A Gentlewoman's Quartet

“I sincerely hope so, madame,” he whispers against my skin, his tongue flicking again in way that’s positively indecent. Especially as he’s at full and magnificent stand now.

“Here, let me help you,” says Ambrose from behind me, and he reaches over my shoulders and unfastens my silk robe. Immediately Yuri parts the garment and exposes me. A heartbeat later, Ambrose slides it off my shoulders and makes me bare.

I’m in a room, stark naked, with two men again.

Acutely aware of Ambrose behind me, I reach, on pure instinct, for Yuri. He makes a sound of delighted surprise when I coil my arms around him, but then getting into the spirit of things, he clasps me tightly, too, and presses his lips to mine.

His mouth tastes just as sweet and spicy as the Madeira, and as his tongue probes and explores, his mighty sex pushes at my belly.

Naked skin on naked skin. Lips. Tongues. Hands. A man’s hard staff against me.

All these things are right. All these things are good.

Even the intense scrutiny of a third party, another handsome man, seems to be part of my sensual destiny.

Yuri and I kiss for a long time, our hands running over each others backs and buttocks. I seem to have passed across some great Rubicon, and I know that the exact moment of my transformation was during the sublime pleasure that Ambrose visited upon me with his fingers. Even though I’m embracing one man, it’s this other that I’m still strangely linked to.

Eventually, my naked companion and I part, and I turn to find Ambrose’s eyes on me, burning like coals. Yet, when he extends his hand, and silently leads me to the bed, his decorum is perfect and controlled. He helps me onto the mattress, but his hands don’t linger upon my limbs or my torso, even though every last sense in me screams out that he wants to. He sincerely wants to…

Yuri takes his place in the bed at my side, his long, sun-kissed body gracefully elegant. He reaches for me, touching my breast, fingertips warm and sure. I surge toward him, and yet my attention isn’t entirely upon his actions. Ambrose is retreating behind me, moving toward the door…and that can’t be. That really cannot be!

I turn to him, holding out my hand, even while Yuri continues to idly fondle my teat. When I glance quickly at him, he’s smiling, his dark eyes aglitter.

Ambrose hesitates, just a second, then returns to the bed. He kicks off his boots, then climbs alongside us, still fully clothed, leaning on his elbow.

“I’ll watch for a while,” he says. His voice is quiet and calm, but I sense a thread of raw excitement.

Watching will do, then. At least for a while.

We exchange a complicit smile, then I return my attention to Yuri.

The younger man is exotic, tawny-skinned and earthy. His dark hair is a wild mass of curls and there is a simmering, animal quality about him. His lovemaking is eager and earthy, too, although I can tell he is accomplished, with many skills.

His hands rove my body, and I sink into the sensations, lolling back against the pillows like some Ottoman princess accepting the services of her swains. With one hand I slowly stroke Yuri’s warm flank, indolently encouraging him, while with the other, I seek, and find, Ambrose’s hand. Our fingers lace, and my heart turns over, touched by some strange, dark emotion.

Yuri kisses my cheek, my throat, my shoulder. Each with a soft intense contact and a stroke of his moist, nimble tongue. Then his mouth moves lower, drifting and sliding over the upper slopes of my bosom. I blush a little as my nipples harden even more, then smile inside at my own silliness. How far are we now beyond embarrassment? Beyond inhibition?

As Yuri takes one tight crest between his lips, I laugh out loud, knowing that shame is something I’ll never know again.

I wriggle against the clean, crisp linen, excitement surging through my flesh and settling, insistently, between my legs. I turn to Ambrose, and his eyes are aflame. As my lips part on a gasp of delight, he leans across and takes my mouth in a probing kiss.

Two men’s mouths for my enjoyment, what more could a woman ask?

A great deal, I realize, as perverse visions of bodies in combination fill my mind. Sumptuously lewd images parade through my imagination, magnifying my already intensely aroused condition.

A hand slides between my legs, and paddles delightfully in my feminine furrow, playing with the tiny responsive bud there. I groan around Ambrose’s tongue, not even knowing whether it’s his finger or Yuri’s that’s touching me.

I thrash. I whimper. I clasp at both men, grabbing at clothed and naked flesh. I am in a frenzy of desire.

I want more, more, more.

The two men seem to be able to communicate by some kind of mental telepathy. They work as an infernal arousing team.

Yuri smothers my breasts in a last veil of kisses, then backs and turns away for a moment. I watch in fascination as he rolls a device of fine rubber over his magnificent manhood, then Ambrose takes me by the shoulders, and moves me onto my side. I’m in such a state of voluptuous excitement that I allow myself to be handled, loving the dominance of my duo of lovers.

I am between them now, facing Ambrose, and with Yuri’s sleek, nude form molded to my back. Purring like a cat, I rub myself against him, all the while gazing into Ambrose’s dark eyes.

I am completely relaxed, yet in a state of high, delirious excitement. Behind me, Yuri adjusts his position, and his warm, hard member brushes the backs of my thighs, exquisitely tempting. Ambrose touches my face, his fingers infinitely tender.

The two men take possession of me, manipulate me. My hips are tilted, my thighs parted from behind, and as Ambrose holds me steady, Yuri thrusts into my slick womanhood, slowly and surely.

I am filled, sublimely filled, in a position that the late Mr. Harewood never attempted, and in a situation I would never have credited possible.

Two men. Two delicious men. Both for me.

I’m not yet bold enough to look Ambrose in the eye as Yuri ploughs me, but I bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in the fragrance of his linen and his warm, male body beneath it. He drops a kiss on my brow, and murmurs something so low I can’t make it out, although perhaps Yuri can? But the tone of his voice is soothing and loving.

As is his finger as it moves deftly between my thighs.

We rock in a syncopated action, as perfectly coordinated as an expensive Swiss clock. Ambrose strokes me exquisitely throughout, taking my breath away, and I feel him hard—hard as sin—beneath his clothes.

Ambrose whispers encouragement. Yuri grunts and sighs with a deliciously animal enthusiasm. I moan like a madwoman, relishing my own freedom and my liberty from inhibition.

When my crisis comes, I claw at Ambrose while I push back against Yuri to receive him yet deeper.

My mind reels like a joyous waltz. I soar again. I adore these men both, but the sweet courtesy and tenderness of Ambrose wins my heart. The emotion is irrational, and sudden, but I truly feel it.

And as I descend, knowing I will rise again soon, I reach for the buttons of his trousers and fumble them open. Diving into his combinations, I draw out his swollen shaft. Yuri is still hard at work in my channel, so I simply caress Ambrose with my fingers, as he caresses me.

We writhe again, we three, a squirming mythical beast of hands, fingers, arms, torsos and happily glowing genitals. I drift into such a stupor of sublime sensation that I barely know where one of us ends and the next one begins.

We are one voice, one body, even one heart.

And as one, we all cry out as we achieve sweet resolution, Yuri pumping enthusiastically inside me while Ambrose spills his seed upon my belly.

I am awash. I am debauched. I am in heaven.

For many minutes, we lie too stunned to speak or move, but as I recover my faculties I’m not so naive as to believe that such an occurrence as this is regular. I sense that it was different. Unusual. That Ambrose Chamfleur does not often take part in such frolics, or at least to such a degree.

When I look into his eyes I see them filled with wondrous happiness.

My heart fills with joy, too.

As Ambrose leans in to kiss me, I am vaguely aware of Yuri sliding from the bed behind me and padding from the room, his job well done.

“So, Mrs. Harewood, do you feel that you are fully acquainted with sexual rapture now?” Ambrose enquires when we are alone, reaching to sweep my tangled hair away from my cheeks so he may see my expression clearly. I, in turn, feast my eyes on the noble contours of his suddenly dear face.

“Fully. Although I suspect that there are many shades of bliss yet to be discovered, Ambrose.”