich hues. His naked chest gleams like honeyed cream in the light of half a dozen lamps. He’s wearing loose, heavy silk trousers, in form not unlike the ones the boys were wearing, and a brocade robe in peacock blue, open at the front.

He’s also wearing a mask. It’s one of those black satin domino affairs, such as might be chosen for a harlequinade, tied at the back of his head with a thin, leather thong. His hair is short, dark and crisp, and gleams with pomade. Within their black frame his eyes gleam too. A deep dark blue, like a midnight ocean, glittering yet mysterious.

Reaching out to me, he compels me forward with an imperious gesture.

I could run. I should run. I should get myself away from here as fast as I can, snatch up that embroidered shawl thrown across the chest at the foot of the bed, and run out into the street and hail a cab. The door isn’t locked, I’m sure, and some kindly cabbie will take pity on me and trust my promise of payment when I get home to my residence.

But I can only move toward the bed. My mind knows I’m being a little fool, but my body is primed and lusty, yearning for his touch, and for the pleasure he gave me a little while ago, and which he can easily give me again. It seems to me as if my husband is ten thousand miles away at this moment, perhaps in another world. In this realm, only my masked abductor has real sway over me.

I hesitate by the side of the bed, and those dark, indigo eyes sweep over me, heating my breasts and my belly with their scrutiny. I feel full of seismic energy, too much to contain. I shift from foot to foot, aware of my silky wetness welling and flowing between my thighs. A little trail of it seeps down, trickling over my skin, heading for my knee. His sharp gaze follows its track, and his mouth curves in a small, contained smile.

He knows my desire for him.

A hand shoots out, grabs me, pulls me onto the bed. It’s not quite the brawny mitt of a buccaneer, in fact his hands are well kept and fine, but there’s an implacable strength in his grip I could never fight. He hauls me naked onto the bed and pushes me back against the pillows. Almost immediately, he’s half on top of me, subduing me with his weight and his mouth, and with his cock that’s hard as a poker inside his silken pantaloons.

He rocks against me, raiding my mouth as he did in the carriage. I’m in no doubt that it was he who snatched me. His shaving lotion is most particular and instantly recognizable.

Instead of fighting him, I revel in the fact that my hands are free this time, clutching at his back and his buttocks through his exotic finery. The muscles beneath the silk are hard and toned, working as he slides his body against me.

My blood is on fire. Desire catapults around me, bouncing from breast, to mouth, to sex. I arch up from the couch, flexing myself like a bow to push every last inch of me against this magnificent man.