Free To Please a Lady by Raven McAllan

rested on Berry, who knew as well as he, the myriad of ways the chair could be utilized. Both followed her gaze as it moved from it, only to flicker back to it again. He saw the amused smile that came to Berry’s face—mirrored, he was sure, on his own—when she licked her lips nervously. Or with excitement? Time, he hoped, would tell.
    “Pray, my love, take a seat. Perchance, first, tell us what you know of Ivo Daranton’s track?” He watched as once more her eyes skittered to the chair before she sat primly on the long brocade couch, her knees together, her ankles properly covered. Or so it seemed. With a wicked glint in her eye, she moved one leg slightly, so very briefly a shapely leg was displayed through a cunning slit in her gown before being hidden. One of her very appreciated affectations, he thought, enjoying the brief view.
    A knock on the door heralded the housekeeper with refreshments. It was if they were exhibiting a tableau, so still they all sat, until with a reiteration regarding their privacy, they were left alone.
    “So—” Berry waited until they all had a drink. “The track?”
    “Oh.” She laughed. “Merely that I, along with Arabella Dunsmuir and Serena Saltsey, spent one very pleasurable afternoon trying out its possibilities. I wondered whether I should build one at Anscome? Its ability to produce the most breathtaking climax as the movement of the carriage over the cobbles is truly amazing. You must try it as some point.”
    Minx, she sat, oh-so-decorously with a saucy smile playing around her lips. Never would he have thought so much could be conveyed from a facial expression at the same time.
    “Perhaps if you decide favorably, we may all try it. Now I must ask, what is your decision, Hermione? You know what we want and how.”
    “Refresh my memory. Spell it out to the last letter, my lords.” Her eyes were full of mischief. “For a decision such as this, affecting all our lives, is too important to be misconstrued.”
    She was correct there. With an almost telepathic message, he knew Berry was willing to continue in the most graphic terms imaginable. He sat back to listen, enjoy, and become aroused. Lud, he had on one memorable occasion come by listening to that hypnotic voice alone.
    “Should you so choose, my love, in essence you are ours and we yours alone, admitting no others to our minds, our bodies, or our souls. We can be any two of three together, and the third may look on and be pleasured by the sight alone. It may be, on occasion, we are as one—all three together in whichever way pleases us. Even to be two at a time when all three together is not possible, this is acceptable…with the proviso that all of that glorious coupling will be described, in minute detail, to whosoever is not lucky enough to be there at the time. We will always be sure we all know of the others’ actions and have the opportunity to enjoy through speech, if not actions or as voyeur.”
    “And,” Ran interpolated, “if we so choose that to kiss and tell to whoever is unable to participate is the answer, we must be true, open, and honest in our narrative. For, I fear, that on occasion that may well be me, and the thought of being told in graphic detail of your activity will spur me on to a swift and safe homecoming.”
    Hermione nodded. “I understand that. But”—and once again that sultry, full-of-promise smile lurked around her mouth—”I wish to be, er, reminded of what our activities could embrace. For instance, you mentioned a daisy chain…?”
    Ran watched, inwardly chuckling, as Berry laughed out loud.
    “Oh, yes, my love, we will daisy chain. Cock, cock, cunt, and hands. Also any which way we choose be it physically possible. We have so many delicious orifices to fill. And with so many ways available, we will need a lifetime to discover them all.” He looked across at Ran, who took up his cue.
    “I see you noticed my chair? Imported from the Orient. It is a fucking chair.