Unknown - Charity Ball

Aroused, Constance kissed Arturo’s cheek with An unexpected rush. Antoine flushed. Returned the buss. Trussedher bosom with his paws.

“We are destined to become lovers,” he said.

“Not yet.”

“Would you care to bet?”

“This isn’t Monte Carlo.”

“Who says no?”

“It’s my show.”

“What am I-a dog, a mutt? Do I have to prove my pedigree to rut with every bitch in heat?”

“How sweet.”

“I yam not only of the most regal lineage-”

“I had a pedigreed Akita I called King-”

“I yam a banker, financier-a man of commerce as well. Being a businessman is a very noble and ancient calling.”

“So is the world’s oldest profession.”

“And which is that? Remember who introduced the fashion of furs-the cave men and women. What you think those cave ladies did to get those beaver pelts, bearskin rugs, fox, mink, lynx-”

“So you barter in skinned animals. Furriers are in essence merchants, shopkeepers. Might as well pump gasoline at your own station.”

“I also peddle pretty baubles. Useless playthings. Jewels. From South America.

South Africa. The Middle East. Siberia.”

“Sounds like a cover for drug running and arms smuggling. How chic.”

“And living jewels-caviar from the Caspian Sea. You know I could not profess to market such fine fish-eggs had I not the confidence of members of the Russian imperial line and the royal succession deriving from the Shah of Iran.”

“Soviets, Persians-Russkies, rugslingers. Dime a dozen in these parts.”

“My string of polo ponies-”

“Could be but an Arabian affectation. Anyone can breed horseflesh.

Yippee-ay-oh-kay-ay! Ride ‘em cowpoke. How about oil? Another joke.”

“So you would prefer the English knight.”

“I never said that.”

“I see the lust drool from your eyes.”

“But do you really know for whom the look applies? It could even be for more than one of you. And don’t forget-horses are well hung, but one would never dream of actually sampling their sex. Dream, yes-but-”

Arturo spoke abruptly.

“I see the dance ends. I thank you for your courtesy. But do not think for an instant that my lady’s lack of encouragement in these romantic matters will in any discourage me.”

Arturo turned his rump toward her.

He approached a strolling baroness and took her by the arm.

Her mouth dry, Constance shifted her eyes around the ongoing festivities.

She brought the strand of blue-black pearls through her teeth.

Saliva-slicked-they were sticky to the taste. She let the baubles drop to her waist.

Constance’s gaze was caught by the size of Lance’s dong as it drifted in and out of the space between Morrigana and Veronica’s four tits.

Sheik at Jebal Asani Saba in flowing silk robes sat smack on the back of a stripped-down and oiled black filly. He humped her like a camel. Her nuded buttocks bucked him silly.

Nikita Stalin-or Nicholas Steel-the Americanized Russian йmigrй, grabbed the nubile Nubian nymph by the dangling black dugs.

He suckered the chocolaty nipples of her jugs.

Gave them a tug.

The Russian-American laughed suavely as the Sheik flew off the back of the cavorting dark-skinned African princess. The three entwined bodies twisted to the floor.

Blinding flash of ivory, olivewood, and ebony.

The dusky gal flailed her gams.

Asani and Nicholas drew their heads up from her muff. Both men sported mouthfuls of nappy kinks of pubic thatch saturated with exudations from the free-running morass of briny quim.

Asani Saba now laid the length of his twanger down the black woman’s throat.

While Nick Steel fucked through her froufrou like a goat.

Constance clicked the pearls against her teeth. She observed closely as Lance pulled forth his dipstick from Veronica’s cunt from the rear. Morrigana slowly minced his balls in her mouth and fingered Veronica’s ass.

Arturo Mondragon had indeed impressed the baroness. They soon had a duchess in tow as they strolled through the garden.

Constance saw from the side the size of his hard on.

He had taken the two titled mills to tangle in seclusion among the rows of roses bushes. But Constance’s view became unobstructed as she passed onto the patio.

Constance listened as Arturo said, “Blow”

“That’s right,” Constance heard the baroness whisper. “You learn English well.

Now see if you can say the word job.”

“Job.”

“Okay. This is a blowjob.”

“Angh.”

The lips of the baroness spoke, full of thick cock. “Duchess, are you hot?”

“Naturally. Am I watching?”

“You can put yourself to good use.”

“Of course. While your mouth is full, I shall continue our lesson. Arturo, you know what it means to go down? To suck?”

Constance saw Arturo stab the baroness in the neck with his twanger. His uncovered buttocks stuck out in back.

Then jacked forward.

Thorns stuck into his tightened gluteal muscles. Rosepetals caught in his moist pud.

The baroness sucked on, sloughing the top of her gown down over her arms.

Pressing her molten breasts to Arturo’s knees. Giving his halls a sensitive squeeze.

The duchess raised the hem of her dress. Her cut winked like a rosebud.

Cuntlips curled outward.

Beckoning.

Yearning.

Burning.

The duchess’s hips began to churn. She kissed along the cheeks of Arturo’s face with the pliant lips of her labia.

Mouthlips slobbered slobbering cuntlips.

Arturo’s hands crawled up the backside of the duchess’s haunch.

Fingers launched into the space between the halved melons of her ass.

“Yes. Yes. Yesss.”

The pussy peeled open across the slash of Arturo’s mouth.

His tongue rummaged within the labyrinthine folds of her labia.

And his phalanges pinched the wrinkle of her anus with manicured nails.

Tiny finger dipped in to the cuticle.

The duchess’s butt hustled.

Constance saw the woman shudder. The duchess uttered unintelligible sounds of rut.

“Ululululu.”

Orgasm swelled over the duchess’s flesh. Arturo’s mouth and fingers did the rest.

And the hips of that Spanish-speaking caballero continued their thrust.

Cockhead held tightly in the baroness’s yap. Balls bandying about her neck.

Arturo bent his knees.

Shifted his angle.

“Aiiiii!”

The baroness seemed to be strangled.

She gagged, clutching her throat.

Her cheeks bloated out. Then burst open.

Globules of jissom rolled over her chin.

Her stammering jaw dropped in awe.

Pullulating penis flipped from her maw.

She seized the penis with her paw.

Curds of the sweet milky goo glued her jacking hand to Arturo’s stick.

The duchess hunkered down and gave a lick.

The last pulses of jizz fizzed on the faces of the suctioning baroness and duchess.

“My,” Constance said to herself. “They’ve certainly got him in their clutches.”

She turned her head away.

Numbly strummed her fingers along the length of her strand of beads.

Scooped up a flute full of champagne from a passing tray. Walked back within the ballroom to observe the deeds of her other swain.

Sir Lance Fondulac was giving a whack to Veronica’s back crack with a riding crop. His cock was in his hand as he laid on another layer of roseate patches to Veronica’s blushing hide.

From her vantage, Constance was at first unaware of the coiled patch of hair intermingling with Veronica’s snapdragon snatch.

But as Veronica’s sap began to flow faster, Lance flagged his wanger to the point of disaster. He kicked her in the ass with his riding boot. Spurred her cheeks as he shot off.