Oh God, please let him be in this fantasy—please let him have given up the idea of my being with other people without him.

She just didn’t want that. And she saw it as her choice. She was the guest here and she’d played by most of his rules—but this was one time she would insist he do things her way. She didn’t much care if he knew how she felt—it was clear he knew she’d gotten too attached, and in some respects, yes, that made her feel vulnerable and even a little silly. But when he was fucking her, she didn’t feel silly. When she was screaming her way through the craziest orgasms of her life, she didn’t feel silly. And when he’d held her in his arms all night and indeed “tupped” her again this morning, she hadn’t felt silly.

After the morning sex—a hot but tamer liaison like the one on his couch a few days ago—Brent had called shore and had someone send out a light breakfast and another outfit from the gift shop for Jenna to wear back to her room. “I knew I was forgetting something when I put this plan together,” he’d told her teasingly when she’d pointed out that he’d sliced her other clothes to ribbons. She hoped he’d just been too caught up in heat to remember every detail.

After two full fantasies yesterday, Jenna was still tired and knew it would probably be wise to crawl under the covers of her own bed and get some extra sleep. After all, she had a masquerade to attend this evening and something told her it might require some stamina.

Yet her mind—or maybe it was closer to her soul—felt too energized right now. She didn’t feel like hiding away in her quiet room today. More than ever since her arrival here, she had the urge to be out among people, basking in the tropical beauty of the resort, enjoying her life to the fullest. She could only attribute the feeling to the astounding sex last night. It had left her feeling as if . . . she knew herself better. As if she knew the whole world better. It had left her feeling alive and like she didn’t want to waste another moment not soaking up that wondrous sensuality that floated in the air here. She’d never felt more fully aware of her body, her thoughts, her desires—and she’d never felt more comfortable with all those things, either.

Just slipping on her bikini was a sensuous experience, the fabric hugging her most intimate body parts—she relished showing off her figure in a way she never had before. And rather than steal away to some secluded spot on the beach, she went to the main pool and found a lounge chair, which also provided a view of the ocean. She luxuriated in the fruity scent of her sunscreen, in the lush warmth of a sea breeze wafting past, in the sweet flavor of the erotic rum punch as it slid down her throat. She found herself stretching out in her chaise, one leg slightly bent, her arms stretching languorously up overhead, and she didn’t hide the small, dreamy smile she felt coming over her—instead just delighting in the full measure of her femininity. And if anyone wondered if her smile was the result of wild, uninhibited sex in a Hotel Erotique fantasy—unlike a few days ago, she didn’t care. In fact, she almost wanted people to know. A small, brazen-but-happy part of her wanted to climb to the thatched rooftop of the tiki bar and shout, “I discovered my G-spot last night!”

Each sexual experience here had changed her, moved her to a new place both mentally and physically—but somehow, last night, when it had been only her and Brent, that encounter had affected her more profoundly than any other.

Of course, Brent would probably tell her it was some sort of cumulative effect. And maybe he was right. But at the moment, she still felt just as pleasured, relaxed, and happy as she had after coming last night, and her thoughts kept returning there.

She let herself bake in the Caribbean rays, her tan skin making her feel all the more exotic and sexy, until she decided it was time for a dip. And even that felt sensual—the cool water on her warm skin, her body moving smoothly through it. And as she emerged up through the surface to feel the hot sun on her face again, as she pushed her hair back over her head and began gliding toward the steps leading back out of the pool, she remained utterly aware of her body, her sexuality. Her breasts felt plump and her pussy softly engorged with a pleasant level of desire that would build through the day and lead her into the evening with growing hunger.

It was as she climbed the stairs, water sluicing off her skin, that she saw Brent—he sat watching in the lounge chair next to hers in a pair of red swim trunks, hands comfortably behind his head. His sexy gaze roamed the length of her body as it came into view, adding to every other sensation already assaulting her.

“Well, if it isn’t Captain Powers,” she quipped, strolling toward him.

“You’d have been wasted on that planter, babe,” he said, adding with a wink, “Good thing you found me.”

“Speaking of finding—am I under surveillance or something?” She pushed the book in her chair toward the end of it and sat down on her towel, leaning back to dry in the sun.

Brent grinned in reply. “Believe it or not, this is a coincidence. It’s my day off, so I came to the pool—and when I saw a Civil War book, I knew it had to be you.”

She’d still managed to read very little, but she’d brought it with her just in case the urge struck. “You know me too well,” she said, thinking the words were all too true, in so many ways. How could she not be attached to a man who’d seemed so very concerned for her well-being from the very start, and who seemed to understand her so innately? “So you have days off ?”

“I’m into my work, sunshine, but everybody needs some time to themselves.” It was then that she noticed a book he’d brought: A paperback copy of Catch-22 by Joseph Heller lay on the ground between their chairs. And if she hadn’t been completely in love with him before that moment, she was now. The sex doctor with his life full of meaningless physical encounters cared about other things! He liked to read! She loved guys who liked to read. And a classic, too!

“Great book,” she said.

“Yeah—I’m going back through some I didn’t appreciate when I had to read them in school. They’re much better now.” Oh wow—she nearly swooned. And she’d thought the pirate outfit was sexy? For her, this was the ultimate turn-on.

“You look damn fine in that bikini, by the way,” he said, reminding her that he was still obsessed with sex.

But right now, she didn’t mind. The compliment warmed her pussy even as she pointed out, “You’ve seen me in much less and in ultimately more revealing positions.”

He cocked a slight grin in her direction. “Never underestimate the power of a rockin’ bikini, babe.”

Just then, a horrible thought hit her. “So . . . are you taking the whole day off?”

In reply, he lowered his chin and flashed a knowing look. “The day, sunshine, not the night.” Then he shifted his gaze back toward the ocean, adding, “Don’t worry—I’ll be there. And not just watching.”

Thank God! Though rather than let him see her extreme relief, she instead said, quietly, “Thank you for that. Believe it or not, sometimes I really do know what’s best for me.”

“Fair enough,” he answered. “Besides, it’s not my goal to make you unhappy. Just the opposite. I only hope you agree by now that sometimes I know what’s best for you, too.”

Jenna pulled in her breath, then let it back out. She’d been doing a lot of thinking about that, and in addition to what she’d told him last night—about the events of her past—something more specific had hit her. “You know, you’ve made me revisit some memories I hadn’t for years, and . . . the truth is, maybe there are even more of them than I put in my questionnaires. Nothing huge, but just more little things that might have built up inside me.”

“I kinda knew that,” he said softly. “I could tell.”

“And . . . my experiences this week have forced me to realize something.” She lifted her eyes to his, glad no one else was in earshot. “You remember that incident with my cousin?”

He met her gaze. “Of course.”

She took another deep breath. “Well, I’m just now understanding that what he did made me feel ashamed, as if I’d done something bad—even though it wasn’t my fault. And the reason I’m just now seeing this is because—oddly enough—nothing I’ve done here has made me feel that same bad way. Here, I’ve . . . questioned my actions at times, worried about the morality of them or wondered if they made me a slut—but all that has been more about questions than actual feelings. I’ve just never felt bad inside, here, the way I did then.”

The warmth in his expression made her feel all the more close to him. “That’s because everyone here respects you, and one another, and sex. It’s all in how it’s approached, sunshine. It’s people who sometimes make sex bad—whether they misuse or abuse it to exert power over someone weaker than them, or whether they insert a double standard, or whether they simply send negative messages about it, forcing their own morality or fears on others. But there’s nothing inherently bad about sex on its own. It’s just pleasure.”

She found herself nodding as his words enlightened her. They lived in a culture that portrayed sex in extreme ways. Whether society was hammering into people that it was bad, wrong—or, more recently, overly glorifying it as something everyone should be seeking, all the time—it kept people from looking at sex with their own minds and forming their own opinions on it.

“But . . . I’m still not one hundred percent sure I agree on that last part,” she couldn’t help arguing.

“Why?”

She started to tell him sex couldn’t be “just pleasure” because she still felt a connection with people she fooled around with—yet, that quickly, she realized it wasn’t completely true. She’d felt a temporary connection—with the other pirates, the dungeon dwellers, the harem girls—but, in fact, the only real connection she’d experienced was with him. And she surely didn’t want to say that, even if they both knew it. So finally she replied, “I’m still not keeping the emotion entirely out of it.”

“Well, that’s okay,” Brent surprised her by saying. “I told you in the beginning, that’s how you’re wired—you can’t really change it. Most women are physiologically programmed that way. But you’re doing a great job of pushing that aside and finding what I wanted you to find here—how to free yourself, how to enjoy sex to the fullest.”

Only she wasn’t pushing it aside. With every liaison, she felt more and more tied to him. And, again, she knew he knew that. So was this Brent still trying to distance himself from that connection—one she knew he’d felt, too? She didn’t want to squabble—she wanted to keep basking in the afterglow of last night—so she simply responded, with a smile, “Well, I definitely am enjoying sex more than ever before.”

“That makes me happy, Jenna. You make me feel like my work here really matters. I mean, I’ve always felt that way, but given your hesitation at first, it’s been more gratifying than usual to see the changes in you. Thank you for that.”

Again, she felt him building that distance—wanting to claim their relationship was mostly about work for him and not the raw lust she’d witnessed in the dungeon, the fierce desire that had created last night’s pirate ship fantasy. But if he wanted to pretend, so be it—she suspected she’d see his real feelings for her again tonight at the masquerade.

“So,” she said, “how did you get into this line of work? And don’t tell me again that it’s just because you like sex.”

Her lover and guide cast a wolfish grin. “It is. That’s the truth. I came here the summer after graduation thinking it would be temporary, but I never got tired of it. It felt right to me to do this, long term.”

Hmm. His answer made her want to dig for more, just like when she’d been in his home, or last night, talking about his tattoo. Who was Brent Powers and what really made him tick? “How does your family feel about your job?” she asked, trying to make the question sound more casual than prying.

Yet his face changed instantly—becoming guarded, and he answered matter-of-factly, as if it were no big deal. “Well, that’s the one bad thing. My mother thinks I’m a gigolo, and I guess I kind of am. And my sister hasn’t let me see her kids since they were little. I have a nephew, Cody, who’s sixteen now, and my niece, Tiffany, just started her freshman year of high school. And it kinda sucks that my sister thought I wasn’t . . . any more than my job, that she thought I’d somehow corrupt them and not be a good uncle—but that was her choice, and that’s life.”

It took Jenna a second to catch her breath. It all made sense, she supposed, but she hadn’t imagined the ramifications—or the losses—a job like Brent’s might involve. “How long since you’ve seen them?”

When Brent sighed, she sensed him trying to decide how much emotion to show, how much of that mask of practicality to keep wearing. “Ten years now,” he said—and Jenna’s heart sank for him.

If he was still trying to hide his pain, it was leaking out through his eyes. “I ask my mother to send me pictures now and then, and even though she doesn’t like it, she sends them. I can’t believe how old they are and that I’ve missed out on most of their lives. Their dad took off after Tiff was born, so for a while, I was the closest thing they had to a father. I didn’t see them a lot—I was usually here working—but I flew home to Pittsburgh for a few weeks here and there and spent a lot of time with them when they were little.

“My mom and sister didn’t know then what I did for a living,” he went on, and Jenna could scarcely believe he was confiding so much. “My dad knew, though, and he didn’t like it—but he thought I’d outgrow it.”

“What did your mom and sister think you were doing?”

“They only knew I was working at a resort. They thought I was waiting tables, which I was, but they didn’t know about the rest. A couple of years after my dad died, though, my mom pinned me down and asked when I was gonna put my degree to use. I’d just decided to further my studies, specializing in sex, so I figured the time had come to tell her the truth and hope she understood. She didn’t. And neither did Kim, my sister, and that was that. Now I send the kids gifts at Christmas, but I’m sure they barely remember me and wonder why I’m not around anymore.”

Whoa. Jenna had never even imagined Brent sounding so . . . vulnerable. His voice stayed strong, sure—but she could feel his pain anyway. It was a side of him she’d never seen. “Is it worth it?” she asked quietly. “To lose your family—for this?” Her tone implied the Hotel Erotique was nothing worth sacrificing for, but she didn’t care.

“I must think it is,” he told her simply.

“Yet you sound so sad about it.”

He met her gaze squarely. “You can’t let anybody, not even your family, choose your life. And I know what I’ve chosen is controversial, so if they want to cut me out, I figure that’s their right. I don’t like it, but I respect it.”

She supposed he made a good point. Whereas she’d let her family’s negative views of sex color her perception of it, Brent had ultimately stood up and done what he believed was right for him. “Well,” she said softly, “I’m still sorry it has to hurt you.”

He tilted his head, gave her another insightful look. “Hey, no one’s life is perfect. And don’t worry about me, Little Mary Sunshine—at the end of the day, I’m doing just fine. Now let’s get in the pool,” he concluded with a grin.

“I just got out,” she reminded him.

“But looking at you in that leopard print got me all hot and bothered. Come help me cool down.”

And when Brent pushed to his feet and held his hand out to her, it was invitation Jenna couldn’t resist.

Maybe that’s because you spent the whole damn day with her.

He really hadn’t planned it—he really had gone to the pool only to catch some rays and relax. And it would have seemed pretty shitty, all things considered, to see her there and not hang out with her. Never mind the instant joy that had come over him when he’d spotted that Civil War book and realized she was there.

Hell, he had no idea. He could only attribute it to a lack of sleep. And that it was October, which meant Christmas was coming, and sometimes he got a little lonely at that time of year. But he handled it fine—he had plenty of friends here to spend the holidays with; the Hotel Erotique was good for turning people into adult orphans, it seemed.

Now he regretted opening up to her because, like so much else he’d done with her, it was just a bad idea—it reinforced the escalating emotions between them. Idiot, he chided himself as he selected another period dress for her to wear tonight, this one a more elaborate ice blue brocade trimmed in ivory lace.

Of course, he’d also told her about having had sex with other men—since she’d asked. Even upon realizing it wasn’t as easy for him to talk about as other sex. There, at the resort, it was commonplace—sex was sex was sex and there was no judgment. But with her, maybe he’d feared there would be. Still, given how much honesty and openness she’d shown him, he’d felt he owed her the same.

When she’d been surprisingly cool about it, even wanting to see it, the reaction had shocked him—and made him like her that much more. It seemed he uncovered new layers of Jenna with each passing day.

So hell—who knew?—maybe that was why he’d spilled to her about his family. Maybe it felt good to share it with someone so nice, so sweet.

Turning to a large chest in the historical section of the wardrobe building, he located a pair of ivory fishnet stockings with a satin bow at the top of each. They weren’t totally period, but they’d look delectable on her—and he found himself getting a little hard already just thinking ahead to what would take place in a few hours.

Damn, he loved her newfound appreciation for sex. He loved how trusting she’d been about letting him in her ass last night. He loved everything about her.

Except—shit—love wasn’t a word he should have on his mind with Jenna or any other Hotel Erotique guest. So he pushed the thoughts aside and found a corset that would give her some insanely hot cleavage—then laughed at himself for being in a position to know so much about women’s clothing.

Tonight’s fantasy would be the grandest she’d taken part in—with more than thirty participants. Most would be facilitators, but this was a rare occasion when seven guests would enjoy the same highly structured fantasy. He’d not originally planned on her being involved in the masquerade, but it fit well with where she was on her journey.

In one sense, he saw it as a reward for her, for all the trust she’d put in him this past week. But it would also serve a greater purpose. The goal moving forward was to give her more power, more choices, to slowly retract and reverse the submissiveness he’d created in her. Before her time here was through, he would even prod her toward the other extreme, pushing her to be dominant, aggressive, to take what she wanted. But tonight’s fantasy was simply about giving her options and opportunities. And he was growing impatient—both professionally and personally now—to see what choices she made.

Of course, giving her so much new freedom would also allow her to regress, to reject the sexual smorgasbord he laid before her, and if that happened, he’d deal with it. But he didn’t think it would.

As promised, her wardrobe had been provided and she was almost giddy about it. The dress was very Marie Antoinette—not completely authentic, but close enough. The extremely low-cut bodice nearly revealed her nipples while the ivory satin corset underneath shoved them high, making her feel like a sumptuous courtesan. Otherwise, the frock’s shape was much like the green one she’d donned on the beach yesterday, yet with wider skirting and a few lace panels sewn into the ornate brocade.

Beneath the dress, she wore only stockings with ivory bows at the front of each thigh, and ivory shoes that matched the period. According to the note with the dress, “You have decided to forego undergarments tonight as the weather is warm and you are feeling a bit naughty.” True, and true, she decided merrily enough.

Just as she stood before the mirror in the small room admiring her dress—and her breasts—a woman attired as an English maid came scurrying through the door. “Sorry to be so tardy, m’lady,” she said, sporting a thick cockney accent, “but ’ave you a seat and we’ll fix up your hair right nice.”

One thing she had to say for the Hotel Erotique—they understood the value of details. She couldn’t hide her smile as she sat down at a small dressing table to the right of the large mirror and let the maid begin working. With no mention of the modern curling iron and pins being used, the maid chattered about how the party was well underway and how fancy all the ladies looked.

“And oh, them ’andsome lords in their tight breeches!” the maid screeched, fanning herself. “Some of ’em looks like they got a lot to offer a lady, if ya knows what I mean.” Meanwhile, she styled Jenna’s hair into an admirable seventeenth-century coif, complete with tightly ringed sausage curls falling over her shoulders.

“Off ya go now,” the maid said with a shooing motion when she’d finished. But before Jenna could even get to her feet, the maid held up one finger. “Wait! I’ve gone and forgot the most important thing!”

“What’s that?” Jenna asked.

The maid stepped to a cabinet across the small chamber and pulled out a glittery ice blue mask adorned with a clump of fluffy ivory feathers. It was so beautiful Jenna gasped—and the maid smiled. “Can’t very well go to a masquerade without this, now can ya?”

“Definitely not,” Jenna said, warming to the fantasy even more.

Then the maid carefully fit the mask over Jenna’s head, securing it with the attached elastic band, which she hid beneath certain locks of hair, and ignoring that the elastic was a modern addition.

The mask covered only the top part of Jenna’s face, and her eyes shone vividly through, but it still made her feel sexy and mysterious. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror as the maid resumed her previous shooing. “Go now. Ya don’t wants to miss the merriment. But ya best be careful,” she added, winking, “for I ’ear there’s a rascally rogue or two what might try to have his way with ya.”

When Jenna stepped through the door that led to the fantasy, she found herself immediately immersed in seventeenth-century London! Like last night, the sense of being swept back to another era was instantly more profound than in yesterday’s beach fantasy and nearly took her breath away. To one side of the ornate room, a string quartet played, filling the air with classical music. Candles in ornate wall sconces lit the space, drawing her gaze to intricately carved woodwork and brocade-covered walls where period paintings hung. The large parlor buzzed with people in costumes similar to hers—they stood in groups talking, maybe flirting, drinking wine and snacking on fancy finger foods. Some women and even a few men wore tall powdered wigs; others, like her, simply had their hair styled in a suitable way. If she wasn’t mistaken, she spotted Zack beneath a simple black mask, his long hair drawn back in a queue—he was busy charming a woman in a yellow gown and looked surprisingly debonair in a doublet and breeches.

Just then, a hand touched her elbow and she looked up to find Brent, and—oh my—talk about debonair. She wouldn’t have believed he could make the showy men’s fashions of the mid-1600s look so . . . masculine. The dark fabric of his short doublet fell open across his chest to reveal the high-collared linen shirt beneath, and his breeches—tucked into leather boots—were fitted enough to hint at the bulge between his thighs. The small gray mask he wore did little to hide his identity, at least from her. “Lord Sexingham, I presume,” she said with just a hint of playfulness, amused by the silly name.

His eyes returned the emotion. “I am delighted you could come to my little soiree this evening, Lady Jenna.”

“Ah, so my mask does not hide me any better than yours does you, I see.”

He gave his head a dashing tilt. “I would know your beauty anywhere, my lady.”

To her surprise, Jenna felt a blush color her cheeks, and turned away, both utterly smitten and embarrassed by it.

“I trust,” he went on, “that you will find this a most pleasurable gathering.”

“As do I,” she replied, and even as she spoke, she realized that, already, the mood of the room was beginning to change slightly, feeling a bit more . . . tawdry than she’d noticed upon first walking in. On a divan across the room, a woman sat perched on a man’s lap, kissing him as he fondled her breast through her dress. And the quartet had begun a new piece of music that somehow felt more sensual as well.

“Come—have some wine,” Brent said, taking her hand to lead her through the mingling crowd. A moment later, she was sipping on a sweet chardonnay that went down easily. And suddenly, she had the odd feeling she should drink enough to get relaxed. She wanted very much to be a part of what took place here tonight, whatever that might be—and like earlier today, she began to suspect something extreme.

As she drank more wine, she spotted another couple—two girls—beginning to playfully touch one another, putting their arms around each other’s waists, starting to kiss. It looked stranger than usual, given the costumes, yet somehow all the more erotic for it.

“You should feel free to follow any whim that strikes you tonight, my lady. After all, we are all safe behind our masks,” Brent said with a wink.

She lifted her eyes to his with a grin, starting to feel the wine a bit. “What happens in 1650 stays in 1650?”

Brent let out a loud laugh and she liked having shaken him from his role—even if he plainly wasn’t as deeply in character as he’d been as a pirate. “Something like that, Lady Jenna. You have quite a keen wit,” he added.

“Thank you. And you look quite handsome in your late-Renaissance clothing, Lord Sexingham,” she heard herself say. Damn wine.

Just then, an attractive girl with blond hair, ample curves, and an extravagant beaded mask came scurrying up to Jenna and Brent. Funny how the mask made Jenna focus on the parts of the woman she could see: lush pink lips, seductive brown eyes, and plump, uplifted breasts that appeared ready to burst from the tight laced bodice of her lavender gown at any moment. Leaning into Brent, but with her gaze planted provocatively on Jenna, she said, “Pray, what have you here, Sexingham? I hope you won’t keep this tasty morsel to yourself all night.”

“The lady is most free to dally with whomever she chooses,” Brent replied to the slightly raucous but pretty girl.

“That is happy news indeed,” the lady said, her voice thick with lust—then she boldly reached out to slide her fingertip along the top edge of Jenna’s bodice, just above her nipples, all the way from one uplifted side to the other. “You have scrumptious tits, my lady,” the woman said, leaving the objects of her affection to tingle madly as she dashed gaily off into the crowd.

When Jenna lifted her eyes to Brent’s, his had turned heated—his arousal visible even through his mask. “It would seem the masquerade element of the party is loosening my guests’ inhibitions, Lady Jenna. You cannot be offended by the other lady’s impropriety, however, since she speaks only the truth about your tits.”

The dark desire that had just deepened his voice made Jenna’s breasts heave slightly, and she suddenly wondered if hers would be the ones to spill from her dress.

When a sensual female moan met Jenna’s ears, she turned to see a blond man sucking the breast of a woman in a tall powdered wig. The bodice of her cornflower blue frock had been drawn down to reveal just one small but perky tit, and her eyes were shut, jaw lax, as she sighed and groaned her pleasure.

The quartet’s music now quickened, becoming lively, playful, yet expressing an urgency Jenna began to feel in her bones as she observed the debauchery starting to infest the lavish room. She caught sight of another couple on a chaise lounge—a handsome man in a small powdered wig playfully shoved his hand under the lady’s dress, making her squeal in delight, and then purr with pleasure. A moment later, another woman—a redhead in an even redder gown, alit on the lounge on the other side of the lady, soon reaching up to begin massaging her breast, then kissing her lips.

Brent’s warm voice in her ear made her shiver. “Is your pussy getting wet, Lady Jenna?”

She looked up, meeting his gaze behind the gray mask. “It’s been wet all day, my lord.”

“I hope to make it wetter,” he promised.

Jenna bit her lip as hot desire trickled all through her. She kept her eyes on Brent’s, letting him know she was ready—for anything.

When next he spoke, though, he was more Brent than Lord Sexingham. “Tonight, Jenna, no commands, no submission. But I hope you’ll let yourself be free. No doubts or worries. I want you to do what your body urges you to.”

What her body urged her to, huh? That sounded so easy now. So easy that she said, “If you insist,” then pressed herself against him, breasts to chest, cunt to cock. Hard cock. A warm purr left her throat as that hardness filled her with pleasure. “Mmm, so big,” she breathed, curling her hands into his ass through his breeches.

“And your pussy feels so fucking soft, my lady,” he whispered deeply in her ear. “Is it hot? Swollen?”

She let out a small moan. “Yes, and yes.”

At that, Brent led her to a plush divan upholstered in burgundy velvet and gently pushed her down onto it, stooping in front of her. She’d just begun to wonder what he was planning when he reached beneath the hem of her beautiful dress, his hands closing warm around her ankles, then smoothly slid his touch upward, to her knees, taking the skirting with him. Her spine tingled as his palms glided still higher, soon revealing the playful ivory satin bows at the front of each stocking, halfway up her thighs. She sat with her legs demurely together, feeling at once innocent and naughty.

Until Brent pushed her legs apart, wide. Then she felt only naughty. Delightfully so. She bit her lip as he studied her cunt, appearing enraptured, and her entire body pulsed to realize that, around them, more and more people were breaking into couples or groups, touching, kissing, pulling down bodices, raising skirts. She sensed their eyes on her, too—on her slit, which surely glistened in the candlelight, and it made her all the more eager.

“Lady Jenna,” Brent said from between her knees, “your pussy looks delectable.”

She sucked in her breath, felt her breasts lift slightly within the tight confines that held them, and offered her most inviting expression. “You should taste it.”

When Brent’s warm mouth sank over her cunt, she cried out from the abrupt pleasure. She couldn’t have held in her hot sighs if she’d tried—so she didn’t try. As the classical music swirled around her, as the elegance blended with decadence, Jenna sank fully into the strange ambience of the gathering: the sex, the atmosphere, the fantasy. Brent feasted on her vigorously—licking, kissing—and she relished the way he looked between her stocking-covered thighs, the tightness of the corset, all the finery and rich fabrics, everything. She felt glorious, alive, and indeed, free.

Just then, a pretty woman in a powdered wig sat down beside her, peering longingly at Jenna through a glittery pink mask. The girl was altogether feminine and sexy, from her moist pink lips to the watered pink silk of her gown, trimmed in mounds of white lace and tiny pink bows. “I must kiss you, my lady,” she said, sounding eager and almost demure at the same time.

Without even thinking of Brent for a change, Jenna, caught up in the moment, murmured, “Yes, please.” Then she sighed softly in response to Brent’s continuing ministrations below.

Gently cupping Jenna’s jaw, the girl leaned in for a soft, tender kiss, heightening every sensation rushing through Jenna’s body. Quickly, however, the kisses deepened—when the girl’s tongue pressed between Jenna’s lips, Jenna met it with her own, after which she simply quit thinking, shut her eyes, and kissed her the same as she would kiss Brent. Soon the girl in pink was leaning over Jenna as they made out, their breasts pressing, rubbing together.

When the girl’s lips left hers, Jenna watched in awe as the other woman slowly tugged at Jenna’s bodice, finally revealing her nipples. “Oooh,” the pretty girl moaned at the sight of them, beaded and hard, jutting overtop the laced edge of the fabric. She smiled as she bent to lick one of them, and Jenna bit her lip, watching. She trembled as the effects arced through her, combining with the continued pleasures from Brent at her cunt. Meeting his gaze, she knew, even through the mask, that he was well-pleased—and she tried to part her legs still further, wanting to open herself to him, and to this experience, more and more.

Jenna’s female companion continued to kiss and lick at her turgid nipples, sometimes gentle and playful, at other moments starting to suckle and nibble more roughly—a sensation that shot straight to Jenna’s engorged clit. She began to feel completely devoured by her lovers. And she soon wanted to return the favor.

So even as her new girlfriend licked and teased her tight nipples, Jenna reached to caress her breasts. Like Jenna’s, they were pressed upward in a corset, leaving Jenna unable to truly cup the globes in her palms as she wanted—so she played around the bared upper ridges with her fingertips, teasing the flesh just above the bodice.

Finally, the other girl’s kisses ceased as she sat upright to encourage Jenna’s touches. Jenna leaned in to kiss her soft upper breasts as Brent’s lengthy feasting continued below. Mmm, God, her cunt hummed beneath his mouth, and to make sure he knew it, she paused to peer down at him. “Keep eating me, my lord,” she purred.

Then she looked back to her lady in pink, bit her lip as another last inhibition dropped away, and pulled at the silken bodice until her breasts were freed—not only from the fabric, it seemed, but the corset had lowered, too, so that the other girl’s tits tumbled freely from the dress, tipped with pale pink peaks.

“Oh, kiss them, my lady,” the girl begged, and Jenna obliged. She raked her tongue gently over one nipple, focusing on the feel of the pearl-like bead—then she followed the urge to run her tongue around it.

Moving to the other lovely tit, Jenna closed her lips over it, sucking lightly, delighting when the girl moaned—a sound she felt between her legs. She pumped softly at Brent’s mouth as she suckled the pretty girl’s nipple, then raised slightly to brush her own bared breasts against the other pair. Both girls sighed, rubbing their tits together.

The light play of hard, pointed nipples against Jenna’s breasts sent such a burst of pleasure exploding through her that she could scarcely believe she hadn’t yet come. The sensations were intense, spreading through her whole body now, and she could only attribute her staying power to wanting to make this last.

When her pretty girlfriend leaned back on the divan, a move that sent her medium tits pointing upward, Jenna returned her tongue to the breast nearest her, again licking, teasing, pleasing—as she molded the girl’s other tit in her palm.

It was when an unexpected warmth came near Jenna’s hand that she looked up to see a masked gentleman with dark, unkempt hair had joined them, leaning in to suck on the spare nipple. Jenna didn’t stop, instantly intrigued by sharing the girl the same as Brent had shared her so many times. And even when the man’s hand reached out, closing around one of Jenna’s exposed breasts, she didn’t stop. She felt wild. Free. Delightfully dirty. Ultimate pleasure was hers. Ultimate sexual freedom.

Just then, a deep groan echoed from Brent’s mouth—vibrating through the deepest part of her pussy—and she looked down to see . . . oh—oh God.

Brent was no longer alone. Another masked man held Brent’s erect cock in his hand.