Menage on a Train Page 2
In reply, he curled his hand around mine and guided it harder along his length.
“Come on, you two,” I said. “Surely, one of you must want my mouth on you.”
Both of them moved—as if they’d rehearsed this encounter and had given each other a cue. Hands turned me over, not violently but with enough firmness to brook no opposition. Then, they lifted me onto all fours. Before I could ask what they intended, someone spread my legs and moved between them. The head of his cock nudged between the lips of my sex and pressed forward.
Though not the larger of the two, it still stretched me as it entered. Still sensitive after my orgasm, my sex ached for deeper penetration. I grew wet all over again, and I groaned as I pressed back to invite him deeper inside me.
He took the invitation by clasping my hips and surging into me. I gasped at the possession as his cock began to move. Slow but steady strokes, entering and retreating while my mind went dim with need.
Fingers found the side of my face, and in a second, something bumped against my lips. I opened my mouth to taste it. The huge head of a cock. A salty tang testified to his arousal, so I licked the surface and then flicked my tongue around the rim and into the pucker at the end.
His hips moved, too—an automatic male response to mounting excitement. A member his size could have choked me, so I grasped the shaft to stroke while devouring the first few inches of him.
The man behind me went faster now, plowing into me with more urgency. I’d never dreamed of having anything like this. One lover fucking me to climax while another offered his own cock for me to tease. The darkness all around us lent the encounter an air of fantasy, taking it from the everyday world into a realm of total carnality. I hummed my pleasure, all around the male flesh in my mouth. The man attached to the flesh stiffened and then thrust harder. Spurred on by the vibrations around his cock, do doubt. Nice.
Behind me, the man with his tool buried in my pussy bent to stroke my stomach and then guide his fingers into the curls over my mound. When he found my distended clit, I moaned again, louder.
His thrusts alone would have taken me to orgasm. Pushing my hot button made things all the sweeter. They kept on that way. One man pounding his cock into me while he rubbed the sensitive bud of flesh between my legs, another man surrendering his cock to the attentions of my mouth. If only we could go on like this for hours.
Eventually, though, I had no choice but to give in again to my own hunger. I let the cock slip from my mouth while I bent my head and focused on my pussy and the storm building there.
The thrusts became frantic. Fast, hard, savage. The sign of a man who’s reached his limit. Still, he didn’t release my clit but made circling motions over the tip. I accepted everything he offered, as he stretched me with his movements and drove me wild with his fingers.
Just as I approached the threshold—the point of no return—he stiffened and roared. After a few more thrusts, he came. I could almost feel the heat of his semen inside me.
Then, he stopped. Stopped! I ached and throbbed. On the verge of a powerful climax, and the fucking had stopped.
“Please,” I gasped. “Don’t stop. I need…more. I need…please!”
He moved immediately, and his friend took his place between my legs. He entered me with one huge thrust. The entire bulk of that huge cock slammed into me with a force that nearly pushed me off the bed.
Oh, good Lord.
Impossible. I’d taken all of him. As wet as I’d become with my own juices and my lover’s, as much as the other man had stretched me, I could envelope his mass and enjoy every inch.
He moved as fast as the other man had, and I had to brace myself to take the blows. The fire inside me raged again, consuming my entire being. A hand went to my pussy again—heaven only knew whose—and the lost orgasm came back doubled in force. So, when he grabbed my hips and forced me back against him, we came together. My sex gripped his with powerful contractions, and he emptied himself into me while we both shouted out in release.
After it all ended and the strength leached out of my limbs, we all fell into a heap of humanity. Surrounded by the warmth of two male bodies, I rested while my heartbeat slowed its hammering.
When I opened my eyes again, the daylight had returned to the cabin. Tom stood by the window as he had before our session, and Nigel sat at the end of the bed. Both men had dressed and looked as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The delicious soreness of my pussy told me I hadn’t imagined that glorious fucking.
I stretched. “I guess I fell asleep.”
“I thought only men did that,” Tom said.
“Not to worry, love,” Nigel said. “We worked you pretty hard.”
“Nice work if you can get it,” I answered.
“Very satisfying.” Tom turned and smiled at me. “Not many women could handle both of us.”
“Are you going to tell me now which of you was which?”
Tom’s brow went up. “Which?”
“You know…” My cheeks warmed. How idiotic for me to get shy after all the three of us had shared.
“You mean which of us has the huge tool?” Nigel asked. “And which one loves to eat pussy?”
“Something like that.”
“We both love to eat pussy,” Tom said.
“And you’re both well-endowed,” I added.
“That answers that, then,” Nigel said.
“But, it doesn’t.” I huffed. Like a spoiled child, even if I did admit it myself. For heaven’s sake, in another minute I’d be stamping my little foot. Still, they enjoyed my confusion entirely too much. In fact, they both wore smug smiles. As if they’d put something over on me. Curse them.
“She looks a bit put out, don’t you think, mate?” Nigel said.
“She looks well fucked to me.”
“All right. The two of you were great.”
Tom crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head.
“The two of you were more than great,” I admitted. “It was the fuck of a lifetime.”
Nigel reached over and tapped my nose. “Then, be a good one and put on some clothes. I need something to eat.”
This time, I gave him an evil look.
He laughed. “I meant food.”
Chapter Two
Back in the dining car, both men dug into a stew rich with onions and laced with paprika. I couldn’t resist the spicy mixture, either, and ate with as much gusto as I’d lacked before. After an encounter like the one we’d just experienced, anyone would require sustenance. Then, too, maybe the session really had enhanced more than my sexual appetite.
I took a taste of my wine and found that its flavor had improved, as well. The fruit almost danced on my tongue and left my mouth with a floral aftertaste. Although I lived near some of the best wine regions in California, I’d never tasted anything so perfectly matched to the meal. Yes, indeed, this voyage had turned into a feast for all the senses.
Nigel lifted his glass in a toast. “So, where do we go from here?”
Tom and I joined him, and the heavy crystal clinked.
“Go?” I asked. As much as I’d planned this trip for months, and as many nights I’d lain awake indulging fantasies of sexual exploration, I’d never considered what would happen after the tunnel lay behind me.
“I thought the point of this journey was anonymity,” I said.
“Tom and I have managed that, I think,” Nigel said.
“Because I don’t know which one of you did what to me,” I said. “Did you plan it that way?”
“We didn’t plan anything. We had no idea we’d end up sharing a lover,” Tom said.
“Odd. You seemed to coordinate things without speaking.”
Tom’s cheeks colored. Despite his ruddy complexion, he clearly blushed. “We’re roommates—more like brothers, really. We’ve talked about sex. Even toyed with the idea of adopting a woman, if you will.”
“So, that’s why you didn’t mind a ménage,” I said.
“So, I repeat,” Nigel said. “Where do we go from here?”
Oh, my. I really could have more of that glorious sex. One man with a truly gifted mouth and another with the largest cock I could imagine. This trip had turned out to be the best money I’d ever spent.
“I hadn’t planned much. Finishing the ride to Prague, a bit of sightseeing and then going home,” I said.
“Not very imaginative,” Tom said.
I leaned back in my chair and studied both of them. “What did you guys have in mind?”
“Tomorrow, we enter the pass proper. We planned a side trip to the castle,” Tom said.
“Isn’t it supposed to be haunted?” I asked.
“Dank corridors, clanking chains, ghostly moans.” Nigel leaned toward me, his eyes wide. “Bwahahaha.”
I laughed. “Oh, I’m so scared.”
“We might leave a few of our own moans to bounce off the stones after we’re gone,” Tom said.
I couldn’t help but stare at him. “You’re thinking about…oh, no…having sex in the castle? The three of us?”
He shrugged. “The tour guide might leave us unattended for a while.”
“Wouldn’t that be illegal?”
“Maybe. They must know what kind of tourism they encourage with the bleeding tunnel,” Nigel said.
I looked from one of them to the other. Sex in a medieval castle with a group of tourists nearby. That could get embarrassing. It could also prove incredibly erotic. At least, we’d have light, and I’d figure out who was who—and whose was whose.
If my mind had any doubts, my pussy settled them. Already it missed the mouth and the cock it had enjoyed a few minutes earlier. Why not take a chance? I wouldn’t get a better offer in this lifetime.
“I’m in,” I said.
“Good.” Tom motioned toward the steward. “We’d better all get some sleep and meet back here first thing in the morning.”
Fyalin Castle didn’t loom as large as I had expected, but what it lacked in size it more than made up in ghoulishness. All it needed was the howling of wolves and the beat of bats’ wings to make the perfect setting for a remake of Dracula. Bella Logos and Boris Karloff would have fit right in here.
The guide expounded on every horror of the place in gory detail. A beheading here, an impaling there—all the glories of twisted royal minds run amok—the wizened fellow knew every one and managed to convey each of them in the local tongues, French, German and English. A multi-lingual crypt keeper. Who would have thought you could find someone like him in this backwater? Still, the place had its charm, in a blood-sucking sort of way. I would have missed a fascinating side excursion if I hadn’t met Tom and Nigel.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” the guide said in his heavy accent. “The most interesting part of Castle Fyalin, the dungeons.”
“Figures Igor would like them best,” Nigel muttered.
I elbowed him in the ribs. “The man’s name is Klaus.”
“The mad Herr Doctor Klaus von Igor,” Nigel said, drawing out the last syllable.
“He’ll hear you.”
“I’m sure he’s heard worse.” Tom gestured after Klaus. “Let’s not miss the highlight of the tour.”
We followed the others down a narrow, twisting stairway. Electric lights in the shape of torches provided the only illumination, and they left plenty of shadows and dark corners. At the bottom, we came on a short corridor flanked on either side by heavy wooden doors with grilled windows not much larger than a man’s head. One cell stood open to reveal a cot made of beams attached to the wall by chains. A storage area for one or more prisoners. Deep below the rest of the castle, where the nobles above wouldn’t have to encounter any suffering. Unless they wanted to.
A flickering came from the room at the end of the hallway, and the last of the group entered there. When the three of us joined them, Klaus had already launched into his spiel.
“The first Count Fyalin had the castle built with the dungeon and the crypt as a foundation. In another wing, all the current count’s ancestors are buried, but this room is truly the heart of the entire structure.”
“I expected as much,” Nigel said.
This time I just glowered at him.
Klaus continued in a series of other languages, and I glanced around the room. A small hearth held a fire of fake logs and gas jets. That and more electric torches on the walls recreated the atmosphere perfectly, if 1930s horror movies had any accuracy at all. Nasty-looking hooks hung from beams overhead, and a large iron cage had its own corner. Klaus went to a long table with manacles at both ends and turned a huge crank, all the while droning on in German I couldn’t catch. I didn’t need a translation. The apparatus was obviously a rack for stretching people until their bones snapped. Lovely.
The man’s eyes really lit up when he walked to the last exhibit. It stood to one side of the fireplace. A large wooden frame, again with shackles at the corners.
“The sixth count was most fond of this device,” he said, now switching to English. “The scaffold itself does nothing but to hold his victim still while he enjoyed himself.”
“Enjoyed himself?” asked a woman with a New York accent.
“The count reserved this punishment for ladies. Especially his lovers or women who’d dared to refuse him.”
“Imaginative bloke,” Nigel said. “I’ll bet he was a lot of fun at parties.”
Klaus turned our way. His smile suggested he’d enjoyed the joke. “Indeed he was. By the time he’d finished with his prisoner, she wore his mark for the rest of her life.”
The woman from New York covered her mouth with her fingers. “Oh, dear God.”
“Not the Almighty, madam.” Klaus picked up something like a poker and held it out for her inspection. “After a moment or two in the fire, this would leave a very impressive scar on a woman’s delicate skin.”
The woman looked positively sick. “I’ve seen enough.”
Klaus returned the poker to the hearth. “As you wish. We’ll now proceed to the main hall and the portrait gallery.”
“Thank goodness.” The woman and her partner turned and left, followed by the others. Klaus took up the rear, and they all went into the corridor.
I started after them, but Tom caught my arm. “What’s your rush?”
“They’re leaving us behind.”
Nigel took my other hand and looked around me at Tom. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Why not?”
“Okay, what’s up?” I asked.
“Did you ever feel like getting handcuffed to something, countess?”
I glanced at the frame and the manacles in the corners. Once locked into that, I’d have no defense against anything a man—or a pair of men—wanted to do to me. “You want to burn me with a poker?”
“Do we seem like the type to do something like that?” Nigel asked.
“I suppose not.”
Tom caught my chin and brought my face around to his. “There’s more than one way to brand a woman.”
A shiver went through me, all the way down to my toes, then back up to linger at my crotch.
“We’d be missed.” My voice came out breathless.
“By the time Klaus came back here, we’d be all done and dressed again.”
“What if they left and locked us in?”
He pressed a quick kiss on my lips. “We’d enjoy the count’s hospitality for the night.”
“Thank you, no.”
“Come on, love. There’s another tour in the afternoon,” Nigel said. “We’d tell them we got lost and couldn’t find our way out.”
I studied the frame with its restraints. Made for an era when the average person didn’t grow very tall, it wouldn’t stretch me to the point of pain. It would restrain me quite effectively, though. Something else I’d never tried—making myself helpless with a lover. Correct that. Two lover
s.
“You’re wondering if you can trust us,” Tom said.
I bit my lip. “I guess I am.”
“We’re good sorts, Cass,” Nigel said. “At least, I am. You can never fully trust a Yank when he gets that look in his eye.”
“Thanks a lot, pal,” Tom said.
I turned toward him. His eyes did hold a decidedly sensual gleam. Feverish, as if he’d already become aroused. I tried glancing at the front of his pants, but before I could get a glimpse of a bulge beneath the fabric, he grasped my shoulders and turned me around.
“No fair peeking,” he said.
“No fair not letting me see.”
“It think she needs to be punished, Nigel. How about you?”
“I have a rod we can use on her, mate.”
Tom pushed gently, urging rather than forcing me to walk to the apparatus. Once they had me there, they set about to removing my clothes. They worked like dance partners, each movement coordinated with the other. While one knelt to remove my shoes and socks, the other helped me to shrug out of my jacket. My blouse and slacks followed. They even shared the tasks of getting me out of panties and bra. Soon, I stood naked, with my bare feet against the stones of the floor.
Another nudge from Tom, and I surrendered, moving my arms upward and my feet out toward the manacles. The ankle restraints fit easily, but the ones at my wrists would chafe if I put too much pressure on them. On the whole, the scaffold made a good fit—stretching my limbs out, but not painfully. Cool air washed over my inner thighs and under my arms, but the small fire warned my skin enough to keep off a chill.
A tingle of anticipation rushed through me, like the burn of too large a sip of liquor on your throat. The folds of my sex dampened. I wouldn’t be able to touch myself or even press my legs together and would have to trust the men to satisfy me. They’d done a magnificent job in the tunnel, and they’d seemed eager for more play. I’d no doubt get a repeat performance that would take my breath away.