My Three Masters (12 page)

Her eyes widened. “More? In what sense, more?”

“I should have been the one to save the day. And yet I did
nothing besides get plugged at point-blank range.”

“And ask for my hand in marriage.”

“Well, yes, of course, but—”

“Speaking of which, I have a note for you from my guardian.”
She reached into her bodice. His gaze tracked the motion of her hands as they
searched the lovely mounds beneath her clothing. Unbelievably, he felt his cock
stirring under the coverlet.

She drew out a folded piece of paper with the Warrington
crest and dangled it before him. “There are two parts to the note. I’m to
decide which one to show you first based on how much your fever seems to be
affecting you.”

He frowned, befuddled. “And?”

“Well, let’s see. We’ll give the first note a try.” She
opened the trifold piece of paper and showed him a one-word scrawl in the
Duke’s handwriting.

Yes
.

“What the devil?”

She let out a sigh and shook her head. “I should have known
you weren’t quite ready. If only you’d had the willow bark tea, you’d be much
more yourself by now and—”

“Miranda, I’m warning you.”

She unfolded the final third of the note and read aloud.

“
You will repeat your request for the hand of my ward,
the Honorable Miranda Hampton, in my presence or I will see you for pistols at
dawn on a date of your choosing. Best, Warrington.”

He caught her to him and she came laughing into his arms.
“Was that really necessary?” he muttered into her warm neck. “I’m a man of
honor. Once I make a proposal, I stick to it. Besides…”

Firmly, he put her aside, determined to do it right this
time. “The first time I saw you, something about you tugged at my wicked old
heart. I didn’t know what it was until it had taken root and bloomed into
something I never thought to see in my lifetime. I want to keep discovering the
secrets of your soul. Together, there’s no limit to the joy we can conjure. I
love you, Miranda. Will you marry me?”

A rosy blush spread across her face. Tears sprang to her
eyes. She held up the first note with its bold “Yes”.

“Letting the Duke do your talking for you, I see.” He
smothered her face in kisses. “I might have to devise some kind of punishment
for such demure behavior.”

“Yes, my master.”

Marriage to the Marquis has its up and downs. Which is to
say, we take advantage of both the attic and the cellars, and all the places in
between, including the staircase. One night a week, all the servants are given
the night off, and at such times, I might find myself spread across the dining
room table, adorned with sweetmeats the Marquis samples with his devilishly
clever tongue.

Or I might surprise a caped, masked stranger in the foyer.
He carries me up to the attic and makes me take off each piece of clothing, one
by one, while he watches, slapping his leather gloves against his booted leg.
Once I’m naked, he ties my hands to a special hook installed in the ceiling and
puts his gloves back on. He runs his leather-clad hands over every part of my
body, paying special attention to my throbbing clitoris and my buttocks. He
spanks me until tingles shoot to my toes, until pain shimmers into pleasure,
until my body aches for him.

There is a word, an escape word, but I’ve never had to use
it. The Marquis and I are totally attuned to each other. He knows I crave a
certain amount of intense sensation. Perhaps I’ve always craved it, always been
looking for it.

Then he plunges one gloved finger into my rear passage and
one into my quim. I sob and beg for release. But he keeps me on the edge,
stroking slowly, tantalizingly, then ramming his fingers home until the sweet
spasms rock me to my core.

Then he releases me and spreads my thighs apart so my knees
touch my shoulders. He takes the gloves off and fingers the shivering folds
that he just plundered.

“Grab your knees,” he says in a voice so thick with lust I
become inflamed all over again. “Keep yourself wide open for me.”

I comply, of course. Doing so—no matter what his
command—creates a melting feeling inside me. I’m like an opium addict when it
comes to my Marquis. Even though my sex is split apart, spread wide, he ignores
it and kneels over my head. He opens his breeches so his heavy sex dangles over
my mouth. I greedily lick his cock until it’s rigid as an iron stake. I trace
the veins that curve around him, taste the gentle salt of his hot skin. When
his breath comes fast and harsh, I take it fully into my mouth and inhale the
sharp, leathery scent of his arousal, along with the hint of soap and cloves
and fine cheroots. The scent of my Marquis.

I know it won’t take him long, so I savor every moment his
thick cock spends in my mouth, even though my poor quim is throbbing against
the empty air. As he groans and settles himself more deeply into my throat, he
reaches behind himself and presses my clitoris with his thumb.

Oh sweet Lord, the touch goes right to my senses. To be so
exposed, so open, and to feel the precise center of my need receive the weight
of his strong digit, is intoxicating.

“Don’t come,” he orders harshly. “Not yet.”

And so I squirm and moan, fighting to hold off the
inevitable detonation. I’m dancing at the edge of a cliff, longing to soar and
tumble into the ecstasy that beckons. But because I love the Marquis so
outrageously, I stop myself until he pulls from my mouth and hammers his cock
into my quim. Then I have no control. I shriek with shocked pleasure and arch
my back to take him in more deeply. He shoves my thighs closer to my face,
holding them so tightly I know I’ll have bruises the next day. He drives into
me, again and again, as I hold my knees apart for him and offer him the very
core of my being.

We come together in a raucous howl of primal satisfaction.

And finally the night for which I’ve been begging arrives.
My turn to thank the Duke, the Countess and the Earl for saving me. My Marquis
has prepared them for the occasion. They’ve all discussed it among themselves
and made sure they’re willing to include me in their circle. The Marquis has
told me that no one had any objection except the Earl, who was still smarting
from his own poor judgment regarding the Viscount and worried I’d hold it
against him.

Knowing this, I make my dear, thickheaded Earl the first
recipient of my gratitude. Dressed in a flowing, red velvet cloak that parts in
the front as I move, revealing naked skin with each step, I glide into the
stately bedchamber the Marquis and I share. The Marquis is at my back, keeping
a firm hold on the nape of my neck. The message is clear; he is the master of
the scene, the master of me.

Through the mask covering the upper part of my face, I feel
their eyes upon me. I’m not trying to hide my scar, but merely add a note of
intrigue to the scenario.

“The Emperor has sent us a gift,” announces the Marquis. “A
willing slave girl from his harem. She’s quite lovely and exceedingly
well-trained.” He draws back one edge of my cloak to reveal the right side of
my body. My nipples are already hard and throbbing. The other two lords, both
in their night robes, stand near the bed, which seems wide as an ocean. Lady
Alicia lounges on her side, in nothing but garter and silk stockings. She’s
fingering her own nipple in an absentminded sort of way.

The sight brings a rapid pulse to my nether regions.

The Marquis cups my left breast and squeezes the nipple
between thumb and forefinger until it swells to the size of a thimble. A
gossamer thread of arousal tugs at my quim. I feel cool air on the back of my
thighs as the Marquis lifts the cloak from behind and firmly grips one globe of
my bottom. The fingers digging into my flesh make moisture spring between my
legs.

“Spread them apart, girl,” orders the Marquis. “Let them see
what beauty hides between your thighs.”

I shift my legs so my glistening flesh can tell the tale of
my arousal. From behind the mask, I see the Duke’s green eyes arrow in on me,
and the Earl’s hand go to his cock. I make an infinitesimal motion that the
Marquis instantly understands.

“Slave girl, your young master’s cock needs to be drained
dry. Do you understand?”

I nod, excitement closing my throat. The Earl’s sparkling
blue eyes follow me as I approach. He opens his robe. I admire his firm young
body, the muscled chest dusted with red-gold hair, the jutting, purple-headed
rod. I sink to my knees, the cloak flowing behind me, my breasts bobbing as I
settle onto the floor. With both hands, I guide his swollen flesh into my
mouth.

The Earl groans in a most satisfactory way. I commence a
slow, continuous suckle, traveling the length of his cock with my tongue.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lady Alicia’s hand steal
toward her sex. I smile to myself, glad I’m not the only one who indulges in
self-pleasure now and then. The Duke has seen what I saw and climbs onto the
bed so he can nestle behind her. As he passes, I see his rampant cock rearing
into the air. My breath catches with the need to be filled, to be rent. I
watch, sidelong, as one of his hands covers hers, while the other takes hold of
one breast. She sighs and works her bottom against his hips.

Both keep their gazes fixed on me. This inspection inspires
me. I go after the Earl’s cock as if it were my last meal on earth. I touch his
tender sac, pulling at his balls the way the Marquis trained me. My tongue goes
as wild as a Bedlamite, lapping and sucking at his flesh.

“Hands and knees,” orders the Marquis. I obey instantly, but
without losing a beat in my attentions to the Earl. He’s now holding on to the
bedpost behind him with both hands, panting and puffing like a teakettle.

The Marquis flips my cloak onto my back and parts the globes
of my bottom. I arch my back to give the Marquis a better angle, and even that
motion ignites a flurry of excitement inside me. I drag deeper on the Earl’s
rod, opening my throat so he can thrust deep. And then, luscious of luscious,
I’m being breached from behind. The wet, clinging flesh of my passage gives way
before the determined approach of the Marquis’ shaft. Masterfully, he claims
me, drilling deep into my body, as if he could meet the Earl’s cock somewhere
in my middle.

And that’s the way it feels, as if I’m a girl on a spit,
speared from both ends by hot manhood. It takes no more than one twist of the
Marquis’ hips to set off a small detonation. A tiny orgasm to take the edge off
my need.

He spanks me, his long fingers lingering against my
clitoris. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Sorry, Master,” I gasp around the Earl’s demanding flesh.

The Marquis pinches the center of my pleasure, where craving
is already leaping to life, and spanks again. Oh God, it’s going to happen
again. I have no defense against the way his strong, clever fingers handle me.
I squirm to evade his touch, but he follows my every motion. My breasts swing
back and forth, the nipples sensitized by the exposure, and suddenly the Earl
is coming into my mouth. I take it all down my throat, grateful for the
distraction from the torment between my legs.

The Earl collapses onto an armchair in the corner.

“Talented, but no discipline,” says the Marquis, with a
final tweak of my sex. “I’m going to tie her to the masthead, so to speak. You
must all have your way with her.”

On the bed, the Duke and the Countess are moving together in
a sinuous, familiar way, but they still at the Marquis’ words. “You are the
master, after all,” says Lady Alicia cheekily. “We’re here to serve.”

“No. She’s here to serve.”

He hauls me to my feet and strips the cloak off me. Naked
and aroused to madness, I stand before them, flushed and quivering. The Marquis
marches me to the fore corner bedpost and lashes me there, hands over head,
feet together. I wish my feet were apart, so I wouldn’t feel this constant
friction. But I have no say in the matter.

Cool, small hands slip around my torso, agile fingers
surrounding my nipples. I want to cry.
So good, so good
.
The Duke
comes around to my front so he can trace my form with a slow, caressing hand.

“You’re right, she’s ravishing,” he tells the Marquis. “Even
more so when she comes, I’d imagine.”

I know, without being told, that the Duke will go no further
than a few caresses. He’s completely devoted to Lady Alicia. I feel honored by
the impersonal stroke of his hand across my hips.

“Imagine no more. Hand me that hairbrush.”

The silver-backed brushes I received as a bridal gift gleam
on the dresser top. The Duke strides to them, tosses one to the Marquis, then
climbs back onto the bed.

“Since you can’t see behind you, I can inform you that the
Duke is doing the same thing to Lady Alicia as she’s doing to you, with the
addition of a cock in her quim,” says the Marquis as he lowers the brush to my
sex.

I quiver, my body tense with fear. What will those bristles,
soft though they are, feel like against my tender clitoris? Slowly,
deliberately, the Marquis drags the brush against my quim, bringing sobs of joy
to my lips. It feels as if someone has torn a layer of protection from my body
and exposed a deeper layer of sensation. I gasp when the brush leaves me,
longing desperately for more.

“Alicia, my dear, oil her bottom hole, would you? The oil’s
over there by the Earl.”

The Earl rouses himself from his stupor to reach for a small
pot of ointment that sits next to the brushes. He tosses it to the Duke, who
hands it to Alicia. Her breath is coming in quick pants, her fingers still
working my nipples into a state of excruciating sensitivity.

My nipples are abandoned in favor of the oil. They pulse in
desperate isolation, until the Marquis brings the soft bristles to their
rescue. I gasp as they pass across each nipple, a scant touch enough to send me
into a frenzy. I barely notice Alicia’s quick fingers worming past the bedpost
into my rear. A slight coolness, a delicate wetness, a singing pressure on the
rim, then… “She’s ready.”

The hairbrush leaves my nipples then. Twisting to watch, I
see the wooden handle disappear behind me, then feel its hardness invade my
tight passage. I groan under the strange feeling—no heat, no giving flesh.
After it passes the outer rim, my muscles accept it well enough, and the now-familiar
burn takes the place of resistance.

Alicia’s hands return to my nipples. I let out a long,
keening cry. Filled from the rear, I need more. I need the Marquis’ cock in me.
It’s not an exaggeration to say that I live for the Marquis’ spanks and his
hard cock and his devilish imagination.

I beg him for it. “Please, Master. Fuck me now. I’ll do
anything.”

“Yes, you will. For all of us.”

“Yes.”

He shrugs off his robe, takes his great, surging cock in his
hand and shoves it inside me. It’s everything I need, everything I want in
life. Harsh male growls, the acrid scent of sweat, the moans of Lady Alicia
getting rammed by the Duke, my beautiful Marquis pressed against me, it all
swirls together into a rush of mad pleasure.

“Three masters and a mistress for our slave girl,” growls
the Marquis.

“Yes,” I moan. “Three masters.”

“Why do you serve us?”

“Because…because…it feels so good…” As he corkscrews into me
hard and bright light explodes behind my eyelids.

“And?”

“I’m so very grateful.”

“And?”

“And I love you,” I whisper as I launch into the velvety
space where only joy and freedom live. Through a dim haze I hear him cry out as
he pours his seed into my bound body. Behind me, Lady Alicia cries out as well,
pinching my nipples in her moment of crisis. The Duke gives a roar. The very
room shakes with our ecstasy.

It seems to last for an eternity, this mad bliss. As my
senses return, I feel complete and perfect. My heart is as full as my various
orifices. The past is no more than fertile soil for the present. The present
holds my Marquis and my happiness. The future blooms before me, a flower more
exotic than anything my innocent imagination could ever have conjured.

As the Marquis tenderly unties my arms and massages them
back to life, I know my true master has arrived. My master is not a lord, not a
vicious Viscount or a magical Marquis or even a mistress. The true master of us
all is love.