“I am ready . . . to be . . . whatever my Master demands,” she rasped. Lord in Heaven, the vibrator was starting to arouse her again, moving past painful overstimulation.
“Prettily said. Then I’ll ask your Master for the ‘right of demand,’ so that I might make the next request.”
As the silence drew out, an obvious cord of tension stretching from one end of the table to the other, her apprehension was mirrored in the increased stillness from the other two vampires, watching the byplay.
Elisa knew that unyielding look on Mal’s face. Knew it was tied into a hundred different things, memories of humiliation, of being forced to do something alien to one’s nature, against one’s heart. He didn’t want her to suffer that, no matter that he had every right in his world to demand it of her. And that alone made it possible for her to accept whatever Lord Marshall offered.
You’re my Master. You’ll protect my heart, hold it in that room I mentioned, right? I’ll pretend you’re holding me in your lap, telling me stories of lions mating and leopards chasing one another around trees. About how harsh Nature can be one moment, and yet loving in the next. I want to serve you, Master. Let me do it.
His lips tightened. “What may my servant do to bring you pleasure, my lord?”
“Not an unequivocal assent.” Lord Marshall sat back, studying him, and yet in some sense Elisa felt that Mal had not displeased him. “Jonathan’s idea intrigues me. We have two handsome male servants here and one lovely female. I need a third male. Will you take whatever position I decree, Malachi?”
Please say yes. If he was involved, it increased her chances of getting through it. His hand upon her, his touch.
Mal inclined his head. “It’s always a pleasure to enjoy my servant.”
“Very well. Then you will provide the occupation for her mouth. Gustav will take her from behind and Christophe will have the pleasure of her pussy.” Lord Marshall raised his glass. “I want her arms bound behind her back so she’s at the mercy of the three of you for movement. My conservancy would be a much better location to enjoy the spectacle. The staff can bring the rest of our meal out there, and it’s a shame to waste tonight’s breeze off the water. May I suggest we head in that direction?”
34
JUST like that. As if he’d decided there’d be cards and charades after dinner. Instead, it was, “Oh fine, gents, let’s have a bit of three-way buggering while we enjoy our port and cigars and Cynthia enjoys her sherry.” Though it appeared Cynthia preferred whiskey mixed with blood.
Gustav had lifted her off her feet, holding her waist, and brought her to Mal, who was still sitting in his chair. When he drew the wet vibrator from her, she tried not to grab hold of him, but it was a near thing, her lower belly clutching over the sensation, her release flowing down her leg. As the others rose to go to the other room, he picked up his cloth napkin, pressed it to her inner thigh, soft strokes that kept her stance wide. Then he leaned forward and gave the curve of her breast a quick nip.
I can do this, sir. I can.
I know you can. He lifted his face to her, and she’d never wanted to lean down and kiss him more, but she stepped back at his gesture and he rose. Lord Marshall was at his elbow, engaging him in conversation. He and Mal moved toward the door with the other two vampires, the servants left to follow on their own. She knew it was part of the way things were tonight, so she squelched the tiny spurt of lost feeling that came from being so casually dismissed.
Christophe’s hand landed on her elbow, holding her back with a pointed look. Now it was just her, Christophe and Gustav. And she in scanty underwear. She tried not to think about it, but it was an act of supreme will not to try to cover herself. Christophe gave Gustav a nod, and he brought the flagon of whiskey from the sidebar, pouring a full glass and extending it to her.
“Drink it all down, ma cherie,” Christophe murmured. “One fast gulp, hard, like a man. It may seem like a lot, but it takes more to affect a third-mark. It goes away quicker as well, but this should be enough to get you started. We’ll take you the rest of the way.”
She nodded, not questioning their solicitude. She’d learned to recognize the good servants, the ones who understood they were all in it together and the best way to get along was to help one another out.
“They’ll want you stripped and bound here,” the Frenchman continued, producing a silk black cord. “Gustav will do the stripping honors, so you allow him that, eh?”
“I can undress myself,” she said, and winced at the quaver.
“Use our strength, ma cherie. You’ll need it.” Christophe’s eyes twinkled. “Though it is fortunate that Gustav is the one who will take you from behind, because despite his mountainous size, it is my cock that is the more formidable of the two.”
“So he says,” Gustav rumbled. “But only because he plays with it so much it’s lengthened like an overstretched spaghetti noodle.”
She blinked, tears from the whiskey’s burn blinding her, but she couldn’t help but feel the spurt of humor. Whether from the alcohol rush or not, she didn’t know, but it was enough to give her a tiny smile. “Thank you.”
“Pfft.” Christophe waved a hand. “Think we haven’t been where you are? The first dinner I attended, it was like being thrown naked into a vat of horny, violent rugby players. I thought it was what Hell must be like, all those twisting, writhing bodies. But then something happened. Even now, there are times I remember it . . . fondly.”
As he spoke, Gustav unhooked the bra quite deftly. She stiffened as his large hands settled on her hips to slide off her panties, but she used Christophe’s shoulders for balance as she stepped out of them. He left her garters, stockings and heels. “This is a very nice look. They will like this.”
She was shaking again, standing there all naked in front of the two of them as if it meant nothing. Christophe guided her wrists behind her and Gustav knotted the rope around them, drawing her shoulders back so her breasts were further lifted for Christophe’s avidly appreciative gaze. “Ah, a nice touch.”
Taking a swig of the whiskey straight from the bottle, he cupped her head, moving in to seize her mouth. She let out a surprised noise but then she was focusing on swallowing as he gave her more of the searing liquid. Gustav braced her behind so she felt the heat and pressure of both of them, a prelude of things to come. Christophe bent and fastened his whiskey-scented mouth on one nipple, suckling it quickly, and then the other. She bucked and gasped, overwhelmed at the sensual attack.
“There you are. All pointed and hard they are now, your pussy glistening again. You’re ready and they’ll love you. So will we, pretty sweet morsel. Come now, and don’t worry.”
She wasn’t quite sure how or what to think. It was the most remarkable thing she’d ever experienced, the way they now both stripped as well, setting their clothes aside with a matter-of-fact air. It helped, that feeling of camaraderie, though they weren’t the ones about to become a shish kebab. Gustav was in fact wearing what Mal had called a harness, and his stiff cock was enormous from the restraint, the straps tightly binding his testicles and the base of the shaft.
Taking the bottle from Christophe’s hands, she upended it just as he’d done. As she choked, Gustav helpfully pounded her on the back and Christophe rescued the bottle before she dropped it. Through bleary eyes, she noted Christophe was as well-endowed as he’d said, but she held on to the fortitude of the alcohol, the arousal of her own body. She would use that and let her mind drift without anchor, not hold on to anything but the fact it would eventually be over. She would be pleasured beyond bearing, right? But treated as chattel, as an amusement, not a treasure. She closed her eyes, but before she could balk or bolt, she was nudged into motion.
They led her into the conservancy, a glassed-in room that faced the waterway. It wouldn’t be too difficult for a passing boat to discern what they were doing, even with the distance of the backyard and the dock for Marshall’s yacht. She was fully on display. The vampires were scattered about on the casual furniture in the outdoor living area. She met Mal’s gaze first, saw him look with hot approval at her appearance, though his attention lingered on her breasts as if he knew another male’s mouth had been there, and he possibly didn’t approve. But her arms had been tied, and she wasn’t sure anymore what she was supposed to allow or not allow.
His jaw relaxed a fraction. You don’t have to make those choices, Elisa. That’s my job. You’ve done nothing wrong. They know what they are doing. Just follow their lead.
Christophe stretched out on the sturdy and long tile table set up in the center of the room, and Elisa didn’t know whether to praise or curse the efficiency of Marshall’s staff in providing it. The Frenchman’s cock had only gained in size since they left the dining room. It was rising high and hard, ready for her. Gustav lifted her up like a tiny doll and guided her to spread her legs, straddling his fellow servant’s body. Elisa caught a panicked whimper in her throat. It was diabolical to tie someone’s arms like this. She was afraid, and these were strangers.
No, she was fine. This wasn’t Victor. She didn’t want Mal reacting to her spurt of panic, trying to call this off. Lord Marshall wouldn’t be tolerant forever. I’m fine. I’m fine. And she was. Christophe and Gustav were considerate and experienced, conscious of what brought a woman pleasure. That was the whole point of this. Her pleasure as entertainment. It would not be painful . . . not physically.
She didn’t have to worry about pregnancy. Lady Constance had told her a long time ago that, while third-marks could be fertile with a human or vampire, something in the makeup of third-marks kept them from impregnating each other, another reason they were preferred for dinner games with their masters and mistresses. She wondered if that was another reason Mal had wanted her third-marked before this trip.
She couldn’t keep her mind distracted any longer. Gustav had one arm around her waist, the other hand curled around her throat. As Christophe’s cock pushed into her cunt, the broad head sliding intimately against slick petals, she tried to relax, tried not to think. Maybe it had been merely a few weeks, but she’d gotten used to accepting only one male there. No matter how Mal had overwhelmed her, she’d been able to choose. Choice was a fleeting thing. She closed her eyes, their desires be damned, and tried not to let the tears show, but they liked that, liked seeing them seep down her cheeks. She heard it in Cynthia’s murmur.