hen Henri Etienne-Ducat exited the Duchesse’s chambers, he attempted to cover the wet spot
on his pants leg with his satchel that held vellums of music. His thoughts of ravishing
Sabine, the mysterious women whom he had met on the road into the village, consumed him.
His own arousal so far had gone unabated and the tightness of his pants hindered his gait.
The urge to release filled his mind.
“Henri?” The voice echoed against the parquet floors, the marble columns, and
reverberated inside Henri’s head. His once hot blood grew cold as he recognized the
pitch, the tone. He turned to see three men standing behind him, haloed by the late
evening sun streaming through the doors behind them.
“Duke de Périgord, my patron, how are you doing this afternoon?” asked Henri,
careful to shield his leg and dwindling erection with his satchel. He crossed the grand
hall and approached the Duke.
Duke Frederiqué Archenhaud de Périgord was a tall man with a goatee.
Powder was caked on his face and the wig reeked of stale perfume. He was slender, his
face held delicate features that contrasted sharply with his aquiline nose. His bright
blue eyes belied the fact that he was well past his fiftieth year. As the three men faced
Henri, he could tell from the bobbing of his head that the young man clad in a sailor’s
uniform, in the middle, was very much intoxicated. The other man, who was just as tall as
Frederiqué but far more muscular, wore the clothes of an aristocrat. His face was
fat and had rather large jowls. The attempt to hide the jowls behind muttonchops only
exaggerated his sagging face, a face that held a heart drawn upon it and a large black
spot obscuring part of his lip.
“Henri, I’d like for you to meet Marquis Laurent de Poix.” As Frederiqué, spoke
the man on the right nodded. “And, this young strapping fellow is Aquarelle.”
“It is a pleasure you meet you both,” responded Henri nervously, somewhat distracted by
the heaviness of his balls. The scent of liquor was heavy in the air. Laurent nodded.
Aquarelle struggled to raise first his head, then his hand.
“Henri is one of my court musicians. He writes the most wondrous compositions,”
complimented Frederiqué.
“Thank you, Duke Périgord, you are too kind,” said Henri wishing that he was on
his horse riding to Sabine.
“You must join us,” commanded the Duke. His words sent an icy shiver up Henri’s spine.
He knew and was afraid of just what Frederiqué might be offering.
Frederiqué had attempted to seduce Henri repeatedly, but with no success. He had
heard the rumors surrounding what became of the men Frederiqué used as playthings,
toys to satisfy his lust and ego. One late night at a tavern, he had met a younger man
who still bore the scars, the whelps, a branding and burns from his experiences with
Frederiqué.
“Maybe some other time, my lord, another composition has been requested by Duchesse de
Périgord and I wish to get started on it immediately,” said Henri trying to lend an
air of urgency to his voice. Henri caught a glimpse of lust in both Laurent and
Frederiqué’s eyes as the sailor continued to dangle between the two. He also
noticed that both Frederiqué and Laurent were sporting erections in their
culottes.
“She can be a trifle demanding. I look forward to hearing it when completed,” stated
Frederiqué just before licking his thin lips. The sight of Henri always made
Frederiqué’s mouth water and his cock to spring to life, and now it was harder than
ever, straining to be unrestrained. Frederiqué’s nostrils flared at the scent, a
smell all too familiar to him, the salty air of someone who had pre-cum. Fortunately for
Henri, he thought it was the sailor’s.
“Yes, my lord,” spoke Henri as he gave a slight bow. The sailor mumbled, drawing
attention back to him.
“Yes, you must come and play for me sometime,” stated Laurent, his eyes glowed with the
impure thoughts circling in his head.
“Yes, my lord, Duke de Périgord. If I may be excused?” Henri could hear his
voice shake.
“You may be excused, Henri,” stated Frederiqué as the sailor began to display a
little more consciousness, trying to right himself to stand on his own, forcing the two
men’s thoughts to return to their current prey. Frederiqué could not help himself
and had to reach down to Aquarelle’s crotch, groping.
“Thank you, my lord. You are most gracious.” Henri gave a curt bow and made four steps
backwards before turning from the trio. He was careful not to walk too fast for fear that
his patron would take it as a sign of disrespect. Both Frederiqué and Laurent
watched Henri as he removed himself from their presence, their eyes locked on Henri’s ass
as he walked away.
“Someday I shall have him,” boldly stated Frederiqué.
“Yes, but not before me,” commented Laurent.
The sailor, Aquarelle, groaning and mumbling, again attempted to stand on his own. Both
Laurent and Frederiqué stared at each other as they hoisted him up and began to
carry him down the hall to Frederiqué’s private chambers.
Once inside, they placed the man on a chaise longue, his long legs stretched out before
him, and each one thought how wonderful it was to have a new delicious treat for them to
feast upon. Laurent removed Aquarelle’s sailor’s beanie and gazed lustfully upon
Aquarelle’s beauty.
Laurent moved to a console and began to pour brandy into crystal goblets.
Frederiqué began to remove Aquarelle’s breach coat, running his hands across
Aquarelle’s hard pecks. Frederiqué could feel the blood pulsing through his flesh,
causing a warm flush began to come over him.
Frederiqué held Aquarelle muscular body up as Laurent placed the glass to
Aquarelle’s soft lips. Aquarelle, sensing the brandy, opened his mouth and began to taste
the liqueur, letting some of it drip down the side of his mouth. Aquarelle licked his
lips as Laurent removed the glass.
“Isn’t it hot in here?” asked Frederiqué as he reached down to Aquarelle’s pants,
releasing his shirt by pulling it upwards.
“I… I am fine…” stuttered Aquarelle as the brandy burned slightly in his throat, his mind
dark and unfocused, “But…”
Laurent held the glass up to Aquarelle’s mouth, but this time he forced even more of the
liquid into his mouth. Aquarelle sputtered a little but gulped as much as he could.
While Frederiqué unbuttoned Aquarelle’s tunic, Laurent licked a little trickle of
brandy off Aquarelle’s cheek and chin.
“Ahhh…” Aquarelle mumbled while reacting as best he could to the sensation. Aquarelle
tried to resist, but it was futile. The day spent drinking with Laurent and
Frederiqué at the tavern, a long with smoking a little opium, had left him helpless
and in their care. His mind briefly flashed, vaguely remembered getting off the ship, the
three-day journey, and entering the club, but all too soon the vision was gone and
darkness began to hang on the fringes of his mind, and images of Chinese whores ravishing
him danced in his head.
Laurent again applied the drink to the sailor, and though he attempted to resist by
shaking his head, the liquor still found its way into his mouth. As Laurent rested the
glass on a table, Frederiqué stripped Aquarelle of his tunic. To their delight,
his chest was barren of hair except around his nipples and the small trail of fur that
crept up from his trousers, circled his belly button before fading into smooth tanned
flesh.
Frederiqué rested Aquarelle onto the plush cushions. Briefly, Laurent and
Frederiqué looked at each other with glee sparkling in their eyes. Instinctively,
both men took a nipple in their mouth and began suckling hard like a pair of newborns
hungry for their first taste of nourishment. His areolas tasted of sweat - sweet, sweet,
sweat.
Laurent’s hands moved to unbutton the drunken sailor’s trousers while Frederiqué
rubbed his crotch, stroking the cock hidden by fabric. Both Laurent and
Frederiqué’s cocks were aching to be released from their own culottes. Aquarelle
groaned with pleasure from the sensations of tongues licking and mouths teasing his
nipples.
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