Tempting Gemma 8 Page 3

  “Oh, yes, that’s a good idea.”

  Still with a firm hold on her lollipop, Gemma kicked off the stilettos that had plagued her feet all evening. Such was her enthusiasm that one hit the ceiling of the room and just missed coming down on her head. The other flew out a window.

  “We can look for that in the morning,” Charles said absently. He was distracted by the sight of his wife shimmying her panties off under her skirt.

  Midway, she lost her balance and had to drop the lollipop in order to grab hold of the side of a table. It wobbled and came close to tipping over, taking a lamp with it, but to his great relief, both table and wife managed to stay upright.

  Oblivious to any difficulty, Gemma proceeded to pull the clingy black tube of silk off over her head and toss it aside. Naked, save for the diamond collar that she had quite forgotten about, she bent to recover her lollipop.

  Savoring the exquisite view of her bare, pink pussy and delightfully round derriere, Charles was on the verge of suggesting that he just come over there. Before he could do so, she straightened triumphantly, clutching her treat. For good measure, she’d grabbed the favors bag.

  In an instant, she had crossed the room, mounted the bed, and straddled him.

  “This is drugged, isn’t it?” she asked, waving what was left of her chocolate heart.

  “I’m afraid so. Sometimes it pays to read the label.”

  Gemma shrugged. “I don’t care. I was tired of feeling unhappy and now I’m not.”

  “That’s good but I wouldn’t want you to have any regrets.”

  “About what?”

  “This--” he began cautiously. Her breasts were incredible, so full and round, and those gorgeous nipples. He could almost taste them already, rolling around on his tongue while he--

  What had he been saying? Oh, yes. “This happening when you’re not quite yourself.”

  “Pshaw,” she said. “I am totally myself, just the part I like best. Speaking of which…”

  She tossed what was left of the mostly eaten favor, cupped his face in her hands and eyed him owlishly. “You’re spectacular, you know. And it’s not just your cock although that really is amazing. It’s all of you.”

  His throat was suddenly tight. With some difficulty, Charles said, “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate that.”

  “You can be so sweet, kind even and then you turn around and do the naughtiest, dirtiest things to me.” Her smile laid bare her wicked designs. “Now I want to do them to you.”

  “Sweetheart…!” What could a man do? A wife had needs, his certainly did. Far be it from him to deny them.

  Even so, his eyes widened as she turned the favors bag over and spilled its contents out over the bed. In amid the stimulating oils, various little souvenir toys and the like, one particular item seized his attention. And hers.

  “What on earth is this?” Gemma asked, zeroing in on the two stainless steel rings welded together at what struck her as a faintly familiar angle.

  Hastily, her husband said, “It’s nothing, put that down.”

  Ignoring him, she continued studying the apparatus. “Wait now…I’ve seen one of these. At a class on--” Her pretty blush momentarily diverted him. “--sustaining male excitation.”

  “The things they saw fit to teach you,” Charles grumbled. He made a grab for the infernal device but she evaded him.

  “It’s a cock ring!” Gemma declared, delighted to have remembered that particular bit of information. “That’s what it’s called.”

  She turned it over again thoughtfully. “Or a pair of them in this case. But how does it work? I really should have been paying attention.”

  Her husband gave a long-suffering sigh. She was so damned adorable and he was so hard, rendering her better informed wouldn’t make any difference to the inevitable outcome.

  “It’s made to grip the base of both the cock and balls so as to prevent ejaculation,” he said. “Some of the older chaps, I suppose, get their Viagra going and they want to make it last.”

  Gemma nodded. “Cock and balls, you say?” A frisson of alarm darted through him as she scooted back on his thighs and compared the “toy” to his own impressive equipage.

  Pouting, she said, “You’re too big. I don’t see how it can possibly fit.”

  “It won’t so put it down.”

  “Wait…I know what the problem is. You’re so hard right now, so thick and long…” Her voice trailed off for a moment. With an effort, she recalled herself. “We’d have to put this on you when Brad is a bit more…relaxed.”

  Her head bent, the tip of her pink tongue suddenly flicking over his swollen crest, round and round, under…

  Charles groaned. “What are you doing?”

  She broke off just long enough to answer. “Helping Brad relax, of course. Then we can try this out.”

  A long sigh escaped her husband. Arms folded behind his head--the only reason she wasn’t already in his grip and impaled on his throbbing cock--he stared up at the ceiling as though it might somehow hold the solution to his predicament.

  “You have me on the prongs of a dilemma--cum and then let you try out that damn thing. Or valiantly resist and embrace the novel experience of self-denial.”

  A giggle escaped his taunting minx of a wife. “How would you rate the odds of your managing that second one?”

  “Slim,” he acknowledged even as his hips arched toward the sweet, wet heaven of her mouth. “Astronomically so.”

  “You’d be like those tiny black holes,” she said.

  Lifting his head, he stared at her. “What?”

  “That the physicists keep inventing either by accident or on purpose, I’m not sure. Fortunately, they just blink into existence and then they’re gone before they can cause any trouble. That would be Chaste Charles. Now you see him, but mostly now you don’t. Blink and he’s gone.”

  What could he say? When she was right, she was right. He was beginning to notice that was more often than not.

  With a sigh, he said, “Fine, do your worst.”

  Ten minutes and a spectacular BJ later, Gemma slipped the cock ring onto her temporarily supine husband and leaned back a bit to observe her handiwork.

  “Oh, good, it fits now!”

  “Great,” Charles murmured unconvincingly. So satisfied was he that he could just as easily have drifted off to sleep right then had his curiosity not been stirred.

  After such a spectacular release, how did she intend to make him hard again in time to satisfy her own impatient libido? Not that she’d have any difficulty doing so; she never did. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what she’d come up with this time.

  With a grin that suggested he was about to find out, Gemma picked up one of the small bottles of oil and made a show of reading the label.

  “Oh,” she said, studying it. “Yes, I see… Hmmm, you don’t say. My heavens!”

  Holding his gaze, she popped the lid off and dribbled the oil generously over her lovely breasts.

  “You want to be careful with that stuff,” he cautioned.

  “I want to drive you mad,” she corrected. Having nestled Brad in the cleft of her bosom, she proceeded to do exactly that.

  Chapter Six

  What would they say of him when he was gone, Charles wondered? Beyond the obvious--he went with a smile on his face--would they regret that he’d been cut down in the prime of life? Would they speak sorrowfully of all his promise and potential never to be fulfilled?

  Or would they just lift a glass to the man who had expired at full mast and cheer him to his rest?

  He wasn’t actually going to die; he knew that. In fact, he’d never felt so extraordinarily alive. Never mind that his heart was beating like a drum the size of a car being whaled on by a band of demented monkeys. The pulse in his cock was even more notable, reverberating as it did straight up his spine to the poor, dazed remnants of his brain.

  Sweet heaven, he had thought her an innocent school girl when they first met. A
nd the truly astounding part was that she had been! He still couldn’t get over the transformation, not just in her but in himself as well. If he ever had the chance, he’d try to figure out how that had happened but under the circumstances…

  Between the lush, ripe breasts bobbing in front of his face and the hot, tight cunt riding his caged cock, it was probably just as well that she’d taken a few moments to tie his wrists to the headboard before they’d really got going. Never mind that the bed would end up as little more than kindling before they were done, it was his only hope of letting her have her way.

  He wanted to do that so badly after what she had faced and what was yet to come. Not to mention that he had never been so aroused, so insanely pleasured, so within grasp of the unicorn of…

  Yet another bolt of pleasure rocketed through him. Not an orgasm…exactly…but close to, leaving him to wonder if he’d stumbled upon that mythical beast, the male multiple-O. He’d always thought it the envious fantasy of chaps tired of seeing their bed partners--the female variety, at least--come over and over while they only got the single shot. But maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe it was real.

  (As a side note, the reader should not be misled by the apparent coherence of Charles’ thoughts at this point. Rather than as they are depicted here for the sake of comprehension, they should be taken more as flares sent up between exploding synapses, essentially a “farewell, old chap, it’s been fun” salute.)

  A year or so ago, he’d been among the privileged audience on hand to witness the maiden launch of the Victoria VII rocket, the largest and most powerful in the world. He still recalled the extraordinary spectacle of the column of metal and fury rising on roiling clouds of fire into the pre-dawn sky.

  That earth-shaking eruption was nothing compared to the one building in him over the past hour or however long--he’d lost track of time along with everything else. When it finally came, it was going to tear him apart but he couldn’t manage to care.

  The sight of his wife… Botticelli should still be alive to paint her. Forget Venus and her damn shell. Gemma, on the verge of yet another orgasm, was the most beautiful vision he had ever beheld.

  The heat rising from her seared his soul. She glowed from the inside out. Distantly, he heard a rending sound, the headboard giving way. His hand gripped the diamond collar encircling her throat.

  “Enough,” he gasped, once again lord of all he surveyed, and drove into her.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Gemma tried to raise her head but failed and gave up the effort. She was sprawled across her husband’s body in a sticky puddle of juices, cum and the sweat that slicked them both. Her heartbeat had slowed but was not yet returned to normal. She was breathing, of that much she was certain, but in little gasps that gave way slowly to soft panting.

  The steady beat of Charles’ heart beneath her ear soothed her. How extraordinary he was! Standing up for her to Dame Aurelia was enough to earn him her heartfelt gratitude. But to allow her such liberties. Truly, he was the most patient and tolerant of husbands.

  Whenever she could move--however long that took--she had to find that cock ring. Not that she intended to making use of it again, at least not without first allowing a decent interval to pass in the interest of their mutual recovery. But as a keepsake of the weekend, it could not be equaled.

  Softly, unsure he would hear her, she said, “I was getting worried.”

  Proving that he truly was the most stalwart of men, her husband replied, “Wha’bout?”

  “It occurred to me that with that device on, you couldn’t come but if you didn’t, how were we to get it off?”

  ‘You took care that.”

  Brad was curled up in the soft nest of hair at Charles’ groin. That hearty fellow didn’t look inclined to rise any time soon.

  “Can’t get over it,” Charles murmured. “You were a virgin just a few weeks ago.”

  “You made short work of that.”

  “Take the rest of my life, I’ll make up for it,” he said repentantly.

  She could have said something magnanimous--Never mind dear, it’s all forgiven--something along those lines. But all Gemma actually said, was, “I’ll hold you to that.”

  A long shudder of anticipation ran through him. His arms tightened around her.

  “Go to sleep,” the Marquess said. “Big today tomorrow.”

  A moment later, the sound of his wife’s soft breathing followed him into his dreams.

  Chapter Seven

  That’s impressive,” Charles observed. He’d been strolling with his wife through the various demonstrations under way in the courtyard of dear old Mary Magdalene when one in particular caught his eye.

  The young lady in question certainly seemed to have made the most of her yoga classes. Or perhaps she was a natural contortionist. At the moment, she was doing a handstand with a backward arch that bent her pelvis high off the ground, raised her knees to the level of her ears and left her feet dangling just beneath her chin. Modesty was (just barely) preserved by her flesh-toned leotard. However, there was no doubt that the male audience found the display invigorating.

  Eying her, Gemma said drily, “Add a bit of mustard and she’d pass for a pretzel.”

  Her husband laughed. His voice dropped a notch, becoming even more intimate. “As I recall, you’re quite flexible yourself.”

  His wife blushed becomingly. Although she appeared fresh as a summer’s morn in a strapless sundress of white silk dotted with crimson peonies, the excesses of the previous night had not yet entirely relinquished their hold. She was glad of the support of her husband’s arm as they moved on past a circle of girls barely garbed in diaphanous gowns who were dancing gaily and beyond the young ladies in frilly aprons and little else showing off their massaging skills.

  The more overtly risqué exhibits were hidden away in a tent. There was a line to get into it. Gemma and Charles gave that a pass.

  “Where are we going?” she asked when she realized that he was leading her away from the courtyard.

  “To the one place Dame Aurelia is guaranteed not to be this morning.”

  The Headmistress was holding court near the al fresco breakfast buffet, charming her guests amid the pop of champagne corks and the clink of mimosas. She was clearly enjoying herself, no doubt after counting up the receipts from the auction and anticipating the donation checks that would be flowing in shortly.

  “Her office?” Gemma guessed. “But why?”

  “Because, my sweet wife, we need evidence and that’s where we’ll find it.”

  Relief flooded her. Despite all the misdirection--the potted plants, the baskets of heather, the cheery nubile young things prancing about, the damn fairy lights--her husband believed her.

  Moreover, he had already anticipated the next step. It wasn’t enough to expose the truth. People who were sufficiently vested in any institution could rationalize away even its most despicable failings. Only one thing would matter to them in the end--a threat to their own survival.

  What was it Charles had called the cardinal rule of nobility, the one unbreakable requirement imposed on them all? Ceteri non futuis illum. Don’t fuck it up for the rest of us.

  Let the decent men and women of Britain find out that a segment of the aristocracy supported a sadistic institution that trafficked in nubile young women and there would be hell to pay. Not merely in the pitchforks and torches sense but much worse. The ridicule would be unbearable. The edifice of assumed moral superiority upon which the whole system depended would be in real danger of collapsing.

  “How can you be sure any such evidence exists?” Gemma asked as they slipped through a side door and made their way down a hallway toward the office.

  Quietly, in the hush of the stone passage, Charles said, “Sadists such as Dame Aurelia have a fondness for reliving their exploits. They tend to keep a record--photographs, videos and the like so that they can go back and revisit their favorite moments.”

  Gemma shivered with revulsion. Sh
e didn’t have to ask how he knew that. In the aftermath of his father’s death, it would have fallen to the very young Charles to clean up the remains of a life ill spent. To protect the family, and the victims, he no doubt had destroyed everything. But he hadn’t forgotten any of it.

  Her hand squeezed his as they turned a corner and found themselves in front of the double doors leading to the inner sanctum. For a moment, Gemma wondered if they might be locked but a quick twist of a knob revealed otherwise.

  Stepping into the Headmistress’ office, she experienced a moment of near vertigo. She had only been there twice before--once after being caught with the forbidden books and the second time when she was released from the cell and found herself face to face with the man who was to be her husband. For a horrible moment, she felt as helpless as she had on both those occasions.