The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series by Emmanuelle de Maupassant Page A

cries were now such as could
only be interpreted as signs of impending ecstasy. Her thrusts became more demanding
and faster paced. Zeus was first to shudder in delight, surging into her,
uttering a great groan of satisfaction.

 
    The music of his orgasm
inspired that of the African below, who shot forth his juices with a moan long
and low. MacCaulay saw his own sweet love’s hips writhe
with the great fulfillment of desire. Her body then froze, held rigid, before a
shudder passed through her and a flood of passion erupted, as if she were
exhaling her soul.  

 
    Her cry brought a tightness to MacCaulay’s throat.
His envy burned within him, knowing that others had taken her to such a place
of arousal and contentment.

 
    The three lay breathless, one
upon the other, bodies glistening with perspiration. At last, they parted, Zeus
and the African taking their place at either side of the room. Mademoiselle lay
reclined upon the couch still, her chest rising yet with rapid breaths.

 
    MacCaulay knew that he must seize the moment, showing her that
his feelings of jealousy could be harnessed to other ends: that her enjoyment
of other men did not lessen his own desire. In fact, that her performance only
heightened his hunger to please her.

 
    He first pulled the ribbon
about her waist, so that it unraveled, and slithered from between her thighs.
Next, he bent his mouth to her breasts, removing the pastilles with his teeth,
so that her rosy nipples were unveiled. Her mask he left in place. She lay for
him, fully naked, languorous and displayed. Her thighs were parted, one knee
raised: her labia on show, plump and glistening with his dark rival’s semen.

 
    Knowing that he was watched,
and caring not, he lay his own bare body against hers.
She turned her face towards his and their lips met in a kiss so deep and tender
that MacCaulay felt an ocean wash over him, entering
a world in which only she existed for him.

 
    Her nipples brushed his
chest, and she pulled herself closer to him, enjoying the hairiness of his
torso against her soft skin. Her belly pushed against his, and her hands snaked
around his back, at last finding his buttocks, which she drew towards her,
wrapping a leg about him, so that his thick rod pressed at her groin.

 
    The moment was exquisite; they
lay clasped, body to body , knowing that pleasure was
to come and savouring this quiet pause before they
surrendered themselves to the throb of lust growing between them.

 
    She wriggled a little against
him, altering the angle of her pelvis, and his manhood found its entry as
naturally as a fox seeking shelter in its den. He held himself within her, not
yet moving, drinking in the sensation of being embraced by her.

 
    At last, imprisoning her in
his steadfast gaze, and cradling her as the most precious jewel, he began to
rock against her. He sensed some impatience on her side but exerted all his
self-control to keep his rhythm steady, refusing to rush forward. In this one
thing he was able to defy her, forcing her to submit to his pace, to allow him
to woo her with sweet whisperings of endearment and admiration, and gentle
kisses at her neck and along her shoulder. Her hands clutched at his buttocks
and she ground herself against him, eager to urge him on, to quicken his
thrusts and take her with more force, but he refused to rise to her
provocation.

 
    At last, she relinquished her
struggle, allowing him to dominate her. His hands firmly cupped the underside
of her bottom, so that he held her fast, thrusting at his own leisure, yet with
focused deliberation. Her eyes, usually so piercing, inquisitive and taunting,
grew wide and dark, glazed with feverish desire. Her body finally became limp
in surrender, permitting him to take her as he wished. He held her under his
spell now: she capitulating to his will.

 
    MacCaulay’s lips travelled down to embrace her breasts, pushing
her upper body slightly away from him to do so. She dropped