Ambrosiano's room was lit by moonlight, the silver rays cutting a swath from the balcony to the large, soft looking bed. Curtains, sheer white, hung from the immensely tall windows. At the moment, they were caught in the light sea breeze, the salty air billowing them like horny ghosts, animated over the scene they were about to witness. Julie entered the room as she had been prepared by Frederica, in a long, sheer white nightgown. The gold of her thatch was visible and the pink of her still taut nipples. She felt more like a virgin sacrifice entering this palatial room than either an actress or a casual lover.
The gray white marble was cool under her bare feet. She thought of laying on it, rolling over the hard unforgiving surface, offering up her body and being fucked there by one of the men or both.
This was the old prince's room, gilded in silver, with a rounded dome, silvery stars and night clouds, a crescent moon at each of four equal points along the circumference. It still echoed the power, the magic of ages gone by. There was no artificial light and as the tall, double doors were closed behind her she was quite curious. And more than a little anxious, seeing neither man about.
Was she the first one here?
"Hello?” She turned about, surveying the priceless space, fit for a museum of the age of Michelangelo. So much to capture the eye. Paintings on the wall, sculptures and a few very naughty things, too, obviously added by Ambrosiano. Her knees went weak as she saw the set of stocks, about waist high. There was a kind of rack, too, near the bed. It was upright at the moment, though it looked as thought it could be lowered to a horizontal position. Along top and bottom there were spaced leather cuffs, covered in fur. Chains also hung here and there, which gave her the impression that a prisoner could be secured on this device in any number of ways. Most intriguing of all was an open chest, filled with various devices, including whips, chains and a large leather mask.
Should she run? Fall on her knees and beg mercy? Her speculations were cut short by a hand over her eyes. Another seized her waist. The hands were Grigori's but the voice was the Director's.
"Why have you come here?"
"Because you told me,” she went for the easy answer.
"Not good enough. Arouse the female,” said the Director, clearly displeased with the response.
Grigori pushed his hand between her thighs, the silk of her gown between them. Oh, god, she thought, he'd understood the words in English. The man was learning … a little too well.
"Grigori,” she pushed her ass against his naked torso, finding his cock with her taut cheeks. “Oh, yes, that's it."
"Why have you come here?” the Director repeated as the Dasklovian brought her to the brink of orgasm, his finger barely grazing his clit.
"For lovemaking … sex … I need fucking bad.” There was no more room for pride now, just total, desperate seeking. After Grigori's hardness, his body and uncompromising masculinity. And Giovanni's too.
The Director said something in Dasklovian. Something to do with binding, and she realized she was coming to know his language pretty damned well, too. Instantly and effortlessly the man pulled her small wrists behind her back. Her heart thrummed rapidly. Were they going to put her in bondage? Put her on the bed and strap her down for sexual usage? If so they would have a happily screaming, more than willing woman on their hands.
Grigori took her instead to the rack. She had thought he might strip her, but she was allowed to keep the gown, flimsy as it was. Putting her in place very gently, he had her lean back against the latticed metal. Shivers went up and down her spine. It was cold against her thinly covered skin. Julie was on the verge of real fear. His eyes were intent on hers, however, communicating volumes. She melted at the sensitivity, the empathy. He wanted to make sure she was all right.
Yes, she smiled weakly in reply. And no.
It was a mix. Too many unknowns, thrilling and exciting. One by one he took her wrists and stretched them straight out from her body. The leather cuffs were snug and firm, unlike the soft fur lining, which made for an odd, titillating contrast.
Grigori ran his hand up the length of each bare arm, transfixed by its shape, its feminine lines. There was nothing about her he did not seem to relish. On one hand she was a sex object here, but it was a little bit like being a work of art, too.
And there were no cameras. She had to keep reminding herself of this. Tonight would be her chance to see the Director in his natural element, whatever that might be.
Now he was clawing very lightly at her belly, running his hands down to her thighs. He bypassed her burning crotch, kneeling so he could continue down her legs. It was her ankles he was after.
"Vrastoya,” he looked up at her, moist eyed, and under the circumstances she knew the handsome, chiseled Dasklovian could mean only one thing. Julie was to open her legs for him, spreading her feet for binding.
He took her left ankle, so softly in his hand, caressing it with total tenderness. It scarcely felt like confinement at all, and yet as he fitted the fur covered cuff in place, securing the tiny buckle, there was no mistaking she was a prisoner. He did the same with the second ankle, still maintaining his kneeling, and devoted position. One might almost think him the slave, were it not for the fact that she were the one losing her complete liberty of movement and not Grigori.
"So … finally we are ready to begin.” Ambrosiano stepped from the shadows. He was naked, his body lean and marvelous. He had not an ounce of fat on him and his arms sported modest biceps. He was clearly a man who had worked for a living, and had maintained himself following his success. His torso was long. He had a smooth, flat belly that begged to be kissed. His waist was very firm, like a young man of twenty. There was a certain roughness to his skin, a sign of his age, though it was showing itself neither as sags nor pockets. He reminded Julie of a sailor, whose skin had been blown by the wind for many years. He was not overly sun tanned, though, at least not compared to the Dasklovian. Perhaps it was his white hair or the dark eyes that lent to his skin a pale, luminescent quality.
If ever there was a man fit for playing in the moonlight, it was him. He was like some ancient warlock or satyr, hungry to drink from the fountain of sexual youth.
She had seen pictures of Giovanni from years ago, with his hair short and his trademark berets, sunglasses and turtlenecks. He had surrendered nothing over time. A woman could lose herself in a deeply brooding chin like that and many had. The most famous picture had him sitting in a director's chair, his fingers on his chin, lounging, a peculiar smile on his face, the meaning of which was open to so much interpretation as to be itself a legend.
Tonight, there was no mistaking what was on the man's mind, though. Giovanni wanted satisfaction for that cock he was stroking to hardness. That and the satisfaction of making his actors do just what he pleased.
"Where would you start this particular scene, Julie?” The Director asked. “I'm curious."
She clenched her fists. There was no breaking these bonds, no escaping whatever was going to happen next, to her or to Grigori. “I would call in a stunt double,” she quipped, never one to resist putting in a joke when she could.
Giovanni signaled to Grigori who handed him a short whip from the toy box. It looked like a riding crop, except that there was a thick piece of leather at the end. The butterflies in her stomach did instant double back flips. Perfect tens in the anatomical Olympics.
"I wouldn't dream of depriving you of all the fun, my dear. This is a flogger, if you've never heard of one. It's most often employed on the buttocks, though it has its use on other parts of the body as well."
Shivers went up and down her spine as she contemplated just what body parts he might have in mind. “I don't suppose I can talk you into filming a documentary instead?” She wanted to know. “Something on the migratory habits of sea birds, maybe?"
He wielded the flogger through the air, testing its mettle. “No, thank you, I'll stick to what I've got."
"I was afraid you'd say that."
The whip snapped on her half exposed breasts. The sting was immediate, followed by a biting hot glow. It was half pain, half pleasure. The most agonizing and arousing part was not being able to protect herself, just knowing he could do it again and again, anywhere he liked.
On her belly. Her thighs. Even her pussy.
"You will watch as I possess Grigori,” Giovanni informed her, tapping one nipple after another. “Than you will please us both, restoring our erections with your mouth and hands. You will do so knowing you will be had, by both of us at once."
She moaned, arching her back. The words, coming to her helpless ears sounded so deeply perverted, almost like a whip unto themselves. This combined with the sensations of what he was doing with the flogger was turning her into a hot, blonde, panting bitch, the very stereotype she and all her other serious minded sisters fought against.
Humiliated, unable to help herself, Julie thrust out her chest, craving another strike, harder, faster. “That feels so fucking…"
She didn't have a word for the sensations he was giving her. Instead she offered a deep groan as the flogger claimed her tits once more. It was a maddening device, not powerful enough to break skin or cause serious wounding, but strong enough to put a woman into another world, a wicked, forbidden one.
"There will be no camera to hide behind,” said Ambrosiano, snapping at her belly through the silk. “Your performance will be with your body alone."
"Yes,” she hissed, the flogger whistling in the air, kissing her body, like a demonic lover. “Oh, god, yes."
If she could she would tear off the negligee, giving him her bare skin to work over. She wanted to feel more. She wanted to be whipped till she was red skinned then made to crawl to the men, servicing their cocks, making them hard, as ordered so she could accept the consequences, surrendering to them both, in whatever orifices they wanted her.
"This next part will be torment,” Giovanni promised. “You will be kept aroused and not satisfied. You will writhe and whimper, but you will be allowed to do nothing but watch. This is your incentive. It will insure your eagerness later on."
"I want to be good,” Julie promised as he rubbed the flogger gently over her cheek.
This submissive talk was making her hot. Just as hot as what he was doing to her body.
"Open,” he commanded, reversing the flogger so that the handle was facing her.
Julie took the end of the pseudo phallus into her mouth through lips already half opened. It tasted of leather, oiled and exotic. Shamelessly, she yielded to it, letting the man know what she would do if given a chance on his cock. He pushed it deep, making her suck long and hard.
"Look at me, Julie."
She could hardly stand to. The way he looked at her, the way she saw herself in his eyes made her want to come so, so badly. He was not touching her pussy and yet something so much deeper was happening. He was having her, taking her somewhere very, very intimate.
"You are going to be the best sex I have ever had in my life,” he told her.
She flushed from the whorish praise.
"You are one of the fiercest fires, and therefore channeled, you will be an exquisite blaze.” He took the handle from her mouth and thrust it between her legs, pushing the silk between her lips. “Come,” he ordered, casually but uncompromisingly.
Julie pushed against the object, masturbating herself, desperate, hungry, half out of her mind, nipples burning, her body indeed like a crackling, incendiary blaze.
"Faster. You have to the count of ten."
She squirmed so as to make contact with her clit directly, the motions sending fierce shivers up and down her spine. It was so degrading, being treated like this, and yet she had never been wetter in her life or more fulfilled. The man was owning her, totally and completely dominating her spirit even as he unleashed it.
"Three,” he said, holding the handle still and making her do all the work.
Julie clenched her teeth.
"Four. Five.” Giovanni turned his head to Grigori, snapping out a command in Dasklovian she could not follow.
The man obeyed instantly going immediately onto the bed on all fours, his head down. Julie felt it on the horizon, the point of no return, the crest of the mountain she must peak to reach her goal … his goal. The sight of the Dasklovian this way, about to surrender himself was just the added boost she needed. Giovanni did not have to go past seven. Right through the nightgown, she gave it up for him, the stain on the front of it spreading rapidly as she yielded up her fragrant liquid essence.
Soon Grigori would give it up, too. And she would watch.
Her orgasm was layered, Technicolor slices, one upon the other, juicy, delicious, mouth-melting. Her limbs pulled at her bonds. She was prisoner, slave of the Director's whims, but freed to soar to the height of his butterfly world to come and come and come. She screamed out this truth and moaned it and whimpered too. In the end, though, it was moonlight she returned to. In the bedroom of a long dead prince, two naked, beautiful men with her for a night of delights. Teasing tortures, and after that, she hoped, climaxes beyond her wildest dreams.
Giovanni had her lick clean the whip handle. “Now,” he told her, “it is Grigori's turn."
Julie licked her parched lips, watching him move to the bed like a panther. The Dasklovian was breathing heavily as Giovanni went to him. The Maestro teased him, dragging the black leather tassels over his back and ass. A tap to his cheek and he lifted his head. Julie bit her lip. It was Grigori's turn to suck. Giovanni made him take it deeper than her, expecting immediate deep throating. The big man's eyes slid closed in lust. He was more than ready to take inside his mouth this leather that must surely smell and taste of Julie herself.
"He is a magnificent animal, is he not?” Giovanni asked her. “You would gladly collar and own him for yourself, I have no doubt."
Julie felt a fresh tide between her legs at the raunchy idea. It was true, she did want him, totally and completely, all for herself.
Reaching around, Giovanni smacked Grigori's ass. Grigori jolted, redoubling his sucking efforts. Julie could see how swollen the Dasklovian's cock was, full and reddish purple and swaying very slightly as it moved. His testicles were full again, too, more so now than ever. Such a pity, she thought, to let such manhood go to waste. If she had her way she'd be underneath him, quietly licking the vein on the underside, delicately taking each of his balls in her mouth one at a time till he cried out in sweet pleasure. But she wasn't in charge, was she?
Giovanni was, and there was no telling what a man like him could have in mind for the night ahead. At the present he was leaning over whispering things in Grigori's ears, spanking him hard at the same time. Grigori gurgled, the whip in his mouth, his body writhing. He was turned on, that was for sure.
"I told him he will take me in his ass. He will be fucked at my leisure like a … what is the term in English?"
"Like a bitch,” she whispered hotly. “You are going to make him your bitch."
"Yes,” he nodded, “that is it."
Giovanni repeated the new word to the Dasklovian, chuckling slightly. Grigori drew a deep breath, making Julie shiver with need. Oh, how she wanted to be touching him now, feeling his skin, his pulse, cooling and soothing and inflaming and a million other contradictory things.
Giovanni took the whip out now, wiping it dry on the man's thick mane of hair, glorious and blacker than any midnight. Grigori arched his neck, mouth open, his body clearly yearning for some new stimulation, abuse even to end the sudden emptiness.
The man did not have to wait long. The time had come for an honest to goodness ass whipping at the hands of the Maestro. He teased him first, rubbing the tip of it over his muscular behind and flanks, making him hold perfectly still as he grazed the edges of his puckered asshole. Two times Grigori was told to spread his legs wider. The erection between them looked ready to explode any second. Julie was sure the semen would erupt with the speed of a machine gun.
Giovanni was much harder on him with the flogger than on Julie. This was due, she was sure, to his strength and sex and also to the fact that the hind area was much less sensitive than was the torso. At any rate, the man's skin began to redden after just a few well-placed blows. Grigori's fine ass continued to twitch, even as Ambrosiano reared back his arm for each delivery.
Grigori was digging into the bed covers with his fingers, a sign of his self-imposed helpless. His nipples rock hard, too and his face was contorted into a most complex expression of pain and lust, his handsome features held in place by discipline the likes of which she could hardly imagine.
Unlike herself, this man could fight back. And yet he was taking it, aroused to torturous ends, his pelvis rocking automatically with the mounting assault. Clearly he wanted it, like she herself did, but he had to be straining, too, with every fiber of his being against the need to push things along to the sex.
To watch him it was as if the cock was already imbedded, his glut muscles clenching and unclenching, his thighs were rock hard with tension.
Giovanni himself was poetry in motion, his chest rising and falling manfully with the exertion, his own muscles tightened to sinewed cords designed to take the breath of any blushing maiden. He was the very epitome of raw, economical manhood, the very essence of sculpted statue beauty, meant to take at a touch the ripe softness of womanhood.
For variety, Giovanni whipped the man's back, spreading the flogger across every inch of him. The Dasklovian's ass had already turned to scarlet. Julie wished she could kiss it and give comfort. Was he feeling what she was-this sense of total abandonment and sexual frustration? She could not reach her own pussy, could not get herself off and neither could he-not as long as he chose to remain like this, a virtual slave to the Maestro.
"Let us see if he is ready to beg,” announced Giovanni. He put his hand on Grigori's back, his other holding the leather stranded flogger, rubbing it up under his belly as he asked the question in Dasklovian.
Grigori replied in a long string of words, vrastoya prominent among them. Ambrosiano showed no mercy, flicking the leather strands across the man's cock. Julie could see Grigori was fighting the urge to move or to react in some way.
"He must be broken,” explained Giovanni. “Stripped of all willpower. He will take his penetration as a slave takes on his master."
Julie held her breath. The great Maestro was coming back over to her. “We need something for lubrication,” he smiled cagily. “Do you have any suggestions?"
She knew immediately what he had in mind. “Signor, please don't…"
He ripped the gown open from the neck, just as Grigori had with the other one earlier. “I will,” he defied, making handfuls of her exposed, captive breasts. “Because I can. Are you sufficiently wet, my lovely wench, or do you need more of a whipping?"
Julie hated that he could do this to her. “I don't want to feel this,” she said foolishly.
"Yes you do. More than anything.” He bent and bit her nipple. “Admit it."
She moaned out loud, so terribly confused as to good and bed, pleasure and pain. All she knew was that she was not ready to quit yet, all her protests aside. “Yes,” she cried, the word stretched into a snake train of sound.
"Bene,” he murmured. “Bella ragazza."
Julie came against his fingers, a tiny little ripple of a climax as he took away a finger's worth of her pungent sex fluid. He had called her beautiful and for once in her life she was believing it.
Her fresh come was delivered straight to Grigori's ass. Giovanni parted the still red cheeks, smearing it at the entrance to his narrow, puckered channel. Twice he went back to Julie for more, each time inducing fresh spasms in the woman.
On the third trip, he used her cream to lather up his own shaft. Julie licked her lips, longingly. In vain she pulled at the cuffs still holding her wrists and ankles. This was indeed the torture he'd promised it would be. And more.
"Such a patient little thing,” he touched his fingers to her lips teasingly. “Waiting your turn so well."
She sucked at them, cleaning her own juices away.
"Enough,” he denied her. “Now you will watch again."
Grigori was still breathing quite heavily. Giovanni climbed behind him on the bed. Grigori's ass was still deliciously pink. He'd been subjected to corporal punishment and now he would be invaded, taken to a place of intimacy she had only ever witnessed between a man and a woman.
The Maestro worked slowly, teasing the man's asshole a while before attempting insertion. Grigori was a rock of endurance, though the motions of his spine gave some indication of what he might be enduring.
"He is going to take it all the way,” predicted Giovanni, lining up his pointed cock with its intended target.
Pressing one hand to the ass of the more muscular man, Giovanni made the initial connection. “Grigori, vrastoya,” he declared, making clear his intent to conquer.
Grigori made the attempt to relax his anal muscles. The shaft was moving in under great pressure, the white haired Director's face locked in determination. Julie drew a tiny, ghost-like breath as the curved penis began to disappear into Giovanni's hole. He pulled back a little and then moved forward, trying to build up momentum. With each forward push he made it a little deeper. His face softened in pleasure, even as Grigori's showed the mixed feelings of fullness and invasion.
He was being had, used in the ass. Fucked by another man.
Grigori made a grunting sound and pushed up. Giovanni grabbed the man's waist with his hands, steadying himself for the counter thrust. The cock was more than half gone. Would he make it all the way? Giovanni wanted it and Grigori, too. They were two male animals, sweat beading on their skin, their hair like wild manes of black and white, sleek muscles reflected in the moonlight. The vampire and the werewolf, she thought.
True to form, Giovanni bore down, biting into the neck of the stronger Dasklovian man. Grigori cried out, but not in pain. The pace was furious, the unleashed power awe-inspiring. Giovanni wanted total possession, and he was claiming it, his hand on the other's cock, milking it. Would they come together? It was going to be soon, very soon. The sinews on both men's necks looked ready to pop. Their nipples were fully swollen, their balls ready to explode. No more words, they were reduced to a language of grunts.
"Oh, yes,” cried Julie. “It's so good. So fucking hot."
Giovanni reared back. Was this the moment? No, he was withdrawing. But why? He couldn't stop now!
Smacking Grigori's ass hard, he issued an order. The big man rolled onto his back, toppling heavily. Spreading his massive thighs, he exposed himself. His arms were over his head, wide apart. She thought Giovanni intended simply to suck him off, but as she watched him move his limbs, spider-like, she saw it was mutual pleasure he had in mind. Each man's head was over the other man's cock. They were going to fellate each other.
Grigori opened wide. Julie felt a delicious tugging at her pussy as he consumed the coating of her own juices from off of Giovanni's shaft. An entirely different feeling came over her as she watched Giovanni take Grigori's cock. She was a bit jealous, but also wickedly excited. To see those world famous lips, doing something so forbidden.
Damn, he was a good cocksucker, too. He was working the shaft deep, lubricating it well, providing all the suction to make Grigori arch his back and clench his fists. They were fused so well, nearly the same height, the coronas of their hair covering each other's crotches completely, their healthy, greedy bodies wanting so much more.
They were deep throating each other, gurgling, swallowing each other like only men could do. It was enough to make Julie think maybe men were better for each other. And yet she needed in this scene, so bad. They might reduce her to a whimpering puddle, but she'd take it, whatever they gave.
Never had she seen a woman enjoying cock sucking like these two. A pair of lions, they started rolling, twice switching positions. Giovanni was briefly beneath and then back on top again. Their hands were grappling for any flesh they could find. Ass cheeks to hold and squeeze. And balls to glom onto, pulling the testicles closer to slap against their cheeks.
At last, when the pressure could build no more, they wrapped their arms hard and tight about one another. From lions, they converted to hissing, electric snakes, convulsing, perfect muscles rippling, bare flesh undulating. Their spines arching, calves flexing, biceps curled. Inseparable, primal, lust driven to the marrow.
Grigori began to spasm first. He was coming ahead of Giovanni, though the older man was not far behind. He, too, was showing the telltale signs, buttocks raging, body contorting. They sucked at one another's sexes, drinking down the warm, thick fountains of life. Actively they worked on swallowing one another's loads, continuing to lick at each other as their erections subsided. Julie felt the pinging in her stomach as she realized that all too soon those cocks would be hers to reawaken. And then, once she had done so, these wild beast men would be turning their predatory energy in her direction.
It was Grigori who unfastened her. As he undid the belts on her wrists, he offered her a deep soul kiss. She craned her neck, letting her eyes slide shut. The man's tongue was salty sweet, the taste of Giovanni's sex still coating it. Julie released a small moan as he pushed deeper, simulating the action of his cock in her mouth.
She was so completely ready it was not funny.
Grigori returned to his knees to free her ankles. On his way down he offered soft kisses to the places where the flogger had struck. She clutched at his head, threading her fingers through his long curly hair. He paused to kiss her belly once and the delta of her sex as well. As he removed each ankle strap, he caressed the ankle and instep, sending shivers down her spine. Taking hold of her hands, he helped her step away from the rack. As she tried to stand on her own she found she was too weak to hold herself up. Too many sensations, too much stimulation.
Grigori willingly swept her up in his arms as he had before. Only this time it was so much closer and more intimate because she knew him, as a woman knows a man, and she had feelings for him. This was not just a man in the generic sense, this was an individual with a history so different from her own and yet with whom she found herself identifying with intensely. A man whom if she were to never see again in her life would leave her with an indescribable emptiness.
It was not logical and it had no precedent in her life, but it was real. Snuggling her head against his shoulder, she felt a sense of safety, a knowledge that she was at home, and that nothing would hurt her here. She clung to his neck, her thin, feminine arms around that great cord of muscles. She did not want him to put her down at first. Suddenly Giovanni seemed like an intruder.
But she couldn't deny the Maestro's place in this. He had brought them together, and in an odd way he was fueling things now. Serving as a catalyst between them, an erotic fluid for them to mix in. Julie's small body barely impacted the well-used bed. She swooned at the smells around her, the sheets soaked with male sweat, the sheer tinge of testosterone.
Giovanni whispered something and Grigori lay beside her, going to work once more on her lips. She was so soft and pliant, ready to give her all. Every little crevice of lip connected now. Their mouths fit, it was true. And so did his hands on her breasts, molding them perfectly.
"You are quite irresistible,” said Giovanni, and the next thing she knew, she felt the Director's lips on her labia. She drew a sudden breath, stabbingly sweet. The man wasn't doing oral so much as kissing her pussy. No one had ever quite done that before. Making love to the lips themselves, touching them gently as butterfly wings to a cloud, yet transferring to them a powerful life energy.
She could not help but erupt in reply. This was more than a little unexpected. She was supposed to be servicing them and here they were worshipping her body like she was Cleopatra.
Not that she minded.
Giovanni's tongue pierced her opening. The motion was so delicate it was almost like the air itself, or the entering of the ghostly moonlight into the room. But there was nothing invisible about what he was doing to her clit. Isolating it, he treated it to swirling sweetness that made her kiss Grigori all the harder. It was like the two men were one; a super lover capable of possessing her with a double mouth.
And that meant a double cock, too. Breaking free, she begged for the chance to do what Giovanni had said she must. “Please, let me make you hard. Use my mouth … let me suck…” The words were a whore's rasp, a concubine's confession, the utterances of a female reduced to her elemental needs. She wasn't playing the good girl anymore. She was the painted lady now. And craving more of it.
Giovanni turned her to her side, indicating his control over her with a pair of smacks to her glowing ass, still sporting the color of her earlier spanking. “You suck when told to, not before."
"Yes, sir,” she replied, rubbing together her super heated thighs.
"Grigori…” He had instructions for the man, involving lifting Julie up to her knees at the far end of the bed.
She felt like a rag doll being put in place. What did Giovanni have in mind, now? She could only wait and see, an audience, for the moment at least, to the man's unfolding, entirely unfilmed epic.
She licked her lips as they lay down, side by side. The pair was holding hands, looking so very delicious, two men, long haired, intense, free spirited, six foot tall and then some, one in his early twenties, the other in his early fifties, each a presence, an irresistible, magnetic draw.
My stars, she thought, seeing how those hands clasped one another, this is something intense here. Could it be love? She doubted they'd admitted anything of the sort to each other, but from her perspective, at least, there was something more than just lust. Call it a gut instinct-or maybe the result of her ability to read Grigori.
Her heart sank as she thought how her handsome Dasklovian was likely to reject her in the end for the dashing Director. They'd make a lovely couple and she would be left in the cold.
"I think you know what comes next, Julie,” said Giovanni.
Yes, she did. She must please these cocks, side by side, somehow trying to be more than a third wheel between them. Julie fought back the tears, amazed she was taking this so hard. She needed to get back to the lust, to the idea of sexual service. She was living the fantasy of being a little whore, being used, and when they were done, they would all go separate ways. Once she'd finished filming this blockbuster of a movie, that is. Assuming the man could pull some rabbit out of a hat and turn it into one.
"Did you like our little scene, Julie?” Giovanni wanted to know.
Planting herself between their legs, she said. “You are both … amazing men."
Giovanni snorted. “Amazing are we? You seemed more than amazed to me, unless I misjudged that smell in the air the whole time."
She hung her head, hiding the blush. He was referring to her arousal. There would have been no mistaking the quickness of her breathing either.
"I was hot,” she confessed. “I wanted to be with you both.” Wantonly she let her long, silky hair flow over both men's organs, titillating and teasing. She wanted them to want her as badly as she wanted them.
Grigori moaned in reply and Giovanni muttered, “Si, bene, bene."
One after another she kissed their darling heads. Both cocks were languid, spent. She had her work cut out for her. Bending her head down, she licked each, full wet, playful slobbers. She followed this up with kisses to their balls. Now she touched them, lightly stroking their testicles. What magic there was in making a man excited. What sexier thing could a woman do, knowing that erection was going to fill her and pummel her and ultimately get her off?
"You are both so fucking fantastic.” She dabbed her tongue at their muscular thighs, expanding her area of worship. “I never thought I could feel comfortable like this. I admit it. I admit I love this. Even if it is wrong."
"How can it be wrong when it feels like this?” Giovanni wanted to know.
It was Grigori who got his erection back first. This was largely a function of age, though Julie wondered if maybe it had something to do with his feelings for her, too-all that passion transforming itself into testosterone. She wanted to take him deep, but the man had something else in mind. Sitting up, he grabbed her by the waist and scooted her around so that crotch was over his face.
He held her fast, pushing his tongue aggressively into her wet hole. She responded by devouring his sex in turn. Enjoying the fruit of her hard work, she slurped him to the back of her throat. Meanwhile, he was making the walls of her pussy clench greedily, craving even deeper invasion. Her clit welcomed him as an old friend, allowing him to loft her into the stratosphere. She wanted them to come together and fast.
Giovanni did not want to be excluded, however. Moving behind her, he slipped a finger up inside Julie's asshole. “You'll serve me here,” he told her. “You'll give me all I want or you'll face the whip again."
She moaned in reply. His anal touch was making her pussy spasm, which was challenging Grigori's tongue, in turn to press even more urgently. Their bodies were dripping perspiration now, the liquid instantly cooled by the breeze. It was slippery, silvery moon fucking, under white midnight light. Surrounded in silk, soaked in sex, body parts stinging from the whip, hearts stinging with shame.
"I will fuck you like a dog, Julie. You will howl and whimper. It's what you want. What you dream of. And no cameras to lend legitimacy. This is lust, pure and simple."
She squirmed as he worked the finger deeper, exposing her, splaying her, splitting her open as if on some pagan alter. All new, a virgin offering, the perfect sacrifice to the men's pleasure and to her own. She could do nothing but offer herself in kind, undulating her hips, seeking the maximum amount of contact. But it was the men who controlled everything, the amount of pressure she would feel, the parts of them that would touch her. Damned infernal teasing is what it was. Fingers and tongues. She needed their manhoods, iron-hard, silk covering velvet.
Julie could hold back no more. “Both of you,” she gasped, releasing Grigori. “I need both of you."
She scrambled over both men, creating a brief pile of sweating limbs. What she wanted was herself at the base of the pyramid, on all fours, open and ready for complete possession.
"Fuck me,” she begged. “In my mouth and ass … at once."
Grigori took the front. Straddling her face with his thighs, he put his cock back where it had been. She took it happily, allowing him to find all the space and pleasure he needed in the warm pocket of her mouth. His hands intertwined in her hair, exercising a loose but very real control. This made her pussy all the hotter and wetter.
Giovanni had her back end. Flicking a finger over her clit, he worked her to fever pitch, getting her to the place of accepting whatever he would do to her. He wanted her to take the ass fucking as willingly as a vaginal one, and maybe even more. She replied by wiggling her tail, pushing back each time she exhaled. She was breathing cock, breathing Grigori and she wanted to be as tightly pressed from behind.
Ambrosiano scooped at her juices, moving them from her pussy to the narrower chnnnel. Her puckered asshole tingled in response. Her every nerve ending was on high alert. If not for Grigori's cock functioning as a gag, she would have screamed out her sheer sensuous joy as he slipped the head of his long dick between her ass cheeks. No more waiting-it had finally come. She was going to lose her anal virginity.
Giovanni moved into her with steady finesse, like he had with Grigori. She was smaller, though, which meant he could not push as far as fast. His hands pressed at her back, his skin warm and demanding, wanting her compliance, her opening and intimacy. She could not think beyond the act, though, the sheer implications of being doubly stuffed with dick. Like a porn star or stripper, not a real actress.
Giovanni managed to get in half way. “You are incredible,” he reached for her pussy. “You have the spirit of two, three women. And the stamina."
Her back arched, a conduit between the men. He was massaging her clit. Oh, god, she needed to end this, to finish all three of them off. The pressure was just building and building. Giovanni gave a loud grunt, cleaving her. Grigori pulled at the roots of her hair. She swallowed more cock in response, offered up more ass. Faster and faster, the two men fucking each other through her.
They were coming … yes, they were blasting her full of their fresh loads, the sperm warm in her ass and mouth. It felt like rivers of the stuff, filling her belly and her back end. Giovanni gave her a reliease to go along with it, allowing her to rush with the river, bursting and cascading, bubbling, over the edge of a waterfall, the waters roaring and steaming plunging into a moist hot valley below, a virgin jungle of green, teeming with life, dew on the leaves, lizards and snakes rustling below.
At last all three collapsed together in a heap. They were too weary to rise. It was Julie who ended up in the middle position as the three of them spooned. Grigori had the rear position, cradling her with his body. Ambrosiano was in front, his soft breathing serving as a metronome for each of their hearts. They were in synch, their physical selves blending symbiotically. Could the same be said of their spirits? Time would tell, thought Julie as they drifted off to sleep, the sounds of the sea lulling away their conscious minds.
In the morning, when they awoke, that's when they would know what had stuck and what had not.